The sun climbed the treetops, and the snow in the dense forest began to melt. Perhaps it was because there were no people and animals walking, and the bushes and grasses showed their superior reproductive ability, and the forest path that had been groomed just three months ago was once again covered with bushes and grasses, and Art had to draw his short sword and cut as he walked, barely making a path. The jungle was even more muddy after the snow, and by the time Art stepped through the hills and streams through the winding path of the dense forest, the meadow at the edge of the dense forest could be faintly seen, and the morning had passed.

The forest trail did not extend to the edge of the forest, and Art feared that the enemy would find his habitat, so the entrance to the path in the forest was deliberately hidden, even though he had not noticed a pedestrian passing by in three years.

From the remnants of the original owner's memories and his own shallow knowledge, Art knew that the world he was in did not completely coincide with the history of his original world, but it didn't matter, anyway, he was just as unfamiliar with both histories, and it was enough to rely on the memory of the original owner to basically figure out the world in front of him.

It is said that during the heyday of the empire, it was an important trade route, and goods such as wheat, linen, wool, and velvet from the northern continent flowed through this dense forest at the northern end, through the canyon plains, and out of the winding steep and deep mountain streams in the south to the rich southern European plains, and the gold, jewelry, spices, dyes, raw silk and even silk and porcelain from the eastern continent also flowed through this route to the entire northern continent......

However, hundreds of years of barrenness have turned this place into a paradise for mountain birds and beasts, and the once prosperous and rich has become a dense forest and grass on the soil.

Walking through this dense forest, sweat has soaked through Art's inner lining, standing on the wasteland in front of him, a cold wind hits, making Art feel cold and relaxed, he put the heavy mountain goods on the grass, open the bearskin coat, a white mist rises from his chest...

He took off his hunting bow and quiver and short sword, sat down on the ground, opened the deerskin water bladder, and poured a mouthful of cold water so hard that he choked on it. After a short rest, and after barely swallowing a few mouthfuls of mixed wheat bread in cold water, Art packed up and set out again, and before the sun set over the hills, he was to the brook on the north side of the moor, which was the only source of water in the whole moor......

…………

As night fell, in the middle of a vast wasteland, there was a thin ribbon of water, and a slight bonfire was lit on the side of the ribbon, crackling. The aroma of the sizzling wild boar on the fire, the burnt bread of wheat skewered with dead branches has been burnt, and the deerskin bladder has been set a little further away to absorb the residual heat of the campfire, and it is slowly becoming warm.

With his back against a pile of fur goods, Art pulled out the single-edged hunting knife with a wooden handle at his waist, reached out and cut off a piece of charred pork, carefully took out the salt packet, pinched a pinch of salt and sprinkled it evenly on the barbecue, and then enjoyed the satisfaction of taste buds on the toast......

A fairly hearty dinner made the heat of Art surge, and the cold around was also dispelled a lot by this slight bonfire. Art got up and went around the camp again to collect dead branches and shrubs, there was a large forest of shrubs in the upper reaches of the creek, and many dead branches and fallen leaves floated down the stream here, leaving a lot on the banks of the stream, and these dead branches and fallen leaves were barely enough for the bonfire to burn weakly all night, knowing that in this snowy winter night wasteland, a night without a campfire would be hell.

The night was already deep, and Art felt a little tired from the day's journey, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier......

"How~~~"

Art was shocked!

"How~~~Woo~~~" The wolf howl is getting closer and closer.

In a short breath, Art had already fastened his short sword hunting knife, several iron-tipped light arrows were buckled on his left hand holding the bow, and his right hand had already drawn arrows to the bow, and his eyes were staring at the direction from which the voice came from motionless...

After a while, he slowly lowered his hunting bow, and he carefully discerned the wolf howl, which was not a pack of wolves, just two or three steppenwolves hunting in the wasteland.

It was only a little relaxed, and Art reacted immediately with the instinct of the original owner and three years of study———— piling all the dead branches and leaves on the bonfire, and in an instant, the bonfire burned violently and raised high flames, illuminating the surrounding wilderness.

Art quickly pulled a burning thick branch from the fire and used it as a torch, and kept picking up dead leaves and dry grass that had not been soaked in melting snow on the river beach near the camp and added it to the fire.

