Lord Karl Greets You
Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from afar.
Several weary Sauron Cavalry galloped in and went straight to the center of the camp.
The man in the lead was none other than Thorsten's trusted confidant.
Liss immediately went to greet them, her face showing concern and worry. "You're back? Where's Lord Thorsten? How is he?"
The trusted cavalryman dismounted, his face showing a hint of fatigue but feigning ease.
He raised the ornately decorated cavalry saber in his hand, which was Thorsten's sword, and spoke loudly to the gathered Sauron soldier and some bolder Broomflower survivors.
"Commander Thorsten sent us back with a message! He's already negotiated terms with the Lord of Carnford! We can leave this godforsaken place and move all of us to Carnford! There we have a fortified castle, plenty of food, and a safe environment!"
He cleverly avoided the harsh word "surrender," emphasizing only "negotiating terms" and "relocating to a new residence."
This news immediately caused a huge reaction!
Although the Sauron soldier had some doubts, most of them showed relief and anticipation when they heard that they could leave the ruins and go to a safer place with more resources.
They had long been fed up with the poverty and unrest here.
The captured Broomflower slaves, on the other hand, reacted with even greater excitement and joy!
They had long heard of the legend of Carnford through various channels, the young yet incredibly brave Lord, and the fortress that stood firm against the siege of Sauron army!
To be able to escape the control of the Sauron and join the ranks of a powerful Broomflower Lord is simply fantastic news!
Low cheers and sobs even erupted from the crowd.
Without any hesitation, everyone immediately sprang into action, packing their meager belongings, ready to depart at any moment.
In reality, they didn't have much to pack; it was nothing more than some worn-out clothes, simple tools, and a pitiful amount of food barely enough to survive.
Soon, a group of nearly four hundred people had assembled, eagerly awaiting their arrival.
Cyril, who was paralyzed on the ground, also heard the news.
Carnford? Karl von Schmidt's territory? Of course he knew about it.
He had even made a bet with a few of his cronies, convinced that the second son of the Schmidt Family, who had been exiled to the Northern Territory, would not live more than a month.
But now, not only has he survived, but he has also defeated the Sauron army, his fame has spread throughout the kingdom, and now even these fierce Sauron want to pledge allegiance to him?
A wave of intense bitterness, jealousy, and resentment instantly overwhelmed Cyril.
He felt no gratitude whatsoever for the possibility of being rescued; instead, he cursed viciously in his heart, "Karl! You lucky bastard! How dare you take in these Sauron Barbarians! This is treason! This is betrayal! Just wait... as long as I can return to the Royal Capital, I will expose you to His Majesty! I will ruin your reputation and make you suffer a terrible death!"
Just as he was lost in his wicked fantasies, Thorsten's trusted soldier, after arranging the departure of the large contingent, deliberately approached Cyril.
With a seemingly calm expression, he said to Cyril, "Cyril, Commander Thorsten specifically instructed me before he left that he left you some things in his bedroom as a token of his gratitude for your 'hospitality' during this time. Would you please come with me to retrieve them?"
Upon hearing this, Cyril felt a flicker of doubt in his dazed mind, but the words "things" and "thank you" instinctively stirred a faint sense of expectation in his hungry body.
Was it food? Or... money? He struggled to his feet, and in a daze, followed his confidant back into the bedroom that once belonged to him but now felt completely foreign.
The bedroom was empty, with almost nothing except for some simple bedding left by Thorsten.
"Where... where is it?" Cyril asked urgently, panting, his cloudy eyes searching around.
The confidant turned around, his peaceful expression vanishing instantly, replaced by a chilling killing intent.
He slowly drew a gleaming short knife from his waist, his voice low and cold. "This is it."
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly stepped forward, and with lightning speed, the short knife he gripped in his right hand plunged into Cyril's unsuspecting abdomen!
"Ugh!!!" Cyril let out a sharp, short scream, his eyes widening in extreme pain and disbelief.
He looked down at the hilt of the knife embedded in his abdomen, then looked up at the other person's cold face, completely unable to comprehend what had happened.
A trusted aide leaned close to his ear and whispered coldly in a voice only the two of them could hear, "His Lord Karl his greetings."
Cyril's pupils contracted sharply, and he instantly understood everything.
He was overwhelmed by endless fear and regret, but it was all too late.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and his body went limp and he fell backward.
Without hesitation, the confidant drew his knife and swiftly and precisely stabbed him several more times in the chest and neck, ensuring he was completely dead.
He then skillfully searched the room, taking away any small items that might be valuable or useful.
After doing all this, he glanced expressionlessly at Cyril's gradually cooling body on the ground, walked to the wall, picked up an oil lamp, poured the lamp oil onto the dry wooden furniture and curtains, and then lit it with a flint.
The flames spread rapidly, engulfing everything in the room.
The confidant turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
The firelight shone through the crack in the door, and soon the entire bedroom was engulfed in flames.
He strode out of the burning, dilapidated castle, mounted his horse, and waved to the waiting procession. "Let's go! To Carnford!"
Although everyone was somewhat surprised as they stared at the dilapidated castle that had suddenly been engulfed in flames, they quickly looked away.
They exchanged knowing glances, but no one asked a question, and no one tried to go back and check.
That gloomy and oppressive castle, at this moment, had become, in their hearts, just like the desolate land behind them, a forgotten past.
They were about to leave this damned place, this prison filled with poverty, despair, and humiliation.
More importantly, they knew perfectly well that once they left, they would never return to this cursed territory.
The future may be full of unknowns, but in any case, it is a thousand times better than staying here and rotting.
As for whether the Baron Cyril escaped the fire in time... no one cared.
He was like a pebble thrown into a muddy pond, not even causing a ripple.
In this dog-eat-dog world, the disappearance of a fallen nobleman is nothing out of the ordinary.
Some might vaguely recall that he didn't seem to have come out of the castle, but this thought was fleeting, quickly replaced by the excitement of impending rebirth and a vague anticipation of Carnford.
The horses' hooves trampled the dry grass, and the procession silently and swiftly moved away from the ever-burning flames, leaving the burning castle and all associated memories behind in the rising black smoke.