I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Zieg knew perfectly well what the other person was thinking.

For them, the two swords that could wipe out the entire group of water ghosts in less than a minute were their only hope of escaping this muddy land.

Under normal circumstances, if you wanted to hire a guard of this caliber, you wouldn't even be qualified to touch him unless you had several heavy leather bags full of Oren gold coins slammed onto the wooden table.

Zig glanced at the refugees behind the burned-faced man.

The most troublesome thing about Velen has never been just the monsters.

The weather in this land is like a wet rag that can never be wrung dry; mud will stick to everything that moves.

The eight horses they brought had to be brushed, fed, and had their hooves checked daily. The Nilfgaardian warhorses were even more delicate and couldn't be allowed to have mud build up on their legs.

In addition, you also need to find dry branches, start a fire, boil water, and set up a tent.

Even if four people take turns doing it, they will still expend a great deal of energy in this muddy place.

If a group of quick-witted people could find a sheltered woodland before nightfall, pitch their tents securely, light a campfire, and cook a pot of piping hot bean soup, Siegfried and his companions could save themselves from these trivial expenses and focus all their energy and attention on the moment they drew their swords.

The other party needs swords that can subdue swamp monsters.

He needs skilled workers who can do odd jobs.

This was originally a mutually beneficial arrangement.

However, what truly convinced Zieg to agree was not the small amount of effort saved.

Compared to professional mercenaries who bang on tables in taverns to negotiate prices and are ready to betray their employers at the slightest sign of trouble, this hastily assembled team has the most fatal weakness, and therefore the easiest logic to predict.

Their aim was not to plunder the corpses, nor to risk their lives for wealth in a chaotic world.

Their only hope was to give their wives, children, and elderly relatives one more day to breathe and escape the quagmire of Velen alive.

As long as Zieg can show them a way out, they won't do anything foolish in a place like this.

"Can."

Zieg spoke.

The man whose face was half burned visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"But you must follow my instructions on the road. The carriage will travel in the middle, and your people will continue to guard the front and back. The elderly, women, and children should not stray too far from the carriage. You will arrange the manpower yourself for gathering firewood, tending to the horses, setting up camp, and keeping watch at night."

"If you encounter a monster, do not rush out on your own. Listen to my instructions before you act."

The man nodded immediately.

"clear."

After he finished speaking, as if afraid that one sentence wasn't enough, he shouted to the rear, "Did you all hear that? The carriage should stay in the middle! The elderly, women, and children should move to the side of the carriage; help those who can't walk onto it; those who can carry weapons should guard the front and back, and everyone else should stay close. No one should leave the road!"

……

The rainwater turned the dirt roads of Velen into a thick, grayish-black soup.

The reeds on both sides of the road were blown to one side by the wind, their grayish-white fluffy heads, wet with rain, drooping heavily.

The shadows of the trees in the distance were crowded together, with bare branches intertwined. Occasionally, a crow would flutter up from the branches, its cries quickly swallowed by the sound of rain.

For the next half day, the march did not slow down because of the addition of this group of refugees.

These men were far more disciplined than ordinary farmers. Children who couldn't walk were carried on their shoulders in turns, and even if the wheels of the cart got stuck in the mud again, they would be quickly pushed out by the coordinated efforts of a dozen or so pairs of arms.

Just before dusk, the man with half his face burned turned back from the front of the procession.

"Sir, there is an abandoned camp ahead."

He pointed to the left side of the road.

"It's not dry land, but it's a bit higher than the roadside. There are several sections of stone walls nearby, which can be used to park cars, and the woods can also block the wind."

Zieg looked in the direction he was pointing.

Through the fog, a path obscured by weeds could be seen, leading to a gray shadow at the edge of a grove.

The place was some distance from the swamp, and the trees there weren't like the dead trees by the roadside that were just skeletons; at least there were a few pine trees that could block the wind.

"Okay, let's go."

The group deviated from the main road.

The path was narrower than the main road, and the wheels made a dull creaking sound as they rolled over the grass roots and muddy water.

