The queue waiting to enter the city made their way through the white snowfield, from the side gate to the jungle that was difficult to see. The crowd of pens, fun, and pavilions www.biquge.info slowly squirmed forward like frozen earthworms. Miloka tugged at the limp edge of her hood so that it lowered the bridge of her nose and covered her eyes. From dawn to mid-afternoon, he was careful to blend in with the refugees, but to great displeasure - even if he was not armed, his tattered sackcloth cloak could not hide the aura that emanated from him.

Faced with the sheer size of the city and the towering walls of Lion Harbor, Miloka also knew that the assault would inevitably cost a lot of money, and the outcome was still unknown, so General Zog's siege plan was indeed impeccable - of course, in General Zog's eyes, the casualties of the people and the attrition of the war were two completely unrelated figures - However, he still could not accept the sacrifice of innocent people in the already difficult lives in exchange for victory in the war, so he refused to participate in the attacks on the villages of Lion Harbor Territory many times, despite his status as a senior officer.

The snow was heavier, and the team staggered forward. The guards guarding the gate impatiently rummaged through the refugees' luggage, confiscated everything that looked good, and then unceremoniously ordered them to pack up their packages and leave.

"Let go, old fellow!" one of the soldiers brutally snatched the old man's sack from the old man who had walked in front of Miloca, and threw his meagre belongings to the ground.

Obscured by her hood, Miloka could not observe the city gates, and could only try to keep her eyes above the tip of her nose and at the old portraits scattered on the ground. In the portrait, the emaciated old man is on tiptoe, struggling to hold a young man who is much taller than him, but his face is full of satisfaction.

Miloca had seen the lad. Just a few days earlier, when Marad had led an Imperial army disguised as bandits to raid the town of Fristerdam, General Zog sent Miloka's team to ambush the Iron Pine Forest outside the town to prevent an emergency. Unable to bear the howling of the townspeople, Miloka left the group alone in contemplation, and happened to see the young hunter returning from the hunt - he carried a handmade short bow, and there was no trace of feathered arrows in the quiver tied to his waist, except for a bloody rabbit - and heard the cry coming from the direction of the town, and the hunter dropped his trap and galloped. At that moment, Miloka wanted to show up to stop him, but hesitation and the drag of the armor prevented Miloka from changing the hunter's fate in time.

An armoured arm in iron armor suddenly burst into Miloka's line of sight, picking up the portrait that was almost covered in snowflakes.

"Who is this?" asked the guard guarding the door, in a tone worse than a bully in a black cell.

"It's ...... It's my grandson...... My lord. The old man replied tremblingly.

"Grandson, I look like a cultist!"

"Your Excellency...... He...... He died in front of Fristerdam...... The fire of the other day. The old man explained, with a weeping voice in his voice, and he humbly begged, "Please don't ......."

"Shhh He heard the sword unsheathed and hurried footsteps, and it was clear that the guards had no intention of sparing the old man.

"Stop!" a deep shout rang out before Miloca's attack, drawing the attention of the guards.

"Hah, do old things like to die?" the guards mocked, and then erupted into a jumble, disdainful laugh.