"Igor!"

Lance let out a cry of surprise and opened his closed eyes.

"Your Excellency is awake!"

"Quick! send someone to inform the Earl!"

"Prepare hot water and food, hurry..."

He couldn't help frowning at the noise around him, and looked out the window in confusion.

"Back in Ilcutrin?" muttered Lance.

Once again, he dreamed of his good brother.

Igor stood on the streets of Ryan covered in blood, half of his head had been cut off by a sharp blade, but he was still grinning at himself.

It was an eerie scene, the empty streets were littered with stumps and corpses, and churning flames were blazing. Lance could even see the white brains in his head when he got closer, and he could smell the rust evaporating from his blood.

"Hey!" Lance greeted him.

But Igor stood motionless, smiling, with only one remaining eye, staring at him unblinkingly, as if to tell Lance that he was looking at him.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Lance asked suspiciously, convinced that his brother would not hurt him, "Is Ryan done with the town, tell me not to come?"

There was no response, only his own voice echoing in the dream.

"Igor?"

"Igor..."

Lance shouted his name over and over again, trying to get a response from him.

Igor, however, just watched him quietly, standing motionless.

"I'm sorry, I hurt you...", as if he understood something, Lance's tone became low, and suddenly tears fell. He threw down the false mask he had worn in the past, pounded his chest vigorously, and howled uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry!I'm sorry...!"

He was venting his guilt to his heart's content, and the strong sense of guilt was about to crush Lance, maybe only in a dream could he pour out his mind like this.

Lance told over and over again his apologies, his mistakes, his sadness...

Until he woke up.

At the moment of leaving, I vaguely saw that there seemed to be a mist rising in Igor's eyes, but it seemed that his hallucination was fermenting...

"Are you alright, sir?" a soft female voice sounded.

Lance felt a warm little hand wiping away the tears from the corners of his eyes, and he quickly grabbed it and glared at it with a vicious look.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I just—" Angel tried to withdraw her hand with some unease, "You scratched me..."

"I hope there isn't a next time?" Lance said in an inquiring tone, his consciousness breaking free from his memories and returning to his usual grim form.

"Got it, my lord..."Angel felt a little aggrieved: "Food and hot water have been prepared for you, you..."

"Woo~!" interrupted her next words with the sound of a horn.

"Prepare for the armor!" Lance said as soon as he lifted the futon and rushed to Angel, who was stunned on the side.

In the time to prepare, he replenished some food and water, felt his body rejuvenated, and strode towards the city wall.

"Enemy attack!"

He could already faintly hear the Earl's cry.

......

When Lance stumbled up the walls, there was only a large pool of scarlet blood and bitten pieces of armor, proving that a Ranger had existed before.

"What's going on?" he asked calmly to the guards on the ramparts.

There was a cacophony of laughter below, and the barbarians of the Misty Mountains were standing outside the range of their bows and arrows, making all sorts of ugly provocative gestures, trying to provoke the people inside the castle to go out of the city and fight back.

"Silverblade Castle!" the Count walked over and replied in place of the guard, "Something may have happened to Silverblade Castle!"

He pointed to the marks on the snow, "That's the Ranger I sent to investigate, torn apart by the snow wolf..."

"Snow wolf?" Lance was a little puzzled when he heard this.

He looked at the place where the people of the Misty Mountains had gathered, and there were indeed some white figures mixed in there.

"When will the Misty Mountain people be able to drive the snow wolf?" he asked, a little confused.

"Who knows. The Count shrugged his shoulders and took the two-handed greatsword handed by the squire: "I just want to shred this group of damned barbarians now!"

"Soldier!" he shouted.

"Hey, calm down!, my lord!" Lance hurriedly stopped, "We don't know their number and their purpose yet, if we rush to attack, we will most likely be ambushed!"

"Then turn them over in the snow, and don't go into the forest!" said the Count, who walked away without looking back, with a resolute and resolute step.

The soldiers quickly assembled on his orders.

"What is going on, sir?" asked Martin, who was beside the guard.

"What else can I do, keep up. Lance's tone was a little helpless, and he ordered the militiamen on the side: "You cheer up, as long as the barbarians of the Misty Mountain dare to enter the firing range, shoot me hard!"

He shook off the snow from his cloak and walked briskly down the walls.

With the sound of the drawbridge being lowered, the men and horses on both sides stood still on the open snow in front of the castle.

Fortunately, the Count was not carried away by the anger, and he only led the elite hoplites and the remaining few rangers, while Reims's castle guard and the remaining three brigades of militia were responsible for guarding the walls.

