The girl left silently, wiping away tears as she went, and in one corner of the camp set up a simple and low shed, made of twigs and withered canes, and covered with some hay that the girl could find.

"Hmm." A pair of strong legs stretched out in the shed, and at the same time there was the sound of a man moaning in pain, and the girl heard it and hurriedly ran over, and in the shed was the northern warrior.

"Aishana, where have you been?" The northern warrior said rudely in a reproachful voice.

"Woolf, I, I'll go find something to eat." The girl smiled as much as she could, and when the Northern warrior asked her to end her life with a knife, the girl refused without hesitation, and took great difficulty to bring the Northern warrior Woolf to the east, where she met several kind serfs along the way, and they took them with them in pack wagons.

"And what about the food?" Woolf's tone was not good, but in his heart he felt pity for the thin girl, and sacrificed a lot to save him.

"Oh me, I forgot." Aishana said embarrassedly.

Woolf didn't say anything anymore, although he was injured in the battle for the White Knight, but as a mercenary, he couldn't get better care, not to mention that this army was almost a rabble, except for the White Knight's direct troops with fixed rations, the rest of the people basically looked for food in the countryside on their own, and everyone could only barely take care of themselves.

"It's going to be war again." Aishana found a clay pot in the shed with some fresh water in it, and she stepped forward to lift Woolf's head and feed him some water.

"Run away on your own this time!" Woolf drank some water, feeling much more comfortable in her hot body, and the old wound from the battle with the Grace Knights burst open on the way to escape, and although Aishana immediately closed the wound with threads, it was somewhat infected.

"No, I won't leave you." Aishana shook her head firmly, Woolf smiled bitterly and lay down again, he was not afraid of death, dying on the battlefield was the dream of every northern soldier, but he owed Aishana a favor, and the debt must still be the creed of a northern man.

"So, can you find a chance to get the White Knight?" Woolf grabbed Ishana's slender arm and spoke to her.

"Me?" Aishana said unconfidently, completely unremembered the courage she had just questioned the White Knight in public.

"You tell him that I can win this war." Woolf's eyes were as clear as the frozen sea of the north, and after he was defeated by the Grace Knights, he had been thinking about how to defeat them.

Bruce led the troops to follow behind the large army, this huge army slowly moved on the muddy path, in Bruce's opinion, the soldiers were fast, but the duke and nobles did not see it that way, the weather became gradually hotter in May, and the nobles would feel that the march was very difficult even if they were on horseback.

Whenever they felt that their buttocks were being ground in the saddle, they advised the Duke of Bemessi to stop and rest in the camp of his troops, which was less than ten kilometers from the castle.

"Encamp." When the Greenton militia set up camp in the field, they had to dig a trench and make a camp with a horse fence, but this was a very hard job, and the troops of the other vassals just set up tents and dug up campfires to cook, without any defensive measures at all, so it seemed extremely easy, and these actions of the Greenton militia were very stupid.

"These Greentons aren't tired." The soldiers of the other vassals crowded to the edge of the Grinton camp, laughing and watching the Glinton soldiers dig the trenches, and they felt that there was no more interesting pastime than this.

"What's going on?" Sir Hilton, who was holding a glass and talking to the other nobles, frowned when he heard the frolicking in the camp, although the Duke and the nobles could not stand the pain of the march, but the soldiers could not let their guard down, this frolicking sound did not bode well, so Sir walked over slowly, and saw a scene that surprised him.

Around the Grington camp, many soldiers were digging a trench shirtless, wielding pickaxes and shovels, while others were placing their horses in the main road, and the whole thing looked like a camp to be stationed for a long time.

"What is this doing?" Sir Hilton hurriedly pushed the wine glass in his hand to the attendant beside him, and he clumsily ran towards Bruce's camp, the reason why he couldn't run briskly was because Jazz was wearing thick leather armor, and the long sword at his waist slapped his leg with Jazz's running, making a sound of clanging.

"Lord Sir Hilton." When Bruce saw Sir Hilton running over, he was also puzzled, wondering if there was some emergency situation.

"Lord Baron, what are you doing here, Lord Duke didn't ask for a camp?" Sir Hilton wiped the sweat from his face, and he wore a thick linen long-eared hat on his head, which was worn to prevent slippage when putting on the iron helmet, and to add an extra layer of defense to his head.

"I know, it's just a rule for my army to march." Bruce briefly explained to Sir Hilton, and after listening to Bruce's explanation, Sir Hilton was so surprised that he almost couldn't close his mouth, the nobles were most afraid of trouble, and Bruce actually set such a difficult rule for himself, you must know how many camps to build along the way.

"Well, then I see, it's just the Baron, it's too hard to build a camp every march, maybe you can be flexible." Sir Hilton sighed in his heart, feeling that Bruce was still too young and took war for granted.

"This is a rule I have set for my army, and I am afraid I can't break it." Bruce shook his head stubbornly, he would rather be cautious than treat war as a wild trip like the other nobles.

Sir Hilton shook his head helplessly and left, the vassals' respective armies have their own military rules, and others can't point fingers. And the behavior of Bruce and the Glinton militia soon became a laughing stock among the nobles and soldiers, and everyone thought that Bruce was not only amorous, but also cowardly.

"Poor soldiers." The Duke of Bemessi sat in front of the tent, enjoying the cool breeze of the squires behind him, drinking the sweet wine in a silver cup, regretting the toil of Bruce's soldiers.

"Hahahaha." The nobles standing on either side of the Duke also burst into laughter, and they looked down on Bruce as a hillbilly nobleman.