"Do you just give up the inspection of the scene?" Mark asked reluctantly.

Duchamp thought about it, and really came up with an idea: "Let's go to Eisenberg and talk to him, maybe he knows other clues." ”

Eisenberg, who had already drunk a little, instantly sobered up when he heard this sudden topic.

"So, that's why you chose to go to the Kingdom of Liber from this road?" Eisenberg's voice was hoarse, a little sad, a little moved.

"Actually, you don't have to be too excited, we are just curious, and we happened to be passing by, so we want to turn a corner......"

Eisenberg interrupted Duchamp's ramblings.

"I asked the old man for the details of the location a few years ago, and the old man beat him up."

"Ahh Duchamp prepared many lines, but he was choked on this sentence.

Under the cover of the street lamps, the three people squatted in the emerald night, looking at each other without saying a word.

Mark jumped down the steps and threw down the words, "I'll think of a way again!" "Disappear into the night.

Duchamp hurriedly chased after him. "It's so late, how are you going to find it?"

Mark had a plan. "Go to Calles, he's from Palm."

In the bar next to him, Calles, who was in high spirits, was inexplicably dragged out by Mark.

Mark put his arm around his shoulder, and affectionately, without a trace, gave him an old copy of the detailed map of every village near the city of Palm.

"An old version of the map?" Calles scratched the back of his head and suddenly saw Duchamp poking his head around the corner.

"Hahahaha, I see!" He held out his index finger and pointed at the bridge of Mark's nose, "It's important, isn't it?" It's about Styry, it's about Eisenberg, right? ”

Duchamp, who was eavesdropping, quickly retracted his head.

"How did you guess?" Mark asked awkwardly.

"Hmph, that's still a guess! When I went to Eisenberg's house, I noticed that you and Stellary were mysterious, always looking at each other. Also, when you talk to Eisenberg's family, there are obviously some things that I don't know. It seems that we are not really close friends! Calles said in a gloomy voice, and turned around in a gloomy manner.

Mark hurriedly grabbed him, his face was full of sincerity, and he made countless trade-offs in his heart, but in the end, he couldn't bear Calles's interrogation, and said two or three points about the matter.

Finally, he said pretentiously: "When I turned to this history, I suddenly felt a sadness in my heart, because I was also a compatriot in the same state, and I wanted to find that place and pay my respects, and that's it." ”

Calles snorted.

"It turned out to be to find that dead man's village and make such a mysterious thing to do."

Mark was startled. "So, you know that?"

"Of course, before the war, this incident caused a lot of uproar in the local area, and there were many legends, and some people made up stories to coax children, saying that there were man-eating monsters on the mountain, and they ate all the people in a village at once."

Mark let out a sigh of relief.

"But what does this matter have to do with you, you are not locals, by the way, remember that Eisenberg's father seems to have retired from the army a few years ago, could it have something to do with it?" Calles muttered to himself.

Marque's hand was sweating, and he gritted his teeth, and his smile was worse than crying. "Brother, you're so witty!"

Calles shook off Mark's hand and shook his forehead proudly: "Of course, don't think that the countrymen don't know." I remember that in my father's hand, there is a book of the customs of Palm, which is about to be turned over, and there is a detailed description of various places on it, and I will go back to you tomorrow to read it. Even if you can't find it, ask the locals to find out, there will always be someone who knows. ”

Early the next morning, the train departed from Baryahat, down the hills, past the picturesque Lake Abel, and the town of Regram, where Fang had once studied, heading south, four hours later, to Palm, the southernmost city of the empire.

Duchamp absentmindedly helped everyone go through the exit application procedures, and looked at the sky anxiously.

At about three o'clock in the afternoon, Calles finally appeared with a carriage.

Mark's eyes lit up, and he greeted him and asked, "Did you find it?" ”

"Get in the car and get in the car, that place is quite far away, if you don't leave, you won't be able to get there today."

Duchamp hurriedly handed over the task of buying tickets for everyone to Learmey and hurried over.

More than ten minutes later, the carriage was on a rickety road up the mountain.

