Smoke in the King’s Tent

When the sun set, the turkic camp under the snow mountain was light with campfires. 

The huge king's tent was eye-catching and lavish, and it was nearby. It was guarded tightly by the guards of the Turkic royal family. They had their weapons drawn, as if they were about to face a huge enemy. 

"What's the situation outside?"

An awe-inspiring voice with hints of restlessness and rage rose in the king's tent. "They're just a group of foreigners, and yet they dare to attack my tent and attack my camp?!

"They've gone overboard!"

After he shouted, the sound of porcelain shattering rose in the king's tent. 

In the tent, a Turkic king dressed in lavish clothing walked around on a snow-white carpet. Since he was angry, his face was flushed red. His gaze was gloomy, and he was murderous. 

"Their target is me." 

At that moment, an awe-inspiring and mighty man spoke from a huge cushioned chair positioned at the end of the tent.