The crowd of onlookers was dispersed, and the carriage continued to move gently through the streets of Ryan City.

The Earl looked at the little beggar indifferently, picked up the crystal glass on the table and took a sip of red wine, and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Andrew. ”

The boy responded timidly.

He looked a little reserved, as if he was worried about soiling the expensive velvet cushions, and just stood in the middle of the carriage with his hands crossed, struggling to control his balance as the bumps arose, so as not to fall.

Perhaps the Count's unusually unusual response made the boy feel a little uneasy, and he was obviously still a little guarded, and this position made it easier for him to jump out of the window and escape.

"Huh!"

This plan naturally could not escape the Earl's eyes, but the Count did not let him see through it, and the fate of this child was completely decided by himself at this moment.

He now has two choices, one is to quietly let the boy evaporate in the world, so that hello, me, hello, everyone, maybe Bob has a rich gift and a few delicate girls to offer.

The second is to help him pay some money to find Bob to redeem his sister and parents, so that their family can fly away. It's just that it's not clear which nobleman placed the order, and doing so might cause some unnecessary trouble.

The Earl, who has always hated political intrigue the most, is almost going to choose the first option, but somehow I feel that maybe the second plan may be better?

Although I feel a little confused.

But it was a choice from intuition, and as a warrior, the Count naturally chose to trust his instincts, and his eyes softened when he looked at the boy.

"Sit. He commanded irresistibly.

"Your Excellency..."

Andrew was still a little hesitant, wondering whether he should sit down, and where he should sit if he did, whether it was the empty seat next to the Earl or the carpet under his feet.

"Enemy attack, protect your lord!" the captain of the guard shouted and screamed outside the carriage made his decision—Andrew was so frightened that he sat down on the ground.

"Whoosh!

"Damn! it's a military crossbow!"

"Defense!"

"Poof!

From time to time, the sound of crossbow arrows piercing human bodies, nailing shields and carriages was heard.

"My lord, there are too many enemies, and there are crossbow arrows, please retreat!"

"Hmm!"

The captain of the guard let out a muffled snort and then went silent, apparently having been shot.

"The Earl... My lord?"

Andrew looked frightened, and he curled up in the corner of the carriage with a trembling look, looking out of the carriage with a look of disbelief.

At this time, the originally crowded streets instantly became cold, and from time to time, crossbow bolts shot out from the distant houses, shooting the earl's guards and some unlucky civilians to the ground.

The scarlet blood trickled out of the wound and gradually merged into a trickle, flowing down the groove of the drain into the sewer.

No one is spared!

When the Count pushed the body of Pete, the coachman, out of the carriage, leaving only a group of Assassins surrounded him in the middle of the street.

"Who are you?" he asked calmly.

Judging by the attire, it seems that a group of mercenaries, most of them wearing chain mail, swords and shields, are cautiously approaching.

The Earl looked in the direction of the tilt of the arrow, and could vaguely see that there were no less than twenty military crossbows in the surrounding houses, aiming at the vital points of his own mix.

He pursed his lips and sneered disdainfully: "You dare to assassinate the earl of the kingdom in the street, should you say that you are bold, or that your master is crazy?"

No one answered.

The leader of the lead simply waved his arm in silence.

"Whoosh!"

The bolts hissed through the air, glittering in the refraction of the sun.

Although he was attending the dinner, the Count's two-handed sword was not with him, and he wore a rich gown instead of armor.

But so what!

He sneered and rushed towards the crowd, the arrows that had been fired nailed to where he had been standing, the tail of his feathers trembling slightly.

"Kill!"

The Count roared, his muscles swelling open the gown, and he slammed into the shield that the assassin had subconsciously raised, sending the hapless fellow flying straight out and smashing against the wall not far away.

The surrounding Assassins reacted instantly.

The crook of the leg, the back, the throat, the heart...

A short sword struck at their respective targets, stabbing at a sharp angle, apparently well-trained.

"Hmm..."

The Count snorted, and the tearing sensation of his back muscles making him stagger a little.

Blood gushed out, wetting his sumptuous dress.

"Well, it's kind of interesting. The Count applauded.

He had miscalculated, this kind of skirmish was not a battlefield after all, and the original intention of forcibly seizing the next weapon was also discovered by this group of assassins.

Even though he managed to grab an Assassin's wrist after dodging most of the attacks, the Count had to be surprised by his companion's next brutality.

