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"Ha... ha... ha..."
Her breathing grew increasingly ragged.
"Thump... thump... thump..."
The violent pounding of her heart, audible only to herself.
"AAAAAH----!"
Screams drifted over from her homeland, which was gradually growing distant.
"Stop right there!"
"Don't even think about running!"
The furious roars of knights, their entire bodies radiating brutality, drew ever closer as though death itself were urging them onward.
Every one of those sounds seemed to be telling the girl—Enri—one fact.
Even as her legs trembled nonstop from running and her strength steadily approached its limit, before long, she—a powerless ordinary village girl—would still face a slightly delayed hell.
If Enri had been alone, she might have already suffered a mental breakdown, given up running, and accepted her death in despair.
However, the slender little hand Enri clutched tightly in her own gave her the strength not to give up.
That hand belonged to Enri's little sister, who was only ten years old.
It was the hand of this sister, six years younger than Enri, that made it impossible for her to easily choose to give up.
"Ha... ha... ha... ha..."
Her breathing became more and more ragged.
Sweat had long since soaked through the clothes on Enri's back.
And if even Enri was in such a state, there was no need to mention her young sister, who was only ten.
"Ah----!"
At one point, her young sister suddenly stumbled, letting out a cry of pain as she nearly fell to the ground.
Fortunately, because she was still a child, she was very light. Enri, who worked the fields every day, was able to easily yank her back without