บท 633: Bulgarian Snow

The night sky was illuminated by the graceful arc of arrows, their trajectory casting a fleeting shadow over the Ottoman encampment. The silent, peaceful slumber of the soldiers was abruptly shattered as arrows found their mark, some piercing through the fabric of tents and embedding into the ground. A particular arrow, with unerring accuracy, landed mere meters from Abbas Pasha, its sudden appearance sending the guards into a frenzied protective formation around their leader. "We are under attack! Protect the Pasha!" the captain bellowed, his voice a sharp contrast against the quiet of the night.