"I hope this open fire can make the wolves fear~" Art prayed.

Although Art kept searching for firewood and grass to burn, there was limited vegetation in this wasteland, and he didn't dare to run farther in the dark to collect, the fire was getting smaller and smaller, and without the protection of the fire, God knows if the cunning Steppenwolf would suddenly appear from behind him.

He had been living in the forest for three years, and knew the ferocity and cunning of wolves, and with the help of adequate preparation and traps, he almost lost his life in the face of a jungle wolf trapped for three days, this is a wasteland without shelter, a hunting ground dominated by steppenwolves, and at this moment he has become a prey.

The waning moon fell little by little, and it was almost close to the mountain line at the end of the wasteland, the cold air was getting thicker and thicker, and the embers of the bonfire were still glowing red, Art was lying on his side by the fire with his sword in his hand, and the extreme tension in the middle of the night drained his energy, and sleepiness hit him for a while...

In the first half of the night, after the bonfire burned violently, the wolf howl gradually faded away, and in this wasteland, which had not been set foot on for many years, the deterrent effect of the open fire on the wolf was obvious.

The silence and sleepiness around him made Art gradually relax his vigilance, and his eyelids became heavier and heavier~ more and more heavy, and his consciousness began to slowly blur......

"Smack"

"Wow~Damn"

Art was burned by the spark that bounced off a piece of explosive charcoal, and he quickly shook off the spark in his hand~

After filming, Art subconsciously glanced at the location of the waning moon.

This glance frightened him.

Between two small rocks less than ten paces away from him, two eyes that glowed with a faint green light were staring at him......

A stray Steppenwolf had its hind legs slightly bent, its front legs stretched forward, and it had swooped downward, its pointed ears were not as straight as other wolves, its fur was gray, its teeth were yellow, and its body was thin, except that its tail was as white as snow, and in the shadow of the moonlight it looked like a broken tail, and it must have not eaten for many days.

Last night, the Steppenwolves who were shocked by the firelight stood and watched from afar, and finally chose to leave, they were not afraid of the two-legged erect animals, but they were afraid of the bright flames, and not long after the few Steppenwolves disappeared, an old and frail old wolf appeared in the shadows not far away.......

After the snow-covered wasteland, the old lone wolf can no longer catch up with the moorland gazelle and the slightly larger prey, it has not eaten for a long time, the aroma of the roasted food attracts it, it is afraid of the fire but can not resist the temptation of food, after lurking quietly for most of the night, the campfire in the distance is becoming faint little by little......

When Art's vigilance began to decline and drowsy, the lone wolf's opportunity finally came, it landed on the ground with the soft soles of its feet, and quietly and slowly moved towards the burned fire, the prey approached step by step, just as the lone wolf was about to pounce on the prey, there was a burst in the fire, and the lone wolf was frightened and took a few steps back and retracted into the shadows......

Silence, deathly silence.

The lone wolf was taken by the cold blade in Art's hand, and Art was afraid of the lone wolf's green eyes and grinning fangs, and a man and a wolf were facing each other like this~

"I can't go on like this, I'll fall first..."Art's tense thoughts kept flying, and his mind kept searching for memories of dealing with the wild wolf, whether it was the original owner or his own. He didn't want to die, at least he didn't want to die disgustingly in the mouth of a skinny, skinny, furry old wolf.

The lone wolf also seemed to sense the fierce light in the eyes of its prey before it was dying, and it gently stepped back half a step, its body falling down, its nose fluttering.

Art's eyes were fixed on the lone wolf, his right hand held the sword, his left hand gently touched his waist, slowly pulled out the hunting knife, his left foot took half a step forward, his right foot was slightly bent, and his body leaned forward slightly.

"Roar!" The lone wolf was half a step faster, and in a breath it had already rushed to it, and jumped towards Art.

Art's legs were stunned, and his body was half-bent, and he was able to avoid the deadly bite of the lone wolf, who fell to the ground and raised a cloud of dust, and then turned and rushed back.

