On the Southwest front of Havocspire Citadel, another bloody battle was unfolding. Regiment after regiment of Underworld Barbarians were being thrown into the meat grinder by the thousands, pitted against the well-trained, tightly-knit formations of Light Warriors.
The commander leading them was a far cry from Sank-Uk, more of a backseat general who preferred overseeing the battle from the cozy middle of her rear guard. She was a woman with short, graying hair but built like a polar bear, her thin lips perpetually curled into a condescending snarl. This snarl wasn't meant for her enemies, but rather for the cannon fodder—ignorant and foolish—who selflessly charged forward, roaring battle cries at her every command.
Since scaling the Outer Wall, her strategy had been basic yet fatally effective: drown her enemies under endless waves of attackers. Of course, this meant giving zero shits about the cannon fodder she sent to the frontlines to wear down the Shimmers.