The lord's order to "sweep" spread among Cecil's soldiers, and the pursuit had entered a phase of near-mechanized operation—at least for Cecil's combat corps.

Every day, the scouts in front and the spies planted in the aristocratic coalition will send the latest information to the commander of the combat corps, and even without this information, the aristocratic coalition army, which has completely lost order, can hardly hide its whereabouts when fleeing, Cecil's corps locks on the huge enemy army at a distance not far away, as long as the other party stops, the artillery bombardment will start immediately, there is no normal eating, no normal sleep, and there is almost no time to stop- In fact, this was a test of willpower for both sides of the pursuit, but it was clear that the test for the noble coalition would be even tougher.

Cecil's soldiers had the opportunity to rest in shifts, and the surging fighting spirit of the pursuit after the victory also inspired them to continue to move forward, and the continuous destruction of the garrisons of the various nobles' territories along the way brought them enough supplies, and after Cecil was safe in the mainland, several replacement reinforcements were sent from the direction of the territory, which further reduced the pressure on the pursuing troops.

On the other hand, the aristocratic coalition ...... They are rapidly being pushed to their limits.

In fact, they have long reached their limit, in this era, there is almost no cohesion and discipline of the aristocratic private soldiers, when the heavy magic crystal cannonballs destroyed the entire forward troops, and the nobles and knights with extraordinary powers, mages also died on the battlefield like ordinary infantry, the vast majority of ordinary people in this coalition army have lost the slightest willingness to fight.

One of the reasons why they continue to flee to this day is that the knights and nobles in the coalition are still trying to maintain the last dignity, although the "heavenly fire explosion" of the Cecil people is terrifying, but the deterrent power of the extraordinary powerhouses close at hand is even stronger against ordinary soldiers, and the coercion accumulated by these "upper echelons" for a long time has been deeply imprinted in the minds of those serf soldiers, private soldiers, and young recruits, and they are still barely maintaining the situation of the team.

The other reason was the propaganda made by Count Hossmann before the war, and the rumors that still circulated among the remnants of the coalition army - many people believed that the Cecil people had risen by witchcraft and blasphemy, and that falling into the hands of Cecil would have been worse than death, and that the land of Cecil was full of lies, sins, blasphemy, and mad chaos, and this unfounded rumor should have been laughed off by the sensible, but it was deeply rooted in the minds of the superstitious and ignorant private soldiers. And with the relentless pursuit of the Cecil and the terrible force, the power of these prejudices has kept even the noble private soldiers, who should have had no cohesion at all, to this day.

But no matter how long they hold on, their physical strength and will are finally reaching their limit.

The cold night wind blew across the plain, and the night wind carried the sweetness of spring bellgrass, and Baltel, a knight from Cretland, sat in an icy dirt pit, silently counting the time with his two knight companions and nine servants, while beside them were a sparse crowd of dozens of men, dozens of private recruits, archers, coolies, and serfs from the Baltel region.

These are all those who have survived from Baltel, their lords are dead, more than a hundred of their brothers and sisters have been separated on the way to escape, and even themselves, who have lost contact with the army before nightfall. In the night, no one dared to turn on the lights to find a companion, and no one even dared to call out to other noble legions that might be walking nearby, and the dozens of people who had finally reunited after being separated could only gather in this dark and cold night, quietly waiting for tomorrow.

Waiting for that tomorrow that may not necessarily come.

No one spoke, and even though a glimmer of the morning sun had appeared on the horizon, no one raised their heads to look at the horizon. Baltel lowered his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the ground beneath his feet, hunger and sleepiness tearing at his nerves at the same time, making him not want to say more words and make more movements.

He hadn't slept for days and nights, everyone here hadn't slept for days and nights, and even the transcendent would be on the verge of the limit in this situation, let alone ordinary people. Baltel now just wanted to lie down, he just wanted to sleep, he just wanted to go back to his warm manor, take a sip of hot ginger ale, and sleep for three or five days, but he knew he had no chance—he couldn't go back to his manor, because just yesterday his party had passed through it, and in a very short time it had been driven out by the cannonballs that fell from the sky.

Baltel reached into his arms, silently reaching out for the last of his food: a small piece of black bread as coarse as wood, and as he moved, the last of his food was touched by the people around him—small pieces of dough, cheese jerky, slices of bread, or nothing.

These were not their rations, but they had stolen them from the granges or villages along the way, but most of the time they would not even have a chance to grab a bite of food—the Cecilians had been trying to drive them away through the barren wilderness, like wolves driving sheep.

