The suspension bridge began to sway as groups of villagers clutched their carts, not daring to look at the rushing river below, and made their way to the opposite shore.
"Is there still time?" Jeanne stubbornly gripped Horn's arm. "Just wait for three more small sandglasses, and they can cross the bridge."
"There's no time." Watching the villagers singing their Celestial dreams, Qianqian warned, "We must cut the suspension bridge ahead of time, or those who've crossed will not survive."
"Alright, then we must abandon them..." After half a minute of silence, Horn responded softly.
Perhaps, he should have listened to Qianqian. He insisted on bringing everyone to escape, but ended up having to abandon these 300 old, weak, women, and children.
Perhaps it was a good thing?
With 300 fewer people, his retreat might be smoother, and he could reach Joan of Arc Castle sooner.
There, with his knowledge, ability, and learning, he would certainly become a prominent figure.
