With the promise of more reinforcement coming in a week, Alpheo departed from the city the very next day.
Two days had passed as Alpheo's army marched steadily toward Confluendi, the land around them growing eerily desolate. The fields lay barren, the homes and barns of the scattered villages they passed standing silent, as though abandoned in haste. There were no signs of life—no livestock, no villagers—just emptiness.
Egil, riding beside Alpheo, narrowed his eyes as they approached yet another deserted village. "No bodies," he muttered, scanning the scene. "No blood either. These places weren't raided."
Jarza, riding on the other side, grunted in agreement. "The rebels must've cleared everything out themselves. Took all the food they could find." He glanced toward the city looming in the distance. "The people probably either fled to Confluendi or moved to other villages, refugees by now."
