A prisoner's wagon slowly rolled through the city gates.
All eyes were drawn to the sight, everyone turning to look.
Inside the wagon, a prisoner knelt, dressed in ragged clothes with his hair disheveled.
His hands and feet were bound in incredibly heavy shackles, making it difficult to even lift a hand.
Although it was already spring, the Capital City was in the north, and a lingering chill filled the air. The man, however, wore only thin clothes, and his exposed hands and feet were swollen and discolored from the cold.
His shoulder, in particular, appeared to be injured and had been crudely bandaged.
But the gauze, which hadn't been changed in who knows how long, was stained with dried, dark-red blood and streaks of filth.
One could tell without looking that his body was likely covered in wounds beneath his clothes.
"Look! That's the captured leader of the Nanhu bandits!"
Someone in the crowd shouted.
