In the wilderness at the border between Bastia and Hamlet, the Barbarian Mercenaries finally caught a break after slipping into the woods.
"No one's chasing us."
"We've finally shaken them off!"
The arrival of sunlight is precious to them, even though they are accustomed to darkness, they ultimately yearn for light.
After all, being chased like piglets all night long had almost broken their legs; only those like the Barbarian Tribes trained from a young age could withstand it, while serfs wouldn't last a few steps before dying under the sword.
"Where are we?"
"Gather everyone here."
"Coo coo coo!" A Barbarian blew a whistle that sounded like a bird penetrating through the woods.
Bruce's pursuit didn't keep them too far apart, and soon voices started echoing around, and scattered Barbarians gathered together.
