"It’s rash behavior," someone whispered a reminder softly.

"I know what that means, I was testing you guys!" Sixth Hoffman glared at him, "Alright, meeting adjourned. Everyone go back to sleep. We’ll follow the plan later."

The group dispersed, each returning to their spots to lie down.

The wind howled, once again kicking up the yellow sand.

Hannah turned over and nestled into Arnold Simmons’s embrace.

Even asleep, she couldn’t keep still, her hands instinctively sliding into Arnold’s coat to cling tightly to his waist.

Because it was a familiar scent, Arnold didn’t wake up but just hugged her a little tighter.

...

In the middle of the night,

Gregory Lawrence got up to relieve himself, his mind still foggy, and kicked the person sleeping beside him.

"Bro, sorry about that," he mumbled, burping.

He was repulsed by the smell of alcohol on his breath.

Sitting off to the side, arms wrapped around his long sword, was someone with his eyes closed, and it was unclear whether he was asleep or not.

Two minutes later, Gregory returned.

His footsteps were hurried, and he nearly tripped over a rock.

He approached the closest person, shook him awake.

As the person opened his eyes, he was met with Gregory’s anxious, sweaty face.

"What’s wrong?" he frowned.

"I... I..." Gregory, out of breath from running back, simply pointed toward Sixth Hoffman lying not far away.

The man’s frown deepened.

"Let’s talk over there," he said, pulling Gregory away.

Their steps weren’t light.

Qingyu was never really sleepy, just resting with his eyes closed.

When Gregory got up, Qingyu awoke.

He knew that Hannah and Sixth Hoffman had a plan.

As for what the plan was, he hadn’t figured it out yet.

But one thing he was sure of.

Gregory had seen Sixth Hoffman before; he wasn’t talking nonsense while drunk.

This night was destined to be restless.

...

Once they were in a secluded spot, Gregory couldn’t wait to speak, "I remember now, I remember where I’ve seen that Sixth Hoffman before!"

"Where?"

"Where doesn’t matter, what matters is..." he paused for a moment, "he’s a nomad."

Nomads, raiders, these two factions were like pirates on the sea, bandits in the desert.

They were an absolute threat.

No one wanted to provoke them.

Otherwise, they would end up like the current royal empire, trying to steal a chicken only to end up losing the rice.

Their own affairs would be in perpetual disarray.

"Are you sure?" the man asked him.

Gregory nodded emphatically, "Could I be unsure? Just last year, I saw them robbing!"

His memory was vague because he’d only glimpsed the scene from a distance, until now when it suddenly clicked.

The man’s face remained calm, "Do you know who they were robbing?"

"It seemed to be an imperial merchant caravan," Gregory couldn’t remember clearly, "Anyway, the nomads always clash with the royal family, and they’ve caused plenty of trouble over the years."

The man nodded, "Hmm, I see."

After saying that, he turned to head back.

Gregory quickly grabbed him, "You’re going back?"

The man looked puzzled, "If not going back, where do I go?"

"They are nomads!"

"So what."

The man didn’t seem to take the matter to heart, as he had guessed as much from the start.

The desert, beyond the border line, a group of thirty.

At this time, the only group that would be traversing the desert like this, other than nomads, didn’t exist.

Ever since the nomads declared war on the empire, even expeditions had stopped coming this way.

"You knew already?" Gregory was slow on the uptake.