The rich aroma of wheat porridge wafted through the air, and for the hungry refugees, this place was nothing short of Heaven.
Holding his bowl, Old Hank squatted at the edge of the camp, his face filled with disbelief, and murmured quietly.
"Turns out the Green Forest Army drove us to the edge of the castle not to starve us, but to conveniently distribute food to us..."
Having filled his stomach, he couldn't help but arrive at a conclusion that seemed bizarre yet reasonable to him.
It seemed he had indeed misjudged this group of bandits—
Oh no, the Salvation Army.
Not only was Old Hank filled with disbelief, but most refugees in the camp felt the same way.
Under the curse of hunger, they consumed everything edible they could find, whether it was earthworms in the ground or barely digestible tree bark.
There wasn't a single tree with bark within a ten-mile radius.
Now, their survival felt like a dream.
