When Sparrowhawk regained consciousness, he found himself already imprisoned.
The sparrow younger brother he once had high hopes for hadn't gone far, but now that person was wearing his clothes. Sparrowhawk could see that the sparrow younger brother was speaking with the jailer and even received a bag of copper coins from him.
In such a situation, no matter how slow Sparrowhawk was, he already realized he'd been betrayed.
"Cunning! Cunning southerners!"
Sparrowhawk clenched his fists tightly and cursed viciously.
"Damn it! Southerners truly are damnable!"
Such hatred, such hatred. At this moment, Sparrowhawk's heart was filled with resentment.
It was because he couldn't stand the two-faced nature of the southerners that he, a southerner himself, longed for the prairie—where there was no such scheming, no deceptions, and where the cold winds of the northern deserts honed true men. That brave, fearless appearance was true strength.
