Three months later, late at night, in Siwalant.
A group of people wearing black cloaks were running swiftly through the jungle, panting heavily. Even though their bodies felt like they were about to fall apart, they did not stop, nor did they dare to look back.
They could hear the echo from deep within the jungle, resembling the sound of metal scraping against rock, approaching like a soul-reaping emissary, getting closer and closer to them.
Ahead, there was nothing but an endless expanse of trees. Sensing the imminent threat, a few men with red runes painted on their faces gritted their teeth and stopped, watching the crows startled in the depths of the forest, they changed direction, adjusting their breathing.
"You must go to the Empire."
The man at the front drew his longsword with both hands, assuming a stance for confrontation. The red patterns on his face glowed with a dark crimson light, which extended to the blade he was gripping tightly.
