Ankandela was gripped by hunger and panic. All government operations and public services had ground to a halt, and starvation and fear were spreading.
The rich and powerful fled en masse with their families, gold, silver, and valuables. Those who had ancestral homes or relatives in the countryside were also scrambling to escape there.
The streets of the once-prosperous city were filled with fleeing residents. They brought their families and carried what little they still owned, their eyes full of bewilderment and terror.
The city's thugs and hooligans seized the opportunity to rob passersby, swaggering through its streets and alleys. Some were brazen enough to break into homes and rape respectable women.
Where had the city's guards gone at a time like this?
The councilors who had fled early had taken them along. With Wallace's rebels operating nearby, the escape routes were unsafe, and the dignitaries needed protection. Besides their private guards, they had used their authority to requisition troops to protect themselves.
Thus, only one battered Garrison Regiment remained in Ankandela, and public order in the city had predictably collapsed.
That regiment had stayed not because the dignitaries retained a shred of conscience, but because Marlow, its commander, had refused to obey their orders.
The reason for this tragedy was simple... war.
Routed soldiers had brought back news from the front that the Third Infantry Regiment, which had attacked Bolas Fortress, had been defeated. The entire city instantly plunged into unprecedented despair.
The already precarious situation collapsed completely with that news. The last sliver of hope in people's hearts was ruthlessly torn apart, replaced by boundless fear and helplessness.
Those without enough wealth to escape could only wander the streets and alleys, searching for anything to fill their stomachs. Hungry children cried everywhere, while their parents could only hold