Wizard: I have ten trillion nanomachines

"Viscount, we'll be at the camp soon! Then we'll find a horse to take us back to Ashenvale!" Hand led Viscount Roth forward through the forest.

They both understood that they had to run, because regardless of who won or lost, both of them were doomed.

Killing you would be easy, so why don't you do it?

Viscount Roth remained silent, but his eyes were filled with resentment.

He exhausted most of his family's resources, but ultimately gained nothing.

At this moment, the road back to the camp seemed exceptionally long, even though it had only taken them half a day to get there before.

From darkness to dawn, and from dawn to noon.

"Almost there, Viscount, just a little longer." Hand's voice was panting, his broken ribs making each breath feel like swallowing razor blades. "I remember there's a fork in the road ahead in the valley. Once we pass that patch of low bushes, we'll see the camp's wooden fence."

"Hand," Viscount Roth suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper, "Once we reach the camp, assess the situation. If things aren't looking good, go find the men we left behind and bring out the horses. Don't alert the others, understand?"

Hand was taken aback, then realized that the viscount wanted to leave quietly, since they were practically lambs to the slaughter.

"Understood. The horses we brought have been taken care of by our people, so they're sure to run."

.......

Inside the valley camp.

Wooden fences and walls surrounded the gray tents, and wisps of smoke rose from the campfires, but the usual liveliness was gone.

Those who stayed behind were mostly grooms who looked after the horses and guards who kept watch over the supplies.

There were also infantrymen who remained after being wounded, as well as two young men who appeared to be servants, serving as temporary caretakers of the camp.

Fewer than a hundred people remained in the entire camp, which appeared peaceful, seemingly unaffected by the carnage of the battlefield.

Suddenly, an old man who was in charge of looking after the horses ran out of the stable, his voice trembling: "Look over there!"

Several people nearby looked in the direction he pointed and saw two figures stumbling along the path at the edge of the forest. It was Hand, covered in mud, carrying Viscount Roth, whose legs had been broken.

Their armor was tattered, and their faces were covered in blood, clearly indicating that they had been through a fierce battle.

"Viscount!" The guards and grooms who had come with Roth rushed over, followed closely by the others.

Viscount Roth leaned against Hand, his face ashen. The moment he saw the camp, his tense body suddenly went limp, and he almost collapsed.

"Quickly... quickly help us inside," Viscount Roth gasped, his voice hoarse.

"Help the Viscount into the tent first, find a plank to use as a stretcher, and boil some hot water!" Hand shouted to the people, pressing his chest.

Inside the tent, Viscount Roth lay on a mat covered with hay, his leg wound having received simple treatment.

The people in the camp surrounded the tent, their faces filled with fear. The viscount was seriously injured, which was not good news.

Judging from this situation, it's not impossible for the entire army to be wiped out!

What about those who stayed behind?

That night, the campfire at the camp was still lit, but the usual hustle and bustle was gone.

Meanwhile, people from Ashenvale mounted their horses and drove their carriages, quietly leaving the area.

"Once we return to our territory, we'll be safe," Roth promised the others. "If we successfully return, you will all be credited, and I will reward you handsomely!"

His leg is still not healed, and Hand is also injured, so they have to rely on these grooms and guards for the time being.

In addition, he pondered the swamp for a while.

Something's not right. We were both injured, so why didn't the final winner chase after us and kill us?

Or is there no winner, and they all perish together? Or is it that one dies and the other is seriously injured, and the survivor also dies from his injuries?

It's a pity that saving my life is the priority now, otherwise I would definitely go back to see how it went.

Whether it was a misperception or not, Roth felt that the camp was also in danger now.

........

Night. It seemed cold outside the camp, but even colder was the bleak future.

Hawke leaned against the cold tree trunk, his fingertips tracing the chipped blade of the longsword at his waist, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily.

The burning sensation from the empty stomach grew stronger and stronger. He hadn't eaten for a whole day and night. His lips were dry, cracked, and peeling, and even swallowing saliva hurt.

The remaining soldiers behind him were in no better shape. The young attendant leaned against a tree, his face pale and his eyes unfocused.

The camp was just ahead. As deserters, they wouldn't have quietly returned here unless they were starving.

Some people initially intended to steal some supplies, but after discovering that the camp was full of elderly, weak, sick, and disabled people, they seemed to change their minds.

He stared at the two logistics soldiers chatting idly by the door, then glanced at the scattered figures moving about in the distance.

The entire camp was deserted, with only a handful of soldiers on night watch. Even in the direction of the stables, only two or three lanterns were lit. Clearly, most people were still in a state of panic, leaderless, and their vigilance was ridiculously lax.

"Boss, there aren't many people in the camp." His subordinate, Ike, lowered his voice. He remembered that the warehouse was piled with bags of dark bread, smoked meat, and water. "If we sneak in, we might not just need to take the food."

Hawke's Adam's apple bobbed, and the burning sensation of an empty stomach made him grip the hilt of his sword tightly.

He originally only intended to steal some food and leave, but looking at the sparse figures in the camp, an even more ruthless idea suddenly popped into his head.

