In a bustling tavern not far from the barracks in Place Besançon, a stout drunk man with a naked upper body and spacious hemp trousers underneath was messing with the shopkeeper with the strength of his wine.

The red-bearded and numb-faced tavern owner rolled up his cuffs, put his fat face on the drunkard's nose, and roared in a low voice: "Angus, how much money do you owe me for wine, look at your current appearance, even if I sell you to a slave trader, I can't get back a few silver coins, if it weren't for the fact that you have been a neighbor for many years, I would have asked someone to blow you away, and you still have the face to talk to me about cheating and drinking?"

"Get out!!" The shopkeeper pointed to the door.

The drunk, named Angus, paid no heede to the shopkeeper's cynicism and growl, intending to bypass the shopkeeper and jump into the liquor cabinet himself to rummage through the drinks.

The shopkeeper grabbed the drunkard's arm and prevented the drunk from entering the wine cabinet, and the drunken man was so upset that he reflexively punched the shopkeeper in the head, and the shopkeeper was beaten to the point that his nose and face were swollen and blood flowed straight down.

"Angus, you bastard!" The shopkeeper shouted angrily, and several bartenders in the back hall of the tavern all came to the front hall with sticks and surrounded the drunks.

Seeing that the atmosphere of the scene was not right, several drinking guests hid to the side with their wine glasses, and coaxed while drinking.

The drunk leaned on the wooden table in front of the wine cabinet, looked at the vicious strong men surrounding him, and said to the shopkeeper with a smile: "Hey, man, it seems that you are prepared today?"

The shopkeeper covered the bridge of his bleeding nose and replied hatefully: "Angus, I respect you for being a warrior, but I didn't expect you to become a hooligan now, and today I must teach you a profound lesson."

The drunkard took off the belt of his waist and wrapped it around his hand, tilted his head and spat on it, and replied, "Just a few of you little minions want to teach me a lesson?" Come on! ”

With that, the drunk man threw his fist at the shopkeeper......

……………………

Art took Ron and pushed away a woman in makeup who was pimping on the side of the street and walked straight in the direction of the barracks. The entrance to the tavern in front of it was surrounded by many pedestrians and vendors, and there was a chaotic noise in the tavern, the sound of clay pots breaking and wooden tables cracking, the whistling of sticks and fists from time to time, and the screams and cheers of the crowd of onlookers.

"Master, there seems to be a fight in the tavern ahead~" Ron stopped at the corner of the street and looked at the crowd in front of him.

Art didn't plan to watch the excitement like those idle and bored citizens, "It's nothing more than hooliganism, there's nothing to care about, let's go." ”

Ron also felt that street street brawls were really boring compared to the battle array, and hurried a few steps to catch up with Art.

When the two were about to bypass the crowd of onlookers at the entrance of the tavern, a naked drunk man was carried out of the tavern by several bartenders, causing the onlookers to stare at the drunk's lower body and exclaim~

"Get out! If you dare to come near my tavern again, I will make you unable to climb. The tavern owner yelled at the naked drunk who was naked outside the door.

A bartender with a blue nose and swollen face saw the drunk man paralyzed on the ground unconscious, and had no intention of letting him go, so he walked up with a half-broken burning stick and stabbed the drunkard, and found that the drunk was not dead, so he spat a mouthful of thick phlegm at the drunkard, twisted his red and swollen face and yelled at the drunkard: "Phew! Don't you call yourself a blood-colored tomahawk? Get up and give me an axe~ Miscellaneous pieces! Get out on the side of the street and be a beggar! As he spoke, he picked up his stick and planned to beat it again, so as to soothe his bruised face.

"Enough!" The shopkeeper stopped the stick-wielding bartender.

Art, who had just walked past the door of the tavern, suddenly stopped, and Ron didn't notice and bumped into Art.

"Master, what's wrong?"

"Ron, did you hear what was said over there?"

Ron was puzzled and replied, "Someone said, 'Enough!'" ””

"The previous sentence? Did someone mention the "bloody tomahawk"! ”

Ron thought for a moment, "yes, you mean the blood-colored tomahawk, sir, what is the blood-colored tomahawk?" ”

Ron was looking up to ask Art, who had turned back into the crowd at the tavern door.

