Chapter 367 - 258: Who Is the Fiercest in the Eastern Steppe?

Chapter 367: Chapter 258: Who Is the Fiercest in the Eastern Steppe?

Inside Chai Kan’s castle, the Second Prince’s anxiety stood in stark contrast to the tense situation in the eastern grasslands.

Some were preparing for war, others were looking for business opportunities, and still others were assessing the threat. The entire empire had been thrown into turmoil by Henry’s rise.

But what of John, the loser in this war that shook the empire? What was he doing?

Count John’s face was a picture of wretchedness. He sat slumped on an exhausted warhorse, a hint of despair in his eyes.

He had once been the master of Odoche, the glorious symbol of the Hoyland Clan, yet now he had been reduced to this. Though he felt anger, what filled his heart more was fear.

Henry’s army, like a sandstorm or a plague of locusts, had drowned everything he had in blood and fire.

And Henry himself... John felt he would never forget the sight of Henry’s black armor for the rest of his life.

During these days on the run, John would sometimes be startled by large black rocks in the night. Once he realized what they were, he could only give a self-deprecating laugh.

Beside him, his one hundred and fifty-eight Qiesha were also exhausted.

These elites, who should have been invincible on the battlefield, could now only struggle to survive as fugitives.

Their armor and barding were covered in dust, yet they still followed John loyally. Not a single one had left.

They were, one might say, John’s most prized possession. They had always been supplied with the best weapons, armor, warhorses, food, and high salaries.

Loyalty is earned through treatment. And the treatment John had given these men had undoubtedly earned him theirs.

Moreover, these good lads had been trained since childhood. They were his true Personal Guard, another kind of family to John.

"My Lord Count, we’ve reached the border of Xilonia," one of the Qiesha said softly.

John nodded, his gaze fixed on the distance. ’My own fate is sealed, but at least I can lead these loyal men away from this land of strife.’

He took a deep breath, trying to appear calmer.

"Keep moving. We need to get to Rovar as quickly as possible." John’s voice was a bit hoarse, but it still carried a trace of authority.

"There... we can start over."

He didn’t know what awaited him in Rovar. But he knew he could never return to Odoche, never again set foot on the eastern grasslands. That place no longer belonged to him.

They pressed on, hurrying through the forests of Mizea.

The fall of Odoche replayed endlessly in John’s mind.

His clan, his honor, his power—all had vanished overnight.

He didn’t even dare to imagine how the nobles and commoners who once bowed and scraped before him would view him now.

’It must be utterly humiliating, mustn’t it?’

John suddenly let out a relieved laugh, a smile tinged with bitterness and self-mockery.

His gaze grew profound, as if piercing through time to return to his youth, a time filled with passion and dreams.

He remembered how he was when he was young: high-spirited and full of curiosity and a yearning for the world.

He had worshiped his clan’s honor, longed to inherit his father’s title, and pursued wealth, connections, and prestige. He thought that possessing these things would make him a true noble, that he would be able to control his own destiny.

But now, here he was on the run, having lost everything he once had.

His title, his Dinars, his connections, his prestige... The things that had once obsessed him now seemed so hollow.

He suddenly realized that deep down, he had always been deluded by these illusions.

"How ridiculous," John muttered to himself, his voice tinged with resignation.

"To think I actually believed those things were what mattered most."

He looked up at the treetops of the Mizea forest. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows.

He suddenly remembered an oath he had taken in his youth. Back then, he too had dreamed of becoming a great Warrior, of using his sword to protect his clan and his lands.

"A sword and strength—those are what one should truly pursue," John said in a low voice, a new resolve in his tone.

He recalled how he had once trained painstakingly in the arts of a Knight, those arduous years when he strove to become the pride of his clan.

He learned how to wield a sword, how to ride a horse, and how to command an army.

However, as time went on, he gradually lost his way amidst the temptations of title and wealth, forgetting his original purpose.

’If I had understood this principle sooner, perhaps the outcome would have been different,’ John thought to himself, but he quickly shook his head.

’No, perhaps the outcome would have been the same. Henry’s rise is unstoppable.’

His gaze fell once more upon the Qiesha by his side. These loyal subordinates were the only strength he could rely on.

They still maintained their military bearing. Not one of them complained; not one of them gave up.

"My Lord Count, are you all right?" one of the Qiesha asked with concern, having noticed John’s expression.

’The Count has always treated us extremely well, but he’s never had that look in his eyes before.’

’Could the blow have been too much? Has he gone mad?’

John smiled faintly and nodded. "I’m fine. I was just thinking about some things."

He recentered himself, his voice becoming calmer. "Let’s keep moving, brothers. We’re going to Rovar. A new opportunity and a new life await us there."

He had made his decision. He would no longer indulge in past glories, nor would he be deluded by illusory prestige.