The tranquility of the fishing village was shattered by the urgent clang of gongs.
Ignoring the fishing gear in the water, the girl hurriedly rowed back to the village. Her strength far surpassed that of ordinary people, sending the little boat forward like an arrow loosed from the bow. Flocks of waterbirds and wild ducks scattered in panic, and as she rowed, she saw villagers from other waters also rushing back.
Just before reaching the village, she turned and rowed the boat into the reeds. She casually gathered a bundle of reeds, tied the boat with a rope, grabbed her shoes, and jumped ashore.
Through the swaying grass, she saw those people had already reached the village entrance.
When she clearly saw what they were wearing, the girl grew afraid. There were more than thirty of them. The two leaders rode tall horses, with sabers, bows, and other odds and ends hanging from their saddles. They wore gray-black clothes with leather breastplates over them. The rest jogged and hurried behind them, travel-stained and drenched in sweat, all carrying armor and arrows on their backs and long blades in their hands.
The girl knew they were soldiers, but their attire differed from the soldiers she had seen in town. Even from so far away, she could smell blood, and the stains on their clothes looked nothing like dust.
Beneath the century-old tree at the village entrance, the old village chief and the men waited uneasily.
The elderly and children hid at a distance, watching.
The horses stopped before the villagers. The burly man on horseback looked down coldly as he swept his gaze over them. One horse snorted, frightening the villagers into collectively retreating. Most did not even dare lift their heads. The poorer they were, the less they dared look