917 Yorkshire

With Leylin’s current reputation and the nobles now seeing his true colours, they politely spouted a whole pile of meaningless words. They then sped off as if their rear ends had been set on fire.

Soon enough, the tent began to seem a little desolate. Only a few figures chose to remain, one of which was someone Leylin was on familiar terms with.

“Baron Andrew! I never thought you would make such a choice,” Leylin said calmly as he looked at the middle-aged noble, who was constantly taking his silk handkerchief out and wiping his face.

“The orcs are attacking extremely ferociously. Even the werecreatures were not so easily dealt with. The ration stores in my territory aren’t enough to get us past this winter famine…” Baron Andrew laughed wryly, “I only have a humble request… When we pass by my territory, may I bring a part of my family along?”

Leylin nodded, “As long as the numbers are within a hundred, and if you bring your own supplies.”