He had honored the agreement and not troubled Sheffield Benedict, letting the seventh bring him back.

The seventh’s wings, nearly reaching a length of three meters, spiraled in the sky until Sheffield Benedict crossed the border line, and then it turned to leave.

Sheffield Benedict looked back in the direction where the seventh had departed.

In the distance, a light was shining; that was the direction of its home.

"Did they give you any trouble?" Frederick Shaw asked.

Sheffield Benedict shook his head, his expression gentle yet aloof, "No."

Frederick Shaw let out a sigh of relief, "That’s good."

If something had actually happened to Sheffield Benedict, he would have had a difficult time explaining to the royal family.

...

Wanderers’ camp.

Compared to that of the Empire, the wanderers’ camp could only be described in two words.

Primitive.

The cracked earth was desolate, overgrown with weeds.

As if untouched by humans for a hundred years.

And yet, in such a place, the wanderers had erected extremely rudimentary tents.

How basic?

Simply sticks gathered from everywhere, supporting a piece of old, yellowed cloth.

There were roughly a few hundred such makeshift tents.

Some tents housed five to six people, others three to four.

All in all, there were just over two thousand people.

Compared to the tens of thousands in the Imperial forces, it indeed seemed pitifully few.

Yet even so, the Empire still dared not act rashly.

When Sixth Hoffman brought back the news that Hannah had entered the Blackwood Forest, everyone was shocked.

"Why would the boss go into the Blackwood Forest for no reason?"

"It must have been those Imperials forcing him, I’m heading out now to wipe them out!"

"Everyone, cool down!" Sixth Hoffman sat on a small stool, his leg nonchalantly crossed over, his pose exuding arrogance, "Can’t you all use your heads for once, you bunch of brutes?"

A circle of a dozen or so brutes looked his way.

Several of them still had greasy mouths.

They were used to wandering outside, enduring all kinds of hardships, to the point of cannibalism when starvation hit.

Eating one’s own hands, then feet.

Those were not days fit for humans.

Those high and mighty nobles never treated them as such either.

Later, when they banded together and came across Hannah, life began to improve.

Brute number one put down the large bone in his hand, "So, Sixth, why did our boss go into the Blackwood Forest?"

"Well..." Sixth Hoffman scratched his beard, having to guess as he’d forgotten to ask Sheffield Benedict himself, "Hungry!"

"What?" Brute number two looked over with curiosity.

Sixth Hoffman slapped his thigh, explaining, "Our boss must have been hungry, so he went to the Blackwood Forest to look for food!"

A very unreliable explanation.

But it was this unreliable explanation that managed to persuade the majority of the brutes present.

"But isn’t it the breeding season for mutant beasts?"

Someone raised a new concern.

Mutant beasts during their breeding season were extremely dangerous.

Sixth Hoffman waved his hand dismissively, "A mere mutant beast, a match for our boss? Back in the day, our boss could single-handedly take on an entire mech squad!"

Speaking of Hannah’s past, Sixth Hoffman grew excited.

He was like a street performer, with only a judge’s bench block missing for effect.

When he got excited, spittle would fly, a common occurrence.

Unfortunately for the ones in the front row.

They wiped their faces, only to find them covered in spit.

"Not to complain, but Sixth Hoffman, do you really know what you’re talking about?"

"What do you mean?" Sixth Hoffman stopped and looked at the person.