After a short rest, Little Knife led his men on a patrol of Doro Town.
The town was small, with few buildings. Aside from the Earth Mother Goddess Church and a few workshops-smithies, carpentry shops, cobblers, and leather shops-there were only fifty or sixty houses built of wood and stone, with four to five hundred permanent residents.
Possibly even fewer.
Little Knife reached that conclusion after a quick patrol. Many of Doro Town's residents had fled their homes because of the war, so he had no way to calculate the town's exact population.
Since he didn't know, he might as well ask someone.
"Old fellow, how many people live in Doro Town?"
Little Knife turned to ask the elderly herdsman who was leading a cow and had a child with him. The man listened carefully to his heavily Bohemian-accented words, then answered in Bagnia's official language with an even thicker local accent.
"I don't know..."
He didn't know?
Seeing the fear on the old herdsman's face, Little Knife thought he understood.
Oh, he was afraid to say.
No, Rob genuinely didn't know. He was just a cowherd who grazed cattle in the mountains. Even counting cows required all his fingers and toes, and anything over twenty confused him. How could he possibly give an accurate count of the town's population?
It was fine if he wouldn't say. Little Knife wasn't going to hold it against an NPC like the old herdsman.
He made a circuit, found the players responsible for carrying the pots and food, and told them to start cooking. Then he headed to the church himself.
When Little Knife entered the church, he found many players gathered inside, talking animatedly as they discussed the raid and reviewed what had gone right and wrong.
"How many casualties did we