Gawain coughed twice, the corners of his mouth were full of white mist, he turned over with difficulty, his whole body was as painful as if he was tied up by a rope, and when he saw that he was still lying beside him, the sword that was hanging in his living room.

Grabbing the hilt of his sword, making a long sound on the ground, he stood up and used the blade of his sword as a crutch, a long, narrow sword he had collected from a German antique dealer and forged in the fifteenth century called Schwert, with a double-headed axe shape that was easy to hold in the wrist and easy to stab.

"What the hell is this place?" He looked all around, and there was a surge of snow and mist, beating on his clothes like graze--a moment ago, he was still wearing a summer shirt on the picturesque, warm and dry island of Patmos, and now he couldn't bear the cold, and as far as the eye could see, there were trees, except for trees and trees, what the distance looked like, vaguely as if the hills were connected to the wasteland, the truth was not clear to Gawain, he didn't even know how long he could hold out in such bad weather.

He felt that everything was not a joke, and the feeling of blood clotting and tightening in his body was not false, and his thighs began to ache sharply from the severe cold, and he struggled to move, "Princess of Khazar, Ajiehe! Princess of Khazar, Azjehe! He couldn't help but shout out from his mouth, leaning against a tree trunk.

The whole forest was an echo of this sentence, mixed with the sound of the wind and snow beginning to roar, he could faintly hear the mockery of the evil girl A Jiehe in the wind, and couldn't help but be depressed, but the perseverance to survive still supported himself, "Go up that high hill and see if there are people in the four corners who can provide a fire and food?" With this in mind, he took his sword, stepped on the snow, and began to trek towards his destination.

His teeth began to tremble, his body began to stiffen, his nostrils and lips continued to inhale cold mist, he had difficulty breathing, his lungs felt swollen like a balloon, and he slowly lost consciousness, and there were still endless trees and snow mist in front of him, until from the end of the white, there was a sudden scream.

A small figure, crying and running from the opposite side of Gawain, was a child with pale yellow curly hair, only about five or six years old, dressed in a thin robe, and barefoot, stepping on the snow, tears and snot fluttering in the wind, with helpless eyes, running towards him.

Out of instinct, Gawain quickened his pace and stepped forward, facing the direction the child was coming.

At a distance of less than fifteen feet, the child suddenly threw her head up, and her small chest burst with a terrifying blood, with the crisp sound of bones shattering, and then she had a shuttle dart behind her back, and rolled twice to the ground in front of Gawain's trembling legs, her eyes still closed, and she still had a desire to survive.

Gawain's eyes flew in the direction of the shuttle, and he saw a tall black shadow standing on the other side, very faint in the wind and snow, but he soon heard the sound of the horse's nose, one higher and higher, getting closer and closer—an armored warrior, riding a black horse, with his mane flying, shouting loudly in words he did not understand, and holding a shining scimitar high in his hand, was hurrying towards him.

At this speed, this momentum, that is, three or four seconds, if Gawain stood still, he would soon be split in half by the scimitar in the hands of the samurai!

"This guy is left-handed!" One second, Gawain made this judgment with his eyes, and the next he quickly scurried to the left in the direction of the horse's rush to avoid his slash, and came to the right, but the next second, the warrior's scimitar was lightly thrown in the air, rolled down, and landed firmly in the wrist of his right hand.

"Damn!" Gawain rolled on the ground, and the branch on his head "clicked" and was easily cut off by the scimitar in the samurai's right hand, and the snowflakes fell.

In embarrassment, he used his hands and feet on the snow, climbed a few feet quickly, was smashed on the head and face by the snow kicked up by the horse's hooves, rolled twice, dragged his sword and turned to lean against another tree.

The horse neighed, and the warrior rushed over, kicked his mount twice with his boots, turned the horse's head, slashed twice with his scimitar in annoyance, and whistled at Gawain again.

Gawain stuck his sword in the snow, and then rushed at it, gritting his teeth and pulling out the pike dart from the child's corpse, shouting "ah", and throwing it at the front of the samurai on horseback who was hurrying forward.

In fact, Gawain was not proficient in throwing pike darts at all, but the warrior instinctively rushed to dodge - the shuttle dart swept crookedly over his shoulder, and then before he could react, his scimitar was flashed by Gawain's cat's waist and slashed on the trunk of the tree, and his head followed the momentum of the horse, and hit the thick tree that escaped from the side, and the samurai "bang", the helmet instantly split into several pieces, and fell down, and then Gawain watched the galloping mount still dragging him, It wasn't until he struck the root of a great tree again—the horse leaped over, and the master made a louder noise in close contact with the bare root—that the warrior twisted his body a few times, and fluttered and landed on the snow, not moving.

Then Gawain pulled out Schwert, and looked at the warrior lying there, and the black horse ran for a while, and then turned again, and circled around his master's body, with a reluctant look.

"Shhhh Gawain pointed the tip of his sword at the horse and stabbed it twice, and the black horse was so frightened that he stepped back some distance before he hung his head and stopped moving.

The hapless creature fell on the snow, his head open, his black hair curled into a ball of dark red blood, his face was blurred, his mouth was full of broken teeth, the boots on his legs were broken, his bare feet, and his bones were twisted.

"Poof", Gawain stabbed the sword into his neck, then pulled it out, stabbed it again, back and forth a few times, "This is finally thorough!" Then he shuddered, and lifted the body of the fellow up and sat half-sitting, which was a hard work, because the bastard was wearing a very heavy armor, but fortunately he felt the buttons later, and he secretly rejoiced, fortunately, it was not the whole armor that was put on, but the iron piece of armor was tied to the jacket of the placket, so he did not make much effort to peel off all the "inheritance" of the other party.

Because he was too cold, he put the iron armor and jacket on himself in a hurry, and then he fumbled again, and felt the fire sickle on the hook of the other man's belt, and an oak strip that ignited the fire, and he crackled the fire sickle, which seemed to be intact, and then the chain glove, "Bastard, the riding boots are completely rotten." He couldn't help but scold.