Life always ruthlessly robs everything, and a barrel full of wine is empty in the blink of an eye. Pen Fun Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 ｉｎfo

The corpses on the ground were piled up in a crooked manner, and Ellen found his tattered spear, the tip of which was completely broken, and the whole spear was useless like an extra-long wooden stick.

Alleyne stared at the spear that had saved his life countless times, then raised his arm, and the spear spun in the air and fell to the ground in the distance.

Mercenaries are not greedy for weapons, the only thing that makes them nostalgic is life. Perhaps the bards liked to chant the heroic stories of knights on their own horses, dressed in armor and armed with swords.

They were mercenaries, without swords, without their own horses, without money for armor, and without the heart to put on the heavy tortoise shell.

Mercenaries are seen dressed in dark leather coats and light armor, with filthy weapons stuck around their waists, and drunk and unconscious around the tavern table. That seems to be the case.

Alleyne's Oriental Scimitar did a great job of giving him a chance to keep it. The narrow, thin blade is sharp and strong, and it is easy to cut through ordinary leather armor and leave a knife on the owner of the leather armor, and it is also extremely competent in slashing through the cracks in the soft neck of the enemy.

It's a pity that it's buried in the woods outside the city, not behind my back. Eventually, Alleyne picked up a sword, a weapon from the corpse of an Assassin regiment, the blade of which was fairly sharp and the scabbard intact.

For mercenaries, the biggest role of the scabbard is to prevent the damn blade from scratching their legs. For the wealthy noble knights, it was a different story.

"Then, Alleyne. Hank tossed him a one-handed tomahawk. "Believe you need new weapons. "It was a black iron battle axe made of steel, with a raven carved into its back. It was supposed to be a relic from some of the Nord royal guards.

Hank had always hated axes, and he had an ugly scar on his left calf.

At the time, he was an ordinary villager near Aaron. In order to seize their family's farmland and Hank's beautiful sister, the local squire sent five farmers to kill Hank's father. Hank himself stabbed two farmers to death with a fork used to plough the land, and one farmer slashed the tree axe from behind, leaving the scar on Hank's leg.

As for how he was let go, Hank doesn't know. When he woke up, he found himself lying in the bushes outside the village. The village was full of cheers, and as he dragged his injured leg into the village, he saw the fat squire carrying his lovely sister into the house to the cheers of the many peasants.

Every time his story is told here, it stops instantly. This is true no matter how much alcohol you drink. The mercenaries patted him on the shoulder or raised their glasses to clink glasses with him.

The mercenaries left the small courtyard full of corpses, bypassed the downtown area and entered the mercenary tavern, where they lived as bandits.

The drunks downstairs kept talking: a few days ago, the tavern in the city was surrounded by the Knights of the Golden Robes, and the head of the Royal Knights, Sir Baron Henry, dressed in dazzling gold armor, and led a team of knightly guards, broke into the tavern, only to find two stinking corpses from the closets upstairs.

The cured meat in the mercenary hall is unpalatable, and I don't know how many eyeliners are lurking near the bakery in the downtown area. The many mercenaries stared at their banner in a daze, discussing the issue of cod and long bread.

Harlan Gosburg is like a whirlpool with a sword buried. The mercenaries are like survivors tumbling in the water, intent on reaching the center of the whirlpool, but their limbs are cut off by hidden blades on the way.

"I'm a mercenary, my name is Alleyne, I don't have a surname. Alleyne whispered the short words that had given him courage countless times. "I'm a guest from the East. Unconsciously, he added the phrase at the end of his sentence.

Far to the East, the old men of the village had told him that the elite soldiers of the East, dressed in fish-scale armor and holding spears with blades, stood guard behind the fortified walls, on which were terrified by all, heavier than ploughs, and that each time they pressed, they fired a crossbow arrow, which was filled with deep arrow grooves, and did not need to be reloaded again and again. No one can break through such walls. The soldiers wore light combat boots, not heavy iron shoes, and the cavalrymen did not have cavalry spears with handguards, and the skilled cavalry could use the long-poleed spears with blades on their horses.

Whenever Alleyne fought for himself, the warmth and expanse of the East often gave him courage and strength.