The "blood-colored battle axe" in the bartender's mouth fell into Art's ears, and a thunderclap sounded in an instant.

"Scarlet Tomahawk" is a name that the "original owner" of this body, Art, was familiar with when he participated in the Eastern Crusade with his father.

Six years ago, the sixteen-year-old original owner of the Holy Order Arter had just become a sergeant of the Holy Order, in a battle, the Holy Order detachment where Art was located was ambushed by the local army, the leading Templar knights, knight attendants and more than a dozen Holy Order sergeants were shot on the spot, Art and the remaining thirty or so sergeants were desperately resisted under the leadership of a young sergeant major named Angus, the brothers around him fell one by one, and the horses under him fell one by one, and the spears in the hands of the soldiers were broken and the short swords were curled in the end. After the sergeant major slashed the throat of an enemy soldier with the sword in his hand, he picked up the long-handled battle axe dropped by the enemy soldier and roared and rode his horse towards the dense enemy......

In that ambush, two hundred pagan cavalry ambushed Arte's detachment of the Order. One Holy Order knight, five attendants, and thirty-seven sergeants in the detachment were killed on the spot, and the remaining thirteen Holy Order sergeants followed the sergeant major who was carrying a blood-colored battle axe to rush out of the encirclement and enter the vast desert~

The enemy army kept pursuing, the sergeant major took Yat and they fled in the desert for a whole day, and when they got rid of the enemy's pursuit, Yat they had lost their way, the surviving dozen soldiers walked in the desert for five days, the scorching sun scorched the pus and blood at the wound into a black scab, the iron armor on the body was already scalded, there was no water source in the desert, no healer, and no God's holy light, in the end, everyone could only rely on slaughtering their war horses to drink blood and eat flesh to not be wiped out, Eventually, only eight of the thirteen soldiers who escaped the enemy ambush made it out of the desert and returned to the Order's stronghold.

Since then, that sergeant major has been known to the Templars as the "Scarlet Tomahawk" by the warriors......

After surviving from the desert, Arte's father, Baron Wells Sr., transferred Art to his own detachment of the Holy Order, and soon after, in disheartenment, Baron Wells Sr. evacuated the Holy Land with Art back home......

........................

Art crouched down and flipped the drunk man on the ground lying on his stomach like a dead dog.

"Sergeant Major?" Art shouted in surprise.

The drunken man on the ground couldn't hear anything at all, he was already drunk and unconscious.

"Ron, go find a piece of clothing."

Although Ron didn't understand what was happening, he didn't hesitate to rush into the tavern, threw two silver coins to a drunkard, took off his coarse cloth coat, picked up a pair of shorts on the ground by the way, and ran out of the store to put on the drunk.

Art tried again to wake up the drunk, but the drunk still didn't move, "Can any of you tell me what's going on?" ”

The crowd of onlookers did not know why, and they all kept silent.

At this time, the owner of the tavern stood up hesitantly and replied, "My lord, this guy was drunk and making trouble in my shop, and I kicked him out."

Art stood up and asked the shopkeeper, "Do you know his name?"

"Angus Doyle, it's my neighbor~ Your Excellency, do you know this guy?"

Art ignored the shopkeeper's questioning and turned his head to stare at the drunk man on the ground, who turned over and snorted a few times.

Art didn't know what this former warrior had experienced, he shook his head, turned his head sideways and said to the shopkeeper: "Man, since he is your neighbor, then please send him home~"

"My lord, this guy not only owes me money for the wine, but also smashed my tavern~ I don't want to send him back." The shopkeeper said reluctantly.

"How much does he owe you?"

"Hmm~ probably~ at least one ~ two hundred pfennigs, well, counting what he broke today, two hundred pfennigs!" The shopkeeper looked at what Art was dressed and offered a very high price.

Art took out two silver marks from the money pouch around his waist and threw them to the tavern owner, "Get a few people to send him home." ”

The shopkeeper took the silver coin and put it in front of him, looked at it carefully, and called a few bartenders to lift the drunk man up and walk towards the east of the city.

"Ron, you go back to camp first, I'll go back later."

