CHAPTER 506: 508. WAR REFUGEES

Lann followed his instincts up the mountain, still within the range of the small grove.

The landscape on this small island always seemed quite miniature.

First, he passed a seemingly solemn tomb, with a stone platform in front adorned with fresh flowers and a few candles.

"Tomb of Tie Liushi"

The name was engraved on the front of the stone platform before the tomb.

Lann glanced briefly and continued on his path.

This was probably the grave of some local ancient hero of Megaliss; in the long-standing civilization of history, such commemorative tombs were always scattered wide.

After passing the Tomb of Tie Liushi, a few more steps revealed the entrance to a cave.

"It seems they really didn’t, or don’t know how to, cover their tracks."

Lann murmured as he looked at the chaotic and numerous footprints on the ground at the cave’s entrance.

Mentos chimed in at this moment.

"This allows us to rule out your previously established first and third hypotheses."

The Demon Hunter nodded silently and then walked straightforwardly into the cave.

As he entered, he didn’t put a Quen Rune on himself, nor did he place his hand on the hilt of his sword.

This relaxed attitude was comparable even to when he strolled through Mogala City.

Upon entering the cave, a strong ’scent of life’ wafted over him.

It wasn’t bandits, nor Athenian soldiers camped in the mountain cave.

There was no smell of blood or metallic military gear.

The smell of sweat, the body odor from long periods without being able to wash, mixed with the aroma of barley made into rations...

Thanks to the Ancient Greeks having a decent sense of hygiene, they didn’t dispose of their excrement in their living cave or near the cave entrance.

"Alright, snap~"

Lann slapped his own forehead and spoke helplessly.

What lay before him was exactly one of his many predictions—a group of war refugees.

Old and young, men and women, about a dozen sallow and emaciated Megaliss people gathered in this not-so-deep cave.

Their cheeks were hollowed, with dirt and sweat dried into a layer of black cracks over their bodies.

Clearly, they’d been hungry for a long time; even though the cave carried the scent of barley, they lay listlessly on the grass mats on the ground, trying to conserve energy.

Like startled birds, the ’snap’ sound from Lann made these people jump up on the spot!

Children and the elderly clung to each other in fright, and the few robust adults, led by a Black woman, trembled as they walked up to Lann.

The Mediterranean is the crossroads of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and with thriving slave trade, any ethnicity appearing here wasn’t surprising.

Lann glanced over them; they were unarmed.

"Who... who are you? Please leave... don’t come near us... I beg you!"

Though the Black woman led to speak, facing Lann while pointing outside, she still seemed rather timid.

The Demon Hunter crossed his arms and used his towering height to look down on these people, slightly silent.

The steel armor he wore made soft noises with his slightest movements.

However, when a person exudes immense authority, appearing capable of twisting off everyone’s heads in the next second... a burst of dust from their body alone could send shivers down anyone’s spine.

The slight silence further sapped the remaining courage from everyone opposite.

Fear grew steadily... Yet Lann adeptly controlled the boundary between ’fear’ and ’hysteria.’

"You don’t look like murderers."

The Demon Hunter spoke, and the nearly stagnant atmosphere in the cave suddenly relaxed.

"Or did those Spartan Warriors underestimate you when transporting grain?"

"What? No! Wait! Please don’t!"

The leader, the Black woman’s emotions swung rapidly within a brief time.

Initially, she was bewildered, then suddenly recalled something terrifying, desperately shouting to Lann.

The first bout of confusion was genuine, her instinctive response not believing she’d killed any Spartans.

Through innate, almost gifted ability to sense group emotions, Lann keenly captured the information behind her instantaneous emotional display.

The Spartan corpses were unrelated to them, but they had taken the food.

Furthermore, they naturally assumed him a Spartan minion sent to investigate, fearing he’d decapitate them at the slightest disagreement.

This was indeed a misunderstanding.

After all, few could just arrive in an area and, with clear objectives and logic, understand the needs of an encamped army and start acting upon them.

This requires a vision and education beyond the era.

Lann happened to have both.

"Go ahead, I will listen."

The Demon Hunter, still with arms crossed, looked down on the group, this misunderstanding giving him sufficient reason to start questioning.

"Who are you people? What happened with that Spartan transport cart?"

"We are mere farmers from outside Mogala City. Since the war began, we haven’t even been eligible to enter within Mogala’s sturdy walls, left with our fields to be ravaged by Spartans and Athenians alike."

The leading Black woman didn’t cry, as it was already the second year of the Peloponnesian War, with both sides having waged a long stalemate.

By this point, those still willing to expend energy on ’crying’ were nearly all dead.

According to her, they’d been hungry for a long time, but leaving the mountains would only turn them into hangers-on for Spartan or Athenian armies.

Thus, they could only eke out a life in these little mountains.

The discovery of that Spartan grain transport was purely coincidental, as they typically dared not approach the paths frequented by them.

But that day, they heard from afar a series of quick, brief screams, then the despairing clamor of armor being ripped apart.

Driven by hunger, they went to the site and witnessed the aftermath.

A man in simple mercenary leather armor, wearing an intricately-patterned full-metal helmet.

When he withdrew the short dagger from the Spartan’s chest plate, the metal screeched from friction.

With his bare fists, he shattered the sturdy wooden cart, spilling the grain over the ground.

When this group of refugees approached, they thought they’d be effortlessly killed for witnessing the scene.

But the man merely glanced indifferently at them before preparing to leave.

However, he suddenly paused as if recalling something, then allowed them to take the grain.

"’Take it, Megaliss people, seize the grain that belongs to you. Athens will not let its allies suffer. In the future, whenever I attack a Spartan transport cart, you can freely take the food on it.’... The man’s name was Icarus, and those were his words."

The leading woman spoke dejectedly, shoulders slumped.

Lann listened silently, only emphasizing one question at the end.

"You’re sure he ’was going to leave but suddenly stopped after seeing you’?"