When Ang led the guard squad to a remote village in the Beastlands, the sight before them left everyone deeply shaken. The villagers were gaunt and ragged, some wrapped in nothing but worn sackcloth to keep out the cold. The children were little more than skin and bones, their eyes vacant and nearly devoid of life. The entire village was in ruins. Most houses had been built from mud and dried grass, and many roofs had already collapsed, held up by only a few wooden poles and looking ready to fall at any moment.
"Who is the village chief here?" Ang suppressed his complicated emotions. His voice was low, yet carried a certain authority.
The villagers exchanged glances, but no one spoke. After a while, an elderly woman hesitantly stepped forward. "My lord, our village... has no chief. The chief froze to death in winter, and no one has dared take his place since."
The answer struck Ang hard. He looked over the barren slopes surrounding the village, bleak enough to drive anyone to despair. Lowering his gaze slightly, he looked at the damp yet infertile soil beneath his feet. The villagers' tenacity in surviving was astonishing, but it also filled him with deep sorrow.
Ang signaled for the guards to take out some of the food they had brought and distribute it among the villagers. Though it was only coarse grain, it brought the villagers to tears of joy. Their thanks rang out one after another, yet Ang's mood did not ease. His gaze passed over the women and children clutching their food with delighted faces. He sighed inwardly and said, "This food will ease your difficulties for now, but it cannot last forever. Settle yourselves down first. I will return in the future."
Over the next dozen days,