Bear School Astartes-Chapter 596 - 599. No one can be blamed

In the end, Geralt did not kill the burly man on horseback.

Between the two of them, Geralt was in a hurry to get away and find someone. Meanwhile, the burly man had no intention of finishing the fight, as if he just came to test the depth of an average Demon Hunter.

After another two charges, during which Geralt shattered the blade of the Crescent Axe, the man retreated without hesitation.

Watching cautiously as the man rode away, Geralt quickly turned and left, running over to Dandelion.

By this time, a large portion of the desperate refugees had already fled far away.

So the risk of trampling had decreased.

In the chaos of a large crowd, disasters come and go quickly.

But just in that brief peak of people flow, Geralt estimated that at least nearly a hundred people were trampled to death or injured.

"Are you okay? How about you, Ciri?"

Geralt asked anxiously, holding his sword, looking at his friend and the Child of Destiny.

Dandelion was holding Ciri by a big tree, looking pale.

It was several seconds after Geralt finished asking when he suddenly began gasping for air as if coming back to life.

"Phew~ Cough cough, by the plague! They almost squeezed me out of breath just now!"

Yet despite his words, Ciri, whom Dandelion was holding, seemed unharmed, just a bit flustered.

The poet had tried his best to protect her.

Geralt knew, but their relationship had surpassed the need for thanks. So he said nothing.

"Let’s get moving quickly."

The White Wolf, while shielding the two incapable of fighting, proceeded toward the direction the crowd had gone.

"Right now, there’s no worry about being trampled to death, but the remaining chaotic soldiers here are enough to endanger both of your lives, stay close to me."

Things went smoothly.

The Niflgaard soldiers, left behind in the wake of the refugee tide, silently watched Geralt escorting the two away.

But that silence was chilling.

This wasn’t the expression of a broken army that had lost its organization.

In Geralt’s rare encounters with defeated troops, they always seemed like drenched dogs to him.

Frightened, and carrying a neurotic panic.

The Niflgaard people were like that when their formation was first shattered by Lann.

But afterwards... the massacre on the refugee group, the refugees’ weak resistance and wails.

Undoubtedly, this allowed the Niflgaard people to regain their confidence and calmness.

Yes, in the refugee group, there was an unexpectedly powerful warrior. But it was just ’one’.

They were merely caught off guard, their army was still the greatest force in this world.

Their numbers weren’t enough, their equipment wasn’t enough, which led to this battle’s failure.

Most of the refugee group had already taken the opportunity to bypass the blockade and were now near Lann.

Stuart, Hacksaw, and all the refugees turned and looked at the Niflgaard people who were originally scattered among the refugees.

Watched as they, under the setting sun, reorganized themselves from scattered defeated troops into a queue.

Watched as they picked up the great solar banner that was initially cut down by Lann and held it high.

Watched as five figures on horseback, seemingly commanders, rode to the front of the Niflgaard people’s formation.

The Niflgaard people and the refugee group stared at each other from a distance.

But the refugees who had broken through the blockade had no atmosphere of victory, and the Niflgaard people opposite showed no signs of a defeated slump.

There were even officers feeling ashamed of their performance in the previous battle.

Furiously ripping off their helmets and throwing them to the ground, roaring loudly in the direction of the refugee group!

"Let’s go."

Lann said, slightly squinting his eyes as he watched this scene, then patted Ged’s shoulder who was staring motionlessly at the Niflgaard people.

Many refugees behind them were impatiently running toward the national border, a day’s journey away.

They didn’t even glance at the road behind them, at the bodies that could no longer rise, or at the heavily wounded comrades being finished off by the Niflgaard people.

The sound of hooves ’pat-a-pat’ echoed next to the Demon Hunters.

Stuart had a bleeding bandage wrapped around his thigh.

He rode over, dismounted in front of the Demon Hunters, and struggled to stand upright.

"Thank you all for your help, especially you, Master Bordeaux."

He lifted his pale, calm face upward to meet Lann’s gaze.

"Without you, we certainly wouldn’t have won this battle."

Hacksaw also approached from the side.

He seemed a bit out of breath, suggesting he had run over in the recent rush. Yet even so, he had taken the time to reapply hair wax in his hair, maintaining his appearance.

"You shouldn’t just thank us, but also those who now lie in the places we’ve just passed, those who were forced into the battle against the battle-hardened Niflgaard people after only a few hours of training and paid with their lives."

Lann said sternly.

"But now, it seems no one is mourning for them?"

Stuart furrowed his brow slightly at these words, while Hacksaw’s smile seemed unwavering.

He tilted the iron scepter in his hand, shielding his son in front of him.

Yet, he took a step forward towards Lann.

"You seem to be angry about this, I understand your feelings and admire your virtue. But this is war. If we must debate, then we’ll have to go to Ossenford University and find the most senior, most respected professor, and debate until the day he dies, without a conclusion."

Hacksaw said calmly.

"All the refugees here only think about how they have been saved, how they are close to a new life. Those who died have nothing to do with them; those who truly couldn’t let go of those bodies probably already lie with them back there."

"These are the facts. We’re not here to debate this with you, but to express our gratitude. Goodbye."

It indeed was the truth, because in the trampling accident and the slaughter by the chaotic Niflgaard soldiers, those who wouldn’t let go of such people likely lay together now as well.

Ged’s mouth twisted with anger as he stepped forward towards Hacksaw.

But Lann stopped him, shaking his head.

He was angry now, no doubt, but at the same time, this anger couldn’t be vented on anyone.

The refugee group, numbering a thousand or so, had decreased by almost two hundred after this battle. A loss of one-fifth.

But when you think about it carefully, who can be blamed for that?

Blame those armed refugees who feared the unorganized Niflgaard chaos troops?

But they were only trained for a few hours, how many hours in their lifetime have they wielded weapons?

Blame Hacksaw for letting everyone charge at the end?

But at that time, the formation was already on the verge of collapse; whether he shouted or not, it would’ve scattered. By shouting, at least he didn’t let the panic-stricken refugees retreat, but charged forward.

So in the end, those distant corpses couldn’t really hold blame from anyone.