Calradia, a war-torn continent, a land divided by competing nations. Countless adventurers and speculators traveled here, giving up everything in the past in order to gain status and wealth. It's dangerous, but it's also full of opportunities. However, only those who are strong and intelligent can shuttle through danger and achieve everything they dream of. But remember, you can do whatever it takes to get there. Your destiny is in your own hands!

On the road to Parabun, a sizable caravan was busy on its way. They traveled through the heart of Calradia, bringing goods and hopes to the bustling city and dumping them to earn a living dinar.

Sitting in a humble carriage drawn by a bad horse, von Byron's heart was full of mixed feelings, staring at the city in the distance. Beneath the rolling mountains, seedlings of wheat, barley and oats are bursting out of the dark ground and growing vigorously. And on the slopes below the snow-capped peaks, herds of cattle and sheep are grazing on the spring grass. And, of course, the tall horses that symbolize the Swadian nobility, roaming the meadows, followed by busy but proud knightly squires.

A rich and contentious land where strangers gather to seek wealth and power. Is this really mine, though?

Von Byron lowered his head and sighed softly. He had been with the caravan for three days, and although he was reluctant, he had accepted his situation.

As written in other time-traveling novels, he is a time-traveler from a large eastern country on the earth, who originally had a mediocre but fulfilling life and a fairly happy family. But it was all far away from him, and he himself had no idea how he got here.

There were no car accidents, no Korean mobile phones, no exploding computers and leaking electric doors, he just slept on a flight to Malaysia with a few friends, and woke up to see a strange place, and the half-Chinese, half-Western face on the water when he washed his face, which made him feel very unfamiliar. He still has black pupils and short hair, but his face has a slightly more mixed-race appearance.

And what makes him saddest the most is that even though those memories of the past are vivid, he has forgotten his former name.

[von Byron: LV1; Prestige: 5; Influence: 0;

Strength: 6;

Dexterity: 6;

Intelligence: 9;

Charisma: 9;

Possession Skill: Riding Level 1; Domination Level 1;

Weapon Proficiency: One-Handed Weapon: 20; Two Handed Weapons: 20; Long-pole weapons: 20; Bow and arrow: 10; Crossbows: 10; Throw: 10; Bonus points: 0; 】

Riding and slashing von Byron had been played for hundreds of hours before the crossing, but it would have been hard for him to get used to it. Although there was an interface that gave him a glimmer of hope for the legendary Golden Thigh, it didn't help except for an attribute interface.

For him, there was no sense of excitement in the crossing, and the life of the past few days had almost made him fall into a panic.

They eat dry and hard bread, drink untreated cold water, and the vegetables and jerky are not cooked and difficult to swallow. Because paper is very expensive, the caravan people used twigs and broken wood to clean their butts when they went to the toilet! For this, he had to sacrifice the corner of the handkerchief and shirt that came from nowhere in his arms. What's even worse is that in this place where there are no mobile phones, no computers, no WeChat, QQ, all kinds of teachers, all modern technology, and no entertainment methods that he has been familiar with for a long time, he is about to collapse next to a bunch of big men who are five big and three rough.

"Byron, you're about to arrive in Parabun, you're going to your destination, we've packed your goods, we'll stay in Parabun for a few days, if you want to go somewhere else, the price remains the same, you're still welcome."

While von Byron was stunned, the leader of the caravan had already ridden up to him, handed him a bag of ale, and left with a smile.

Von Byron thanked him, pulled out the cork and took a sip, the taste was really average, the taste was not as good as the beer he drank before the crossing and there was a lot of slag. But it's still much better than cold water.

As the shops continued on, the road became smoother and wider, horseback riders hurried past the wagons, and other caravans came into view. In the distant forest, the malicious gaze glanced at the caravan of more than fifty men and twenty wagons, but the sight of the caravan guards on horseback and sword, wearing thick leather armor, and a whole group of mercenary sentries, these eyes quickly disappeared.

"It's almost time to get to the city."

When von Byron saw the walls of Paravon, he felt that he could not remain idle, even if it was really difficult for him to cross the city, he still had to find a way to survive.

Byron (hereinafter referred to as Byron) thought of this, and hurriedly looked at the valuable objects on his body. A coat made of leather and linen, and a fur-rimmed fur hat, these were the clothes worn by merchants who traveled from north to south. A pair of leather boots of modest texture, and a pair of linen gloves in a pocket. And on the waist, there is also a somewhat rusty iron sword. Beside him, there was a hunting crossbow, as well as a bag of crossbow arrows. In the pockets of his clothes, there were only a dozen silver coins of various sizes, that is, dinars. The total value of the coins bearing the emperor's head and the family crest together was about eighty dinars, which was not much, but it was enough for him to spend a while.

And, of course, the carriage that had been with him when he crossed over, a traveling horse and a pack horse pulling the cart, and a little cargo on board. A large bag of wool, a few horses of linen, and more than twenty clay pots of all sizes. These are all commodities that can be exchanged for cash, and they are also important initial funds for him.

Thinking of what he had, he breathed a sigh of relief and sighed that fate was not so unfair.

There were more and more pedestrians on the road, and the caravan finally reached the city gate. The Swadia militia standing guard checked their goods at will, and after collecting a few copper plates for the "entrance fee", the caravan also entered the city safely.

It was getting late, and Byron said goodbye to the leader of the caravan and drove his carriage to the nearest tavern. For some reason, after mastering the first-level riding skills, Byron not only learned to ride a horse, but also drove a carriage very well.

The tavern was noisy and smelly. However, it is quite safe to store the goods here, after all, every large-scale tavern on the road either has a certain backing, or has a powerful boss and a group of guys who can fight.

Most of the rooms in the tavern were large bunks, and five or six mats were placed together, enough to sleep for a weary traveler and the poor, and to leave a sum of money left over for the hordes of mercenaries. But Byron couldn't get used to the smell of sweat, so he preferred to sleep in a room by the stables in the backyard, and the tavern guy readily agreed. He thinks that Byron is not uncommon to be worried about his possessions sleeping there, and that he can get a little more money for the house.

With a few days of fatigue and discomfort after the crossing, Byron quickly fell asleep in his overcoat. He began to dream of some strange things, both before and after the crossing, which was very bizarre.

But the sound of a sword out of his body woke him from his sleep, and he opened his eyes to hear some stray footsteps and deliberately muffled voices outside the tavern.

He remembered the novice task he had done when he was playing the game, and immediately got out of bed, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He peeked through the crack in the door and noticed that at the other end of the backyard, two men with weapons were threatening a man leaning against a corner.

After making sure there were no other accomplices nearby, he cautiously opened the door and threw an empty bottle out with all his might.

The cracking of the bottles frightened the two robber-looking men, and Byron took his sword and crossbow and pushed the door open, shouting loudly. He didn't want to fight each other, and it would be nice if he could scare them off.

The plan worked, the people in the tavern were awakened, and the voices were heard. The two men immediately tried to escape, but they chose to run in Byron's direction.

Byron also took a jump, and now he couldn't handle the two robbers with this little equipment and poor weapon proficiency. But the persecuted merchant drew his sword and fought one of them, and Byron raised his crossbow and shot an arrow at the head of the man who was running at him.

He didn't aim very well, though, and just shot the man's knee, causing him to fall. But at this time, it is not difficult to rush over to mend the knife.

For some reason, as if instinctively, he swung the rusty iron sword and slashed the man's neck. Blood splattered all over him, and his hands trembled involuntarily...