"Master, we've reached the campsite."
The wheels rolled forward, and the cleared ground awaited ahead, with about ten townsfolk still assisting in transporting supplies and clearing the area.
At the center of the open space was enough provisions for a thousand people for three days, levied by the Town Mayor.
The Duke's Steward of the Mayo Mountain mine smiled brightly, occasionally scolding the townsfolk to hurry up.
The townsfolk who arrived early to help at the campsite looked curiously and fearfully at this group of black-clad individuals.
This group of black-clad people, both old and young, wore some kind of black clothing, more or less.
Unlike the common noisy refugees, these well-drilled villagers always formed somewhat untidy but orderly queues.
No matter what they did, they were methodical. In the blink of an eye, a campsite was swiftly erected.
This was the experience and skills honed during their march, which had almost become an unconscious habit.
