At dawn the massive refugee column resumed its slow march south.
The journey was dangerous, yet strangely uneventful. Bands of nomadic riders occasionally appeared on distant hills, their silhouettes watching from afar like wolves stalking prey.
But none dared attack.
The caravan was simply too large.
Hundreds of refugees trudged across the open plains while soldiers and mounted warriors surrounded them like a moving fortress.
Yet the danger had not disappeared.
The nomads were only waiting.
When several scouting riders galloped away to gather reinforcements for a proper raid, the commanding officer of the escort—an arrogant **Army Marquis of the Crimson Sun Empire**—immediately issued new orders.
Forced march.
Day and night.
No rest.
The goal was simple.
Outrun the enemy before they could gather their forces.
But the consequences were brutal.
Refugees began collapsing along the road.
First the elderly.
Then the children.
Then the weak and starving.
Hunger and exhaustion devoured them.
Bodies began appearing along the endless grasslands.
Those who fell behind were abandoned without hesitation.
Ren Hao looked back once during the march.
The sight chilled his bones.
Corpses stretched across the plains like a red ribbon.
A trail of flesh and blood extending toward the horizon.
Even many soldiers of the Crimson Sun Empire turned pale at the sight.
Some of the beast-kin cavalry cursed under their breath.
"Why don't we just fight the nomads and earn merit?" one rider muttered bitterly.
"Instead we're killing civilians."
But the Army Marquis leading the column cared nothing for their complaints.
"My duty is to escort the noble clans safely south," he declared coldly.
"As for these refugees…"
He sneered.
"If even one of them reaches Yanmen Province alive, that's already a profit."
"And if they all die on the road?"
He shrugged.
"Then at least none will remain behind for the nomads to enslave."
Ren Hao's fists tightened.
Even he was barely enduring the brutal pace.
Only the **Xianbei warhorse** he had captured earlier—and the extra fodder and flatcakes secretly given to him by **General Lady Feng**—allowed him to keep up with the marching column.
Without them, he would have collapsed long ago.
Three days later, the exhausted caravan finally crossed into imperial territory.
Before them rose towering stone walls.
On the massive city gate, two enormous characters gleamed beneath the sunlight.
**Iron Gate City.**
Ren Hao stared in silence.
The village where he had first awakened in this world was far closer to imperial lands than he had expected.
Barely fifty kilometers separated it from the city.
Yet along that short road…
Half the refugees had died.
Of the original eight hundred, barely **four hundred survivors** staggered through the gates of Iron Gate City.
The city magistrate quickly stepped forward with a grand announcement.
The imperial government would help the refugees rebuild their lives.
The city granaries would be opened.
Each refugee would receive **two bowls of porridge per day**.
Cotton clothing would be distributed for the coming winter.
Later, farmland in **Yanmen Province** would be allocated so the refugees could settle permanently.
Seed loans would be provided—interest free—for three years.
Taxes would be only **one-tenth of the harvest**.
Far better than the seventy percent tribute demanded by the nomadic tribes.
The speech sounded perfect.
Hope briefly returned to the refugees.
But the reality was different.
Days passed.
Nothing happened.
No land.
No houses.
No clothing.
The refugees slept directly on the frozen streets of Iron Gate City.
Ren Hao watched in disbelief.
Even the nomadic tribes gave their slaves shelters.
Yet within the **Crimson Sun Empire**, free citizens were left to freeze like animals.
As autumn deepened into winter, **General Lady Feng** left the city to sell the spoils from their recent raid.
Before leaving, she quietly handed Ren Hao a sack of flatcakes and horse fodder.
"Stay alive until I return," she told him.
Then she rode away with her soldiers.
Days passed.
Snow began falling early that year.
The refugees who had survived the brutal march across the frontier now began dying inside the city itself.
Their bodies lay scattered across the streets like broken statues.
Every morning Ren Hao woke surrounded by corpses.
Every night he lay down beside them again.
Within days, fewer than **three hundred refugees** remained alive.
Then the city magistrate reduced the food supply.
Only **one bowl of thin porridge per day**.
The promised land and housing remained empty words.
Another day passed.
Even that final bowl of porridge disappeared.
The refugees stood trembling in the snow.
Starving.
Freezing.
Waiting to die.
That was when the **great aristocratic clans** of Iron Gate City finally appeared.
Scholars dressed in silk robes walked calmly among the starving refugees.
They inspected them like merchants examining livestock.
Tall men.
Young women.
Anyone strong enough to work.
One elegant young noble eventually stopped before Ren Hao.
His eyes studied Ren Hao's tall frame and the strange **dragon-like double pupils** in his eyes.
"Greetings, traveler from the northern frontier," the nobleman said politely.
"I am from the **Huang Clan of Yanmen**."
"If you become a servant of our household, we will provide you with land, shelter, and food."
He smiled warmly.
"You will even be given a wife from one of our cadet branches."
Ren Hao met the man's gaze calmly.
The noble's smile looked gentle.
But behind it lay something cold.
Calculating.
Cruel.
The man was not looking at a person.
He was looking at property.
The nobleman's eyes then shifted to Ren Hao's warhorse.
"A fine steppe horse," he said.
"It grows thin under your care."
"If you join our household, both you and your horse will be fed properly."
"You will even serve in our cavalry."
"Do we have an agreement?"
I