Chapter 75

On the early morning plains, the biting cold wind howled.

The soldiers under Count William's command staggered along, forming a long line that stretched across the path. From above, they resembled a column of ants leaving their nest in search of food.

At first, Count William was at the front of the column, but due to caution, he gradually moved toward the middle of the group, preparing to send riders ahead to scout the path.

Upon receiving the command, four or five riders immediately set off, riding cautiously as they sped ahead.

With the crack of their whips, the horses surged forward, breath misting from their nostrils in long white clouds. The riders swiftly crossed the flat plains and arrived at a small river.

The river was not particularly narrow, and the water was still flowing. The riders glanced at each other, splitting up to search the banks upstream and downstream for a crossing.

After some effort, they finally found a wooden bridge upstream. Though narrow, it was wide enough for the passage of men.

Upon hearing the report from the knights, Count William nodded, leading the troops upstream to cross. The scouts, naturally, were at the forefront of the column.

"Clop, clop, clop..."

The sound of hooves echoed as the leading rider galloped ahead, preparing to cross to the other side. But as the rider reached the middle of the bridge, there was a sharp crack, and the bridge suddenly seemed to split in two, collapsing violently toward the center.

The rider and a few unfortunate soldiers who had just stepped onto the bridge had no time to react before they were violently plunged into the river below.

The water was not deep, as it was winter and the river was in a dry season. It barely reached the soldiers' thighs, but it was cold enough to pierce the bone. As soon as the knight and the soldiers hit the water, they let out blood-curdling screams.

Count William stood on the shore, watching coldly as the fallen soldiers scrambled to climb out of the water, their bodies soaked and shivering. He turned his gaze to the broken bridge and furrowed his brow, speaking to his companion, "Can this bridge be repaired?"

"Uh... It can be repaired, but it will take at least several days..." came the reply.

"Several days?" Count William's displeasure was evident.

"Well... there are no craftsmen and no wood..." the man explained.

Hearing this, Count William's expression darkened. He turned to the scout who had climbed out of the water and asked, "Is this the only bridge around here?"

"It... It seems so," the drenched rider said, his face turning blue from the cold, lips purple and teeth chattering.

"'Seems so'? I seek a clear answer! Is there another bridge or not?!" Count William barked, his temper flaring.

"There… There isn't. Not within five miles upstream or downstream. There's no other bridge, my lord," the rider answered hastily, his voice trembling.

"No other bridge, huh..." Count William fell silent. After a moment, he spoke again, issuing a harsh and unyielding command. "Then all of you… cross the river!"

"Cross the river?!"

The soldiers, looking at the icy river and remembering the miserable sight of their fallen comrades, couldn't help but shudder. But under Count William's stern gaze, they dared not disobey. Reluctantly, they waded into the water, their teeth chattering as they clambered to the other side.

Once the entire force had crossed successfully, the feeling of fatigue weighed even more heavily on the group.

But Count William was not concerned with this. He simply led the column forward. As they advanced, however, a deep unease gnawed at him. The bridge's collapse had all the signs of deliberate sabotage, likely the work of Richard, whom he had never met. And if that was true, what dangers lay ahead? What awaited them on this treacherous path?

As Count William pondered, a sudden scream from the front of the column pierced the air, followed by the sound of chaos and shouting.

"What's happening?" Count William frowned and approached, only to see, at some point, a deep pit had appeared in the path ahead.

The pit had been carefully camouflaged, and until someone stepped onto it, nothing seemed amiss. But as soon as someone walked over, the ground gave way with a loud thump, and they fell into the pit—its bottom lined with sharpened wooden stakes, each thick as an arm. Anyone who fell would either be impaled through the limbs or pierced through the body.

Five soldiers had fallen into the pit. Two died on the spot, and two were grievously injured. Only one, by sheer luck, had fallen between the gaps between the stakes and survived. However, once rescued, his mind was clearly broken—he had been terrified out of his wits.

After learning the details, Count William gritted his teeth in anger. He ordered the injured soldiers to be pulled from the pit, and the bodies to be disposed of. Then, with grim resolve, he commanded the column to move forward. There was something in his heart urging him: if they stayed here, if they hesitated, they might never leave this place.

Thus, with a sharp command from Count William, the column set off once more, the oppressive atmosphere weighing even heavier on them.

The journey ahead was even more perilous, as if the broken bridge and the pit were harbingers of worse to come. More traps awaited: ropes, gunpowder, rolling stones, hidden crossbows…

As the column marched on, soldiers were continually struck by poison-laced traps. Some were hoisted into the air by ropes, their necks snapped, others pierced by crossbow bolts, leaving the entire group on edge, fear spreading like wildfire.

By late afternoon, nearing dusk, the soldiers were exhausted, their nerves on edge. As casualties mounted, the sense of doom grew stronger. The morale of the troops had plummeted to a dangerous low. There was no doubt that if they continued on this path, the chances of a mutiny were high.

Although Count William did not believe he would lose control of the soldiers, his face darkened. His gaze fixed on the endless road ahead, his brow furrowed deeply. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist, gripping and releasing it, again and again...

Truth be told, although he had prepared for difficulties, he had never imagined it would be this bad. They hadn't seen a single soul along the way, yet a force of hundreds was now on the brink of collapse. It was terrifying!

"Richard Angrel…" Count William muttered the name softly, closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were filled with murderous intent. He had his pride, his dignity built upon decades of power, and yet today, he had been humiliated by a mere "child." The insult was unbearable.

At that moment, Count William's desire to capture Richard and tear him apart was overwhelming.

Beside him, Edward saw the fury in William's eyes. For once, he did not feel any satisfaction or glee at the Count's distress. Instead, he felt a tinge of worry, pressing his lips together.