The sunset is slanting to the west, and the crimson sunset is slanting and slanting, and layers are hidden under the horizon.

Street vendors packed up their belongings and threw small bags of goods on carts, and the lights in taverns and inns were lit one by one; The peasants, with hoes and sacks on their shoulders, have also returned to the city from their fields outside the town. The townspeople of Ash Pine had another peaceful day.

This is the town of Ash Pine in the Soleka district of Calal. A small city once famous for its ash pine cultivation.

The bark of the gray pine tree can be used as a spice to remove the smell after a set of processes such as drying, baking, and grinding. Forty years ago, it was the only town in Carraar where ash pine was planted on a large scale, and it was valued for this. Because the source of gray rosin is monopolized, this plant spice, which is not difficult to survive, was once speculated at a sky-high price.

But just thirty-eight years ago, in the year 879 of the Gods, the great sage Friedrich introduced a planned planting system, in which white-robed druids were sent to the countryside in large numbers, and the land in each planting area was sampled and tested, and several plants were selected and mixed together for cultivation. Grey Pine was forced to hand over the saplings to the smiling white-robed druids because three areas were found to be more suitable for grey pine timber to survive.

Since then, no crop has been produced from a single region in the whole of Caral. Ten years ago, the last ash pine in Ash Pine Town had been completely reduced to ashes. Today, they are one of the main producers of karal red wheat, but they still stubbornly cling to the name of Grey Pine.

The old people muttered, this is the glory of the ancestors, this is the history of the town. The history of the town was told to the young people over and over again. But even the youngsters with the best tempers can't stand the fragments of these old people. They would rather go to work. Dig your strength into the ground and pray to Mother Gaia for a good harvest the coming year.

As for who Mother Gaia is? They themselves don't know. All they know is that this is how the druids who blessed the seeds and the land carved their paintings into stone. After posing for a ring, he muttered about Gaia's mother or something. These clever countrymen followed suit, and over the years there were a few famous druids, and finally the word spread.

Now is a good time for winter ploughing. Red wheat is a season of one ripe, now plant a small batch of red wheat, and then plant some sweet grass to nourish the land, and wait until April of the next year, as soon as the wheat is harvested, the wheat straw is thrown into the ground, and the druid master can mix the sweet grass and wheat straw together to make good fertilizer with a wave of his hand. And those sweet grass fruits can also be sold for some pocket money while returning to their roots.

Life in Caral is so comfortable and cozy. Believing in the principles of nature, they have naturally received feedback. Although I can't say how luxurious life is. But he can also eat well, dress warmly, and become his own world, without the desire to understand the outside world. Hope. Undoubtedly, the life of the people of Caral can indeed be regarded as happy.

The Great Sage's Barrier surrounded the whole of Karar, and since then there has been no winter in which he can freeze to death, nor has there been a heavy rain that lasts for days. That's one of the reasons why the people of Karaal look down on those priests - if your god is here, let him stop the blizzard? If even the weather that the druids can change at will cannot be controlled, then the god is not a god. It can only be said that he is a powerful mortal.

Because Carral's environment is comfortable enough, many foreigners often come to cross the border in the winter to escape the cold winter – provided they can afford the exorbitant transit fees, of course.

But that's a transit fee for the lord, a transit fee for the sage. It has nothing to do with ordinary people who carry hoes to dig from the ground.

So, naturally, there is no need for them to show respect for these foreigners, right?

A little boy with short gray hair walks down the street alone.

His face was immature, and he looked to be no more than twelve or thirteen years old. The bangs on his forehead drooped deeply, covering half of his face. It gives a very introverted feeling.

He was carrying luggage on his back, and at first glance he looked like a traveler from afar. But at the time of his stay. But he was turned away by the hotel, and he could only walk alone on the street, which made people feel sad just by looking at it.

But the child still clenched his teeth, did not sob, and his face was calm. It's so strong that it hurts.

But even so, no one dared to talk to him.

It's not that they think this kid is terrifying. Instead, the men who followed the child like ghosts forced them back with vicious glances.

There were about six or seven of them, and the men in their early twenties, who were scattered in age, covered their heads and couldn't see their faces clearly. Judging from the figures, there are also mixed with old men and teenage children in their thirties.

What they all have in common is that they can see obvious malice in their actions.

They had clubs in their hands and bloodshot eyes. It's like a hyena seeing a lamb.

Actually, it's not bad. To them, the gray-haired boy was nothing more than a fat lamb.

Come to think of it, there is no gray-haired human race in the whole of Karaal, which means that he is a tourist entering from a foreign country. And in winter, tourists who enter the country undoubtedly pay sky-high transit fees before entering. If he is stealing. The ferryman will definitely not walk on the road in the open. If you meet a druid, it will be bad if you can't get the identification on your body.

In other words, they must have money.

What does it mean that a child who is about eleven or twelve years old or younger comes to Carral alone at this time?

That's right. It's definitely a fat sheep.

Either he is wanted by the temple, or he is the eldest young master who ran away from home, or the heir of a down-and-out nobleman. The possibility of getting separated from his own guards is not small.

As long as you take advantage of the dark wind to kill him and run away, no one will know who did it.

A young man stared at him with red eyes, and gradually clenched the stick with the spike in his hand. You can vaguely see that the tip of the spike has turned jet black, and the spike is slightly curved.

It's not the first time he's killed someone.

Although he is now only in his early twenties, he has already taken the lives of three people. Because of the tight organization, clean tail handling, coupled with his adaptability and excellent acting skills, he has not been suspected so far. This gave him a sense of superiority and the excitement of holding the lives of others in the palm of his hand.

Today, this is the fourth-

He told himself in his heart.

Watching the boy turn into a dark alley in search of a hotel, he trotted over to the gaze of his companions, and began to follow the rudimentary stealth technique learned by an old golden finger, and he ran over with very small, messy steps, and struck the boy on the back of the head.

The child immediately fell to the ground.

He was still not at ease, although he couldn't see clearly in the dark, he picked up the stick and smashed it several times in a row about the neck and the back of the head, and the people behind him also followed, and smashed it in the face.

After about three minutes of smashing, feeling the touch of the head have changed, they pulled out the rags and blocked them in front of their hands, ripped the package off the little boy's body, and then searched close to him before giving up.

"His. Milk's ...... It's a steal. Ferry! No oil and water! ”

"Leave it alone! Evacuate! ”

They threw down the rags, wiped the blood from their hands and fled.

Unfortunately, they didn't see it, and after they left, the child with the smashed head staggered to his feet again.

His eyes gleamed scarlet.

The sun sinks in the west, and the afterglow dissipates. The townspeople of Ash Pine had another peaceful day. (To be continued.) )