Chapter 147: The Return

The general remained standing in place, his eyes sweeping across both sides as he occasionally flicked his hand, shooting out bursts of concentrated battle qi that struck down every single bandit attempting to flee. Start glanced around, unable to conceal the astonishment on his face, while Kevin stood motionless right in front of the general. Refusing to look at the slaughter behind him, a myriad of complex emotions churned within Kevin's heart, leaving him entirely at a loss for words.

It was not that Kevin had never considered the possibility that the general might break his word. After all, the general's son was dead, and his army had suffered catastrophic losses. For a warrior of the Sword Saint tier, the fact that he hadn't directly drawn his blade and hacked everyone to pieces already demonstrated immense self-restraint. From any logical perspective, the bandits had no way out—a fact Kevin had understood from the moment he set off. But regardless, there were numerous ways to break a promise. The ink on the general's written document was still fresh, and the echoes of his voice within the conch shell still lingered, yet the general had already raised the butcher's knife.

Come to think of it, when Kevin made the general swear an oath before setting out, he had deliberately dug a trap for him. Kevin knew the general was bound to break his word; it was simply a matter of how he would manage to violate his own vow. Kevin had originally assumed the bandits would at least be brought back for interrogation. After all, they had seen the mastermind behind the scenes and could likely extract some intelligence. Perhaps some "accidental" fire or cave-in would wipe out all the bandits during the questioning, and that would be that. Although anyone with discerning eyes would know it was the general's doing, at least a facade of concealment would be maintained.

What Kevin had not expected was that the general chose not to conceal it at all, even going so far as to take action personally. For a bard like Kevin, spoken words held immense weight—a promise must be as steadfast as a mountain, let alone a signed written agreement. In a tavern, even a slip of the tongue by half a word could immediately prompt someone to jump out and curse you to filth. Even if one were to offer some far-fetched excuse, twist the original meaning, or play word games, there would at least be some sort of explanation. One simply could not be so blatantly shameless.

If solemn oaths could be broken at will, and signed documents casually violated, how could Kevin, as his subordinate, ever trust the general's words in the future? Granted, they were bandits; they deserved to die, and they were enemies. But by the same token, Kevin had no way of knowing when the general might come to view him as an enemy.

While all is fair in war and diplomacy, there should still be limits. You had already sat at the negotiating table and signed an agreement, only to turn around and slaughter them without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. You won this time indeed, but would anyone ever dare to negotiate with you again? Would anyone ever believe your signature?

Furthermore, the mastermind behind the scenes had yet to be caught, and the bandits could easily have been subjected to interrogation. Having had frequent contact with the mastermind, they undoubtedly possessed numerous clues. Was there really any need for such hasty bloodshed?

Behind him, the sounds of battle raged on, accompanied by the miserable screams of the bandits. Both Kevin and Start remained completely silent, as did the crowd of captives. Kevin understood the bone-deep hatred the bandits held for him at that moment; they felt Kevin had betrayed them. Even standing in Kevin's position, if he had to do it all over again, he would still make the same choice. Even so, a chilling breeze continued to sweep down Kevin's spine.

No matter how one tried to gloss over it, the role Kevin was playing right now was that of a deceiver. He had resolved past grievances with the bandits deep inside the cave, opened the doors of the world to them, broadened their horizons, and instilled ideals in them. The bandits had been moved to tears of excitement, only for Kevin to sell them all out the moment they stepped out of the cave.

Moments later, the commotion behind him died down. Looking back, corpses were strewn everywhere, and blood covered the ground. The bandits had originally numbered six or seven hundred, and though many had been severely injured in previous skirmishes, their actual combat-ready force was no longer large. Yet this time, every single bandit—injured or not—had been brought out. Judging by the sheer volume of severed heads, everyone would have to carry three apiece.

"Hurry up," the general commanded, addressing the naked captives. "Can you still move? Strip off their clothes and put them on. Quick!"

The captives stood in a daze for a moment before numbly setting to work. Most of the garments worn by these bandits were pieces of armor stripped from the Thunder Knights in the first place—essentially their own equipment—so putting them back on posed no real problem. It was just that the corpses were dripping with blood, making the task somewhat sickening.

"Listen to me!" the general's voice rang out like a booming bell. "You have neither failed nor been captured. You are bringing back severed heads and returning in triumph. Do you understand?"

The captives stared blankly for a second, after which a gradual sense of elation began to blossom within them.

The general offered them one final reassurance to set their minds at ease: "Aside from a handful of people, no one else knows what happened today. Don't go spreading it around either; these past few days are a stain on your lives. If you're eager to broadcast to the world that you were brutally violated from behind, then by all means, run your mouths."

"We won't talk nonsense." The captives were already overwhelmed with excitement. Escaping alive was fortunate beyond measure, and escaping punishment was an even greater blessing. If they could actually return in "triumph," it would be an act of supreme grace.

Kevin silently watched the captives. Gone was the half-dead, lifeless demeanor they had displayed inside the cages; they were now exceptionally diligent when stripping the corpses. Ordinary soldiers truly didn't overthink things, but Kevin couldn't help himself. This was perhaps the sorrow of an intellectual. Sometimes, Kevin was forced to ask himself: whenever superiors failed to follow his line of reasoning, was it simply his habit to find it unpalatable? The more internal secrets one knew, the more independent thoughts one inevitably developed?

