Once again, Hadjar witnessed how, without him even knowing about it, his name had become something significant in the Strange Lands. Across the entire camp, which numbered about five tents, three stagecoaches, and forty sledges, whispers rose up. The people were all distracted, forgoing their tasks for a bit to try and get a look at the Master about whom all the bards and minstrels for hundreds of leagues in every direction had been singing for the last few months.
Taking advantage of the situation, Hadjar counted up the total participants of this expedition. Fifty-three people. Forty men and thirteen women, counting Tekkana and Lathea. There wasn’t a single cultivator below the peak-stage Lord level. And there were only twenty-three such people. Most of the others were Nameless of diffe
