The Lost Food(3)
Veronica tightened her fur coat, revealing her slender curves beneath it, in the same light brown shade as Cruz’s winter uniform- the same shade of brownstone for which Kirrlutzwas famous. She walked past Brendel, lifted the blanket, and looked out with a wary glance. The icy wind was whipping in, sending shivers down the spine of everyone in the tent. The lady put down the blanket, turned back, and said gravely, “What I am about to tell you, you will hear with your ears only, and keep your mouths shut, every one of you.”
“There are three hundred soldiers in this camp, but as of today, the food supply is only enough to last until next week.”
Brendel suddenly understood why Veronica was being so solemn, and if this news were to spread, it would only cause a commotion. The army Veronica had brought with her was the best of the Kirrlutzians, and if it was the private army of the nobles, it might be possible to even cause a riot. The Cruzan tactics called the amount of food needed to sustain an army for a week a basic reserve. Normally, an army engaged in battle would consume two basic units of food a week, while those stationed would consume relatively little. Food supply of less than four basic units would mean that one capable army had to consider retreating. Less than two units and that would be a situation near to death. Less than one unit and if a riot had not arisen, it would be either because the commander had suppressed the news too well, or because the army was extremely elite, or both.
But Veronica, who had fought in the last War of the Holy Saints and was a long-established Cruzan general, would never make such an unaccepted mistake in such a matter. Brendel, on the other hand, seemed to immediately guess why the Kirrlutzians were in the predicament they were in, and asked, “Is part of your food missing?”
“How do you know!?” Veronica snapped, her brows, which had been furrowed, relaxed, but immediately knitted back together again. “Do you know anything, Brendel?” She asked suspiciously.
“Don’t you know what lives in this snowfield? Didn’t I ask Aloz to remind you?” Brendel was equally puzzled.
This snowfield was the lair of that damned Frost baby Dragon, and this little friend happened to be a food lover, and a coward, stealing food from travelers on the sly. This was a business he had done for years in these woods and on the shores of Lake Vallendaren, a business he was so skilled at that the average person could easily get caught if one was not careful. Of course, in addition to being proficient in this business, this Frost Dragon itself was also an expert in the art of baiting and sabotage, but in short, it will never come face to face with you.
If there was an insidious and despicable adjective for it, then they must have been designed for it.
“Aloz?” It took Veronica a moment to remember the exquisite, doll-like little girl who accompanied Mephisto, but
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