When Aierlinni and the others, escorting the tide of refugees, caught sight of that frontier city of Cormyr in the distance, it was already the evening of the third day since the demonic tide had erupted.
For ordinary humans, this was almost an impossible miracle:
From Semberholme along the Moonsea Road to Tifanton—two and a half days of forced marching, over five hundred kilometers!
In an age like this, perhaps only these darlings of the forest could endure it, especially when they had to fight scattered demons to the death all along the way.
And even with the "Levises" buying them the most precious four hours, by the time this refugee convoy of over a hundred thousand elves and half-elves reached Tifanton, fewer than half remained.
Of the more than two hundred thousand humans from the Dalelands who had joined them midway, fewer than twenty thousand were left. That alone showed how brutal the journey had been.
Aierlinni's eyes were dry, sore, and red. More than once along the way, she had nearly watched helplessly as the refugee columns were suddenly intercepted by demons and the crowds scattered.
Many had died on the spot, while even more had been scattered by the demons, fallen behind, and gone missing.
To go missing amid an invasion by the Demon Army meant that, in all likelihood, survival was no longer possible.
The Combat Strength of Material Plane humanoids and Abyssal demons simply did not exist on the same plane. A sudden encounter in the wilderness, without the protection of any fortifications, often meant the beginning of a bloody massacre.
Yet Aierlinni could only warn herself rationally: Don't stop. Don't stop!
The moment they halted, they would only drag more Compatriots into that seemingly bottomless tide of darkness, and waste the golden four hours