On the vast and desolate wasteland, a long procession trudged along, the sound of countless footsteps mingling with the howling wind. The yellow sand billowed in the air, whipped up by the passing of this weary caravan, as if nature itself was lamenting their arduous journey.
Teresa's dulcet voice cut through the monotonous drone of the wind, drawing Limon's attention. "It's such a pity. There are many female mercenaries in Keen Village. On the battlefield in front of the Deadwood Forest and during the chaos in Keen Village last night, only nearly a thousand female mercenaries managed to be resurrected. Sir, do you have any idea what might be going on?" she inquired, her beautiful eyes gazing up at Limon, who sat astride his horse with an air of solemnity.
