Escape from Death

How did the main camp collapse so fast? Victor muttered.

When he saw that the large banner bearing the grand duke's coat of arms, which had originally stood in the center of the main camp, had also been chopped down, he suddenly understood.

Grand Duke Jola might have died in battle or been captured, and it was even safe to say that the entire command system previously located in the center of the main camp had been destroyed by the Iron Knights.

Damn it, Victor thought fiercely, realizing the worst-case scenario had become reality.

At that moment, their small squad was spotted as a squad of cavalry disguised like Barbarians charged straight toward them.

"Young master, run! They're Barbarian Cavalry under Count Colt," Santos shouted, hurriedly pulling on Victor's reins.

"Move! Head northwest, let's go to the right wing," Victor ordered immediately, instantly turning his horse's head and leading the others as they galloped toward the northwest.

A quarter of an hour later.

"Dammit, are they ever going to quit? Why are they sticking so close?" James raged.

A mere mile or so behind their squad, a force of over a hundred Barbarian Cavalry was still in hot pursuit.

"Young Master James, that's just how the Barbarians are. They love to rely on their light equipment to conserve their horses' stamina, forcing the enemy to exhaust themselves so they can reap the harvest at their leisure," Santos said with a bitter smile.

"Something's not right, Santos. These Barbarian Cavalry also made a long-range raid alongside the Northern Alliance's cavalry forces. Why do they still have such good stamina?" Victor asked.

"Our caravan once heard a rumor that the Barbarians of the Northern Grasslands have a special herb called Boiling Blood Grass. Feeding it to horses can increase their stamina within a day, though they can't have too much of it, as it easily causes the horses to lose strength or even die," Santos said uncertainly.

"The Boiling Blood Grass might actually be real, or else there's no way to explain how the Northern Alliance's heavy cavalry could still maintain such shocking impact force on the battlefield after a long-range raid," Victor smiled wryly.

Damn it, what even is this Boiling Blood Grass? Is it a long-acting stimulant? Does this kind of thing actually grow naturally? Victor cursed inwardly.

"Everyone, hold on a little longer. We'll reach the right-wing army formation soon," Victor shouted, pointing encouragingly at the battle banner two miles away.

As Victor and the others drew closer and closer to the army formation, the Barbarian Cavalry chasing behind them finally gave up and turned around to leave.

Victor and his men immediately slowed their pace to let their horses catch their breath.

Three scouting cavalrymen bolted straight out from the left flank of the army formation. The leader stopped a hundred meters away from Victor and his men and shouted loudly.

"What unit are you from?"

"We're the Sixth Squad of the Light Cavalry Battalion, Eastern Third Legion. Our captain is Lord Victor," Santos shouted back immediately.

Normally, the heir to a barony was granted the title of lord for ease of distinction; a viscounty's heir was also a lord, and a county's heir a viscount. As for the grand duchy, it had abolished the substantive title of marquess, using it exclusively as the crown prince's title. It was precisely because the current grand duchy had two marquesses that this civil war had broken out.

"Understood. Please enter the army formation from the north side, Lord Victor. A passage has been arranged for you there. Do not approach the front," the lead scout shouted immediately, ordering the other two scouts to signal flag codes to the formation behind them.

"Got it, thanks," Victor replied directly, leading his squad toward the north.

A moment later, having already entered the interior of the main army, they were guided beneath a large banner.

Seeing the dozen or so officers standing beneath the banner, Victor immediately raised his left hand parallel to his chest and executed a military salute.

"Safe travels, Legion Commander William; safe travels, Vice Legion Commander Ronald; safe travels, my lords."

These were none of the higher-ups from the Eastern Allied Army's Third Legion, including Legion Commander William Bitter Bamboo, who was none other than the current Viscount Bitter Bamboo—the most powerful faction in the eastern counties second only to Earl Great Oak. Two of the Third Legion's five regiments were his private troops.

There was also Vice Legion Commander Viscount Ronald of Rose, who was Victor's direct superior, responsible for commanding the Third Legion's cavalry, messenger system, and logistics forces.

The remaining individuals were the five regimental commanders and the military judge, which included Victor's father, Regimental Commander of the Third Regiment, Golden Sunflower Baron Wembley.

Baron Wembley did not speak, merely nodding in acknowledgment to Victor.

"Lord Victor, what happened at the main camp? Do you have any important intelligence to report?" Legion Commander William asked directly.

