That night was destined to be anything but peaceful.
The Bearded Man's face was livid as he listened to his subordinate report the losses caused by the fire. The supplies and provisions had been severely damaged, with eight or nine out of every ten lost. Almost all the siege equipment was gone—most of it was made of wood, and once it caught fire, it was useless.
By comparison, the casualties were not too bad.
More than two hundred dead, over three hundred burned, around two hundred injured or maimed after being trampled by cattle and sheep, and nearly a hundred tents destroyed by falling sparks.
The Bearded Man glowered. "Is that all?"
The subordinate trembled at the icy edge in his voice.
He stammered, "M-my report is complete—"
The moment the words left his mouth, the Bearded Man angrily swept the low table in front of him away. His face trembled from the force of his outburst as he glared at the subordinate, who didn't dare so much as breathe too loudly, and roared, "Your report is complete? What about the people? Where did they go?"
The crash of objects flying through the air joined his roar.
Hot sweat ran down the subordinate's forehead. He didn't dare move.
The atmosphere in the main tent was murderous and oppressive in the extreme.
"Your subordinate... Your subordinate couldn't stop them..."
The Bearded Man grabbed an object and hurled it at the subordinate's forehead. "You fool! How many of them were there? You couldn't even catch that few? What use are you? This is a military camp, and a bunch of criminals came and went as they pleased—and even burned our supplies! Aren't you ashamed?"
The subordinate didn't even dare try to dodge.
He took the blow head-on.
A loud bang exploded beside