Military Colony Camp, Barbarian Soldiers March South

Golden October had come, the breath of harvest riding in on the north wind, the fresh fragrance of fruit spreading across the plains. The corn in the fields was fully ripe, and tens of thousands of farmers labored busily, reaping the fruits of a year's cultivation. Joyful smiles shone on their faces.

Before the autumn harvest, the rains had been plentiful, and this year's yield was very good. After paying tribute and taxes, they still had enough grain left to fill the granaries set aside against famine. And once the corn was harvested, they could return home and truly sleep a good night's sleep.

The able-bodied men of the military colonies used bronze sickles, so they harvested far faster than ordinary villages. They had finally finished the autumn harvest with great difficulty, only for new orders to arrive from the Royal Capital. The military-colony officers opened the camp warehouses and distributed the long spears and shields that had been stored away for so long. Very soon, they would take up their weapons and move camp to garrison south of the capital region.

The blazing sun was like fire, falling over the military-colony camp in the lake region, shining straight down until people's faces burned hot. At the center of the camp was the drill ground; on one side stood rows of thatched huts, and on the other were the armory, granaries, and kitchens. Smoke rose from the kitchens, carrying the aroma of grain. The cooks were preparing corn cakes for the coming march.

At that moment, old Militia Chiwako sat before the empty armory with a sullen face, legs spread wide. He wore a plain old cloth robe, had a ragged straw hat against the sun on his head, and a sturdy long spear lay by his feet. In his