When Feuerjans heard this, he could not help but fall silent, thinking to himself that his long poem did not seem to be mature enough, but he did not know when he would be able to write satisfactorily in words. Pen Fun Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 info He suddenly had this thought: maybe the heroic epic is not really the most attractive to him, maybe there is a more attractive subject matter, but now he only vaguely feels this.

"Besides, they have mounted archers, don't we have them?" said Macko, slyly chuckling.

"What do you mean by that?" Baska was clearly engaged, not noticing that Fairians, who was beside him, was lost in thought.

"The former marshal of our country, Leon Xiluo, was..."

"Do you mean Reon, you mean Lyon?" Felljans came to his senses at once when he heard the familiar name, and repeated it word by word in his pure Rhodoc accent, much to the surprise of Marchicco.

"That's what his name says. "It's not clear to Machiko how this lad was so excited all of a sudden.

"Do you know him, then?"

"When he was on the battlefield, I was a kid. Why, you've heard of him too?"

Ferjans resisted the urge to calm himself and said, "I've only heard of him. I wonder what you know about him?"

"What kind of Raven taunts?Uncle Macchico, can you finish what you're just going to talk about first?" Baska was clearly upset that the story was interrupted, and that he had mispronounced the sound.

Macko smiled and continued, "I've only heard a little bit about it, but strange to say, I didn't hear about him here, but over there. He gestured to the distance, and a shadow appeared in the distance, which should be the city of Dukuba, and the shadows around it should be the palm trees.

"At that time, the relationship between Salander and us was not so tense, and there were many post stations in the desert where we are now walking, all of which were used by the endless stream of caravans to rest and replenish at that time. I was a guide for those caravans, and I could get a thousand dinars a month. There were a lot of bards singing his stories in the taverns, and I didn't pay much attention to them, because I was busy making money. I just heard that he led the army of Swadia to defeat the army of Saiga Khan on the steppe of Kugit, captured Turga in one fell swoop, and destroyed the Kugit Khanate. They say that the key to Rayon's victory in that war was his trained cavalry archer unit, which was sent into battle as the final decisive force and took the Kugit by surprise. It is said that the army was led by a man named Bestur under Reon, and he seems to have made a name for himself because of it, but he seems to be a Kugit who is not very popular with the Kallad, and has somehow disappeared. Macchico spoke so much in one breath that both young men listened attentively. These simple words are brought to life by the rich imagination of young people, and even the imaginary swords and shadows excite them.

Fairyans also struggled to recall the name Bestur. His mother rarely mentioned the name, and often only a few words, and the sketch was a vague image of a cold, rugged steppe man. The excitement of fantasy was mixed with the cold realism of memory, making him in a trance, as if he couldn't tell which image was real. It wasn't until Machiko's hoarse voice interrupted his thoughts that the city of Dukuba had appeared before his eyes.

The city of Dukuba is ancient and vicissitudes, as can be seen from the rough and hard walls and the age of the guards and soldiers. On this sunny summer evening, there are many pedestrians on the streets, all dressed in the traditional costume of Salander, mainly in orange and black tones, and the hijab adds a bit of mystery. The shadows of the palm trees were long in the sun, and the rooftops of the city's buildings were draped in brightly coloured Salander carpets, glittering against the clear, open sky. Tired strangers who have just entered the city rein in their horses and stop to take in the beauty of this mysterious and exotic city.

The two young men looked at these many new things, and unconsciously became distracted. Marchko rolled over and dismounted, patted the dust off his robes, and led them both to the tavern. The tavern is not big, and there are not many drinkers in the house at this time. The sunset glow was dyed orange-red in the window, and the light shone in, silently illuminating the corners of the window. The drinkers drank in silence, occasionally hearing a few whispered conversations. The tavern owner sat quietly on the edge of the counter, his round belly in his hands, and his face looked like he was unconscious.

Macchico negotiated a bed with his boss and took them both to their room. The room was empty and dim, and the slightly lit place could glimpse the dust raised, and there seemed to be no merchant coming. Macchico went downstairs to get some firewood, while Baska and Feljans went to the shop to buy some bread and dates. They lit the fireplace, which warmed the room, and the three of them sat around the fireplace and ate a simple dinner, steaming from their wet clothes.

Ferjans and Baska begged Macchico to tell the story of Leonshiro and Bestur, but Macchico remained silent this time, narrowing his eyes into a slit, and looked at Ferjans curiously, his face flushed by the redning fire.

"Tell me your story first. Marchko stared at Ferjans and said unhurriedly, "Why did you come to Saland?"

Feljans lowered his head slightly, and said calmly: "I am a bard, I want to come to Salander to hear the story of the bard here, there are some things that cannot be heard in Calade. ”

Machico looked away, staring at the fireplace, his blue eyes reflecting a vigorous fire, and the white hair between his temples became vivid in the warm light and shadow. He said nonchalantly, "For example?"

As if he had finally mustered up his courage, Feljans said in a voice that he tried to suppress, "The nameless knight Leon Xiluo, many people do not know him. Baska looked at Ferjans suspiciously, but did not speak.

"He's a traitor. The hoarse, unequivocal voice shook the air slowly and majestically after a moment of silence.

It was as if Struck by lightning, and his stunned expression was illuminated by the red-hot fire. Bhaskar still had that puzzled, curious expression. Marchko just stared at Ferjans, as if a hunter was watching the movements and tracks of his prey.

"What's going on? Uncle Macchico, please tell me, please. Feljans' voice trembled. He felt a futile sense of disillusionment, as if all the things he had been through before had been obscured by some kind of brilliant curtain that had been jerked back to find that it was empty.