Perhaps he truly was not suited to be a frontline junior officer.

However, not every captive was ecstatic. The staff officer was still completely naked, having just been untied from the wooden cross. Someone nearby instinctively handed him a cloak to drape over his shoulders, while the staff officer simply stood there in a daze for a long while. It wasn't until the others had finished stripping the bodies that he finally resolved himself, walking in a trembling manner over to the general and dropping to his knees.

"General, please punish me for my failure."

The general merely glanced at him with a complex expression. "Get up first, put on your clothes, and we'll discuss your matter after we return."

"Yes," the staff officer replied softly before rising with unsteady legs. The guards nearby handed him his armor to put on; after all, he was still a staff officer.

The general turned his head and noticed Kevin and Start still standing nearby, so he walked over to offer some praise. "You two did well. I will definitely log your merits when we get back. Start, I can promote you one rank to lieutenant. As for Kevin, since you've already been promoted recently, raising your rank twice in a single year is a bit too fast, so we can save it for next year. Next year, you'll be a captain."

Under normal circumstances, anyone receiving such glory would immediately be driven wild with joy. Retiring as a captain directly conferred the title of Viscount, which was one rank higher than a Baron. Furthermore, it came with various job placements; with good luck, one could even become a village mayor or be allocated a house. That would be infinitely happier than Kevin's former life of wandering everywhere and telling bawdy jokes.

Yet for some reason, upon hearing these rewards, Kevin felt no ripple of emotion within his heart; he almost felt like laughing. Naturally, he didn't dare to actually laugh, so he merely lowered his head to express his gratitude. "Thank you, General."

To everyone's surprise, however, Start actually declined the reward. "Um... General, might I decline this promotion?"

"Why?" the general asked.

Start clutched his chest. "After experiencing several major battles, I feel my body has sustained hidden injuries. I'm afraid I might no longer be suitable for active military service. Could I perhaps... uh..."

Seeing right through him, the general retorted, "If you want to retire, you'll have to wait until your term of service is up. If you truly have hidden injuries, I can transfer you to the logistics corps."

Left with no choice, Start fell silent and stepped back.

The general turned his gaze to Kevin. "You don't happen to have hidden injuries as well, do you?"

"To be honest, I actually do," Kevin replied truthfully. "I was once injured by an expert from the Smida Kingdom, and it flared up again a few days ago."

The general nodded. "Very good. I can grant you a leave of absence. Lieutenants and above are entitled to leave anyway—about a month each year. Since you performed meritoriously in this battle, I'll approve an extra ten days for you. That makes a total of forty days. Go wherever you please; I only have one requirement: report back punctually after forty days."

This time, Kevin was genuinely surprised. Although he essentially had the freedom to roam around every day, he always carried missions and pressures on his shoulders. Taking a real, genuine vacation offered a completely different sensation. Kevin couldn't help but feel a flicker of yearning.

"Thank you, General," Kevin could only offer his gratitude once more.

The general swept his gaze across the assembled soldiers. By now, they were dressed once more in their gear; though their armor and clothing were stained with dried blood, their spirits were no longer utterly depressed, and each man carried several severed heads in his hands. With a wave of the general's hand, he ordered, "Move out!"

The troops marched back in an imposing column, moving quite slowly because they had lost their horses and were forced to proceed on foot. Yet there were no complaints. What filled their minds now was the prospect of a hot bath upon returning, a hearty meal, and a good night's sleep. Having endured the harshest of hardships, what did a bit of walking matter?

By evening of that same day, the troops entered a waystation to rest. Setting off early the following morning, they finally returned to the military camp of the Thunder Knights by dusk on the second day. The moment they caught sight of the camp gates, hot tears welled up in their eyes. Countless family members were still lingering near the entrance, and upon seeing the main army return, they immediately surged forward to surround them.

They were the families of the Third Battalion, many of whom had foolishly held onto hope that their sons might still be alive. Yet the general had no choice but to deliver the harsh truth: aside from the score of men who had managed to escape back, the rest of the Third Battalion was forever buried beneath some nameless hill.

Wails of grief instantly erupted outside the camp gates. Even the general himself was overcome by the sorrowful atmosphere, tears streaming down his old face—after all, he too had lost a son. He could only offer comfort by telling them that at least the blood debt had been repaid, lifting up the numerous severed heads in his hands as proof that these were the bandits.

Some family members shrank back in fear, as very few ordinary people in times of peace ever laid eyes on real human heads. Others burned with rage, wanting nothing more than to rush forward and smash those skulls to pieces. Some clung desperately to the soldiers, inquiring whether they had seen their sons or the bodies of their loved ones. Still others dropped to their knees before the returning troops, expressing profound gratitude for avenging their boys. As for the soldiers themselves, they felt only a crushing weight of guilt and utter helplessness.

The commotion at the camp gates dragged on for over an hour until someone finally shouted, "Our soldiers are exhausted; let them rest!" This prompted the families to gradually loosen their grips. As the soldiers passed through the gates, their posture was one of defeat and escapism.

That night, Kevin tossed and turning, unable to find sleep no matter how hard he tried. In frustration, he climbed out of bed in the dead of night, picked up pen and paper, and meticulously wrote out a full report detailing the entire course of the battle against the bandits, appending his own personal observations and insights. Spanning several long pages, he did not lay down his pen until the first light of dawn. (To be continued.)