After breakfast, Kyle stepped out of the old inn where he'd been resting.
The early morning chill was already fading as the sun rose higher, but the village air still felt strangely heavy. Not with danger—just fatigue.
The villagers were finally out and about, but their movements were slow and uncertain.
Some sat outside their homes, staring into space. Others carried out their chores with half-hearted effort.
Kyle watched silently from the edge of the road, arms crossed.
It was clear what had happened to them. Their mana had been forcefully extracted during the ritual.
They were alive. That was the best part.
But they looked half-dead in spirit.
Queen landed quietly on the post beside him. It tilted its head and let out a low click.
Kyle nodded, understanding.
"No casualties. But it'll take time for them to recover."
He said softly.
By noon, a large group of riders approached from the south.
Duke Armstrong's crest shone on their armor and cloaks.
