We kill them.
Not tomorrow. Not after retreating. Not once the dogkin army was at their gates.
Right now.
Their attackers numbered around fifty—just fifty. It was madness to let so few warriors bring ruin to Emberfang. They were lionkin. They had war beasts, they had wyverns, they had numbers. If they struck with everything they had, these bastards would die.
Only then could they regroup. Only then could they clean up the remaining beasts and evacuate the city's civilians. The citizens would have to fend for themselves in the meantime—dealing with the rampaging monsters was their lesser concern now.
The true threat stood outside the walls.
"We charge."
Var'Zhul's voice cut through the chaos. He turned, eyes blazing with cold, ruthless determination.
"Form up! Mount up!"