"There were about two hundred brutes and a dozen wolves. ”

Lance and the Count rode side by side in front of the array, and his wide field of vision allowed him to distinguish the number of enemies.

The hoplites behind him were lined up, their unsheathed blades glistening with cold light.

"Raise your shield!" cried the Count.

The misty mountain people rained down on the scattered arrows, and immediately began a chaotic charge.

"Take, take!"

The muffled sound of arrows piercing into wooden shields was heard.

Lance drew his sword and flew a few arrows at him.

Although his body still felt a little weak, it no longer affected him to fight.

The god of Nidaya was merciful, and after seeing the shaman being sucked dry by his worshipping Virgilvies for borrowing divine powers, Lance was very satisfied with the price of only a few days of sleep.

He selectively ignored the embarrassing scene of the god of Nidaya being chased by the Holy Flames, and thought that this should be 'he' deliberately playing tricks on the Misty Mountain people, after all, those holy flames were indeed absorbed by them, didn't they.

"Forward, Rangers, shoot your quivers!" the Count's order was as simple and violent as the tactics of the Misty Mountain People.

The hoplites jogged in formation, while the Rangers roamed the perimeter of the battlefield, firing their arrows at their respective targets.

"Whoosh!"

From time to time, arrows flew over the heads of both sides.

A scream and the mournful howl of a wolf came from the formation of the Misty Mountain People.

Although there may be some flaws in some aspects, Lance has to admit that the Count is worthy of the glory of the Lord of the North.

I saw this tall and strong man pick up his riding spear, and rushed into the enemy group alone, and the huge impact of the armored war horse galloping knocked several misty mountain barbarians into the air, and the long riding spear could only be broken after penetrating three or four chests.

The momentum of the charge of the people of the Misty Mountains was instantaneous!

"Kill!"

The Count simply turned over and dismounted, took off his two-handed greatsword behind his back, and with a spin cut the barbarians who surrounded him in half, his internal organs and intestines scattered all over the ground, and blood splattered his face to render him like a devil.

"Kill!"

The heavy infantry charged from slow to fast, their shield-holding hands using the strength of their bodies to knock the somewhat panicked Misty Mountain barbarians away, and their long swords methodically pierced into their chests and abdomen.

Without a shaman and without an omenwolf in sight, Lance set his sights on a bear-claw berserker, who was only a beat slower than the Count, and rode into the crowd.

Just to avoid limiting the speed of his horse, he swept past the edge, but the bear-claw berserker who was suspected to be the leader of this force was in the middle of the battlefield, already wielding a great axe to slash at the Earl.

"Bell!"

Even if he blocked the blade, the huge force transmitted by the speed of the horse still made the misty mountain barbarian in front of him turn his head.

Lance struggled to block another incoming spear, slicing off half of the skull with his backhand, and Bai Huahua's brains were disgusting to look at.

The brutes came around him and forced him to change his direction and continue to cruise around the perimeter of the formation looking for opportunities.

"Sure enough, it still doesn't work," Lance muttered to himself.

The lack of divine support made him fully aware of the gap, and he recalled the experience of the god Nidaya killing all sides when he manipulated his body, and a feeling called frustration hit his heart.

Not far away, the Count had managed to slash the bear-claw berserker under his sword, and Martin and Jacob had also shot empty quivers, their bodies glowing with holy light.

Lance grabbed the reins of his horse, and for a moment he became a little confused.

"On my own, I really can't...", his hand holding the hilt of the sword glowed with cyan veins, and his heart was torn over whether to borrow 'his' power.

He had already noticed the difference between himself and the two Templars with the help of divine power, and it seemed that every time he prayed, it was the god Nidaya himself who came down and manipulated his body to fight.

Originally, he thought that this was just the norm, but compared to the two Templars, they found that they could gain amazing strength and recovery simply by bathing in the Holy Light.

This made Lance feel a little panicked.

Is it a special favor or what?

He didn't know...

Having seen the shaman's wreaking and the power of the Holy Flame, Lance was both terrified and a little longing.

Thankfully, the misty mountain people didn't bother him for long, they were defeated, and the leaderless barbarians didn't hold out for long under the neat and beautiful slaughter of the hoplites.

Most of the lives ended at this moment, and the few who remained fled into the forest in panic.

The Count did not give the order to pursue, and he walked towards Lance with his greatsword in his hand.

"It's not a good habit to be in a daze on the battlefield, Lance of Ilcutlin. He teased in a relaxed tone, and it was obvious that a victorious fight had made him seem to be in a good mood.