The sky was overpoweringly gloomy, with thick, relentless clouds enshrouding the land.
The flames of war had ceased in Ice Rock City, but the citizens' spirits remained heavy.
Especially the slaves who had surrendered; they were once again shackled and squatted trembling at the foot of the city wall, their hearts filled with despair.
"Hey, Cripple, do you reckon the Lord is going to starve us to death?"
The slave named Cripple scratched his head, grumbling, "How would I know?"
"Is there a need to even think about it?" Another slave lying on the ground weakly said, "The city is already short of food; how could the Lord possibly waste any on us?"
"So... we're just sitting here waiting to die?"
"What else? You think you can fight your way out?"
The body of the questioning slave began to uncontrollably tremble, as if recalling the horrifying scene of the Dark Cavalry's charge. He immediately shut up.
The scent of despair thickened.