Mark carefully compared the illustrations in the old book and remarked the place on a new map of the city of Palm.

"According to the scale of the map, this place is close to the border, only about 300 sails away from the Haken National Gate. We have horse-drawn carriages and we can get there before the sun sets. ”

"Not necessarily!" Calles, who was driving the car, looked at the mountain road that was getting more and more difficult to walk, and said worriedly: "This road seems to have been abandoned, in case you encounter a powerful demonic beast on the road......"

"There will be no Warcraft!" Duchamp poked his head out to comfort him.

"yes, Styry is in the car!" Mark answered, continuing to study the distance and direction intently.

Along the way, as Duchamp said, although the road became more and more difficult to walk, and all kinds of rocks and weeds continued to hinder the carriage's progress, but not a single demonic beast was encountered.

Duchamp, who was sitting in the car, accidentally released the aura of power comparable to the Holy Order, so the nearby demonic beasts all knew that a big guy was passing by, and they all stayed away from this long-abandoned mountain road.

After breaking through the Eighth Order, Duchamp quickly crossed the Ninth Order almost without hindrance, and was one step closer to the power of this world.

The rickety carriage climbed up the ridge, crossed a stream, and finally stopped on a hillside.

"If the book is correct, it should be in this valley, with a radius error of no more than 20 celsels." Mark held the plotter in his hand, compared it for a long time, and said with certainty.

"Then we should be able to see the village."

"It can't be obscured by trees!"

Eisenberg climbed the tree and looked around, but there was no building or people.

"It's certainly true that there are villages around here!" Calles carefully trampled on the ground under his feet, "This slope under our feet has been cultivated for a long time, and the soil is completely different from the forest wasteland. You can also see it from the terrain. The village must be near the water source, so let's go down and look up from the stream. ”

Duchamp was about to answer when a gust of wind blew, sending a special aroma.

"On our left!" He pointed in the direction where the wind was blowing and said excitedly.

Mark looked in the direction Duchamp was pointing, but saw nothing.

"How do you know for sure?"

"The aroma brought by the wind, and there is the smell of bay leaves used for cooking."

"But you can't see any buildings here!"

"It should be here, look at the shape of the land, and the ditch." Mark uses the camera lens to zoom in on the distance.

As the direction adjusts, the atmosphere of the village becomes more and more obvious. The man-made drainage canals, the fields that have been leveled into small patches, and the fruit trees that are full of fruit, but no one picks them, all point the way to the village.

Finally, they stopped on a barren slope overgrown with vines and wild fruits.

Mark scrutinized the ditches and foundations under those vines before announcing "this is it."

"But what about the villages?" Eisenberg searched around the barren hillside in a frenzied manner, exclaiming loudly: "Even if it is burned, there will always be some broken walls!" ”

"It was demolished, maybe the nearby village needs building materials!" Duchamp's voice dragged on for a long time.

Calles picked up a thorn with a stick, walked into a bush, bent down, and picked up a bay leaf: "The bay leaf here, no one has picked it for a long time, and it is really fat. ”

Mark silently took out his camera and picked the angle, leaving behind the afterimage of the sunset on the nameless barren slope.

Suddenly, he found a clue. "Come here, everyone, look over here!"

"What's here?" Duchamp ran over and asked.

"The grass in this area has been cleared, and before us, someone has been here, and it hasn't been more than a month, you see how the grass grows."

"Who could it be?"

"Maybe it's a relative of the people who used to live here."

Duchamp carefully looked at the thorns that had been cut to the side, and walked forward a little.

"And this path, which seems to have been walked by."

Duchamp raised his stick and pointed to a path looming in the grass.

Following this long-deserted road, they came to a small hill.

Mark looked around and said in surprise, "It seems that this is the cemetery." Someone took them all and buried them here. ”

Duchamp walked along the place where the grass had fallen, and from the grass, picked up a bunch of withered blue wildflowers.

He thoughtfully poked his finger into the waist-deep grass and found a small stone tablet. He hurriedly picked up the grass, and there was a line of words engraved on it:

Karling.

The reflection of the setting sun pierced his eyes with tears.