“Are those… refugees?” Fia’s eyebrows furrowed cutely as she looked at the hundreds of people below at the narrow pass.
It had only been about fifteen minutes since she heard the noise.
Although she encountered quite a few troubles along the way—like the ground suddenly bursting open, thorny vines hanging from branches, and green mist spewing from roadside bushes—these obstacles hardly troubled her, mostly silenced with a single kick.
She was currently in a carefully chosen, concealed bush on the side of the road.
“It’s not an army marching, but refugees fleeing,” Fia muttered under her breath, sticking her...
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