CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
His Glorious Ra, Most Holy and Supreme Leader of Pandesia, stood atop the battlements of Andros and looked out over the countryside of Escalon, taking it all in. It was now his. All of it. He grinned in satisfaction.
There, in the distance, he could see his armies charging north, pursuing the trolls, hacking them to death as they fled. It had been a rout. The nation of Marda was no doubt a vicious one, the trolls twice the size of his men, their strength legendary, and their leader, Vesuvius, high on the list of those that Ra wanted to capture and t*****e personally. And yet, still, he had prevailed. He had lost thousands of men fighting them—but he had merely sent in thousands more. It was the great convenience of having a slave army, gathered from all corners of the E