Macchico looked at Ferjans solemnly, his gaze was calm and sharp, as if it had become pervasive after the tempering of time, and it was easy to see the weakness and fear in people's hearts. When he spoke, Feljans felt the air freeze, and only his calm, cruel words, untouched by emotion, settled intact over the passage of time, and then destroyed the foundation on which he had pursued life for 20 years.

"In the memories of the Karadians, in all the epics and records of today, the former Lady of Suno, the only daughter of the former King Eastrerich, and the rightful heir of the Karad Empire, was expelled from the palace that belonged to her in childhood due to the despicable intrigues and methods of King Harauth. In the first 30 years of her life, she launched 12 armed uprisings, none of which were successful. She escaped 23 ambushes, 37 assassinations and 1 execution. With her tenacious perseverance, undiminished courage, and innate military talent, she finally crushed King Haraus's army in one fell swoop during the 13th armed uprising, reclaiming the land that was already hers. After that, she fought in the north and south, unified the entire Kalad continent, and revived the Kalad Empire. Macchiko's voice was calm, hoarse, rough, and cold, "This is the truth you know so far. ”

The two young men nodded, and then they saw a sneer on Macko's lips.

The two young men nodded, and then they saw a sneer on Macko's lips.

"Don't you think it's a little incredible, why did Lady Asona fail in all 12 attempts, and she didn't succeed in regaining power when the kingdom of Swadia was at its weakest. However, when the Kingdom of Swadia recaptured Paraven and Fort Dvalin, and continued to move forward on the road to revival, she succeeded. This matter can only be explained by miracles. Marchko pouted, "But I've never believed in miracles. ”

"But what does that mean?" asked Fairjans, timidly.

"You know what?" said Marchko, glancing at the two of them, the banter and sarcasm in his expression palpable, "Reonshro was once the youngest and most valiant lord of King Haraus. ”

Feljans only felt that his breathing was blocked by something.

"But, how can this convince me that you have no proof!" Feljans tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths and telling himself that it was just a story made up by someone else, and looked at Marchko with suspicion. He suddenly wondered about the origin of Marchko, this thin middle-aged man seemed to be far from being as simple as he thought.

"Look at this book. Macko pulled out a book from his package, a look of pity flashing in his eyes.

The book looked very shabby, and the Callad text on the cover was no longer very clear, except for the vague spelling of the four words of Leonxiro.

When the desert east of Amerad was illuminated by the morning sun, and the dust was stirring in the morning darkness, Bestur awoke from his sleep, and the sun was not yet bright and shone steadily on the beard of his cheeks, reflecting a dull color. He got up and got out of bed, stepped on the dirty, tattered wooden floor, and walked to the pool to fetch water amid the unpleasant creaking sound on the ground. The morning here is always cold, and he scoops up a handful of water and hits it in his face, and the grumbling that has been born countless times in his heart for the past eighteen years is buzzing again.

The cottage he now lives in is in a remote corner of Amerrad, where the sun rises every morning to shine on this small, gray house that no one cares about. The house is not large, and it can only fit a single bed and a few cupboards, but it is more than enough for Bestur. The stone walls on all sides were unadorned, except for a small window on the east side, through which the sunlight shone in every morning, and the shabby wooden floors reflected bright spots, adding a little warmth to the otherwise monotonous and lonely cottage.

Besture returned to the bed, and as usual, rummaged through the bottom of the bed to find the kugit bow, gently brushing away the little dust on it. He did this once in the morning when he got up, and again in the evening before he went to sleep, so that his bow was so clean that it was very out of place in his house. He tried to pull the bow, and on the third attempt he pulled it full, slowly loosening the string in a slight tremor of his arm, and then put the bow back in. Obviously, his strength has not diminished much now compared to when he was in the prime of life, his chest is still thick and strong, but his face is already old, and his gray hair and beard are mixed with his dusty and wrinkled face, which is especially vivid.

He took out the bread he had eaten from yesterday from the cupboard, broke it finely, and ate it slowly, thinking that it was time to buy some food. By the time he had finished eating, the sun had become much brighter, and the room had become brighter, and the warm light and shadow were reflected in every corner of the room, which was always the best time of the day, but not today, for the crisp sound of his soft jar was heard as he shook it, and Besture frowned, and when he opened the lid, there were only a few rusty dinars left inside.

Besture had no choice but to dig out his bow from under the bed and find a bag of arrows. He put on his nomadic robe, changed into Kugit boots, pinned his bow and arrows to his waist, and then hastily combed his hair, and went out to ride the old steed at the door. There were already a lot of pedestrians on the streets of Amerad, and the people all looked ruddy and in good spirits, and the sun was shining warmly on them. There was a shout from the streets, which was the habit of craftsmen when they worked hard. The city is full of greenery under the palm trees, and idlers often set up blankets and chairs underneath it, gag, and spend the day boringly. Besture took a deep breath and ran to find the mayor who was chilling off by the city gates.

In fact, although Besture had lived here for eighteen years, his Saranic language was still very bad, and he didn't care about it, he didn't want to learn it by heart. Every conversation he had with the mayor was simple. Ever since his first day here, the sharp-eyed Mayor has seen that he is very skilled, and has taken him for granted as a bounty hunter. In the past 18 years, Besture has only learned a few Salander words, such as "dinar", "hello", and "how much". In addition, he only learned one "desert bandit", because it was the source of his daily life. So every conversation he had with the mayor was limited to the following:

"Desert bandits?"

"More than 20 people, desert bandits, 1000 dinars. ”

"Okay, goodbye. ”