Originally, he was ready to take a sword, after all, according to the Count's judgment, he only had to pay a small injury to take the short sword from the assassin's hand.

But who would have thought that the short sword of the assassin's companion would actually take advantage of the moment when he slightly turned sideways to reduce the area of the wound, and did not hesitate to change his trajectory, and directly cut off the wrist of the companion who grabbed it.

Then, in the moment's moment, the earl's dagger was kicked out as it fell.

Concise and smooth.

The Assassin with the severed hand didn't even let out a wail, but gritted his teeth to cover his wounds, withstood the pain and exited the encirclement, and stood behind his leader. Only then did he take out the strip of cloth used for bandaging from his bosom, and slowly sprinkled it with medicinal powder, calmly and without resentment, as if the person who cut off his hand was not a companion who fought side by side.

"Dead man," the Count's mind flashed with different conjectures, "who could it be, and how dare you be so unscrupulous..."

However, the situation was no longer for him to think about.

The Assassins were clearly not satisfied with the results of the two wounds in their backs, and their leader raised his hands in the air, his fingers slightly extended, and then tightly condensed into a fist.

"Wow!"

It was the sound of shields being raised, and with the help of their numerical superiority, the Assassins squeezed towards the Count like a military formation with small shields on their backs.

He was pinned down in the middle, unable to move!

"Ah!!h

But even with all his might, he couldn't push dozens of people away by himself.

From afar, he saw the Assassin leader's fist-clenched hand swing down again, and the stabbing blow to his back stabbed one wound after another, but also took away the count's last resistance.

Blood trickled down the corners of his mouth, and his eyes became foggy.

The Assassins suddenly retreated neatly towards the rear, leaving the Count alone in place, and the feeling of losing his support in an instant caused him to nearly fall to the ground.

"Are you going to die?" the Count's lips and teeth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something.

But he still held on and didn't want to fall.

Even if the intestines have slipped out of the shocking blood holes in the waist and abdomen, the blood is leaking from the body at an alarming rate...

But he couldn't accept that he didn't die on the battlefield!

"Ah!!h

The Count let out a reluctant cry.

He deserves to die on the charge, not at the hands of this despicable group of assassins...

Twenty or so bolts broke free and filled the count's chest.

The Assassins turned into the alleys in droves.

No one could live with such injuries, they walked so simply that no one even checked.

"Bang!"

The Count has finally fallen...

In the middle of the deserted street, his burly body slumped to the stone-paved road, lying in the middle of a pool of blood gathered at his feet.

"It's beautiful..."

The Earl's gray eyes stared at the sky, and the sun hid again, and snowflakes were slowly falling, gradually covering his eyes.

"Do you understand?" the childish voice sounded in the earl's ears.

He opened his eyes and looked at the boy he had saved on a whim.

It's Andrew.

The boy had lost the cowardice and fear of the first sight, and he stepped out of the carriage, came to the Count, and said again, "Do you understand?"

"What... "The Count opened his mouth with difficulty, and finally spat out two faint notes.

"Do you understand?" the boy asked, still asking.

The voice was like a hypnotic whisper, but it was deafening in the earl's mind.

"Do you understand?"

"Got it?"

"Got it... Isn't it?"

"Ah!!," the count growled irritably.

He snapped open his eyes and found that he could move again, his body intact and showing no signs of injury.

"I'm not dead!" said the Count, in surprise.

He looked at this mysterious and void space, and not far away there was a white ball of light that dispelled the eternal darkness.

"Mortals are so fragile, and life is so fleeting, do you understand? Carolus?" a voice echoed in all directions.

"Who are you, what do you want to do!" the Count looked around with some uneasiness, his eyes finally fixed on the ball of light. That's the only thing in this space other than myself.

"I—I am the Supreme Father, the origin of everything. The ball of light said calmly, "I will give you strength..."

"Strength," the Count muttered to himself, a flash of longing in his eyes.

"Wake up, Carolus, you have love and justice in your heart, go and maintain the peace of this world in your own way..."The sound of the ball of light seemed to become more and more distant.

The Count's consciousness gradually blurred.

"Wake up... You are chosen..."

In that whisper, he opened his eyes again, this time with the sun shining.

Angel opened the closed wooden door, her graceful back blending into the dazzling light.

"Are you hallucinating...?" the Count felt a little hot on his chest, as if something was too much.