The wind carried smoke and shouting long before the horns sounded.
The northern camp, once calm, now seethed like a boiling pot.
From the ridge above, Duke Lian could see torches moving — hundreds of them — bobbing in the darkness like angry fireflies.
"Your Grace!" a soldier stumbled up the hill, breathless. "The villagers— they've gathered at the supply yard! They say the Duke hides food meant for them!"
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "That's absurd. We distributed grain this morning."
General Roung strode forward, his face grim. "Rumors spread faster than fire, my lord. Someone's feeding them lies."
Below, the shouts grew louder. "Traitors! Thieves! Give us our food!"
The Duke felt his stomach twist. After all we did… someone still twists their hunger into hatred.
By the time they reached the yard, the scene had already spiraled out of control.
Dozens of starving villagers, men and women both, surrounded the wagons filled with grain sacks.
