By afternoon, the Resistance Army opened the gates of Slading Fortress and filed out.
The Resistance Army was severely short on livestock. Their few horses were mostly used to carry supplies or pull carts. Even Grisha struggled along with the group on his prosthetic limb, and he and the other lightly wounded could only take turns resting in the carts.
Strictly speaking, the Resistance Army was not entirely an army. At first, they had merely been refugees fleeing the White Crow Duchy, forced into resistance by desperation.
There were children among them, including Grisha, as well as elderly people.
Moreover, many civilians from Slading Fortress had chosen to leave with them, so the Resistance Army's ranks were mixed with a great number of ordinary people.
"Grisha, are you all right?"
"Kid, there's room if we squeeze together on Uncle's cart. Want to climb up?"
Grisha earnestly thanked the people around him, then refused every offer of help.
The rations the Resistance Army had brought were only barely enough to last three days, yet their journey would take nearly four days, assuming everything went smoothly.
They had no choice. They had to squeeze out as much carrying capacity as possible for weapons and ammunition. Without the ability to defend themselves, they would not even survive three days.
Grisha secretly glanced at Uncle Wood's cart. It was already piled high and full, making it extremely difficult to push. There were no metal bearings in this era; the wooden hubs had merely been smeared with grease, and moving them took immense effort.
The Resistance Army advanced in silence. The young people cleared the way at the front and guarded the rear, while the children walked in the middle of the column.
There had actually been quite a few elderly people as well, but