Chapter 1064 - 874: Patrol_2
Old Toby took out a few hard wheat cakes from his backpack, skewered them on sticks, and slowly roasted them by the campfire. When the surface turned slightly golden brown, he broke them into pieces and tossed them into a bowl, pouring a spoonful of steaming meat broth over them.
Grayson sat across from the campfire, using a dagger to carve a newly acquired arrow shaft. He occasionally glanced up at the night sky above the valley to ensure nothing unusual was happening.
The captain was not very talkative during rest times, but he would personally check the shift timings of the sentries before each meal.
The supplies provided by the Earl were indeed generous. Besides the usual rations and drinking water, each patrol team was equipped with ample pickled meat, cheese, ale, and a few small jars of wax-sealed jam.
The backpack distributed to Duke even contained a small bag of candies. Although not many, these were considered a luxury in this wilderness camp.
After he ate his fill, Old Toby leaned against his backpack, holding his perpetually dirty tin cup, and began his usual ramblings about the heavy moisture in the valley being unfriendly to his old bones.
Grayson snorted, saying he hadn’t seen Toby drink any less alcohol.
Old Toby retorted confidently, claiming ale dispels dampness, and the higher the alcohol content, the more thoroughly it does so. After speaking, he raised his cup and took a big gulp.
A few young team members were amused and burst into laughter. Duke also chuckled, raised his own bowl to sip some soup, and then continued leaning against the rock wall, closing his eyes for a nap while his spiritual power spread out, encompassing the movements within several miles around the valley.
The campfire crackled, its orange flames casting flickering shadows on the grey rock wall.
On the fifth dawn, the sky was overcast, heavy grey clouds moved in from the direction of the mountains, shrouding the entire valley in a leaden shadow.
The air was filled with the scent of damp earth, mixed with a faint scorched smell drifting from afar.
The river flow was noticeably faster than in previous days, muddy waters carrying broken branches and leaves downstream, making a muffled roaring sound on the pebble riverbed.
The news had reached all patrol points last night—the rebel army’s vanguard had crossed the old boundary of the Cadwell Territory and was steadily advancing along the main road to Grey Rock City.
Earl Marshall’s main forces had engaged the rebel army on the front battlefield. Both sides were in a stalemate on the open plains west of Grey Rock City, but the rebel army’s mobile squads had begun to infiltrate the Earl’s flank defenses, attempting to gauge the distribution and real strength of the rear patrol points.
Grayson read this news aloud by the campfire to everyone. After he finished, there was a long silence around the campfire.
Old Toby was the first to stand up, shoved his tin cup with the half-cup of ale back into his backpack, and then silently went to check the wire traps around the camp.
The newly joined young team member leaned on a large rock by the riverbank, his fingers gripping the hunting bow turning slightly pale, while his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the direction upstream in the valley.
That day, it was Duke and Grayson’s turn to take the first watch at the forward observation post.
The two walked along the rocky path below the rock wall for half an hour, arriving at a naturally formed pile of debris halfway along the valley.
This pile of debris had proven to be an excellent ambush site during patrols a few days ago, where large granite boulders, having peeled off the cliff above, lay intertwined, forming a natural cover that could conceal bodies while offering a commanding view over the entire section of the river.
Grayson pulled out a pocket telescope from his waist, leaned against the stone edge, and slowly scanned upstream.
Duke, meanwhile, sat cross-legged behind him, his spiritual power acting like an invisible web that encompassed the region within several hundred meters along both sides of the valley.
About half an hour later, the edge of Duke’s perception web suddenly twitched slightly.
He opened his eyes and whispered to Grayson, "Someone’s coming."
Grayson lowered the telescope, his right hand already resting on the sword hilt, listening closely for a moment.
Soon after, he too heard extremely faint footsteps—not just one pair—moving quickly and stealthily along the rocky path below the riverbank. Occasionally, stones were kicked into the water with a light splash. Each footstep fell in the gaps between the river’s rhythmic splashes, clearly not those of typical caravans or hunters.