Victor immediately took a deep breath and said,

"Reporting to the legion commander, the main camp has been shattered. Grand Duke Jola is suspected to have fallen in battle, and before I left, the four legions should have already routed."

Victor proceeded to lay out everything he had witnessed earlier.

The high-ranking officers immediately began to murmur in low voices.

"Lords, this is basically the same as what the reconnaissance forces discovered. It seems the intelligence is accurate. Don't waste time—Ronald, report to Count Black immediately. Everyone else, return to your troops, shift into a defensive formation, and close in on the first and second legions," Legion Commander William commanded on the spot.

"Yes," the crowd acknowledged.

"Lord Victor, you've worked hard. It seems the cavalry battalion under my command has suffered heavy losses and needs its formation reorganized. Take your men to rest for a bit, then come find me," Viscount Ronald said to Victor, nodding at Baron Wembley before turning to leave.

"Yes," Victor immediately obeyed.

After Ronald left, Victor hurried over to his father's side and said,

"Father, thank you for sending those guards. They were a huge help."

"Use your rank in the army, don't call me father," Baron Wembley said with a straight face.

"Understood, Wembley plant," Victor replied instantly.

"You brat. Glad you're safe," Baron Wembley's rigid expression instantly relaxed.

The baron paused for a moment and said,

"I was too greedy in this war. Perhaps I shouldn't have brought you along. If I lost an heir like you, it would be a heavy loss for our family."

After awakening the memories of his past life, Victor was able to think with an adult mind and possessed self-control. Over the past five years, he had continuously improved himself through study and training, all to survive better in this new world.

These displays earned him unanimous recognition throughout the territory, making him the proverbial "neighbor's kid" in the mouths of all the nobles in Bole County.

"It was a close call, Father, but what should we do next? If Grand Duke Jola dies in battle, even if we stabilize the front line, we still lose," Victor asked.

"We do what we must—preserve ourselves. The main force of the Eastern Allied Army remains intact. Count Black will find a way to contact the left-flank forces, and the Northern Alliance is also at the end of its tether. We can just wait for negotiations," Baron Wembley sighed.

"I originally thought we could ride this east wind to completely transform our family into a viscounty, but it seems I was too eager; haste makes waste. The nobles across the entire east are going to face exorbitant war reparations, and leaders like Count Black might even have their lands reduced and titles demoted."

"Can't we turn defeat into victory? We still have the advantage in troop numbers and plenty of grain," Victor asked.

"We nobles only know how to add flowers to a brocade or kick a man when he's down; nobody offers charcoal in the snow. Furthermore, even if Jola is truly dead, Count Black won't seek revenge, not even as his maternal grandfather. For us, the survival of the family comes first," Baron Wembley said with a wry smile.

As Victor grasped his father's meaning, he asked, "Should we privately contact Marquis Mora or Count Colt?"

"No need. Right now, our eastern nobles should be standing united against outsiders. At worst, we'll just push Earl Great Oak to the front line," the baron replied.

"I understand, Father. We brought forty light cavalrymen from our territory: four died in battle, five were heavily injured, and it's estimated only one will fully recover. Right now, we only have thirty-one capable of continued combat," Victor said, his heart aching.

These light cavalrymen were Victor's comrades and subordinates whom he lived alongside day and night. He had trained every single one of them himself over the years, and he knew every man by name.

"When we return to the territory, handle the compensation according to your own standards. Fortunately, we listened to you this time and didn't bring all the light cavalry. Once we're back, the remaining forty men will be handed over to you as well. I'll find a way to make up your numbers to a hundred, bringing it to a full two squads, all under your command," the baron said.

Victor was startled upon hearing this. One had to know that the entire barony only had a little over six hundred standing troops. This scale was already approaching that of a viscounty—otherwise, Baron Wembley wouldn't have harbored ambitions to go a step further.

And the light cavalry were the elite of the elites. Entrusting such an important force to him was indeed showing an excessive level of confidence.

"Before we set out, you urged me to be careful—that waving flags and shouting battle cries was fine, but not to bet our entire family foundation on it. Facts have proven you were right," the baron sighed.

"I plan to transfer the authority of the territory to you. Once everything stabilizes, the baronial title will be handed over as well," the baron continued.

"Father, I..." Victor said hastily.

He was interrupted by the baron raising a hand.

"I've already decided. Leave the rest to me; next up is this old man's battlefield. You should go settle your subordinates. Santos has good ability, meticulousness, and caution—he is well worth heavy responsibility. Arrange it however you see fit."

"I understand, Father," Victor replied immediately.