Ron was ordered back to camp in the square, and Art followed the tavern owner to the drunkard's house......

........................

Ruined wooden houses, old furniture, dusty rooms, felt carpets that smell of wine, clay pots and bottles rolling on the floor, rats roaming the corners, this is the home of former Sergeant Major of the Order, Angus Doyle "Scarlet Tomahawk" Doyle, in Besançon.

Art pulled out a tattered wooden bench from the corner of the wooden house, sat down on the edge of the wooden bed, looked at the drunk man in front of him with saliva on the corner of his mouth, and said to himself: "It seems that you are not the only frustrated holy warrior~"

Art sat quietly in the dilapidated wooden house, recalling the scenes experienced by the original owner in the Holy Land, and thinking about how to bring this fierce general under his command......

It was slowly getting dark, and before I knew it, Art was asleep......

Suddenly, Art felt something unusual, and when he opened his eyes, a sharp short knife was already in his throat.

"Don't move, your neck isn't as hard as you thought it would." A drunken voice sounded behind him.

Art clenched his hands and said unhurriedly, "Relax! Sergeant Major, can't hear me? ”

The short knife on the neck slowly loosened.

The hut was lit up with the sound of rummaging and the clatter of the fire sickle.

Angus picked up the candle and put it into Art's face, surprised, "Are you~is~Little Wells~Art?" ”

"Yes Sergeant Major, I'm Sergeant of the Holy Order, Art Wood Wells."

Angus was also surprised for a moment, and instantly became cold again. He walked under the wooden bed and took out a wine bottle, raised his head and took a big sip, and then said to Art with the smell of wine: "Young Master Art, didn't you leave the Holy Land and return to your hometown?" How did you get to Burgundy? You came to me specifically? I'm not worthy of a noble young master's personal visit~"

Angus circled around Art and flicked Arte's chainmail hood, "Man, I didn't expect you to be so tall now~ Is your sick dad okay?" ”

"My father has passed away~"

Angston paused for a moment, then continued to tease, "Then I should call you Baron Art now?"

"The Wells family has been robbed of the Lord ~ I am now a probationary knight in the Count of Burgundy." Art sat straight in place, letting Angus wander around him.

Angus stopped wandering, walked over to Art, glanced up and down, and was silent after putting down the bottle.

Art broke the silence and asked, "Sergeant Major, I saw you being beaten at the door of the tavern today~"

Angus smiled, picked up the wine bottle and took a sip, "That shopkeeper is my former neighbor and good brother, I owe him the money for the wine, find a chance to let him beat up, and I can write off the wine account in a bright way~"

Art looked around the cabin, turned to Angus and said, "Sergeant Major, I guess you've not had a good time these years, right?"

"Well, as you can see, it's really not very good~" Angus looked indifferent.

"You're still a soldier?"

"No, no, the little salary of being a soldier is not enough for my present "luxury" life, and I am now a brilliant ranger. As he spoke, he shook the bottle in his hand.

Art didn't want to talk too much nonsense with a person who was pretending to be asleep, so he directly explained his intentions: "Sergeant Major, I am now responding to the court's call to take soldiers to participate in the war with Swabia, I hope to continue to fight side by side with a good warrior like you and establish meritorious deeds, as long as you want, I can give you a high salary."

Angus sneered: "Hehehe~ Trainee Knight? Applying? Combat? Art, I'm guessing the infidel steel sword and tomahawk didn't scare your guts, but it burned your brains, did they? How dare a trainee knight with seven or eight farmers with farm tools speak of conquest and establishment of meritorious deeds? ”

Art was unmoved, and retorted: "My guts are left on my body, I don't know if the sergeant's guts are still in that cannibalistic desert~"

Angus saw that Art's gaze was determined not to be moved by his mockery, and he lost interest, raised his head and took another sip of the spirit, and said, "You go, I don't want to deal with weapons anymore."

Art didn't say more, got up and pushed open the broken wooden door, and when he went out, Art pointed to a long-handled battle axe on the wall that was polished and glowed with blood, and said softly, "You have never forgotten your faith."

"My barracks is on the west side of the church square, you can come to me if you think about it." The sound faded into the night.