Sarve and Pete followed behind the carriage, their eyes constantly glancing at the tightly drawn curtain at the back, looking at the cargo boxes that occasionally peeked out, a sense of unease rising in their hearts.
What exactly is the master planning?
Unfortunately, no one answered their question.
Everyone was brought to a barren piece of land to the north of the estate, not far from a sparse forest, where it seemed a Black Bear had dashed past.
The cold wind swept through, slicing across the face like a knife. Sarve and the hundred or so peasants shrank their necks, unsure of what awaited them.
Until the Steward signaled the servants to uncover the curtain on the carriage.
It wasn't farming tools loaded on the cart.
There were no hoes, no axes, and no heavy plows for clearing the land; instead, there were neatly stacked Flintlock Guns.
