I don't know how long it was, when he hadn't heard the sound of swords colliding for a long time, and hadn't heard the cries of the civilians, he came out of the forest and came to Zegasi almost in the guise of a savage, startling the villagers. Pen Fun Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 info His hair was long and messy, his beard was very disheveled, and the expression in his eyes was complex and indifferent. He hadn't spoken for a long time, so he couldn't speak fluently, but the villagers understood what he meant, and they knew that this was a Karadian fleeing the war. They took him in and helped him build a small wooden house at the entrance of the village, spread some hay, and he lived there ever since. His face showed a remarkable aging, but his physical strength had not yet shown a significant decline. He began to help the villagers, and then he helped the village to run merchants, and gradually accumulated some property. He enlarged his house a bit, there were a few large rooms, he bought some land, and it seemed that he was back to the life he had had been so many years ago, and only he knew that that expectation was impossible. He grew old day by day, and on the contrary, the flame of revenge in his heart grew stronger day by day, and the fuel was his energy and life. At that time, the Kugit were expelled from the steppe, just as the Karad had done. The aging middle-aged man had played several times in the encirclement and suppression of the army, and the Empire had awarded him a medal, but the flames were beyond his control and seemed to burn out until his death.

When Porcha and Ferjans came to Zegazi and knocked on the old man's door, he was thinking in confusion about his life experience. When he opened the door, he put those thoughts aside, for he saw Porcha's face and his shield and knife, and he looked at Porcha coldly, and Porcha stepped aside in embarrassment, allowing Ferjans to explain his intentions, and the old man heard the handsome Rhodok lad's words, and his face softened slightly, and let them in.

He arranged a hut for Porcha and Feuerners, and the two of them went in to rest. They didn't wake up until noon, and the old man prepared some lunch for them and told them to come to the diner. Porcha and Feuerjans came to the dining room and thanked the old man repeatedly. The old man did not speak, but left silently.

The young Feljans seemed to regain his vigor very quickly, and he cheerfully asked Porcha about Reonjro, and for the first time took a closer look at Porcha. Porcha did not seem to have recovered from that fatigue, and the deep wrinkles on his forehead, the rough skin that showed out, and his cloudy eyes were revealed in the strong midday sun, and Feljans was deeply amazed at his age. Porcha's surprised look at him was only echoed with a few dry wry smiles.

"Let's eat something first. ”

Feljans also stopped talking, and began to eat the bread in silence, his impression was still that of last night, and there was a peculiar enthusiasm in Porcha's voice, as if there was still a certain sound when the bonfire was about to end. He remembered his mother's few words about Porcha, and the image of a big, ruffian child with a fake hippie smile would often come to his eyes, rather than the man who was too old.

Just as Feljans was amazed at the mighty and suffocating power of time, Porcha slowly broke the bread and ate it bit by bit, the decisions and actions of yesterday had already consumed a lot of his energy, and he hoped that after a good rest, he would still be able to use his experience to protect the young man in front of him. As he gazed at the young poet, his gentle blue eyes and gentle movements, he always remembered the man he had seen in the corner in the corner on that fine noon day many years ago, when he had led them into the tavern of Sagoth. Leonshiro went over to talk to him, and he timidly glanced at him from time to time. He remembered that the man was also mild-mannered, but he looked particularly depressed in drunkenness. He noticed the same cowardice and indescribable distress in him. In the end, Leon gave the man a sum of money but did not let him join their team, and Porcha only vaguely heard that he was a down-and-out merchant but did not even hear his name. Porcha could never forget the shy, grateful look on the face of the merchant as they left, and he only thought that he might have had the same look on his face in the first place. So his mentality became more complicated, and he could always see some vague shadows of the past in Feljans, but it was very unreal. He thought to himself as he broke the bread without stopping, and then the man's shy eyes appeared in front of him. He felt that the vitality of his life often depended on these erratic things, which may be dangerous.

