Inventorying the Spoils

Seeing Bill die, Ryman let out a long breath. Bill had put immense pressure on Ryman—not only was he well-equipped, but he was also experienced, advancing and retreating with discipline in battle, very different from the wild beasts in the mountains or the bandits on the road. If Ryman had slipped up even once, he might have been the one lying dead.

He glanced around and saw that the enemies on this side had all been dealt with, but the sight of Lord Nord drenched in blood still startled Ryman. He quickly walked over to Nord and asked about his condition anxiously.

"Lord Nord, are you alright? Marco, didn't I tell you to protect the Lord!"

Ryman was somewhat furious, glaring at Marco as if he wanted to devour him. Marco, knowing he was in the wrong, lowered his head and dared not meet Ryman's eyes. Reed also looked cautious, afraid that Ryman might notice him.

Nord waved his hand at Ryman, signaling that he was fine, and said with a smile, "It's not Marco's fault. I chose to join the fight myself, and I'm not without combat ability. As your Lord, I should fight alongside you, not stand by and watch."

"The battle here is over. Let's first check if Old Mor's side has any problems."

Ryman knew the fight wasn't finished yet—there were still bandits in the woods to deal with, and now wasn't the time to dwell on this. So, he turned and called the group to head toward Old Mor's direction.

The battle in the woods was even easier. Although the bandits outnumbered them, they could hardly charge in front of the hunters. Especially after leaving the cover of the trees, the bandits' casualties skyrocketed. The bandits wore no armor, and when they reached the buffer zone between the path and the woods, the low shrubs couldn't block their figures at all—they were practically targets for the hunters. At such close range, Old Mor took down an enemy with every arrow. Thus, the bandits were pinned down in the woods, unable to move.

When Ryman arrived and saw this situation, he immediately relaxed. Then he directed the group to press forward into the woods.

The bandits in the woods, already terrified by their losses, saw Bill and the others dead and Ryman advancing with his men. They scattered like birds and beasts, turning to flee in panic, wishing they could grow extra legs.

Ryman stopped the group at the edge of the woods. After watching the bandits flee in all directions, he ordered the men to collect the bandits' belongings and finish off the wounded, then returned to Nord.

"Lord Nord, the battle is over. We'll clean up and can set off soon. There's no need to chase the bandits who escaped into the woods."

Nord nodded. He knew the principle of not entering a forest and not pursuing a desperate foe. Besides, this wasn't a game—everyone here was flesh and blood, living people. If they insisted on chasing the bandits into the woods and fell into an ambush, casualties would be inevitable. Even though the bandits were scared out of their wits, a cornered rabbit will still bite, let alone a group of men.

Seeing that Ryman's hands were still bleeding, Nord signaled him to bandage his wounds first.

Nord was very satisfied with Ryman. In this battle, Ryman had performed excellently—not only was his martial prowess astonishing, making it impossible not to acknowledge him as a fierce warrior, but he also stayed calm at the critical moment, choosing not to pursue the fleeing bandits. The latter pleased Nord even more. Compared to personal combat skill, a cool head was far more important, let alone having both. This was truly a talent gifted to him by heaven; Nord couldn't ask for more.

Watching Ryman bandage his wounds, Nord realized that finding a doctor needed to be put on the agenda. Talents like this were hard to come by in reality, so he could only think of ways through the system. For now, he had to rely on the hunters' experience to handle things. Nord could only remind them to keep their wounds clean—when it came to specific bandaging techniques, he wasn't necessarily more knowledgeable than these hunters who walked the line of death.

Before long, the hunters from the woods returned, grumbling and cursing, as if their haul wasn't as good as they'd hoped.

"Those bandits are dirt poor—not a single Copper Be in their pockets, poorer than us."

"Their fighting ability is trash, and they're dressed in rags. Nothing useful at all."

Nord found it a bit amusing. These bandits lived in the woods; of course, they had no spoils. What did the hunters expect to find on them? So he ordered them to gather the belongings of Bill and the others.

When the hunters heard Nord tell them to loot the cavalrymen, they all went off cheerfully.

After Ryman finished bandaging his wounds, he went to direct the men in gathering items and counting casualties.

Nord leaned against the wagon, watching the sun slowly sink in the distance. The air around him still carried a smell of blood—some human, some horse. The nearby woods, bathed in the sunset, looked colorful and vibrant, but their depths remained dark and deep. Looking at the wildflowers by the roadside stained with blood, Nord now understood what it meant when they said battlefield flowers smell especially sweet.

The hunters, after the battle, were still busy—some handling horse meat, others moving corpses. Nord ordered a few hunters to dig a large pit in the shrubs and bury all the bodies there. Though puzzled, they followed Nord's instructions.

The hunters picked up their picks and struck the ground, one blow after another.

The hunters' idea was to just leave the bodies by the roadside—the beasts would take care of them. But Nord insisted they bury the dead. Though these men had been enemies in life, and Nord showed no mercy, they should not be left to rot in the open after death.

Perhaps this was a deep-seated belief in Nord's heart. The Chinese believe in burial for peace, just as the Amon Mountain Dwellers rest with the mountains after death. As a descendant of Yan and Huang, steeped in five thousand years of Chinese culture, some things are ingrained in the soul. Even alone, one holds to them.

Soon, Ryman came to Nord to report.

"Our casualties are light—only three lightly wounded, nothing serious."

"As for the gains, we have five Longswords, three wooden shields, one iron shield, four sets of Leather Armor—some have holes, but they can be patched up and worn again—and one intact Chainmail, plus some clothing."

"Four Warhorses died. The remaining one wasn't injured and ran to the edge of the woods; Marco found it. The hunters have divided the meat from the dead horses—each man carries a piece back to the village."

"I understand. It's getting late. Pack up and prepare to head back. Oh, and if you're going to wear those clothes, soak them in boiling water for a while first to avoid getting sick."

"Understood, Lord Nord. If there's nothing else, I'll arrange for them to set off."

"Go ahead."

Ryman nodded and called the cheerful hunters to move out. Nord also checked his own gear, glanced at the patch of reddish-brown earth in the distance, took a deep breath, and followed the wagon as it set off.