We were deserters from the northern defensive line.
Gnome looked at the distant lights of the camp and was suddenly overwhelmed by memories... That place was hell, his entire squadron was dead, only Gnome Joe survived.
He fled the front lines, discarded his uniform, everyone thought his squadron had died at their post, Joe even saw news of his own death. Because of their squadron’s sacrifice, Sydney’s defense forces eliminated at least four legions of the enemy in that battle.
It was a splendid, great victory.
Joe and his comrades were just insignificant numbers in that victory.
From that day on, Joe was already dead, with a home he couldn’t return to, he could only watch his wife remarry with their young child, he could only watch the child endure hardship in a new home.
He was powerless to do anything.
Because Joe was dead, there were no cowards in his squadron.
If he were to return alive, his wife, his child, would be endangered by their father, the deserter, and their deserter husband.
Suffering was better than being a deserter’s child, bearing greater suffering, bearing greater sin... that was preferable.
So Joe fled his hometown, living in the world like a lost soul, until one day, Joe, lying in poverty and sickness, met Cohen and his companions.
"Considering you only have a handful of copper coins in your pocket, you don’t seem like some noble. Why don’t you join us?"
Cohen was a big man with a sense of loyalty; his Robber Group wasn’t the kind to commit unspeakable evils—they would rob caravans, for sure, but they would never attack villages.
We were robbers, but reasonable ones, everyone is struggling, why harm each other.
That’s why Joe had followed Cohen all along.
Until today, when he received a big job, to pursue a target within a small mercenary squad.
The group had a total of 60 brothers, with a bounty of 72,000 gold, each man could get at least 1,000 gold, and those with good performance could get even more, this was the distribution Cohen had decided.
After this job, everyone could return to their hometowns gloriously, with this money, buy some land, not necessarily living as nobles, but at least living with some peace of mind.
Cohen made sense, and the brothers all agreed, Joe had no choice but to agree too—despite having a home he couldn’t return to.
But... with money, at the very least, he could go back and watch his child, pretending to drop his wallet in front of him so the child could pick it up, finding him, or secretly leaving it... either way was good.
At least that was his child. With that money, he could live better, when he grew up and left that home, maybe he could use that money to live like a free man.
With that thought, Joe cautiously disabled a trap—it was a circular trap about the size of a normal human’s foot, like a pit, but filled with spikes. Even wearing armor boots, one might twist an ankle, and if not, the soles of one’s feet would likely be shredded.
If not for the remnants of a Spell Formation, Joe wouldn’t have noticed the trap.
The enemy was proficient in traps, and this discovery greatly troubled Joe—such traps were usually common in the military, meaning there must be veterans among them... unlike Joe, a deserter, they were retired veterans.
Such traps are usually dug only by soldiers, and in all his years, Joe had never seen such a devious trap, so once again he feared—who exactly was their target.
All this... was it a pie from the sky, or a huge trap?
With this in mind, Joe turned his head to look at Cohen in the tall grass, watching him: "There are traps, I can only dismantle a few, I don’t know what other traps lie ahead, it’s extremely dangerous."
"...I understand, I will lead the charge." Cohen nodded, then stood up and waved to those behind him.
The companions waiting at the edge of the forest began to move.
Joe turned his head; from his position, he could see beyond the cover of the grass. There, his companions skirted around a thorny area and stepped out of the woods—Joe sharply observed one of them suddenly sink a bit in his step.
The next second, a branch burst out from the sandy ground, its sharp tip piercing through his chest!
The sound of the branch whipping through the air was so loud in the quiet night, yet the severely injured comrade didn’t have the chance to cry out—he had hit the lung, blood flooding into it, making it impossible to speak. Without treatment, he would drown in his own blood.
Cohen didn’t look back but started advancing.
Joe made way as Cohen led his men through the area of tall grass Joe was in, then Joe saw another comrade rush out on the opposite side of the tall grass and suddenly fall down. This time, the man, uninjured in the chest and abdomen, let out a scream.
There was a stir in the camp, Joe saw a Fireball shoot from the camp.
Before he could react, the Fireball fell behind him in the tall grass and the next moment, the entire clump of grass caught fire.
Some companions rushed out, rolling in the mud, while others didn’t make it.
"Charge!" Now Joe could only grit his teeth and charge forward: "Old Bill! Use your Fog Making Spell to cover us!"
Joe turned around just in time to see the old man named Bill being flipped over by a bullet—the bullet had entered the left side of his skull, blowing off a large chunk of his skull on the other side.
Joe looked toward the direction from which the bullet had come, a large tree in the distance, dense with foliage, and... swarming with Killer Bees.