Art had lost half a step, and the lone wolf didn't give him a chance to breathe, he had to commit himself to half a bow, turned around and faced the lone wolf, at this time he was no longer trembling, the ruthlessness in his body surged up, the sword in his right hand slashed at the lone wolf, and the hunting knife in his left hand stabbed upwards from his waist and legs, and the lone wolf bit the short sword, but he did not dodge the hunting knife from the side below.

"Whoa~" The lone wolf who was stabbed in the right rib howled in pain and jumped a few steps away. Art took advantage of the victory and threw the hunting knife in his left hand, and the handle of the knife slammed the hind leg bone of the lone wolf, and the lone wolf "wooed" and wailed......

Out of instinct, after being threatened by death, the lone wolf began to whimper and retreat, and after Art made a loud gesture to rush up and slash with his sword, the lone wolf finally realized the strength of his prey, and began to retreat sideways~

Yat, who breathed a sigh of relief, stared at the lone wolf who was slowly retreating, quickly retreated to the fire, threw down the short sword, quickly bent his legs and squatted, picked up the hunting bow, pulled out a light arrow, and shot at the lone wolf more than ten steps away......

Looking at the lone wolf limping away, Art no longer had the strength to shoot a second arrow, and the night of confrontation and several rounds of fighting drained all his strength, seeing that the lone wolf was seriously injured and fled, disappearing into the horizon, his body went limp, and he fell to the ground......

On the second day, as soon as the sky was slightly bright, Art had already swallowed a few mouthfuls of miscellaneous wheat bread on the leftover barbecue from last night, hurriedly packed up his sword and hunting bow, picked up the sorted fur and mountain goods, and left the camp by the stream quickly.

Last night's thrill made him afraid, if it weren't for the explosion of sparks that woke him up, so that he had the last time to be emergency; If it had been the stout Steppenwolves who attacked him, not the old lone wolves; If he hadn't unleashed a deadly thrust in a crisis...... As long as any of them become a reality, they will be turned into a pile of broken bones with rotten flesh hanging on at this moment.

Ignoring the dizziness and soreness, Art walked from the sun to the middle of the sun towards the north of the wasteland.

He was very tired and tired, but he was worried that the lone wolf would continue to entangle, and he was even more worried that the few Steppenwolves who left yesterday would return, and if they were followed by a few Steppenwolves, there would be no more luck and ifs.

At noon, Art did not dare to re-roast the meat, but cut a piece of smoked venison in a moorland boulder and ate a few bites, and lay down in the shade for a while, and then got up again as soon as the sun set in the west.

By the time the sun had sunset over the hill, Art was approaching the northern edge of the moor, and at the end of the meadow appeared a large sparse birch forest, and half a day's north of the birch grove was a manor village called Lane, the estate of Baron Bazel Chris, a baron of the frontier of the Count of Burgundy.

Art quickened his pace, and since last spring sporadic bandits had begun to appear on this road to the north, just in case he was going to rest in the birch forest tonight, where there was an abandoned hunter's hut.

When we arrived at the abandoned cabin, it was already dark. Art picked up a bunch of dead wood branches in the dark, lit a fire in the fire pit of the wooden house, and after a simple meal and drink, there were bursts of snoring in the wooden house, and there was no word all night~

By noon the next day, Yate had already seen traces of human activity—a large area of leveled farmland where winter wheat had been planted, and the farmers only had to wait for the spring breeze to wake up the young shoots.

Passing through the end of the vast farmland, there were a few tall oak and pine trees, and under the trees were sparsely distributed twenty or so low-roofed huts made of stone, pine, and thatch, and the roof was smoky, and the smoke was blown by the cold wind to the center of the village, where there was a circular fortress about two hundred feet long and fifty feet high, and a round fortress of wood and stone, surmounted by a circular battlement wall and a simple wooden watchtower, a brass riveted oak gate inlaid at the bottom of the round fort, and a few small square windows arranged from bottom to top above the gate—

It was Baron Bazel's manor castle, but Baron Bazel did not live here, it was just a small manor house in his name, which was tended by his retainers' butlers.

Art entered the village, and out of the huts on both sides of the dirt road came some peasants, wrapped in shabby linen and stuffed with hay, hunched over their waists, looking at Art with dull and wary eyes.

