In the human encampment, 'Dyson' was looking a bit pale, devouring pastries in a mad rush.
He had suddenly felt a strange sensation of palpitation and weakness, suspecting that his blood sugar levels might be dropping. But even after eating several pastries in a row, there was no change. What was going on? Did he need to take medication?
An underling rushed in, stumbling and stuttering, "Lord, An, Anthony is... he has arrived at the front of our camp. He requested your presence, saying he, as a fellow Archbishop and servant of the Lord, wishes to meet with Lord Dyson at the camp entrance."
'Dyson's' face turned white as a sheet. He knew full well who he really was, and now Anthony wanted to see him? What was he supposed to do?
"What direction did he come from? Did the Dwarf King not notice at all?" 'Dyson', striving to calm his inner turmoil, withdrew his hand into his sleeve and pressed something inside it.