As the Two Suns slowly rose in the east, Imola and Vianis finally managed to gather nearly five hundred slaves from the Graytail and Whitemane main camps.
The two Werewolf tribes' affiliated Herbivore Tribes refused to leave with Imola, even though she, a Minotaur, was stronger than the herbivore beasts in those tribes.
"Blaze and the Magic Pattern Tiger aren't even coming to lend a hand. With those two here, no tribe would refuse to relocate."
Imola stood on a hillside, looking toward the forest to the south. She knew that several hundred cavalry led by Blaze were waiting in the woods, while the Magic-Patterned Tiger was hidden in the nearby grass, ready to prevent any sudden trouble.
Hearing her companion complain, the Elf-descendant archer Vianis smiled and tried to console her. "Forget it. You can't control those two. Getting these few hundred people safely back to the forest is already good enough, let alone bringing along Beastmen from five or six more camps."
"It's not the Beastmen I care about. It's this lot!" Imola angrily pointed at the Human Race slaves.
Without the Beastmen to keep them in line, the Human Race slaves had become especially sluggish. They stumbled along at a slow pace, their eyes darting now and then toward the high ground nearby, as if hoping some tribe of Werewolves would come back and make them slaves again.
It had taken more than forty soldiers a great deal of effort to gather five hundred slaves from various races. They were now escorting them toward the forest at a painfully slow pace. With no transport or livestock, the weak slaves moved far more slowly than Imola had expected. Yet even when she lost her temper, most of the barefoot slaves still couldn't move any faster.
"Woo~ Woo~"
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