Roman led the convoy and arrived at Pudun Village at dusk.
Calling it a village was actually a misnomer; it was a cluster of small hamlets considered one entity by Roman since they all lay in close proximity.
They had passed through a stretch of land dyed red with blood.
Under the cover of night, these lands bore a deeper hue, with the thick scent of blood lingering in the air.
It was clear that a fierce skirmish had taken place here not long ago.
The battlefield had been cleared.
But some severed fingers and chunks of flesh weren't worth picking up.
A frightened scream escaped from a farmer who stepped on half a palm on the road, but it was quickly suppressed.
The numerous slaves were just too exhausted to incite any further commotion, wanting only to find a place to rest.
The farmers from Doug Village were the worst off; they had been on the road all day, subsisting on slices of bread to replenish their strength, and now they were both hungry and thirsty.
