Chapter 28: The Omen of War
Dirt and murky water from the ponds splattered onto Sollivan’s already soiled clothes and shoes. He gripped his bag tightly, maintaining his full focus. No one paid him any attention or mocked his peculiar speed in fleeing, as everyone was too busy running and escaping—both men and women alike. They gathered their essential belongings and fled their homes.
Some frantic women began searching for their children, screaming their names in panic, while others carried their sick loved ones on their shoulders or backs, taking only the bare minimum to avoid slowing themselves down. Everyone ran, and within minutes, the alleys of the impoverished district were filled with people.
The haphazard accumulation of makeshift houses made the district densely packed, and now that everyone had poured out, the alleys became congested and impassable. No one attempted to organize the escape or even paused to check on others. Each person looked out for themselves, revealing their selfish instincts. Chaos erupted, and thieves and thugs began looting properties and breaking into homes.
As for Sollivan, he watched his escape route quickly fill up and exhaled in frustration. He had anticipated something like this and had prepared his belongings in advance to shorten his escape time. Yet, he was still delayed and could only curse his bad luck.
For the city’s residents, the ringing of the bell signified four things: one ring indicated either dawn or dusk; two rings signaled the arrival of an important figure in the city; three rings were a warning of war and an imminent enemy attack; and four rings meant a savage tide was emerging from the forest. Since the bell was a low-level arcane tool, its sound traveled for dozens of miles in all directions, reaching even nearby villages and some neighboring cities.
The region, in general, had been unstable, with several conflicts erupting along the borders over the past forty years. However, a small city like Red Bell City had remained somewhat removed from the conflict due to its proximity to the Black Death Forest and its lack of strategic importance. Nevertheless, it had been attacked twice in the past six years. These attacks were minor and strategically aimed at drawing troops away from certain areas or provoking the mayor. Despite their limited scale, they had left several casualties among the common folk, particularly the poor. This was why panic had spread through the impoverished district.
Due to its proximity to the city walls, the poor district where Sollivan lived was within range of the enemy’s catapults, which were not designed to destroy fortifications like cannons or regular catapults but rather to bombard a wide area and kill as many soldiers and civilians as possible.
Thud!
Screams!
Crashes!
Collapses!
Those who had carts loaded them with their belongings and pushed them forcefully, adding to the congestion and making the narrow district even more cramped. Helplessly, Sollivan slowed down and struggled to see his path. Sitting in his wheelchair, his field of vision was limited and narrow. Some hurried people didn’t even notice him due to his low position, bumping into his chair and causing it to wobble. Yet, he didn’t flinch or panic, maintaining his caution and composure.