They had met Art from the south one evening in the late last summer, but Art had not stopped in the village, so when the butler arrived with two manor guards, he had already left the village of Lane, and the butler did not dare to pursue the man who looked like a forest robber in the villagers' mouth.

At noon today, when the lame blacksmith reported to the butler that the guy had come to the village again last summer, the butler's heart tightened: "I'm afraid I'm being targeted by robbers!"

"Jon, how many of them came? Is there anything outside the village? The butler immediately asked.

"No~no one~ just that~ a young hunter," replied the lame blacksmith.

The butler hesitated for a moment, told the servant to close the gate of the manor, and ordered the only two manor guards to put on leather armor and bring weapons to follow him.

At this time, Art was sitting under an oak tree at the entrance of the village, and not far away fell three or five slightly hostile farmers with sticks in their hands, and he regretted entering the village a little.

In the past, in order not to attract attention, Art had to go far around the village.

Last year, when he was on his way with a heavy load of goods, he had the courage to pass through the village to save time, and when he learned in the tavern of Tignaz that the small village called Lane was the domain of Baron Bazel, Art decided to try his luck with the mountain goods, and Baron Bazel, who was known for his bravery and warlikeness, might be interested in bearskin and wolf skins, and might be able to buy them for a high price.

But Art should really ask what this noble Bazel is......

…………

The housekeeper had already come to the entrance of the village and muttered to the farmers for a while, and after sending a neat fellow out of the village to investigate, he led the guards and a few farmers to Art.

Art didn't wait for Baron Bazel, but he waited for a bald, big-eared, fat-headed fellow, who leaned back slightly, shielded himself from the form of a farmer, and looked at Art.

"Where did the robbers come from, do you know this is Baron Bazel's manor?" The butler yelled and retracted his head.

Art looked at the guy in front of him, and couldn't help but feel disdain. Releasing the hand on the hilt of the sword, Art bowed slightly and said:

"Allow me, my lord, to pay the highest tribute to the valiant Baron Bazel, who, as you can see, am not a forest robber, but a hunter from the south." Art said as he took out two small silver coins from his bosom and respectfully handed them to the fat butler.

"Just a hunter?" The butler moved out from behind the farmer, slowly walked up to Art, took the silver coin, put it in his hand, looked at Art carefully, and then looked at a large bag of mountain goods and fur behind Art.

The sentry outside the village came back and muttered a few times in the butler's ear, and the butler's face suddenly changed.

"You'd better not poach in my lord's territory, or you'll suffer!" After confirming the identity of the visitor, the butler walked up behind Art, kicked the pile of leather goods with his short leg, and turned his head to signal everyone to relax.

"What's there?"

"Your Excellency, there are bearskins, wolf skins, deer skins, antlers, fox skins, mink skins, and some other animal skins, all good things." Yate is like a treasure.

"Buckskin? It's a good thing, it's not easy to get. ”

It's not that the robbers are attacking to make the housekeeper a lot easier, Yate is a "adult" and the fat butler who has been a slave all his life is very useful, and this guy in front of him looks quite pleasing to the eye, and he has decided to only charge this pleasing guy a buckskin transit tax.

The butler put away his skirt, squatted and bent over, opened the baggage, picked out a deerskin that looked quite good, and when he turned to leave, he pulled two rabbit skins and threw them to the two guards!!

"My lord, I have already paid taxes to the owner of the territory, and I have given you these two rabbit skins, but the deer skins in your hand are worth sixty copper fennigs" Art chased a few steps forward.

The butler stopped, turned slowly, and stared at Art like a monster.

"Man, do you think you are a messenger of God? Every inch of land under your feet is the sacred domain of Lord Baron, and when you set foot on Lord Baron's territory with a great deal of hunting of unknown origin, will you send me away with two small silver coins? ”

"I ask you, you said you came from the south, but you have lacquer papers? I now suspect that all your furs were poached from the forests of Baron Bazel in the east!! The housekeeper stared at him with a mustache and a fierce face~

"Well, man, is this deerskin worth anything now?"

Looking at the back of the treacherous and smug departing, Art resisted the urge to draw his sword and cut him over, and put away the fur scattered all over the ground, "In time, I will pay back the ...... doubly"