Thorsten's Way Out, Cyril's Doom

Thorsten led the remaining Sauron Cavalry in a desperate flight, like stray dogs, as darkness fell.

When he arrived, three hundred light cavalrymen were in high spirits, but now fewer than a hundred men followed behind him, and all of them were wounded, their morale extremely low.

The warhorses were exhausted from the long run and fierce battle, foaming at the mouth and slowing down significantly.

The massive outline of Frosgard's walls was already faintly visible on the horizon.

However, the closer he got to that city that symbolized "security" and "power," the colder and heavier Thorsten's heart became.

Failure... a complete and utter defeat, a disgraceful failure.

Not only did he fail to reclaim the stolen livestock, which were crucial to the Horse Corps, but he also suffered heavy losses, leaving behind the corpses of over a hundred elite cavalrymen, and fled back in disarray.

He could almost picture the fury and murderous intent that would appear on Harald's cold face when he heard the news.

The Sauron Tribe, especially under Harald, punished losers with extreme cruelty.

He, Thorsten, a man already demoted for previous mistakes and in dire need of redemption, had no chance of escaping this time.

What awaits him is likely not a trial by a military court, but a direct and extremely painful execution as a warning to others.

Going back means certain death.

The thought suffocated him.

He pulled sharply on the reins, and the warhorse neighed and slowly came to a stop.

The cavalrymen behind him also reined in their horses, looking at their commander with confusion and unease.

Thorsten's gaze swept over his men, who had followed him through thick and thin.

Their faces were etched with exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty about the future.

Many of them had also participated in this failed battle, and upon returning, even if they were not executed, they would certainly face severe punishment and have their futures ruined.

"We cannot go back." Thorsten's voice was hoarse and low, yet it carried a resolute determination, clearly reaching the ears of every cavalryman in the silence of dusk.

The soldiers looked at each other, their faces showing surprise and uncertainty.

"Going back means death," Thorsten continued, pointing in the direction of Frosgard. "Chief Harald will never forgive losers like us. The best outcome for all of us is to spend the rest of our lives in hard labor camps, or more likely, to be publicly executed as a warning to others."

His words struck the hearts of every soldier like a hammer blow; they knew very well that what the commander said was true.

An atmosphere of fear and despair quickly spread.

"But," Thorsten's tone shifted, a wild glint in his eyes, "We have another way to go."

He turned his horse around, pointing southwest, a direction completely different from Frosgard.

That was the Southwest Peninsula region of the Northern Territory, marked on the map with large blank areas and abandoned outposts.

"East! Beyond this wilderness, there's a place... I remember the intelligence said there's an old, abandoned fortress of the Goldspur!" His voice rose slightly with excitement. "It's far from the main roads, easy to defend and difficult to attack, Sauron's influence rarely extends there! We can go there! We can survive!"

He surveyed his men, trying to ignite their last hope with words. "We are warriors! We have weapons, we have warhorses! We can take that fortress, repair it, we can hunt, we can... we can survive! It's better than going back to Frosgard and being slaughtered like sheep by our own people!"

A long silence.

The soldiers looked at each other, their eyes filled with struggle.

Betraying the tribe and becoming a deserter is something more shameful than death, according to the education they receive from childhood.

But... the real threat of death and the instinct for survival are gradually overriding the fear of tradition and authority.

Finally, an old soldier with a scarred face spat out a mouthful of saliva and hissed, "Damn it! The boss is right! I've served the tribe for over a decade, suffered countless injuries, and I never thought I'd die such a pathetic death! I'll go with you!"

"I'll go with you!"

"Going back is the same as dying, so we might as well take a gamble!"

"Yes! Let's give it our all!"

More and more people are responding.

Ultimately, about sixty cavalrymen decided to follow Thorsten and embark on this escape.

The remaining thirty-odd people hesitated repeatedly, but ultimately could not make up their minds to betray the tribe and chose to continue their journey to Frosgard.

Although they knew that their fate was likely grim.

Thorsten did not stop those who chose to leave.

He glanced deeply in the direction of Frosgard, where the glory and status he had once pursued lay, but now, it was all over.

"Let's go!" Without further hesitation, he waved his hand and led the more than sixty cavalrymen who were willing to follow him. He resolutely turned his horses around, left the main road leading to "safety," and galloped away towards the unknown and dark wasteland to the east without looking back.

The night, like a giant curtain, quickly swallowed their figures.

They abandoned everything from their past, carrying with them a thirst for survival and a fear of the unknown, and disappeared into the Northern Territory night, heading towards the distant, abandoned fortress that, according to legend, might offer them a glimmer of hope.

Meanwhile, Cyril in the Southwest Peninsula was unaware that his doom was approaching.