Once, in a duel, the strong Kugit wielded a scimitar and broke his block again and again, and the force of the force shook his arm numb. As he swung his scimitar and slashed at the enemy's helmet, the narrow blade miraculously slit the Kujit neck through the gap between the helmet and the armor. Postwar. For the first time, he comprehended the wisdom of the Orientals, overcoming rigidity with softness. Unable to pierce the armor that guarded the heart, slashing the neck of his enemies often became his best way of fighting.

The art of killing is the guarantee of the mercenary's life.

After dark, most of the people in the tavern fell asleep, but Alleyne stroked the axe at his waist and listened intently to the movements around him. Snoring, coughing, panting, and more importantly, he heard footsteps approaching slowly outside the door.

"There's a sneak attack!" Elaine shouted as he got up, pulled out his tomahawk from his waist with his right hand, and quickly ran to the door.

The fragile wooden door was kicked open in an instant, his chest was instantly hit by something like a stick, and the whole person was pushed to the ground by a strong force, and when the armor behind him touched the floor, he felt a chill from his neck.

The mercenaries in the room jumped up, and Alleyne saw Roman reach for his siege crossbow, but the crossbow that had been leaning against the bed suddenly fell to the side, and a crossbow arrow was nailed to the crossbow.

The man with the broadsword quickly took control of the many mercenaries, and Victor's dagger slashed at those who approached him, only to hit the hard pot helmet. The owner of the pot helmet knocked Victor's dagger off with the back of a straight-edged military knife.

A man who came soon after him pressed the tip of his broadsword against Victor's chest. The mercenaries in the house were numerous, and the enemy quickly entered their room and closed the wooden door.

The faint light was finally replaced by a bright flame, and Alleyne saw everything in the room, and the room was filled with people dressed in the costumes of a high-ranking Rhodok soldier, which resembled the long swing chain mail of Sergeant Rhodok, but it was not.

Victor's finger on the triangular dagger let go the moment the torch lit. "The shield of Rhodok?" he frowned, looking at the blade against his chest.

One of the leaders was stunned for a moment, and after looking into Victor's dark eyes, he put away his straight-edged military knife. "Take back the blades, they're the mercenaries they're looking for. Those present put away their broadswords. Alleyne felt the chill on his neck disappear.

The leader placed a bag of coins in Victor's hand. "Your mission is over, it's commission, the Assassins have mistaken you for our troops, and now you need to leave. ”

The Shield of Rhodok is a well-known mercenary organization on the mainland, with strong combat effectiveness and bravery. Accept employment from all countries except Swadia.

If the employer is a Rhodoc, only half of the commission is charged. When participating in battles with Rhodok's enemies, no commission is charged. The Shield of Rhodok is home to countless elite warriors, and their headquarters are based at Fort Gruenward.

Such a powerful force has enough strength to crush an army group. And in his own way, he maintained the peace of the Duchy of Rhodok. The bard called it the shield of the Rhodok. The supreme commander of the organization is a veteran of Rhodok's elite troops at the time of the founding of the country.

The Rhodok walked out of the tavern, and the mercenaries followed. The two red-robed crossbowmen, who had been standing at the door of the tavern to watch, were dragged to the cellar in the tavern, each bleeding with a crossbow bolt stuck in their necks.

Three golden-robed knights who had been drinking in the tavern also collapsed in pools of blood, and a severed arm holding a sword fell to the ground. The hands of the other two intact corpses were clasped to the golden saber at their waists, and the sword was halfway unsheathed, and the edge of the sword tore the gold silk shirts on the chests of the two men, and the cloak was stained red with blood.

The three mercenaries unsheathed the sword from the Swadia knight's waist, and Hank collected what he could use. Alleyne watched him pull out a blood-stained book from a crossbowman's body.

The Rhodoks disappeared into the night, and the mercenaries packed up their weapons and left the city at night. The commission is in hand, which proves that they have fulfilled the employer's task. Although the mercenaries didn't even see Duke Harongoth in front of him.

