Congreve fell straight to the ground, and when Derek helped him up, he quickly discovered the injury to his back—

The torn leather armor was no longer visible, and the black shirt inside had become wisps of rag. Beneath these strips of cloth, the wrinkled skin was like a piece of paper that had been vigorously rubbed, and several sword marks cut through the flesh, one of which was deep into the bone.

Very serious injuries.

Injured old man?

Congreve's appearance is indeed that of an old man.

Derek raised an arm and rubbed his eyes, he never thought that the knight's plot would appear on him-

Blood feud, he doesn't seem to have it?

But the current downfall is real.

Derek's past may have had a lot of laughter, joy, pain, and embarrassment, but when a path that seemed to be the protagonist of the plot appeared before his eyes, he was still somewhat inevitably moved.

After all, he is just a young man from an ordinary background, simple, kind, and with a little bit of beautiful fantasies about the future-

He'd chopped off quite a few people's heads, but those heads belonged to the damn Tasya. He recalled the past, and during that period of time when he stayed in the Northland Legion as a scout, he had more than once had blood and unwillingness.

After thinking about it, he picked up Congreve. He has the strength of the high-level of employment, and it is effortless to pick up this thin old man.

"Todd—"

Derek shouted as he walked from the backyard to the tavern—

The nephew of Brown, the owner of the "Traveler's House", the young man with a pair of vicissitudes of gray eyes, was wiping dust from the barrel in the back room, heard his voice, and quickly walked out.

The eyelids rolled, and the gray eyes seemed to reveal a strange and indescribable emotion.

"This old gentleman is injured, do you have any bandages here? By the way, prepare some ale, and I think these wounds of his will have to be cleaned up right away. ”

Cleaning wounds with wine, that's what he's learned from the Northland Legion—

Although he didn't know the reason, he saw that his comrades did it, and it was quite effective. So, he immediately remembered the means of cleaning the wound.

On Congreve's back, strips of rags, dust, sweat, and blood were mixed into a black blur, and when he picked up the old man's body, the blood was still pouring out—

Red blood stained his palms, sleeves, and coat at some point.

But the good-natured lad didn't pay much attention to it, and after placing Congreve in the little bed that belonged to him, he carefully uncovered the rags of his shirt from the old man's bloody back—

The deep red, soaked in blood and sweat, was sinking into the flesh one by one.

His movements were cautious and gentle, and he took a small jug of ale from Todd's hand that had not yet been mixed with water, and he tilted the jug slightly, and dipped a cloth towel in a little—

As soon as the ale came into contact with his skin, Congreve showed some signs of sobering up, and the nerves in his back suddenly felt as if a flame was burning.

Congreve tilted his head.

He saw Derek and Todd.

His eyes widened, and he remembered that not long ago, the griffon knights of Karthas were hunting him—

The scene was so horrible that he wanted to get up from his bed and run for his life.

Pain, and weakness after excessive blood loss.

Congreeve soon discovered that he was like a fish on a chopping block that could only be slaughtered—

Seeing his sobriety, Derek pinched his right hand holding a wet cloth towel and stopped in mid-air, looking at the old man:

"Sir, you're hurt, and we're cleaning your wounds."

Derek's tone was sincere and sincere, even with a hint of explanation.

Congreve couldn't help but be stunned.

Truth be told, many years ago, he no longer believed in the good side of human nature, and the so-called passion, goodwill, and morality were nothing more than shameful disguises used to grab his own interests—

Later, he joined the notorious group of bounty hunters "Pablo Bloodsting", and he has a deep understanding of these things.

But now, two young strangers had rescued him, and he felt as if something was clogging in his chest. It's hard to put into words, but it left his mind blank.

Congreve didn't react, and a pair of glazed, cloudy eyes looked at the damp birch wall panels.

"Sir, I hope you can bear with it, if these wounds are not treated, it will be troublesome."

After saying that, the cloth towel in Derek's hand was once again attached to the old man's back-

Congreve didn't say a word, the burning sensation made him feel the hot pain again, but the inexplicable warmth gradually flowed into his heart.

The stagnant water rippled.

……

Outside the "Traveler's House" on the wild chrysanthemum street, the branches of the red maple are swaying in the cold wind.

At this time, the halls of the tavern were still bustling, and the guests sat in front of the wooden tables in twos and threes, chatting about cheap ales and some food, and the bejewelly dressed warblers were shuttling among them, and from time to time they let out a few lewd jokes and charming responses.

Brown, the owner of the tavern, was used to all of this. He leaned against the counter, holding a somewhat bald quill, and was writing and drawing on a piece of paper—

He's calculating today's accounts.

The fireplace in the hall burned brightly, the dry wood crackled and burned, and the warm, bright light of the fire reflected the wrinkled and aged cheeks of his face.

Suddenly, the light dimmed in front of him, and he looked up, only to find that the guests in the tavern were all nervous and stunned.

Outside, there was a dense raindrop of footsteps and the crisp sound of something crashing against each other. A group of heavily armed soldiers with spears lifted the tavern door and scanned the hall.

"What's the matter? Sir. ”

Regardless of his actual position and rank, Brown Sr. used the honorifics of a civilian to a soldier of the kingdom. He lifted the amber, tortoiseshell shell, and glass reading eyes on the bridge of his nose and looked at the officer in the lead.

Looking at the armband, it was probably a captain or something.

Old Brown was almost sure of the identity of the comer.

"Lord Lord's warrant, full martial law in the neighborhood, and search for assassins."

The leading officer was a grim-faced man, except that he did not wear a helmet, he was draped in a full set of black iron armor, and a narrow legion-style long sword was also suspended from his waist at this time.

Keeping their eyes fixed on the guests in the tavern, with a downward gesture, the group of soldiers began to walk into all corners of the "Traveler's House".

A similar scene is taking place in multiple parts of the neighborhood at the same time.

The Dardanelles and Pine Knights, riding griffins, landed on a nearby rooftop.