A vast caravan loaded with goods traveled along the road, stirring up clouds of dust and forming a grand dragon of smoke. This migration team, bustling with noise and comprising nearly ten thousand people, had passengers dressed in luxurious clothing sitting in carriages, all displaying faces of reluctance and anxiety.
Leaving one's homeland, a place where generations had lived for nearly a thousand years, was hard for anyone, creating feelings of loss and uncertainty about the future.
However, regardless of their feelings, the decision had been made by the clan's upper echelons: they could only choose to comply, especially now that the domestic situation had become untenable for their continued existence.
Fighting on a battlefield to maintain their wealth—what a joke! Everything they possessed had been earned through the blood and sweat of their ancestors; why should the king be able to strip it away with just a word?
