The Kingdom of the Nords lay in the north of the continent, close to the sea, and water was abundant there. Streams, rivers, lakes, and marshes crisscrossed the land.
Outside the roads built by the kingdom, large forces could barely get through. Much of the terrain was hilly, and forests were plentiful, with no shortage of ancient trees.
The Nord lords' fondness for building wooden castles made that plain enough.
In peaceful times, the kingdom's commoners liked to fish in the rivers, raise fish in the lakes, gather fruit on the hillsides, and plant flax and wheat along the roads.
It was hardly a prosperous life, but even after the nobles took their share, the people could just about keep themselves fed and clothed.
Now, however, everywhere Allen passed was deserted, with scarcely a soul in sight. It was late autumn, but autumn fish were at their fattest. This should have been the perfect time to catch them.
"Damn the Dark Cult."
Looking at the untended wheat fields waiting to be harvested, Duntis cursed bitterly beside Allen. The young man could not stand anyone disrupting the lives of these impoverished commoners.
"Duntis, don't let anger cloud your judgment. Something is clearly wrong here. I remember there was a village nearby. What was it called? Something ending in 'el'?"
This was clearly abnormal. According to Ragnar's information, the Dark Cult should have been besieging Marshal Eden's forces at Kurindal Castle and Tiha. This was merely an ordinary village between Sargoth and Hrus Castle.
On the map, this area lay within the protection of the Nord army's second defensive line. In theory, it should have been safe.
"Lubel Village, my lord. Its crabs and flax are quite famous."
The speaker was a dark-skinned, middle-aged man named Rolf. His face wore a bitter,