Lord: My Shop Connects to Modern Times

Raymond ran for his life, wishing he had two more legs.

His legs were already a little numb, but he dared not stop. He was afraid that if he stopped, he would be torn to pieces by that terrifying "big iron ball".

That attack at Dark Raven Pass completely broke him.

His original plan was to follow the main force of the Southern Allied Army, earn some military merits, and make a good impression on Duke Ivan and the newly enthroned king to gain some benefits.

He originally thought that this operation was a one-sided massacre, but little did he know that while it was indeed a one-sided massacre, his side was the one being massacred!

That kid named Lynn is even more wicked than the rumors say!

He's starting to believe the claim that the other person is the devil incarnate.

After all, they are not demons; it is impossible for them to wipe out an army of thousands in an instant.

Run, run! Let whoever wants to fight this battle fight it. Even if Duke Ivan blames him, even if he incurs the wrath of the new king, he will never fight this battle again.

"M-Sir! Where are we going now?"

One of his adjutants ran quickly to his side and asked tremblingly.

Where to go?

Raymond suddenly paused, his courage shattered by the dread. He had been so focused on running north that he hadn't noticed that the road led to Frostfire City.

No, we can't go to Frostfire City; we can't rejoin the main force.

Raymond knew that although Lynn's side had wiped out more than a thousand troops with lightning speed, the main force certainly had not been completely destroyed.

Six thousand people can't be killed in a day; even killing six thousand pigs would take a while.

The main force is definitely heading towards Frostfire City right now. If nothing unexpected happens, once the fleeing allied forces have settled down, Duke Ivan will order a continued attack on that viscountry.

This was, after all, the king's request, and Duke Ivan could not simply give up because of a single defeat in battle.

But he can't go to Frostfire City; he doesn't want to fight anymore!

Raymond had a premonition that if the fighting continued, regardless of whether they could win, the entire Southern Alliance would suffer heavy losses, and his troops, as a minor viscount, would definitely be depleted in this battle, and he might even lose his life.

He had personally witnessed how Karl's vanguard collapsed in an instant.

"Go back, back to the territory!" Raymond replied with that thought.

The adjutant seemed hesitant, and he said tentatively, "Go back? My lord, I'm afraid Duke Ivan will reprimand us."

"I'll go back then. At worst, we'll cut off all ties. Trade and diplomacy with Rock Fortress will be severed," Raymond said firmly.

"...Yes, sir."

The adjutant said no more, slowed down, and began to relay orders to the other soldiers.

……

Frostfire City.

At this moment, soldiers and minor nobles were scattered around the largest square in the city.

They were standing, sitting, or even lying flat on the ground of the square, but their expressions were all the same: they looked completely lost, as if they had seen a ghost.

The people in the city had never seen anything like it before, so they all huddled in their homes, peeking at them through the cracks in their windows.

Earl Willard's lieutenant, Hansen, leaned against a stone pillar at the edge of the square, holding a water pouch in his hands, but didn't drink a drop for a long time.

His eyes were fixed straight ahead, his gaze lifeless and his face blank.

His mind was filled with the scene from just now.

Those flames that spewed from the ground.

Those dark shadows flying down the hillside.

Those comrades who were torn apart.

Those screams, that blood, those severed limbs...

He closed his eyes and took a big gulp of water.

Water trickled down his chin, mixed with sweat, and dripped onto the ground.

Hansen thought of his lord—Earl Willard.

That plump, pampered middle-aged man, who was just sitting in the carriage complaining about the cold weather, is now...

He dared not think any further.

A muffled sob came from the side.

He turned his head and saw several young soldiers huddled together, their shoulders shaking.

They looked to be only teenagers, not much older than their son.

Hansen withdrew his gaze and continued looking at the ground.

He didn't know what to do next.

Willard is dead, the team has fallen apart, and less than half of the original members remain.

Should we continue?

How do I play?

The flames that spewed from the ground, the dark shadows that flew down the hillside, the dense "iron rain"—they didn't even see the enemy's face before more than a thousand people died.

Count Karl's vanguard was almost completely wiped out in this battle.

If the fighting continues, what will be left?

"Lieutenant Hansen."

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

Hansen looked up and saw Viscount Patrick's adjutant approaching. The man, named Hughes, was in his thirties and usually quite capable, but now he looked ashen-faced with dark circles under his eyes.

"Hughes," Hansen nodded, "how many of your men are left?"

Hughes gave a wry smile: "A little over a hundred. Lord Patrick... is still lying in the carriage, with two broken ribs. He probably won't be able to get out of bed for three months."

Hansen remained silent for a few seconds.

"Where is Lord Raymond?" he asked.

"They ran away," Hughes said in a low voice. "They took their men and ran north. I saw it with my own eyes."

Hansen paused for a moment, then chuckled.

"Good run," he said. "I want to run too."

Hughes did not respond.

The two stood silently, watching the distraught soldiers in the square.

In the distance, several more groups of people entered through the city gate. They were all stragglers who had fled back; some were wounded, some were empty-handed, and some were supporting each other.

There weren't many people; if you add them up here and there, there were probably only a little over a hundred.

Hansen made a rough estimate.

Those who escaped from Dark Raven Pass, along with the logistics troops originally left in Frostfire, now number about 1,200 people in the city.

What about the rest of the people?

Some died, some ran away, and some scattered.

The team of six thousand people was reduced to this small number in less than a day.

"Hansen," Hughes suddenly spoke up, "what do you think... the Duke will say?"

Hansen thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"have no idea."

He genuinely didn't know.

However, he guessed that anger was inevitable, since with such a numerical advantage, even if the enemy were all mid-level warriors, they could still be defeated.

But the key point is that they lost, and lost so badly. Hansen didn't know how the battle was going on the eastern road, but at Dark Raven Pass, it was a complete and utter defeat.

They were defeated before they even saw a glimpse of the enemy.

Logically speaking, if a battle is lost, the commander-in-chief should be held responsible.

The commander of Dark Raven Pass this time was Count Karl, but Hansen suspected that he was already dead—someone saw him lying by the roadside with his leg severed by a cannonball.

The head coach is dead, so what's next?

Will the Duke send troops again?

Or will you give up?

he does not know.

But he knew one thing—he didn't want to fight anymore.