The terrible sound of the horn pierced the dark night, and the unrestful sleep collapsed, and Wren woke up, and for a few short seconds he was overwhelmed by the cold armor on his body, and even breathing was difficult. It was dark in the tent, pressing on the eyelids. The horn was still ringing, and Wren subconsciously reached behind the pillow and fumbled until the hard hilt of the sword gently met his palm. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and drew his sword with all his might, the sound of the blade rubbing against its scabbard reverberated and crushed to pieces. Wren sprang out of his tent and looked around. The dead silence of the night still lingered in Boinbru, but there was indeed a faint morning light peeking through the dark clouds, barely connecting the vision cut by the firelight. It was indeed dawning, but it was as if it had never been, and day and night had become an eternally vague concept in Poynbru.

Two people were sitting across from each other by the campfire, and one was snoring, and Wren could vaguely recognize it as Salaman. He was a little surprised, he had known Salman for a short time, but this sincere and faithful Dasha man made a rather reliable impression on him that he was not the kind of person who would sleep during the vigil. The other had his back to Wren, the outline of his back soaked in a thick darkness, and it was impossible to see it. He must have noticed Wren's scrutinizing and wary gaze, and slowly turned his head. His whole face was hazy, except for his eyes, which were as bright as the morning star. Wren momentarily lost his mind when they looked at each other, and for a moment he thought that it was his deceased mentor, Sir Leodrey, who was looking at him. Wren couldn't have been more familiar and intimate with that yet transparent gaze, and he could have been inspired by that gentle gaze. But that gaze was not the exclusive property of Sir Leaudrey. When Wren first met Viscount Ivanles, the old man who had been called the Pillar of the North—and still is, had the same eyes as Ser Leaudrey. These two falconry knights were contemporaries and of the same height, and successively served as chief instructors of the falcon knights. Although the fates of the two were different after the first battle of the dragon and lion, the road was equally bumpy, and their eyes were naturally similar. But none of them could be in Poynbru at this moment.

"Hello, Wren." The man said. Through the voice, Wren finally recognized him. It's Estheu. No wonder Salamatan would snore around the campfire, presumably Eshu had taken over his vigil. Wren slowly walked over to Estheau, and at this time Salamane finally raised his head blankly, he yawned loudly, and looked around for the source of the horn sound: "What's the situation?" ”

"This is an early warning signal and a rallying call, and the army of Misty Mountain has moved, but it has not yet shown its intention to attack the city." Wren listened to the change in the rhythm of the horn as he looked at Estheau's face. After just one night, this young-looking and tough mercenary suddenly became vicissitudes. But soon Wren noticed something different, his mentors, and even Viscount Ivanles, were old and vicissitudes, and the years were etched on their faces through fine and deep wrinkles, so that their gaze always had the thickness of time. But Estheus was not, he was in the prime of life, so the weight in his eyes came from the warmth of life and the deep and long thoughts, perhaps he was just the vicissitudes of life because of the rough and tumble experience—just like Wren himself. Temperaments that should have been contradictory coexist harmoniously in his gaze. He sat quietly by the fire, and the light of the fire reflected him as solemnly as a statue. He naturally assumed the role of the backbone, and quietly relieved Wren of his temporary command. "Go and wake up Anson." He said.

A group of Black Spear Knights stood in line around them, and Captain Giegwood was at the head of the line, who had come to greet them—or one of them. Gig looked at Estheu first, then on Wren. Wren hesitated for a moment and whispered to Eshy, "The garrison commander has appointed me as Captain Gigwu's deputy. "Kia was seriously injured, and during the time of Eshu's disappearance, Ranmarok had appointed Kenrico as Giger's lieutenant, but Gig was extremely reluctant - he was no less prejudiced against the people of Sarion than Ranmarok. He strongly demanded that Ranmarlock change his candidate, so Wren was pushed out inexplicably, and he vaguely understood in his heart that this was probably because Ranmarok recognized the "falcon hidden hand" he used in that battlefield fight, and probably wanted to sell Viscount Ivanles a favor. However, this was not Wren's concern, as he had a sloppy battle meeting with Giger, who was not very kind to Wren at first, but his attitude improved after learning that he was the liaison officer personally appointed to Eshua by Viscount Ivanles. Wren then showed a tactical acumen that made Gig awe-inspiring. He helped Gig finalize the formation and formation of the defenders, and repositioned several key forces on the city walls. If Giger's previous arrangement was to paste a piece of paper at Simon, then Wren was undoubtedly reinforced. It's just that Wren also knew that if it weren't for Estheu's disappearance all night, this position should belong to him - it has nothing to do with tactical literacy, purely because he is strong enough.

"Really?" There was no fluctuation in Estheu's tone, and his attention seemed to be completely off, "Then I'll be at your command." Then he lowered his voice, "You didn't put Anson on the front line, did you?" ”

"Nope." Wren replied, "He and Salamane are in the reserves, and I am in the first echelon with you." ”

"Good." Eshu nodded, grabbed the longbow and put it on his back, "Then I will obey your command when defending the city." Let's go? ”

"It's not up to me to decide." Wren caught a glimpse of Salamane dragging a sleepy-eyed Anson out of his tent. Except for Kia, who was detained by Brochette in the Royal Academy to recuperate from his injuries and put under house arrest, the rest of the people have all arrived, and the already crippled team has been put in order. He nodded at Gig, his thumb running hard across his eyebrows.

"Let's go!" Gig returned the favor. He joined Eshur and marched towards the West Gate, and as he passed through Kenrico's camp, he was joined by a chivalrous knight. The nuns of Hell stood out, wearing a silver-pacing metal mask and unsheathed black keys around her waist. Gig glanced at them warily and motioned for them to stand at the back of the line.

The sound of the trumpet ceases abruptly, and then it sounded again intermittently, each with short, sharp intervals. Gig immediately quickened his pace, and the group hurried through the inner urn city. The healers were already busy under Damus's command, and they weaved through the huge cauldrons, pouring snow into containers, and then began to light fires, where dried blood-burning licorice and clean bandages were stacked in bundles in the corners. The white-bearded old man crossed his arms and watched them pass. As Eshua walked past him, their eyes silently met in their gazes.

"Dean Brochette—officer," Giger's tongue twisted awkwardly, "the Simon garrison has been assembled. ”

"Fight well." "Are the trolleys ready?" ”

Giger nodded vigorously: "At the request of the chief, it has been prepared—although I don't think there will be a chance to use it, and those barbarians will not be able to set foot on the walls of Poimbru!" ”

"I hope so." Brochette said nonchalantly.