Saskar and Arnold finally found the young man with extraordinary swordsmanship—Gross fell to one knee with his sword in his right hand, and he wiped the corner of his red mouth with his left hand, and on the floor in front of him, specks of warm blood were already sprinkled.

Hurt.

This is the second time Gross has been injured in this world - if the last assassination at Kingfisher was an accident, then this injury is completely head-on, and the difference in strength between the two sides is far greater than in any previous battle when Gross has fought an enemy of this magnitude.

His opponent, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the Blue Knight Hayden Relgar.

If he had had the opportunity to spread the picture in front of him, even if he had been defeated in the battle, it would have been a heroic story to be told—heroes often died, and the tragic ending was clearly more in line with the appreciative beauty of the people, aristocrats, and bards of this era.

Perhaps, following the story of Viscount Afradi, he will become a new one.

**********

In the city, the wind was blowing at night, and only two streets away from the city lord's mansion, the old bell-ringer had just left the bell tower and walked into a brightly lit tavern—

He stretched out his hand to lift the thick curtain in front of the tavern's door, but the few guests seated in the tavern hall seemed to be a little dissatisfied, and the icy night wind blowing from outside made them shiver, and when the old bell-ringer shuddered from his bosom and felt for three soles, even the tavern waiter became dissatisfied—

Because, this guest came to the tavern and only ordered a cheap and inferior ale.

"Sir, don't you want to do anything more? Drinking alcohol requires some tasty condiments, such as a slice of bacon or a plate of fragrant fried beans. ”

"No, no, a glass of ale is enough for an old man like me."

The old bell-ringer put the three sols behind the counter, and dragged a lame leg to the seat—

Despite his age, the old man's ears were still sensitive, and he heard the waiter behind the counter complain in a low voice, but he didn't show any expression. In fact, he had long been accustomed to such things, the job of the bell ringer was not very good, and in normal times, he rarely came to a tavern as lively as this, but tonight it seemed that there was an extremely strong thought that inexplicably drove him here—

He sat in a dimly lit corner of the tavern hall, and although it was strange for many of the guests to see such an old man running alone to the tavern, they quickly put the matter behind him—

The old bell-ringer was like a non-existent object, and he came to this tavern as if it had no purpose other than consuming a small glass of inferior ale.

The name of the tavern was "Grey Bird", a rather ordinary, unremarkable name, and such a name was indicative of its corresponding class, and the guests who came here were not wealthy nobles or wealthy merchants, but unemployed commoners, unruly craftsmen, and some low-level mercenaries who were barely trying to fill their stomachs in the city at this time, which is also a common picture in the bustling commercial city of Ensada lately—

Unfortunately, no bard or painter was willing to describe and paint vividly, for there was no profit in doing such a thing, and it was easy to limit oneself to unknown dangers.

It has been said that when a man is hungry, he is often more dangerous than a ferocious beast -

The atmosphere inside the tavern is fairly orderly, but if you leave the tavern and walk into the streets and alleys that attach you, you may encounter something surprising. At this time, the guests in the tavern were talking about a rumor that happened a few days ago:

A young scholar had come to Ensada and stayed in the tavern, reportedly commissioned by a nobleman to carry out some simple investigations, but three nights earlier, the scholar had been found dead in a narrow alley, her lower body stripped of her clothes, and the small black bag containing a little scattered Rael and Thor had been ransacked.

"It's horrible! Never before had anything so appalling happened in the city. ”

One of the guests sighed as he poured a full glass of ale into his glass, and sat down with a middle-aged man in a leather waistcoat—

The waistcoat was worn out, full of patches, wrinkles and cracks, and when the man picked up a fat slice of barbecue from his plate and chewed it in his mouth a few times, he rubbed his greasy fingers on the waistcoat, and the dark leather surface was suddenly renewed, and the folds were shiny.

"War is coming, and many people have left Ensada with a sense of danger, while some ambitious people have sniffed an opportunity with their bloodthirsty noses, and they have gathered in this once prosperous and rich city in a vain attempt to fish in the troubled waters to extract the greatest etiquette. So, Mr. Simon, you definitely need our help. Although we low-level mercenaries from humble backgrounds are not famous, at least, we will do our best to complete the tasks of our employers. ”

"It's interesting to say that even a destitute mercenary is not uninformed. So, can you tell me? Do you and your companions belong to those 'ambitious people'? ”

The guest tilted his head and drained the ale from his glass, and judging by the conversation between the two, it seemed that they were talking about a business - the business of a mercenary and an employer. But the middle-aged man couldn't help but be stunned when he heard the possible employer in front of him say this.

"If, Mr. Simon, doesn't want to believe us......"

He muttered—as could be seen from the expression on his face, that his mood was getting low, and the voice of his employer rang in his ears:

"As far as I know, Ensada is mixed right now, and some mercenaries are secretly working part-time, such as robbers?"

"Mr. Simon! Even if you are a successful businessman, you should not tarnish the reputation of a mercenary for no reason. ”

"Really?"

The guest named "Mr. Simon" turned his head and found the old bell ringer drinking silently in the corner, and he suddenly smiled slightly, "Old gentleman, it's not a fun thing to drink alone, why don't you have a few drinks with us?" ”

The old man's answer, however, was silent - his fingers held the rounded arc of the wine glass, he opened his slightly yellowish and cloudy eyes, looked at the two of them, lowered his head again, and took a small sip of the inferior ale.

And when the middle-aged man opposite "Mr. Simon" was about to make a defense, the entire tavern suddenly shook.