On the third morning of the Hunt Plan, scattered Ratfolk began appearing on the grasslands outside the Forest.
The Windmill Duchy's Minister of War, the first to arrive, volunteered to deal with the stragglers himself.
Faced with the ignorant, arrogant Minister of War, Annan had no choice but to ask him to send a trusted aide north with Dragon-Taming Boy Elder and Ghost.
They returned in half the time it had taken on their last trip... which meant the distance between them and the Ratfolk had halved.
The Minister of War's aide had wind-tangled hair and a deathly pale face. He nearly fell as he slid off the dragon's back.
He struggled to speak. "Ratfolk... So many Ratfolk..."
Unease swept over the Minister of War. "How many, exactly?"
Annan simply showed him the Magic Film Ghost had recorded.
When the Minister of War saw the Ratfolk stretching to the horizon like a tide, he began to tremble too. "W-we have to tell... tell the Empire! The Ratfolk are moving north!"
Annan calmly handed the Magic Stone back to Ghost. "The Empire already knows. They're the target of our Hunt."
"We're... going to Hunt them?"
The Minister of War looked as though he had just heard a colony of ants propose building a sandcastle to meet a tsunami...
"Would the Empire send us here to die?" Annan asked.
For some reason, the Minister of War fell silent...
"Did I say something wrong?" Annan asked Blom, puzzled.
"The Tartun Empire doesn't have a good reputation..."
"I know. The Bone King, a nation of Barbarians, their fondness for bone ornaments, and all that..."
"That's not what I mean. The Empire has been brutally subjugating the countries around it... It didn't get that many vassals as a free gift with a pair of Fast