human
Lamia:  The stones were so powerful that the cannons had proven unable to cope with the resulting force, tearing themselves apart in the process of firing. Not even a member of the Volakian Royal Family could have escaped unscathed under such an assault. Not even if there were two of them. This was the masterstroke that would secure Lamia’s victory. And now…
gpt
Scout:  Mutters, “That’s impossible!” Peering through a spyglass.
human
Lamia:  Even if she couldn’t make out exactly what was going on, however, Lamia herself could tell that something wasn’t right. The forest, which should have been reduced to splinters by the barrage, was still intact in one place, the trees still standing. And what had caused this inconceivable state of affairs?
gpt
Scout:  Shouting, trembling. “There’s someone at the point of impact! A silver-haired dog girl… It’s Prisca Benedict’s right hand!”
human
Lamia:  Lamia’s eyes widened. Prisca’s right hand—Lamia remembered the taciturn, inexpressive mongrel… “I’ve got to hand it to you, Prisca…,” she growled. She stood and marched over to the scout, snatching his spyglass. Through it, she could see ground zero, where Prisca’s little friend lay prone on the ground, breathing out smoke. Somehow or other, that mutt had completely foiled Lamia’s cannonade. The dogfolk girl didn’t so much as twitch; Lamia couldn’t tell whether she was dead or alive. But she didn’t care. What mattered was the scale of the destruction in that patch of forest—or rather, the lack of it. There was no way Prisca and Vincent were dead. Meaning the first phase of her plan had failed. But Lamia had another arrow in her quiver—and another after that. “I never imagined I would actually have to use Bartroi’s little insurance policy…” She was recalling a suggestion left to her by her brother, the one who had voluntarily thrown away his right to the throne. The other nine siblings who had likewise declined candidacy were cards in her hand, and she would play them to finish off the wounded Vincent and Prisca both at a stroke. Lamia lowered the spyglass and started to give her next instructions. “Begin the ambush. Their hearts might not be in it, but they’ll slow them down at least…”
gpt
Soldier:  A sharp voice interrupted. “Your Excellency!”
human
Lamia:  She reflexively raised her arm, and the Bright Sword she grasped in her hand singed the air it passed through, incinerating the arrow that had come flying at her. She might have blocked the first attack, but the arrows came relentlessly; her soldiers, slow to react, surrounded her to shield her with their own bodies. “But how did they figure out where I was camped?” she asked.