The midday sun fills the shadows of the trees, and after leaving the town of Shiraishi, after a short distance, there is a mountain road that is not open. In some of the cramped places, even if it was only possible to pass through a carriage, the caravan men www.biquge.info straightened up from the carriage, or jumped down, waved their whips, and carefully drove the horses pulling the cart, lest they would roll down the steep, overgrown, rocky slopes beside them without paying attention, and their bones would be lost.

And the "fat man in gold" Flod, sitting in a relatively wide and stable carriage, tried to stabilize his shaking body, opened the curtain, and kept shouting:

"Boys, work hard, I'll invite you to drink fragrant fruit wine when you get to Wright!"

It's a promise.

Of course, this is just a "promise". Hearing Flod's shout, several of the slightly older caravan men looked at each other with a commonplace expression, and then pouted in disdain - Mr. Flod's promise, just listen to it, don't take it too seriously. The destination of their business trip was the port city of Northland Afron, and Wright, a city located in Lazis, the southern territory of Nogo, was estimated to be at least a month later after passing through Wright.

And a month was enough time for Mr. Flode to forget the promise. Besides, if "Mr. Peel" Pink was kind enough to invite everyone to drink, they could be drunk anywhere - for example, in the town of White Rock, where the caravan had rested for a day.

Bang -

After the carriage turned another corner, the road gradually flattened, and a large area of woods appeared in front of you, and white irises could be seen everywhere, and the faint fragrance lingered in the air, which seemed to relieve the fatigue of the journey.

Mr. Flode did not let this determine, though.

All of them, including the men of the caravan, were attracted by a flash of light in the woods, white, like a falcon, driving the air currents to surge, and after a crash, the light turned into a feathered arrow, firmly nailed to the trunk of a tree, and the tail feathers buzzed.

The colt pulling the cart was even frightened, and it was Mr. Flode's car, the poor gelding, who had stepped on a round hard stone, and with a flick of his hooves, he almost fell to the ground. Fortunately, the guy pulling the cart was clever and pulled the reins tightly. But the violent shaking of the carriage was inevitable, and Mr. Frog's fat body slammed into the wooden planks of the carriage like a lump of dough beaten on a long board.

Damn it!

Holding on to the wall of the compartment, Flot muttered that the fat on his body had cushioned the impact well and had not been hurt in the slightest. Immediately afterwards, he jumped out of the carriage with an agile movement that did not fit his figure, and walked to the front of the team, huffing, like a compass, crossed his waist, and a pair of small **** eyes flashed with sharp eyes and looked around.

"Damn bandits?"

Floss's eyes widened as he struggled, and his gaze quickly focused on the feathered arrow. He was a merchant who frequented the Northlands, and it was not uncommon for him to walk to the birch tree where the feathered arrow was inserted, yes, it was a birch tree, and although Flot was a commoner, he still had extraordinary insight, including botanical knowledge, of course.

Flaude's big fleshy hand pulled out the feather arrow, and he immediately saw the clue - the straight shaft, the beautiful tail feathers, the length and thickness of the arrow had a familiar feeling, and the weight of the whole feather arrow was very reasonably distributed.

This is a standard arrow from the Elantra military!

Almost instantaneously, Frode's mind made a judgment - this sharp weapon of murder was strictly controlled by the people. Although the Northland is now in chaos, there is only one kind of existence left for this kind of thing, except for the regular legions of the kingdom and the elite private soldiers of some lords.

The former regular legions of the kingdom, the losers of the Sixth Eta War, the legionnaires who were cornered because of the blame of the nobles who passed the buck to each other! In the Northlands, these beings were also referred to as "rebels" by nobles and city commoners.

Frode looked up, his gaze rising with the raised curve of the hillside, through the layers of shrubs and trees, and at last he made a discovery—a dozen or so sneaky shadows.

He began to beckon his men as he hurried back to the carriage and drew a great sword from under the compartment, the fate of these former Kingdom soldiers may have been pitiful, but for him, Frode, a civilian merchant who walked the Northlands, the hideous and savage appearance of the other party was only an abomination.

The relationship between the merchant and the bandits, the rebels, is to some extent the relationship between the fisherman and the fish. However, when the fish is strong enough or skillful enough, it can break free from the net.

The carriage in the middle of the mountain road stopped, and the sound of the clash of swords, crossbows, armor, and small round shields, and the sound of hurried footsteps, continued to sound. On one side of the hillside, in the mottled shadows of the bushes, a dozen or so strong men in shabby leather armor and stubble-faced stubbles straightened up—it was clear that they had seen the movement of the caravan below.

But the reaction of these businessmen? It looks dishonest!

With a few vigorous jumps, these strong men in leather armor, with swords, long knives, and war spears in their hands, came to the caravan from behind the bushes on the hillside - Mr. Frode, who was in the caravan, was sweating profusely, which also made his fat face even more greasy and glowing, but he did not flinch, and stood bravely at the front in the bulging leather armor, clutching a large sword.

Behind him were twenty caravan men. These simple young men may often curse his stinginess behind his back, but at this time, they all looked resolute, clenched their weapons in both hands, and formed a tight defensive formation with the carriage as a barrier.

"How many gentlemen?"

Frode pinched out a smile and greeted the strong men blocking the road—the middle-aged man with a centipede-like scar from the base of his left ear through his cheek to the bridge of his nose was about fifteen meters away from him. It was clear to Froude that this was exactly the distance of a charge. But the other side did not step into this distance, which means that the situation in front of you is possible to solve it in a non-combat form.

Perhaps it was Mr. Flode's enthusiasm and courage that infected the "robbers", and the expressions on the faces of several strong men opposite suddenly changed a little.

"The Asaphs? Civilian? ”

The middle-aged man led by him suddenly asked two questions in succession. His question was not unfounded, for, from Mr. Flode's accent and some of his physical features, the middle-aged man had made some guesses.

These well-founded speculations were completely correct, and Flaude certainly had no reason to deny it, nodding his head busily.

"Kanla, have you been?" (Note: Kanla, a city in Asaph, the southern territory of the Elantra Kingdom.) ）

The middle-aged man asked a question again.