After walking for a short while, a slightly elevated open space appeared ahead.

A half-circle of dilapidated stone wall surrounds the edge of the forest, covered with damp moss. Several charred wooden stakes lie askew on the ground, and the ash-black traces left by the hearth can still be seen nearby.

The ground was still damp, and your boots would sink half an inch when you stepped on it, but at least compared to the muddy road outside, you wouldn't step into puddles.

Zieg dismounted and looked around.

"Arrange the wagons in a semi-circle along the outside of the stone wall, leaving an opening on the side facing the path. Don't let the fire get too big, and don't let the flames spread too far; pitch the tents close to the stone wall, and tie the horses to a sheltered spot, away from the fire and the children."

The man, whose face was half burned, responded and relayed the message.

One carriage after another was pushed to the designated position, with the front of the carriage facing inwards and the rear facing outwards, forming a rough barrier.

Several men lifted the wooden stake back up and tied the wheel to the stake with a rope.

The women led the children behind the stone wall, and the elderly were placed in sheltered spots, with blankets laid on wooden planks and straw mats to keep out the dampness from the ground.

Someone went to the edge of the woods to collect firewood.

Most of the firewood in Velen was soaked through; the outer layer was completely wet to the touch.

Those people didn't mind the trouble; they simply used short knives to peel off the wet outer bark and take out the relatively dry core.

Someone unloaded a small wooden box wrapped in oilcloth from the cart, took out a few pieces of dry firewood and tinder that had been prepared beforehand, and carefully protected them under the cloak.

The fire was finally lit.

At first, there was only a small cluster of orange flames licking upwards along the wood core, emitting choking white smoke.

Several people squatted by the fire, using their bodies to block the wind, and only put the iron pot on it after the fire had really caught up with the wood.

Meanwhile, the people responsible for taking care of the horses also began to get busy.

They first led the eight horses to a sheltered spot behind a stone wall, then carefully wiped the mud off their legs and bellies with a coarse cloth.

The Mahakan mountain horse lowered its head to chew its hay, hot breath coming out of its nostrils.

The Nilfgaardian horses pawed at the ground impatiently, but were quickly calmed down by the men leading them, who pulled on the reins and whispered words of reassurance.

Dandelion stood a short distance away, watching two men groom his horse, his expression somewhat complicated.

"I have to admit, it feels good to be taken care of by someone." He paused, then added, "especially when I personally don't want to get muddy at all."

Zoltan sat on a rock, scraping the mud off the soles of his boots with a twig.

"They are very skilled at their work."

Dandelion also looked at the busy people.

"Yes. It's not common to see refugees who can organize their camps like this."

The first pot of hot food was brought over before it got completely dark.

The one carrying the pot was Clegane, the man whose face was half burned. Two younger men followed behind him, one carrying several wooden bowls and the other holding a rye bread wrapped in oilcloth.

Clegane placed the iron pot on a flat stone in front of Sieg and the others, then took the bread from his companion and arranged it along with the wooden bowl.

The pot contained a thick oatmeal porridge, and the steam rising from it carried the aroma of grains and salted meat.

The porridge was very thick, and you could see chopped dried beans and a few thin slices of smoked meat in it.

The rye bread was heated by the fire, the crust was slightly charred, and a hint of wheat aroma wafted through the air, which was quite a treat in this kind of weather.

This wasn't something we found hastily in the Velen Swamp.

The grain, salted meat, and bread were clearly provisions they had carried with them along the way.

The bags were wrapped in tarpaulins, and someone was specifically assigned to guard them when they were unloaded from the truck. There was no rush when the grain was distributed.

"Sir, there aren't many items, but they're all clean."

He didn't explain further, nor did he pretend not to notice the caution of Zieg and the others.

Zig looked at the pot of hot porridge.

The heat hit my face, dispelling some of the night's chill. Drops of oil from the salted meat floated on the surface, shimmering slowly in the firelight before being enveloped by the thick porridge.

Several children in the distance smelled the aroma and couldn't help but glance over, but were quickly pulled back by the adults beside them.