Just as he got close to the arena, Cú Chulainn could already smell the strong aroma of wine.

With a slight sniff, Cú Chulainn knew what the quality of the wine was.

The pinnacle of Ulster, the middle and bottom of Camelot.

Camelot refers to the territory under Qi Wuce's jurisdiction, because of his bad taste, Qi Wuce named his territory Camelot, and quietly spent a lot of resources to establish a chalk city in Camelot.

Belch...... Of course, you can't fly......

It's not the same as it used to be, and Qi Wuce, who drove a trumpet to a fishpond in Ireland, now doesn't have enough resources to build a city in the sky.

In this way, Camelot's chalk wall is still the strongest wall in modern Ireland, and its protection is about 100 times greater than that of the city of Ulster.

Although the materials are limited, the technology is there after all, the rich and the poor are built, and the specifications of Uruk City are probably the current chalk city after the specifications have shrunk by 10,000 times.

Thick walls mean strong, Qi Wuce began to work on territorial affairs at the age of three, and now Qi Wuce is twenty-two years old, which means that he has been farming for nineteen years.

If this is replaced by those protagonists in the farming stream, let alone nineteen years, nine years will be enough for them to unify the world. It took 19 years for Qi Wuce to unify Ireland, which was really humiliating.

In short, in the nineteenth year, although Qi Wuce did not directly begin to develop the path of high-tech materialism because of Gaia's connections, the development of the rest of the system has reached the peak that Ireland's inherent resources can support.

It can be said that if it weren't for Gaia's pressure on his head, if it weren't for the fear that he might make a troublesome peculiarity, Qi Wuce's current goal might have been to develop towards the sea of stars.

The high level of productivity has greatly improved the living standards of the people in the territory under Qi Wuce's rule, and Qi Wuce has published the winemaking techniques obtained from the god of wine, Dionysus, after making changes in the territory, and now it is impossible to find a wine in Ireland that is more mellow than the best wine of Camelot.

During Camelot's nine years, Cúchulaline was naturally accustomed to drinking the best wines, and when he returned to Ibend and smelled these wines, which were only ordinary compared to Camelot's wines, he really didn't have much interest.

"Wow! What a good wine, and Concierber's boy is so willing! This time I was able to drink a lot! ”

Fergus laughed and slapped Cúchulainn, then continued: "Hurry up, boy, today is a rare event, you can't drag around here like a. ”

Cú Chulainn did not resist, and was dragged like a marionette by Fergus to the arena, where King Concierber was.

A huge vat appeared in Cúchulainn's eyes, and all the aromas of wine overflowed from this vat, and there was no doubt that the vat must have been filled with fine wine.

The vats are huge, with enough capacity for hundreds of people to drink the wine all day, and the atmosphere of indulgence and revelry, competition and glory fills this fiery martial arts arena.

Cú Chulainn's gaze did not stop, he only flickered at the wine vat, he was more concerned about the rows of neatly arranged chariots not far from the wine vat on the martial arts arena, and the fiery warriors on them were full of fiery eyes.

With a keen sense of smell, his unwilling heart eager to compete beats fiercely in this martial arts arena, which is the best opportunity to prove his nine years of hard work.

Fergus noticed the heat in Cúchulainn's eyes, the kind of gaze that only a true warrior would have, and he glanced quietly in the direction of Cúchulainn's gaze, where the chariot was placed.

Is it possible to cultivate such a keen sense of competition for competition? Coupled with that sturdy body that made the enemy shudder, that guy really wasn't talking big in the first place.

Because of Cúchulainn's performance, Fergus's evaluation of Qi Wuchou, who had taught Cúchulainn for nine years, was once again a few points higher.

"There's going to be a game, and the winner will be able to make a lot of fame, so come with me to Concierber and sign up, boy! Maybe you'll be quicker and you'll be able to pick a few good horses for the rest of the race. ”

Cú Chulainn nodded, and separated from Fergus, he had to go to the king first to register for this contest, as for Fergus, his soul had already been hooked by the wine in the vat.

At this time, Concierge was sitting in the most prestigious position surrounded by a group of men, enjoying the mellow of the wine, and looking forward to the competition that was about to begin.

With the passage of time, Ulster has too many powerful warriors who have grown old, and fresh blood is essential if Ulster is to continue to be strong.

So, in order to prolong Ulster's strength, Concierber's think tank agreed, and so there was such a thing as today.

Taking this opportunity, Concierge intends to recruit all the young fighters who have performed well in the competition after the fact.

"See the king, there was a young man named Cúchulainn, who claimed to be a relative of the king, and wanted to meet my king."

Concierber was confused for a moment, and his mind was pondering the question of "who is Cúchulainn", a name that sounded familiar, but under the influence of alcohol, Concierber could not remember the familiar name.

Concierber, who couldn't think of a name for himself for a long time, finally called the storyteller, and nine years was too long for a man who was drunk and dreamed of nothing and had nothing to do, and the memory of Cúchulainn had long been forgotten by him.

In Ulster, the storyteller at the king's side, in addition to retelling important events to the king, was also responsible for recording the king's words and deeds, that is, the position of historian.

To be able to hold the position of storyteller by the king's side must have an excellent memory, because whenever the king forgets something, he usually asks the storyteller, and for the sake of longevity and prosperity, the storyteller's memory and mind are not good even if he can't think about it.

"Well, do you remember who this Cuchulainn was? When did I ever have this relative named Cúchulainn? ”

Looking at Concierber's slightly drunken and confused appearance, the storyteller's heart suddenly became angry, and he was also very helpless for such a mediocre monarch.

It's a pity that the word loyalty has long been deeply imprinted in the minds of every Irishman, even the storyteller. So even if he was angry in his heart, the storyteller was still respectful to the king.

"King, Cúchulainn is not his real name, this name was given by the prophet Caswad, and the young man's real name should be Setanda."

After listening to the storyteller's reply, Concierge Urber, who was still drunk, suddenly came to his senses.

O Setanda...... As soon as he heard the name, Concierber's buried memories kept coming back, this was his sister's son, and it was not an exaggeration to say that he was a relative, and, if he remembered correctly, his nephew was a prodigy born with divine powers.

Now that nine years have passed, the boy who tore the dog at the beginning should have become a powerful warrior, and it is really time for that kid to return to Yiwan at this time.

Concierge was sitting up and assuming the dignity of being a king: "Let him in!" ”