After a night of tossing and turning, Haediyar finally ordered a retreat early the next morning.
Staying meant nothing but waiting to die. Though he had never heard the saying that preserving the people while losing the land would ultimately save both, he understood the principle well enough.
The entire fortress sprang to life. Soldiers called for their children while packing equipment and supplies, preparing for the long journey ahead.
They had faced the enemy's assault head-on the day before and knew that they and their comrades could not hold Hrus Castle.
That figure alone, who seemed like a demon god, was beyond anyone's ability to stop. Olaf Jarl had not even lasted a single exchange against him.
Without Commander Allen's help, this would have been a hopeless battle.
If things continued like this, time would bring them only one of two endings: capture or death in battle.
Leaving now was therefore a reasonable choice for these soldiers.
Most of the commoners, however, could not bear to leave their homeland. Their families had lived here for generations, tending fields inherited from their fathers and grandfathers for more years than anyone could count. They simply could not accept being told to leave.
There was still some time to spare, and Haediyar did not want to leave his subjects to the Dark Cult. Who knew whether they might one day become cultists who turned their blades on him?
At first, Haediyar sent out several squads of attendants to gather the elders and respected older residents from each settlement. He had them announce the decision and tell the villagers to prepare to leave as quickly as possible.
The results were poor. There were clashes, arguments, and even fights with axes. The migration made no progress at all.
There was no denying that ferocity