There was no grill, no boiling pot, and the rising smoke would invite the Cecil "heavenly fire", which was one of the few useful lessons learned during the days of the escape. The handful of fugitives brought the last of their food to their mouths, and before the first rays of the morning sun reached their faces, they began to eat in silence, Baltel's bloodshot eyes filled with tiredness as he chewed down on the inferior black bread he would never have eaten before.

He wants to sleep, no matter what it takes, he just wants to sleep now, he wants to be fed, and then lie down, without anything, without anything to stop him.

A sharp whistling sound came from afar, flying high in the sky.

The shrill whistling sound was the language of the devil, the voice of death, calamity, and the cursed gods, and at the moment of this whistling sound, Baltel only felt every pore of his body subconsciously tighten, but before his muscles were about to subconsciously prop him up from the ground, his movements stopped for another, more intense, irrational reason.

He doesn't want to get up, he just wants to rest, he just wants to stay here quietly, go?? He?? Mother?? life and dignity! He doesn't?? Think?? Rise?? Come!

Baltel's eyes were bloodshot, and he almost gritted his teeth at the ground beneath his feet, and around him, two fellow knights, nine servants, dozens of private soldiers, all of whom had stayed where they were, after a brief tremor and nervousness.

No one stood up, only a few pairs of numb eyes lifted and glanced around with a lifeless gaze.

A sharp whistling sound pierced the sky, and a terrifying explosion came from a distance, and the ground under his body trembled slightly in this explosion, it was a terrifying force that was enough to make the corpses of high-ranking knights and mages all over the ground, Baltel listened to the explosion that didn't seem to be very far away, silently picked up the food in his hand, and brought it to his mouth.

His companions did the same: after a brief hesitation, they continued to eat.

A second roar came from the air, and a moment later, a second explosion resounded through the sky.

The shock of the explosion and the weakness of his body caused Baltel to fall to the ground with the hard bread in his hand, and he looked at the mud-stained bread almost numbly, and with a blank face he reached out and picked it up, and continued to stuff it between his teeth, biting it viciously as if chewing wood.

A third whistling was heard, and this time the explosion seemed to be a little closer.

Even if the "heavenly fire explosion" fell on the top of his head, he didn't want to get up! They don't want to get up either!

They tore at what was left of bread and bread, and the spirit of human sharing even welled up in the minds of some people, and those who still had food divided the food into two portions and brought it to their long-hungry companions, and in the deafening roar of the heavenly fire explosion, the knights from Cretland and their soldiers ate the last of the food in silence until the explosion subsided, until the peculiar pungent breath of the magic explosion wafted to them.

Then they sat quietly between the pit and the stones, lying down, thinking of nothing, doing nothing.

When one of Cecil's "recovery squads" spotted the team, the leader of the team was taken aback.

Several noble knights with dozens of private soldiers sat only a few hundred meters away from the last shelling, half of them had already fallen asleep, while those who remained awake watched with numb expressions as Cecil Combatants appeared in front of them, and the leader of the recovery team was impressed by the dead man's eyes, and years later, the leader of the recovery team described the scene he saw as follows:

“…… After crossing that limit, their will (the alliance of nobles) was completely destroyed, they moved around the plain like the walking dead, and when they ran out of energy, they stopped, and sat wherever they wanted, and our shells fell beside them, and they were completely unmoved, they would eat the last food and just wait. Surrender? No, they didn't want to surrender, they didn't think about it at all, they just stayed there, but when we arrived, they threw out their weapons very cooperatively, and the only thing they asked for was to get some sleep...... It seems that as long as you can give them a quiet rest, they can do anything. ”

On the eighth day after the battle of Gravel Ridge, the fleeing aristocratic coalition began to surrender en masse—or rather stop where they were, quietly waiting for the Cecil to "co-opt" them.

Philip Knight and Wald?? Perridge saw the most incredible sight they had ever seen in their military career: people who had completely lost their fighting spirit wandered the plains in droves like walking corpses, and it was no longer necessary to fight to capture the captives, but to shoot a few random shots at the feet of those men, or throw a crystalline grenade into the distance.

Naturally, they will stop, and even if they are given a rope, they will tie their own hands themselves.

On the tenth day after the Battle of Gravel Ridge, Cecil's Combat Corps entered the western part of the southern border, and through a series of detours, they rounded a long arc around Carol-Consco and continued their "pursuit" towards the Hossmann Territory, and in the afternoon of that day, the Byron Knights led a thousand reinforcements from Cecil proper, and a large amount of supplies to complete the rendezvous with Philip's Corps.

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