Saint Clair brought together the Empire's most powerful Extraordinary Ones. No plague had ever spread here in previous years; even the slightest sign of an outbreak would bring someone to stamp it out immediately.
The residents here had never seen any large-scale epidemic.
Yet now the plague had come. At first, people tried to hide from it, but there was no escaping it. Like this poverty and hunger, it had inexplicably sprung up on this land, feeding on people's flesh and blood.
Most of the refugees who came here were infected. Some carefully covered the festering sores on their bodies, while others hesitantly warned the Communion's believers.
Fortunately, the people of the Communion had not closed off the Hearthfire District because of this.
But now, the people gradually steeped in despair began closing in toward the front.
Many raised their heads to look at the Hearthfire District ahead.
They had already contracted the disease, and this much-rumored Hearthfire District did not seem able to offer them new hope either.
As death gradually approached, those who still had strength would always try to struggle.
Order remained, but undercurrents stirred beneath the surface. The refugees' hopes gradually shifted from staying alive to dying with full stomachs.
The sky grew dark. The refugees had begun gathering in the afternoon, and the late-autumn evening wind chilled them to the bone. They all wrapped themselves up tightly.
The nobles had timed the refugees' gathering precisely to put the Hearthfire District in a dilemma.
How would they house them tonight?
The Communion's members seemed not to notice. They continued distributing relief in an orderly fashion, without relaxing their screening and verification because of this. Entering the Hearthfire District still required strict checks.
Except-
Had they brought out a large pot?
People looked up at the pot.