The sound of horse steps and movements were not light, and although this small camp looked unguarded, on the land of Velen, anyone in the wild without guards had already turned into manure.
"Who's there?"
First came the sound of metal clashing, then a spear extended out from the tent.
At first, it was laid flat, but once the spear's blade emerged from the tent, it stood upright.
Following it was a soldier who was struggling to adjust his helmet.
His face was dark, but it wasn't due to skin color or labor.
From Lann's first glance, he had the answer; it was a layer of black grime formed by a mix of unwashed dust, sweat, and grease.
His untidy beard lacked grooming, by which time Lann had already led Bopai close by.
With a glance inside the tent, there were two more soldiers sprawled out as they tried to get up holding onto storage boxes.
The black-faced soldier, who first spoke, started to grow impatient and repeated his question.
