In the central part of Tiger Province, beside a densely wooded valley.
A Thousandman Commander of the Fierce Tiger Army held up his binoculars, staring dumbfounded at the northern pass. A sea of figures was crossing a stretch of muddy, ravaged ground.
Those people moved with agile bodies and looked young. They were presumably the final wave.
After a long while, he finally squeezed out a sentence.
"Fuck... did these mudlegs take the wrong medicine?!"
Naturally, the masses fleeing north were the Moon Tribe people who had hidden themselves in the deep mountains and forests.
Or, to put it another way, the sheep they had kept penned up.
No one had expected that these sheep that gnawed bark would, for the first time ever, kick down the fence of their pen and trample the watchdogs.
As for what exactly had happened here, it had to begin with the heavy rain last night...
The night before had been dark, and a hundred-man unit of the Fierce Tiger Army had gone to relieve the garrison near a Moon Tribe village.
They called it a relief rotation, but really, they were just keeping watch beside the Moon Tribe village. If they spotted anything worthwhile, they would go over and snatch a basketful. If not, they would wait some more.
These Moon Tribe refugees normally hid out in the wilderness. There was not even a proper village nearby, only the estate farms of a few minor nobles connected by several battered dirt paths worn out by footsteps. Those paths did not even lead directly to the Moon Tribe village.
No one wanted to be stationed in such a godforsaken place full of poor bastards, and naturally the Thousandman Commander in charge of suppressing bandits did not either. Besides, this barren land, where supplies were