After the sun had passed noon, the fleeing convoy suddenly rang with the exhausted neighs of horses, one after another. At least a dozen horses slowed down and were left behind by the main group.
These were among the poorer people in the group. What they rode were not special horses with Magic Beast bloodlines that could race a thousand miles, but the fine steeds commonly used by adventurers.
Fine steeds were certainly good horses, far beyond ordinary nags—but they had been running since the night before, all the way until now. No matter how fine they were, they had been utterly worn out.
The riders were just as exhausted. They watched the convoy continue away without stopping, fell silent for a while, then sighed and halted.
"There's no helping it." One of the stronger men in the group said, "This is probably as far as we can run."
"What do we do next?" another person asked. "Where do we go?"
"Does it make much difference where we go?" the man who had spoken earlier said irritably. "When a true god is hunting you down, running anywhere is much the same."
"Maybe we'd be safer inside a temple," someone else said. "Let's find a temple."
"Even the temple priests are running alongside us. Do you think they're stupider than you?" The stronger man sneered, found a relatively level patch of grassland, and lay down. "I've figured it out. I'll just lie here. If His Majesty wants me dead, it makes no difference where I am. At least let me catch my breath properly before I die."
Seeing this, most of the others found places of their own, sitting or lying down.
After fleeing for most of the night and half the day, they had come to understand that this escape