At night, Harlan Gosburg is the embodiment of a deep blue, and the streets are deserted, and in the stables of the horse dealers, a few awake horses rub their necks. The sound of the blacksmith had stopped, and only the torches were still burning on the ground at the city gate.

The four mercenaries took out the crossbow behind them, and Roman's crossbow was taken away by the Rhodok crossbow arrows, and a piece of wood was still not affected. Alleyne held a black iron battle axe, and the black back of the axe was not reflective.

Victor wore a gold-robed golden saber pinned to his waist, and walked behind Arenn with a rudimentary dagger in his hand, his saber also buried in the woods outside the city. The mercenaries scattered and leaned towards the city gate, and Roman was ready to shoot.

Torches that fell to the ground illuminated everything at the city gates. Two Svadian light infantrymen, who were supposed to patrol the walls, fell to the stone ground beneath the walls, bleeding from their mouths.

The gates were open, and the Swadia soldier who opened and closed them still clutched the chains that opened them, and a crossbow arrow pierced through his leather armor and then through his heart.

Two guards holding spears, one was killed by three crossbow arrows, the other's upper body was cut in two by the heavy blade, the right hand holding the sword was separated from his body, and the spear broke at his feet. The two mercenaries took out their money bags.

The mercenaries took advantage of the darkness and left the blood-stained city gates. The bullock cart at the back of the line pulls the hut and a sack of bread for use in the field. Hank walks beside the car with a torch in hand.

Behind him, Harlan Gosburg was like a black beast made of stone, and in his chest, a ball of fire was spreading, and the sound of the horn of emergency preparation was heard far away.

By the faint light of the torches, Victor opened the heavy purse, which was full of golden dinars. Behind the dazzling gold coin, a giant bear is printed. There is also a roll of letter paper buried inside the gold coin. Victor pulled the rope that tied the letter to the letter, and a few large letters were written on it.

I need some loyal fighters.

Mercenaries are never loyal, and our lives are precious and despicable. There is no praise from a poet, no singing from a musician, not even a memory in a person's heart. Hold the blade in your hand and fight for yourself. Passionate. Stream for yourself.

We have adhered to this creed and pledged our lives on the patchwork continent of the Dinars. Cherish what is alive and forget all that is gone.

Just as Alleyne was thinking about this, the flames trembled violently under the blowing of the wind, illuminating the end of the letterhead, and on the end of the letter, a few large and dashing characters jumped on the paper. The signature of the signature is: King Griffos.

The team turned around and marched towards the distant mountains. March towards the land under the banner of a black bear on a green background, targeting Djerkhara, King Grievos, known to the Calradians as the "Bear of the Darkwoods" and ruler of the Duchy of Rhodok. At this moment, he was sitting precariously, waiting for the mercenaries to visit.

The black iron axe blade rubbed against Alleyne's armor, and the long sword behind his back slammed into the scales of the armor with every movement.

In the night, the "cod" and "bread" on the banner tease the stomachs of many people.

"I'm a mercenary, my name is Alleyne, I don't have a surname. I am a guest from the East. “

The team set up camp, and Alleyne lay in his tent, tying a steel choke to his throat. Close your eyes and the world is still black.

He remembered that his uncle in the East had told him that the most insidious and clever assassins loved to slit the throats of the sleeping with short knives. His eyes were as dark as the night sky around me, but they had a glow that was imperceptible to the naked eye.

There is a poem that says that light creates shadows, but darkness sets off light.

The mercenary is the night, silently advancing the outcome of every war, and the exploits he has created are inherited by the proud knights.

The mercenary is also a shadow, walking in the bright day with the breath of death and a terrifying scar. Hidden is a fiery, painful, indifferent, but still beating heart.

The mercenaries who left Harlan Gosburg in a hurry bought a lot of black leather armor that failed to dye at the cheapest price, and now they really walk in the night.

All the sounds around him faded away, and all that was left to Aren's mind was the first encounter with Victor's mercenary team. Victor stared at his Oriental scimitar and said in a deep Oriental tone: "We are warriors in the long night, shaking hands with death, there is no praise, only ourselves. Would you like to join?"

Alleyne remembered clearly, and nodded to himself. (To be continued.) )