Three strangely shaped shadows encircled the two, unnoticed amidst the surrounding chaos.
Margaret's eyes were sharp. She could tell that these were not refugees, but criminals mingling among them. Indeed, without so skill, she wouldn't have noticed the woman's disguise earlier.
The chaos hadn't given her much ti to react before the three pursued them. The woman was defenseless. Margaret's spear was disguised as a walking stick, and her pistol was hidden within her clothes. But was Margaret the type to be bullied?
Just as she was about to swing her walking stick to protect the woman...
WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH. Three piercing sounds sliced through the air, their origins and sequence a blur. Margaret's reaction was so quick that she could see the fletching on the arrows quivering as they zipped past her.
The next second, three dull thuds rang out. The three n harassing them had their throats pierced almost simultaneously. Blood gushed out uncontrollably as they struggled and died.
As Margaret ca back to her senses, she couldn't help but turn to look at the cloaked figure standing with a bow.
In the darkness, to fire three arrows with such terrifying precision—it had to be Laura.
A volley of stealthy arrows. In the darkness, each thrum of her bowstring ant another life extinguished.
She had ruthlessly shot down everyone around Margaret, regardless of who they might be.
This offered a glimpse into the Eagle Flock's thods.
The riot had begun in the very early hours of the morning, and only when the first light of dawn touched the sky did it sowhat subside.
Margaret and the woman huddled next to the corpses for what felt like an eternity. The sounds of fighting had rung in their ears all night. Only when a hint of light appeared in the sky did they realize they had survived...
If one had not experienced it, it would be hard to imagine what that night was like.
Drawn by the morning light, Margaret couldn't help but stand up. Before her lay a chaotic scene of severed limbs and torsos, trampled by hooves into a gory paste mixed with the mud.
But an even more twisted scene unfolded. The refugees were frantically searching through the corpses, scavenging. They were indifferent to being stained by blood, to the raw Flesh clinging to their bodies.
If soone found sothing of value, in the next second, those around them would violently attack, causing a lee to erupt. And when a victor erged, laughing madly, only then would they realize they had been fighting over a re copper coin.
Or perhaps a piece of long-stale black bread, pulled from a corpse, would be bitten into without hesitation, even if caked with blood and mud. They would swallow it even if it cost them their teeth, because if others saw, another fight would erupt.
Even more horrific were those who resembled emaciated skeletons, half-dead and with no strength left to scavenge. Driven mad by hunger, they would grab at raw Flesh, gnawing on it, desperately trying to extract so hope of survival from the equally desiccated corpses.
anwhile, the Knights sat high on their horses, orderly and disciplined. Their leader's armor blazed in the sunlight, radiating an almost sacred aura, as if blessed by the Holy Light.
They just sat there... just like that, on their horses, watching the unfolding scene without any reaction, as if observing a herd of swine rooting for scraps in the dirt.
The already harrowing scene beca even more grotesque through this stark contrast.
Distortion, frenzy, utter hopelessness...
Vaguely, images of the past resurfaced. The scene before her warped, twisted by an unknown force... Countless tis, she had witnessed that twisted Flesh devouring the world.
From initial terror and unease to... a dawning understanding.
A world so steeped in despair, she thought, truly has no reason to exist.
Ah! I am beginning to understand it all...
"What are you doing?" a shout suddenly rang by her ear, snapping Margaret back to attention, and the illusion before her instantly collapsed.
Snapping back to reality, Margaret found her usual optimistic deanor gone, replaced by a profound despondency.
What does it an to be human...?
Laura glanced at her. What is this nonsense she's spouting now?
These high-born ladies are always so much trouble, Laura mused. They can't even handle a scene like this.
Laura had fought on countless battlefields. She had seen so many dead that she had long forgotten the aning of fear or terror.
"Hurry back, or they'll take notice of you," Laura urged, not coddling her.
At this, Margaret could only sigh. As if resigned to her fate, she pulled the woman with her back into the throng of refugees.
Finally, as the sun rose, those in charge began to act. They brought the chaos among the refugees under control and then forced them to continue moving.
Bruce had allowed the refugees' frenzy simply to let them vent. Otherwise, under constant high pressure, they would have broken down and been unable to continue.
Now, the conditions were ideal. Those "replenished" refugees had once again beco as docile as sheep.
The shepherds, with the aid of their sheepdogs, once again drove their flock onto the path forward...
Throughout the journey, Laura remained with the convoy. Her gaze swept back and forth across the masses of refugees, as if she were on vigilant guard, looking every bit the diligent protector.
Likely, no one suspected that she was actually scanning for certain criminals among them, planning to claim their heads for a bounty when the ti was right.
However, comparing the numbers, she realized that while perhaps three to five hundred people had died the previous night, the count of actual criminals among them hadn't decreased significantly.
This is truly bizarre... she mused.
The column left the grueso battlefield behind. They pressed on for another half a day before the situation suddenly changed.
After they passed a certain landmark, Bruce's Order of Knights and the Regular Army halted. However, the main column, consisting mostly of refugees, continued to press onward.
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