The smell of fresh stew and warm rice drifted through the air, drawing soldiers from every corner of the camp. Some were limping, some were bruised, others barely able to hold their bowls—but when they saw the food being brought out, their eyes lit up like children at New Year's.
They gathered around in scattered lines, bowls in hand, eager but still holding discipline.
And then came the murmurs.
"Is that… the general's wife?"
"No way. What's he doing here?"
"He's serving food…?"
Nori, in his simple black robe and half-covered face, moved gracefully between the soldiers, a ladle in hand, scooping stew into their bowls. His steps were quiet, his eyes tired, but his hands steady.
"Here," he said gently, offering food to a younger soldier with bandaged arms.
The boy blinked, clearly unsure whether to accept it. "My lord… y-you're really…"
"I am," Nori said with a faint smile, placing the ladleful into the bowl. "And you're hungry."
