Chapter 477 - The Fog of Deception (1)

Mist clung to the forest road like ghostly fingers, curling around mud-caked boots and seeping into every seam of damp cloaks. It coiled beneath wagons and rolled over ruts, hiding the puddles that sucked at wheels with sticky squelches. The air tasted of wet bark and iron—half rain, half rusting mail—and each soldier dragged that taste deep into his lungs, exhaling clouds of pale breath that drifted straight into the fog and vanished. Now and again a crow croaked overhead, unseen, its cry riding on the hush like a cracked bell.