The earlier talk about saving people wasn't nonsense; if there were wounded, he would naturally treat them along the way.
However, the most crucial point was that he wanted to see if he could 'charge' his box.
According to his previous deductions, the 'embers of destruction' might require death.
The people at the bar died too quickly, or perhaps there weren't enough of them; in any case, the box hadn't changed at all.
The group of raiders, who were partners of those men, were also a bunch of cruel thugs.
More importantly, the main force for this operation consisted of powerhouses like Rick, Shane, and Merle. Combined with the advantage of a surprise attack, it was a relatively safe, winning game.
"It's safe, there's plenty of 'fuel,' and I can gain favor with the others to consolidate my persona as a genius..."
Louis calculated in his mind. As long as he tagged along, he could verify his theory... This deal was very cost-effective!
He had always wanted to survive; that fact had never changed.
But that didn't mean he had to be like a startled quail, forever hiding in a seemingly safe corner, shivering and refusing all risks.
In this apocalypse where order had collapsed and Walkers were everywhere, there was no such thing as absolute safety.
Whether it was the current farm or the future prison, crisis always followed like a shadow. If one wanted to truly master their fate, they couldn't just 'lay low' until the grand finale.
Currently, his progress in self-studying magic was far too slow. Moreover, as he practiced deeper, he vaguely realized that the magic he cast seemed to have subtle differences from the magic described in the original novels.
If he didn't solve these mysteries, he might never truly become strong.
And this box was his only current clue.
If he could contact Hogwarts again, or even receive systematic guidance from there, it could lead to a qualitative leap for him.
Not to mention, this might be his only hope of returning to Hogwarts in the future... That night.
"Rick! Wait!"
Just as the convoy was about to depart, Dale ran over from the RV, panting heavily, and stopped Rick just as he was about to get into the car.
"That captive... Randall."
Dale rested his hands on his knees, looking at Rick with a serious expression. "If you guys leave, what about him?"
"We can't just leave him tied up in the Barn like an animal. What if his wound gets infected, or..."
"We don't have time to discuss this, Dale."
Rick was checking the magazine of his rifle and didn't even look up. "Our companions are still being tortured by those thugs; that is our most important priority right now."
"But..."
"Any other issues will have to wait until we get back."
Rick looked up sharply, interrupting him. "Once we've rescued our people, we'll hold a group meeting to discuss what to do with him. But until then, he stays where he is."
Dale looked at the group, ready to go and radiating murderous intent, and knew that now was not the time to argue about moral codes.
He could only sigh helplessly and step back. "Fine. Just stay safe."
Rick nodded and turned to get into the car.
But a moment before closing the door, he discreetly beckoned and called over Morales, who was staying behind.
"Keep an eye on that kid."
Using the car as cover, Rick lowered his voice, his eyes appearing exceptionally cold in the shadows. "If he dares to make a move, or tries to escape..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but simply made a throat-slitting gesture.
Morales' expression tightened. He glanced toward the Barn and then nodded solemnly. "Understood."
"Also," Rick paused, his voice dropping even deeper, "if none of us come back tomorrow..."
He took a long look toward the farm, where his wife and son were.
"...kill him too. We absolutely cannot let those thugs find this place."
After giving the final instructions, Rick got into the car and slammed the door shut.
"Move out!"
...Half an hour later, the convoy cut their engines and stopped in a dense forest not far from the target location.
Everyone got out and, using the cover of night and bushes, moved forward on foot toward the target.
Soon, the outline of a massive building appeared at the end of their vision.
It was an abandoned large auto repair and recycling yard.
The thugs of the Philadelphia Alliance clearly knew how to exploit the terrain.
The perimeter of the repair shop was piled high with scrapped cars. These rusty steel wrecks had been stacked layer by layer by cranes, forming a high wall like a labyrinth that blocked both sight and the Walkers outside.
The only main entrance was blocked by several layers of barbed wire, and two temporary guard posts built from old tires and iron frames stood on either side.
Rick raised his night vision goggles to observe the guards above.
Unlike the crazed group of The Believers, these people were clearly much more lax.
The beams from the guard posts swayed randomly in the dark. The guards holding flashlights weren't constantly watching the front; instead, they stopped from time to time, and some even boredly used their beams to play with empty tin cans on the ground.
Below, there were two patrol teams armed with rifles, leading two fierce-looking wolves, but this didn't make them look any more professional.
"Hey, I'm saying..."
One of the skinny patrollers suddenly stopped, slung his gun over his shoulder, and let his gaze drift toward a warehouse deep inside the repair shop.
"Since nothing's happening anyway, how about we go find some 'fun' in the cages over there?"
"Are you crazy?"
The companion next to him immediately glared at him and cursed in a low voice, "The boss said to step up security tonight."
"If you want your head blown off, go ahead, but don't drag me into it."
"Oh, come on. For God's sake, there isn't even a bird in this ghost of a place besides Walkers. What could happen?"
The skinny man grumbled disdainfully. Although he was still complaining, he seemed to think of the leader's brutal methods and ultimately didn't dare to actually leave. "Fine, fine, let's keep patrolling. What a damn buzzkill."
Rick lowered his night vision goggles, his eyes flickering.
"It seems that's their style," Rick whispered. "They're a bunch of hoodlums held together by violence and fear."
"Even though they're undisciplined, they are very afraid of that so-called leader."
Shane added from the side, a cold glint in his eyes. "This means the leader's methods are harsh. As long as he's alive, this group won't easily scatter."
"Then we'll find a way in first." Rick retracted his gaze and waved his hand, signaling the group to spread out for reconnaissance.
However, after circling more than halfway around under the cover of night, they found that the perimeter of the auto repair shop was tightly blocked by scrapped cars and barbed wire, with no point of entry to be found.
"These bastards have walled themselves in like a tin can."
Merle lay back in the grass, finally losing his patience. "How about we just give 'em a big bang? Blow this turtle shell wide open?"