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Urich and Sven pulled the reins on their horses and ascended the mountain. The path was steep but well-trodden, showing that people frequent it.
"Pilgrims?"
"They’ve brought horses."
Along the mountain path were shabby huts. The northerners emerging from them observed Urich and Sven closely.
"Be careful with the horses. They might get stolen and eaten the moment we take our eyes off them.”
Sven warned Urich after noticing the famished state of the Mulin northerners. Their faces were gaunt, showing their desperate hunger from being isolated in this land where hunting was the only means of sustenance. Yet, their eyes shone with religious fervor.
'These people are all either enduring physical suffering for the sake of preserving their tradition and religion, or they're fleeing the empire.'
The residents of Mulin, regardless of their reasons, were those who had turned their backs on the empire.
"The Imperial army is going to be here soon. Can these people really stand up to them?" Urich skeptically remarked as he glanced at the residents. Sven didn’t respond.
"Stop right there."
Halfway up the mountain, armed warriors blocked their path. Their faces looked healthier than those...
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