Duke’s spiritual power had already locked onto the number and position of the newcomers, five in total, all wearing gray-brown camouflage cloaks that closely matched the valley rock walls in color. The leader had a standard short knife at his waist, with a few rough iron plate morceaux tied to his shoulder pads with thin hemp ropes, etched with a bright red sunwheel pattern.
They crept silently along the riverbank’s shadows, their movements were professionally trained and methodical, their steps and breathing were suppressed to very low levels, making it nearly impossible for ordinary people, even just meters away, to detect their presence.
But within Duke’s perception, the faint energy fluctuations emanating from these five individuals were as clearly visible as fireflies in the night.
Grayson made a few terse tactical gestures towards Duke, conveying that he would handle the two on the left, Duke would handle the two on the right, leaving the one in the middle, the leader, alive.
Duke nodded slightly to him, quietly slipped down from the debris pile, lowering his stance as he moved quickly across the rocky beach, to approach one of the scouts from behind.
The man was squatting by the riverbank, holding up a brass telescope to observe the opposite bank, completely unaware that an additional person had appeared behind him.
Without using any magic, Duke simply pressed his hand lightly against the back of the man’s neck, precisely hitting the carotid sinus. The man lost consciousness and slumped to the ground without a sound.
He caught the scout’s dropped telescope and short knife, gently placed them on the ground, and then used the same technique to deal with two others.
On Grayson’s side, he had already knocked out the one on the left with a sword scabbard, and was stepping on the wrist of the last leading scout, kicking away the short knife marked with a sunwheel symbol.
The scout raised his head, glared at Grayson with a pair of eyes full of hostility, and muttered something under his breath, probably a curse in dialect.
Grayson ignored him, drew out a spare hemp rope from his waist, deftly bound the scout’s hands behind him, and then tore off a piece of coarse cloth from his backpack to stuff into his mouth, fastening it securely.
Duke dragged the three incapacitated scouts one by one behind the debris pile, similarly tying them up with hemp rope. Then he walked over to squat beside Grayson, reached out to lift the disguised cloak of the leading scout, and carefully inspected the red sunwheel symbol on his shoulder pads.
The paint was still fresh, with no edge wear, probably applied just before departure.
"Rebel army scouts." Duke stood up, brushed the dust off his hands, "Given this direction, they’re trying to map out the distribution of patrol points and their rotation patterns, likely to pave the way for the main force behind."
Grayson watched the scout on the ground who was still struggling for a moment, then decisively put away the telescope and signaled an emergency retreat in the direction of Old Toby’s observation post.
Old Toby saw the signal from afar, immediately extinguished the campfire, quickly packed the supplies into his backpack, and led the others to rendezvous behind the debris piles along the predetermined route.
Grayson glanced at the tightly bound scouts, cut a piece of cloth with the sunwheel symbol from the scout’s sleeve with a dagger and stuffed it into his coat, then said in a deep voice, "Bring all these scouts back to Grey Rock City, move out immediately."
The journey back to Grey Rock City was faster than the journey there. Grayson pushed hard, and the team barely stopped to rest, only taking a brief nap in an abandoned hunter cabin during the darkest midnight hours.
Just after midday the next day, the group escorted the tightly bound scouts through the final checkpoint outside Grey Rock City, entering through the side west gate.
The gate’s soldiers turned extremely grim upon seeing the unmasked scouts, and immediately a runner rushed into the city to report.
In less than a quarter of an hour, several Knights wearing Earl Marshall’s trusted aide uniforms arrived on horseback, took custody of the scouts, and began interrogations on the spot.
The leading scout, being dragged into the army barracks interrogation room, was still struggling desperately, the coarse cloth stuffed in his mouth was soaking through with blood.
The veteran officer in charge of interrogation crouched down, pried open his mouth for a check, then looked up and declared that there was no poison between his teeth, confirming he was not a Death Warrior.