Ever since the attack that night, the Dawson caravan had not stopped.
Their original plans to resupply and rest along the way were all changed, and they switched routes outright.
Myron gave the order to pick up the pace and travel as fast as possible. The escort knights took shifts on watch as they traveled day and night, stopping briefly only in larger towns to replenish their supplies before setting off again.
The group of some two hundred people moved extremely quickly.
With the casualty figures right there, no one dared object.
The count after the battle showed that, of the more than two hundred knights, only a hundred and fifty-eight remained uninjured.
More than twenty were seriously wounded. Some had lost arms, while others had gashes in their bellies. Whether they pulled through was entirely up to fate.
Another dozen or so had minor injuries, all flesh wounds; once bandaged, they could keep traveling. Including Myron's personal guards, there were a hundred and eighty-eight knights left in total.
Two Griffins had died, and the remaining five were all wounded. Fortunately, these magical beasts had strong powers of recovery, and after half a month of recuperation, they were more or less healed.
The mounts had suffered virtually no casualties-when the heavy cavalry charged, the escort knights had prioritized protecting their horses. In a pitched battle, those magical beast mounts were of little use. They could only cast a few spells from a distance to support the attack, but those could not penetrate the heavy cavalry's special armor. Hitting it was like scratching an itch.
Everyone had witnessed the strength Loa displayed that night.
Alone, he had cut through the heavy cavalry formation, beheaded the enemy commander, and killed three mages along the way. The way the escort knights looked at