"Who'!!"

Barak Clermont was hidden in the depths of the forest, his sword in both hands, his body trembling slightly from fear and cold.

He jerked up from the stone where he was resting, and the knight's armor on his body made a rattling sound, startling away the white figure that flickered in the distance.

"Damn the snow hare!"

Barak finally saw what it was, and then he relaxed his tense muscles, and sighed dissatisfiedly from between his mouth and nose.

The wind howls,

He swung his ornate cloak, which was almost striped of cloth.

As the youngest son of Garbald Clermont, lord of Fesdena, Barak should not have been in such a predicament, the Clermont family was a large and ancient family in the kingdom of Livingston.

His grandfather, Count Ivanles, was the lord of Fort Aywasod and the lords of Saflongt, while the two brothers of Ivanles, Count Stephen and Duke Adarian, were lords of Fort Carado of Daron and Lord of Schenford, respectively.

One duke, three counts, the eldest son of the Duke of Adarian, Count Marmon, was the lord of Finbrai and Dugan, and if you add the other viscount brothers of Barak's father, their fiefs ruled almost a quarter of the kingdom,

Livingston, on the other hand, has only four magnificent cities.

Ryan, Shenford, Boimbul, and Raven City, the royal capital ruled by King Gregory IV.

This shows the prosperity and status of the Clermont family.

But despite this, they were unswervingly subordinate to the king's camp, after all, the lord of Poimbro, the Duke of Aldemar, was also surnamed Stoker, and the open and secret struggle between the two factions was no secret among the upper classes.

Probably only the ignorant commoners would think that their kingdom is really as united and sacred and inviolable as it was in the early days of the state.

The son of a nobleman, Barak was a lord from birth, but he was destined to live his life as a wanderer yearning for freedom, or a vassal of his father and eldest brother.

Viscount Gaelbold had two fiefdoms, far northwest in Sharpstead, near the city of Schenford, and Fesdena in the heart of the kingdom, on the side of Ryan City, so he graciously handed over the Fesdna domain, which was close to the Stoke family, to his eldest son, Barred Clermont.

For the purpose of training offspring, Barak also accompanied him.

Like other aristocratic sons, he was sent to study in his father's brother's house, and was fortunate enough to grow up to be one of the noble knights who enjoyed life and cherished flowers.

So when the brutal Misty Mountain people invaded the castle of the territory and launched a dehumanized slaughter.

The madness frightened the knight.

His body hollowed out by alcohol and beauty did not make Barak put up any decent resistance, and after his brother was defeated and fled the castle, he began to flee down the tunnels with a few loyal squires.

It was only when they were faced with the pursuit that they waved their swords a few times, and at the critical moment of the situation, they hurriedly responded to the admonition and jumped into the dense forest alone.

So much so that at this time, even the dark brown pupils, even if there was only a little movement around them, almost shrunk into a small dot with excitement, and they were frightened by a small snow rabbit.

But perhaps what you're worried about will come at some point in your life without warning.

"Whoosh!"

An arrow was pinned to Barak's breastplate.

The armor custom-made by the Clermont family's chief blacksmith lived up to its reputation, and the arrow only penetrated the shell, and then it was blocked by the chain mail lining the inner lining, and even the skin could not be pierced in the slightest.

"Ah!!h

But he let out a terrible, hoarse wail, and began to run aimlessly.

Those Misty Mountain people are catching up!

Being good at tracking is the proud instinct of these barbarians who live by hunting, and even the cunning and ferocious snow leopard cannot escape the hunt of hunters, let alone Barak, who is a noble knight.

Ancient trees swept past him, but the speed that almost exploded into potential was not as fast as Barak himself thought it would be, dragged down by the armor and equipment.

He was undoubtedly surrounded by the Misty Mountain people.

"Boy, aren't you quite good at running?" the leading barbarian smiled with a hideous smile on his face: "Keep running! Do you think that if you fall to the ground like a dog, we will let you go?"

"Hahaha!"

The rest of the barbarians laughed in agreement.

There were five of them, and with the advantage of the armor's sword, Barak was not without a chance of victory, but the frozen blood and sticky hair on the axe alone were enough to scare him out.

"Leave me alone!" Barak knelt down a few steps with a pleading face, just as he had begged his father when he was a young boy not to send him away from his mother, throwing away all his dignity and saying, "Please, let me go, I have..."

"What do you have to wait for me to cut off your head, and we'll get them. The leading barbarian raised his axe contemptuously, and greedily stared at the place where he was hit by the arrow, "For example, this armor of yours is actually worn on the body of a waste?

"Don't kill me!Wait!" Barak panicked and crawled away, but was kicked hard by the barbarians behind him and fell to the snow, "I am a nobleman! My father is Viscount Gellbod!" He rolled around twice and quickly got up and said: "My armor and sword are given to you! Don't kill me! My father is willing to use 2000... 3,000 dinars to redeem me!"

"Oh, or a valuable little?"

The leader hesitated and lowered his axe, and discussed something with his men, but Barak, the native dialect of the Krens Mountains, could not understand a word, so when he was roughly trampled on the ground, he closed his eyes almost in despair, and shed tears of remorse.

"Waste, what are you crying about!" the leader's angry scolding made him sound like a fairy, "We won't kill you!" but the foul smell that came from his ears and his nose didn't make Barak happy for long, "But you have to take something of yours as proof, don't you..."

His hand was crushed!

"No!! my sword!! my sword can prove my identity!!" Barak struggled frantically, apparently already knowing what the barbarians were up to, "Please, don't, don't do this... Ah!!!!h

The pain made him scream incessantly, and even the leader pressed on Barak was almost overturned by his sudden twitching, "Your sword?" He slammed Barak's head on the snow with some annoyance, and whispered triumphantly in his ear, "That's my sword...!"

A severed hand was lifted into the air, and Bai Xue greedily sucked the bright red that fell...