"Ahhh!"
The northern barbarian roared in rage, furious at Lester Liew, swinging his blade down once more.
Lester quickly dodged to the side—ha! You missed!
Just as he was being smug, a cold glint of steel came from behind. Quentin Wang and the others saw it, but they were too far to help.
All they could do was shout at the top of their lungs: "Behind you!"
Lester felt a gust of wind at his back, and in front of him was another blade. He couldn't move either way. In that instant, he thought—This is it!
Faced with death, a powerful surge of unwillingness burst forth in his heart.
Was a charming, dashing man like him really going to die here?
He had accomplished nothing in life, hated by people and dogs alike. If he died here, wouldn't everyone be pleased to see it?
But why should he let them have their way?
With two steel blades closing in, one from the front and one from the back, he had no way to dodge—so he dropped low and rolled beneath the horse's belly.
Clang! The sharp clash of blades rang in his ears, making his gums itch. He swallowed hard, instinctively.
Suddenly, a strong figure grabbed him and yanked him out from beneath the enemy horses—Quinn Liew, the village chief's grandson.
In a moment of life and death, to see a fellow villager was enough to bring tears to one's eyes.
Lester's eyes brimmed with emotion.
But Quinn didn't waste time comforting him. He shoved his third uncle behind the grain cart and, filled with youthful courage, prepared to charge out.
"Quinn!" Lester caught his arm and spoke urgently, "Take down their leader – cut off his head!"
Quinn was about to ask which one when Lester pressed something cold and heavy into his palm—a dagger.
"This is your third aunt's blade, already sharpened. Now your uncle is passing it to you. Go—take out the one on the chestnut horse with the white spot on its forehead!"
The dagger sharpened by Auntie?
The hot-blooded youth's eyes lit up. He nodded fiercely. "Got it!"
With the fabled blade in hand, Quinn didn't hesitate and bolted into the chaos of night.
Lester's heart pounded in excitement and fear.
But moments later, the boy came running back and stood beside the grain cart. "Uncle, I can't catch up to the horse."
Before Lester could respond, that familiar steel blade came slicing again. Quinn leapt forward, dragged the rider off his mount, and stabbed him to death on the spot.
The boy beamed, exhilarated. "Uncle, this dagger really works!"
"…Good. Then stay with me. Guard your uncle, alright?" Lester said after a brief pause, trying to coax him.
Quinn nodded seriously. "Alright!"
The enemy numbers seemed to be thinning. Suddenly, a shout came from the front: Officer Rex had slain the northern cavalry's leader.
The battle was over—abruptly.
Lester wiped his forehead, unsure if it was sweat or blood, and collapsed onto a pile of grain sacks like a deflated balloon.
Quinn, however, still burned with energy. He gripped the dagger and scoured the surroundings, eager to find more enemies.
Too bad Officer Rex's soldiers had already wiped them out.
They'd chased them far out, and it was a good quarter of an hour before they returned on horseback, each carrying a few severed heads, lifting morale.
Once back in the ranks, Officer Rex's first order was to light the torches and take roll—men, horses, and grain.
Quinn reluctantly returned the dagger to Lester and went back to his own group.
It was only then that Lester realized they had both been in Officer Rex's team all along.
One at the front, the other at the rear. And because Rex kept a strict guard, each group had stayed close to its assigned cart—neither had seen the other.
Quinn had only discovered Lester's presence by chance, after hearing him shout.
The village chief had pulled strings at the county office to get his grandson placed here personally.
What did it mean that Quinn was assigned to Officer Rex's team?
Lester's eyes widened in disbelief—he'd been wrong about that manpower official. The man had actually done his job, taking his five copper coins and picking a reliable leader.
He hadn't looked down on him for paying so little, and had instead found someone trustworthy.
Lester thought back to the journey so far. Under Officer Rex's command, they had avoided danger again and again.
In contrast, the other supply team behind them had already fallen apart—and their leader had perished under barbarian blades.
Lester quickly bowed three times to the horizon.
Thank you, Sir. Once I make it big, I'll come thank you in person.
After a full count, not a single grain cart was missing. Even the horses, thanks to everyone's protection, had come through unscathed.
But nineteen laborers were dead. Seven more were critically wounded and unlikely to survive. Over forty were lightly injured.
Of Lester's six-man group, five had suffered minor wounds.
He alone came through with only messy hair and ragged clothes—not even a scratch. A miracle.
Once the counting was done, they loaded the bodies of the fallen and resumed their journey to the designated campsite, where they buried the dead on the spot.
Since Lester was uninjured, he was assigned to the burial crew and spent most of the night digging graves. Only at dawn did he get a moment to rest. He collapsed into his damp quilted coat and fell into a deep sleep.
The next day, his companions shook him awake.
Morning had broken. The caravan was moving on.
If not for the severed heads hanging from the soldiers' saddles, Lester would've thought last night's battle had all been a dream.
After what they'd been through, the group's pent-up exhaustion and despair exploded. Everyone's spirits hit rock bottom. The air was so heavy it felt hard to breathe.
Many were wounded. The other grain convoy was on the verge of collapse. Their pace slowed to a crawl—barely 40km that day.
That night, in the campsite, homesickness reached its peak. One by one, people wept, fearing they might never make it back.
"What day is it today?" Quentin suddenly asked.
Everyone had to think. Finally, Lester answered, "The fifteenth of October."
Quentin blinked. "Only a month?"
It felt like they'd been walking for a year.
Moonwatch City was so far… no matter how they marched, they never seemed to get closer.
Another man nudged Lester. "How do you remember the date so clearly?"
Lester forced a crooked smile that looked more painful than a grimace. He didn't answer.
Because there isn't a moment I don't long for home.
Those days reading at the academy seemed so wonderful in hindsight. Even the sour foot odor in the dorm now seemed forgivable.
Everything from before… made him want to cry.
"Whew…" Lester let out a long breath and looked up at the moon above.
The Moon of the North was big and round.
But the nights in the North were cold—and hungry.
They were out of sugar and salt. One of the grain bags had torn halfway, and their rations had been turned over to the army. Now even food was gone.
Two more days to Moonwatch City.
But how many would still be alive by then?
That night, Lester dreamed again of that tiny courtyard back in Liew Clan Village. In his sleep, he sobbed endlessly:
"Boohoohoo… My wife, I was wrong…"
The next morning, Quentin and the others all gave him a look of utter disdain.
A grown man, seven feet tall, crying in his sleep and apologizing to a woman?
Disgraceful!
Lester: "…"
(End of Chapter)
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