The starry night sky enveloped the vast camp. Little bonfires raise invisible smoke. Everywhere in the entire Red Crow "city", the fragrance of food is wafting. The diffuse and blending atmosphere is like an open-air barbecue on the whole street.

"Sh...it smells so good!...What kind of chief is this? You don't even care about dinner..."

Chivako, an old militiaman, sniffed, swallowed, and touched his hungry stomach. As he muttered, he walked to the Chippewa hut,

The content of this chapter is being updated...