Steal it secretly? There's no need.

He turned to look at the nearly twenty remaining soldiers behind him, his voice as cold as ice, "There are few people here. The twenty of us are all survivors of the battlefield. Kill them and take as much supplies as you can. That way we can safely reach the border without worrying about being chased or having to worry about food and drink on the way."

Those who heard this were stunned.

The young attendant's face paled: "Kill...kill them? They're all support staff, they don't have much fighting ability. We can just take the stuff and leave, there's no need..."

"Unnecessary?" Hawke interrupted him, his eyes sharp enough to pierce the heart. "We're defeated deserters; how can we survive without being ruthless?"

"Without food, how can we escape?"

"The boss is right. We have no way out; to survive, we have to kill them!"

"If we don't act now, and others like us react, then it's uncertain who will live and who will die!"

The remaining soldiers exchanged glances and made their choice. What did it matter if they killed a few unarmed support personnel in order to survive?

Seeing that everyone had reached a consensus, Hawke immediately made arrangements:

"Ada and I took three people to the granary, dealt with the guards at the entrance, and moved the supplies inside into the woods."

"The remaining men are divided into two groups. One group goes to the stable to fetch three of the fastest horses, and the other group goes to the wooden huts in the camp to subdue everyone inside, leaving no survivors."

"Be quick, and don't make too much noise."

.....

Within just one hour, the entire campsite fell completely silent.

Blood stained the soil of the camp. All the supplies that could be carried were moved into the woods. Three warhorses were ready, their saddles covered with sacks.

"Let's go, to the border!"

Only after the remaining soldiers left did the survivors dare to come out.

They escaped by hiding in corners, pits, or even latrines.

No one dared to speak loudly. The survivors helped each other up, picked up the scraps of black bread that hadn't been taken from the haystack, drew some water from the well, and squatted in the corner of the tent to sip it.

The campfire had long since died out, leaving only a few wisps of black smoke swirling in the cold wind. Occasionally, the distant howls of unknown beasts echoed, adding to the eeriness of the desolate camp.

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps, accompanied by heavy breathing, suddenly came from the forest.

The survivors froze instantly, bread crumbs falling to the ground. Some even instinctively shrank back into their tents, thinking Hawke's group had returned.

It wasn't until two figures tumbled out of the woods that everyone could see that they were two men wearing tattered leather armor, one with a gloomy face and the other staggering.

They were servants; some people remember the two of them, I think their names were Erich and Marcus something.

As soon as Erich stood firm, he sensed something was wrong. The camp was too quiet, the bloodstains on the ground were not yet dry, and the tents were crooked, clearly indicating that a massacre had just taken place.

He clenched his fist instantly, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily. "Who's there?"

The old man tending the horses in the corner trembled, but still mustered his courage and stepped forward: "I...we are the survivors of the camp."

Erich stared at the wound on his arm, then at the mess on the floor, and quickly realized: "Was this done by fleeing soldiers?"

The old man nodded, his voice hoarse: "More than twenty people, they stole supplies and horses, saying they were heading towards the border... You—"

He was interrupted by Marcus's cough before he could finish speaking.

Marcus leaned against the tree trunk, took out the half-eaten piece of dark bread, took a bite, but choked so badly that he kept patting his chest.

Erich frowned but didn't press the matter further. He had no time to worry about anyone else's life or death; his immediate priority was to find a place to rest and get some clean water.

He glanced around the camp, his gaze settling on the direction of the stables: "Are there still horses in the stables?"

"They're all gone...either they were led away by them or they ran away in fright," old John said. "The grain in the warehouse has been almost all looted, only some crumbs of bread are left."

Erich's face darkened further; he had originally intended to find a horse to return to his territory.

It seems we can only wait and see if the frightened horse will come back on its own.

As a servant, he was still a nobleman's son. Besides, everyone else had escaped, so he shouldn't be punished because of the sheer number of people involved.

"The law does not punish the masses, the law does not punish the masses..." Ashley muttered to himself, his fingertips gripping the wooden stick tightly until his knuckles turned white.

He was a member of a collateral branch of the Wimbledon family. He came out with the Earl as a servant, hoping to gain some merit and secure a position in the territory in the future.

But who could have imagined that after a great battle, the army would be routed and even the count's fate would be unknown.

He straightened up, patted the mud off his body, and gradually his fear was overshadowed by a sense of relief. He slowly found a reason to convince himself.

I was just a servant; the reason for the defeat wasn't me. It was the giant bear, yes, that monster, that was too strong. It wasn't their fault!

Even if they were found, there would be deserters everywhere at that time. They couldn't just kill them all, could they?

Erich could only convince himself of this at this point. After all, what would he do after leaving the family? Like those deserters?

He had heard from veterans that there were conflict zones on the border of the kingdom, where people like deserters, who had lost their support, lived by hunting and cultivating wasteland.

But for someone born into nobility like him, going to the border to farm or become a mercenary? That would be worse than death!

He was not alone in thinking this way.