Maeve saw her home in her dreams, an old fort on a dark brown rock, locked to the shore by a drawbridge, the foundation of which had been washed away by the wind and waves for hundreds of years, and perhaps completely eroded in another hundred years, but it was enough for her two brothers to fight for a bloody run.

She dreamed again of the boy in Elgin Fortress, the shadow she had once peeked at, weaving through the mottled stone walls, constantly wielding a large black sword that seemed to be about to reach the sky......

Please, Father, don't push me.

No one cared, and she peered into the void again, at the cold blade of the ancient ruins—this is my fate?

The birds chirp softly at sunrise, and the weeds spread across the ash-covered black soil, reminiscent of the desolate and cruel north.

Only the rays of the sun pierced the clouds like golden spears, giving a cheerful life to the wasteland strewn with the wreckage of war.

A wild dog arched the corner of the house with its black nose, the rotten smell of soot and grease still reaching his nostrils from that direction, and Angus frowned and turned his head away from the sight of the ruins. The pile of hard objects lay on the ground like bundles of animal fur, and the white fangs of the wild dogs kept coming to his mind: and he had not arranged any guards last night! In such a wilderness, even if there were no soldiers, there might be some brute who would have disemboweled everyone while he was asleep.

"It's time to hurry." Angus threw a piece of cheese in front of Maeve, and the cheeks of the girl who had just woken up were stained with tears.

In front of the tall stone pillars of an abandoned monastery, he saw a group of unusual passers-by, led by an apparently priest, with gray robes covered with blue robes, leaning like ivory against the shadow of the stone pillars.

Strangely, there was only a group of black-robed monks around this man, and not a single soldier.

Maybe they'll need a mercenary?

The grinding of the armor slammed alarmed the contemplative man, and he noticed that the mood of the brethren seemed to be affected, and when he looked up, a young samurai with a solemn expression as if he was about to draw his broadsword at any moment was approaching.

His mount snorted behind him, and his horse's hooves kept pounding on the ground.

"Our Lady bless you, child, what do you want?"

"When it's evil, isn't it?" "This place is full of beasts and soldiers," replied the young Highland warrior, "and you are the first ordinary pedestrians I have seen in three days. I think...... Perhaps, you need a sword? ”

Ordinary pedestrian ...... The priest secretly speculated about the other party's words, his mission could not be revealed, but had this person seen through it, like a spy saw through another?

He carefully looked at Angus's expression, no, this is not a spy, he has not learned to control every muscle on his face, any fluctuations in feelings are revealed on the surface, and then he tries to imprison feelings by words, which is simply a chick in the eyes of an experienced veteran like himself, everything is too predictable.

But the young man was not bored, and the priest thought to himself: his beard was only a disguise for his real age, a wall guarding the whole world, and behind it there was an endless darkness, and he seemed to have a disgust with the way he dressed...... Or - fear? But why would a warrior who is only controlled by anger fear himself, and how can a guy who walks casually in a fighting pose have such a subtle expression?

"Who would hurt a bunch of poor servants of God?" The priest's tone was not humble, and the burly black horse behind him seemed to protest against his word "poor" and snorted haughtily.

However, such a bold statement immediately reacted on the other party's face, and his voice also expressed the opposite meaning of the content, and that kind of regret and loss would not be wrong - yes, this is a chick.

"In that case, may the saints bless you." Angus sighed inwardly, as in the Scottish Highlands, where only the stars shine on his path, and the pale sunlight belongs to everyone else.

"Why don't a mercenary like you try your luck near the battlefield?" The gray-robed priest spoke suddenly.

Angus pondered for a moment, his smile warm and sympathetic, but he had already seen the same people, and the fellow he had pushed down the tower with his own hands had the same smile, talking about the magnificent leather robes of the dead kings, the vast history of the ancient world, and reaching into his thighs as he spoke of the most holy radiance.

"Battlefield? Where is the battlefield? Everywhere it looked like there had been a war, but we didn't see anyone with money bags to hire soldiers. No, luck has forsaken me, and I can protect you and your brethren if you wish—it won't cost you a few coins. ”

The priest seemed to have heard the funniest joke in the world: "You said there was a war here?" No, it's just the work of those deserters, and those great names don't care about such a backcountry, where the real war is not in. ”

Where I'm going. (The priest did not say this.) ）

"Great name? Like whom? Angus tested the opponent's loyalty, and when he heard the name of a certain Bishop Regio, he would turn away.

"Those people don't have anything to do with you, all you need is an employer, do you?" The priest's eyes rolled slightly, as if he had thought of something, "Come with us to Bologna, all city-states need good hands during war, and you should be a good one, right?" ”

Angus glanced back at Gillick and Maeve, and then at the pack horse, which was so thin that his ribs were exposed.

"My sword is naturally worthy of real silver." He replied in his mouth, but sighed in his heart, becoming a bodyguard, is this the future?

The thorny bushes of the road whipped the legs of the horse, and Angus strode across the shattered ancient road, like a dragon with a fire burning in his chest, slowly approaching the walls of Bologna to the south.

"My name is Dagobert, and these are Benedictine brethren from the shores of Lake Lario." The black-robed priest reported his name.

"My name is Angus McWuisdine and I'm from Morley, Scotland." Angus thought about it for a moment and decided that it would be better not to introduce his two "slaves".

"Northerners?" Dagobert commented, "If you're going to make a name for yourself in Italy, you've got to get rid of your ridiculous accent. ”

Angus didn't know how to answer, so he was as silent as an ancient heavy foot in bronze armor.

The poor creature may not know that I had just saved his life, Priest Dagobert thought, he did have a little kindness to the young man, so he pulled him out of the northern battlefield, and if this naïve creature accidentally joined the camp of the Canossa, it might not be a few days before he would be a dead body hanging from the tall castle of Zora Predosa.