“Smoke grenade! This’ll buy us some time!”
“Oh my God! I’m actually useful!”
The short-haired girl beamed and happily handed the smoke grenade to Chloe.
Chloe pulled the pin and hurled it with all her strength toward the direction the darts had been coming from the thickest.
The metal canister rolled across the ground, clinking a few times, then exploded with a bang, spewing thick white smoke.
A gray curtain spread across the barren land, swallowing the area whole and instantly blinding the instructors who had been sniping them.
“Scatter and run!”
At Chloe’s shout, all four took off at once.
That was when she spotted the silver-haired man casually scooping up the backpacks the raiders had abandoned.
He didn’t seem to care in the slightest that he could still be shot.
‘Is he insane…?’
Thinking that, Chloe still dashed over and started gathering the backpacks the raiders had missed. She was confident in a footrace.
She had endured 30 kg full marching gear; this weight was nothing.
The man, arms now full of bags, used them like a shield against incoming darts while zigzagging at full speed.
‘Instinct? Or knowledge?’
Running in a straight line made you an easy target. Constantly changing direction at high speed was far better.
Chloe did the same: shielding herself with backpacks, shifting course unpredictably, and sprinting with everything she had.
When the gunshots finally stopped, she gradually slowed down. Her group came into view.
“We’re alive!”
“Good heavens, I never thought I’d be this happy to see wasteland dirt!”
While everyone hugged and celebrated surviving the danger zone, Chloe called out to the man who was about to walk off alone with his armful of loot.
“Why don’t you travel with us to Northport?”
The gentleman—who had narrowly escaped being the only gentleman—shook his head frantically in protest, but to Chloe the man looked pretty damn useful.
The man swept his gaze over them, smirked, and shot her down flat.
“Does a wolf travel in a pack with a thousand timid little birds?”
As an elite, Chloe could not let such a blatantly incorrect fact stand.
“Wolves are pack animals. You should’ve said, ‘Would a wolf join a pack of dogs?’”
“Fair enough. I’ll remember that—”
He waved lazily and sauntered off, carefree as ever.
In completely the wrong direction for Northport.
Chloe briefly wondered whether she should tell him.
“What the hell was that lunatic?”
The redhead said exactly what Chloe was thinking.
“That was His Lordship Altair Targen. The most infamous scoundrel in the east. Everyone said the Targen ducal house would eventually dump that lunatic in Northport—turns out it was this year.”
The gentleman clicked his tongue, revealing the man’s identity.
A Targen ducal heir. Bigger fish than she’d thought.
“Anyway, let’s sort these backpacks first. Carrying all of them would just slow us down, so we’ll transfer only what we need into ours.”
Chloe shook the pile of stolen supplies.
Everyone immediately pounced on the backpacks she spread out on the ground.
The redhead’s face lit up when she found canteens full of water.
“Water! We don’t have to ration anymore! Oh, jerky too! Canned food over here! We’re set for water and food for the full 48 hours!”
“Then the people who lost these are crossing the wasteland with nothing to eat or drink?”
Whatever story had landed the short-haired girl here, she was showing a remarkably un-scoundrel-like conscience.
Three minutes without air, three hours in extreme temperatures, three days without water, three weeks without food.
By the Rule of Threes, the robbed cadets wouldn’t die of thirst. They’d just wish they were dead.
After Chloe explained the rule, the short-haired girl looked a little relieved.
And from the looted packs came an item that would drastically cut their travel time.
Chloe muttered in disbelief.
“These idiots had a compass the whole time and still just followed our tracks?”
Now the raiders had neither tracks nor compass. Couldn’t have happened to nicer people.
“That’s enough. Let’s move.”
At Chloe’s command, everyone shouldered their now-bulging backpacks and stood.
They left the emptied backpacks at the edge of the minefield so their original owners could reclaim whatever was left.
Determined not to surrender the lead, Chloe drove the group mercilessly across the wasteland without rest.
She constantly checked direction, kept the formation tight so no one fell behind, and timed breaks to the minute.
The 48-hour limit wasn’t arbitrary; even with only minimal rest, Northport’s shadow was nowhere in sight.
Eventually the sun set and night deepened.
The wasteland that had tried to roast them alive during the day now turned into a freezing thief that stole body heat. Beast howls echoed eerily through the air.
The sweat that had poured off them under the sun now cooled instantly in the night air, sapping their warmth.
Add the fatigue from the earlier fight, the minefield dash, and the forced march—the pampered noble brats (Chloe excluded) were utterly spent.
“I’m really going to die… I never thought the wasteland would be my grave…”
“Fucking Northport…”
Checking direction by the stars instead of shadows, Chloe saw the state of her group and decided this wouldn’t do. She looked for a spot to set up a temporary base camp.
No matter how tough scoundrels were, keeping up with someone who trained daily like Chloe was nearly impossible.
They scraped together every bit of dry grass in the area, and with the gentleman’s lighter managed a tiny flame. The five huddled as close as possible around that feeble warmth, thawing their bodies.
Ravenous hunger struck; they gorged on their now-abundant food supplies—luxury they could never have dreamed of with just their original rations.
“Hot tomatoes are the best with liquor… liquor… liiiquooor…”
“That damn old man! He lost a mere 30 million bel gambling and shoved me into this hellhole? I told him I’d win it back in a few days!”
Feeling human again, the weakling resumed his alcohol mantra, while the redhead vented at her family. Alcoholism and gambling addiction—quite the pair.
“Everyone, get whatever sleep you can. That’s the only way to recover any stamina.”
The weakest and smallest, the weakling had been pushed to the outer edge of the fire and was shivering even wrapped in the waterproof tarp.
“It’s too cold… I can’t sleep…”
If he stayed awake all night in that state, he’d definitely drag the group down tomorrow.
That wasn’t acceptable. Keeping comrades in peak condition was part of an elite’s duty.
Chloe stood up, rummaged through the weakling’s bag, and pulled out the folding shovel. The redhead clapped excitedly.
“Oooh, making a temporary shelter?”
There were no branches or trees—how do you pitch a tarp shelter with nothing? Chloe chose the simplest, most direct method.
A few dozen minutes later, Chloe wiped the sweat from her brow and smiled proudly at her handiwork. She hauled the still-shivering weakling to her feet and led her over.
The weakling forgot to shiver and just blinked at Chloe’s creation.
Pointing at what undeniably looked like a freshly dug grave, shovel still in hand, Chloe smiled brightly.
“You can sleep in here.”
Forever—almost echoed in the air.