After they had slowly finished their lunch, Porcha felt that his fatigue was far from gone, but he still bred up his spirits to tell Feljans about the past that he had talked about. In two months, he drove out four robbers and received five invitations. One by one, the royal messengers, dressed in magnificent uniforms on tall horses, came to Kedrk, with their trademark smiles and the king's handwritten letterhead, reciting in different languages the names that symbolized power and glory at the time: Saiga, Yargrok, Hakim, Ragnar, Graves. Eventually, they all brought back the envelope and belt with a gloomy face, and Rayon politely and simply declined all of their invitations, until a month later, when news of Rhyth's attack on Krana and Fort Ahuen arrived at the same time as a messenger claiming to be the kingdom of Svadia. The messenger rode only a thin traveling horse, and his clothes were very plain, but his majestic expression and solemn tone were unquestionable proof of his Messenger's identity. He brought with him a letter from King Haraus and the most familiar knightly belt in the kingdom of Svadia. The letter stated that it was hoped that Leon would immediately go and swear allegiance to King Harlaus, with earnest and majestic words, and that Kderk would become Rayon's domain. Rayon didn't hesitate, and didn't seem to have any emotional swings, as if he already knew it was going to happen. He only explained the matter to everyone lightly, and asked Fatis to stay in Kdelk with them, while he himself went to Tyrk with the messenger. When he returned, the sun was slowly sinking, and his figure looked small and weak in the field, and behind him were more than twenty Swadian recruits, behind whom pack horses were full of armor and weapons.

Porcha coughed dryly twice, as if he had a hard time remembering him. He speaks slowly, like a craftsman slowly polishing a tool. Feljans listened attentively, not noticing that it was nearly evening, and the vast twilight shrouded the field, and the occasional sound of horses' hooves trampling the ground could be heard in the open grassland, which seemed very lonely. Polcha looked at Ferjans, as if he felt a little guilty, he was really a little tired, Ferjans naturally noticed it, and looked at Polcha gratefully.

When night came, the whole manor seemed very quiet, and the moonlight was coldly sprinkled on the large fields. The old man tossed and turned in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He looked at his sharpened knife that hung on the wall, and still remembered that restless, frightened night for many years. The images of the Karadian and the Kujit were mixed up and then separated in his memory, and he tried to separate them clearly and clearly. Impulsiveness, fear and restraint were intertwined, and he did not know where the violent desires and impulses in his heart came from. He finally couldn't sleep, got up, untied the knife and went out. The knife glittered in the cold moonlight, like a piece of crystalline ice. He suddenly felt a chill to his bones, which made him shiver a little. He immediately wanted to move, and when he had exhausted his strength, he should be able to sleep well. He once ran outside on such a night and killed two or three ringing horses in exchange for a restful night's sleep. Now that he is much older, he no longer does this, but he still habitually takes his knife with him and walks around. Walking and walking, he came to the hut in his courtyard, he didn't know where the impulse came from, he seemed to unconsciously open the door of Porcha's room, like a child being swept under the wheels, and what happened afterwards seemed to be beyond his control. Porcha slept soundly, and in his dreams he remembered the bright and sunny noon, the timid and down-to-earth merchant, and his gentle and friendly eyes, which made a slight smile on his lips. The old man felt that he was full of vitality again, but this vitality only lasted for a short time, and he understood it clearly. He also understood that this vitality stemmed from an impulse that he could not restrain himself.

Outside the house there was a dead silence, followed by a low, hoarse cry like that of a prey after it had been wounded, followed by a slow, dull wheezing sound. Then everything fell into a deathly silence, as if there had never been a sound. Under the cold moonlight, red blood flowed out of the crack in the door, and it was especially vivid on the barren grass in the courtyard.

When Feljans woke up in the morning and knocked on Porcha's house, he noticed the congealed blood. The old man leaned on the edge of the bed like a zombie, his face full of excitement, fear and uneasiness, but it had become stiff because he had lost his breath. Porcha had a knife stuck in his chest, and his hands were still clenching the blades, the joy of the memory mixed with the fear of death on his aging face. Feljans trembled constantly, and for the first time he felt such fear and sadness, for he had no idea of what was happening, and knew nothing. Yesterday, however, when he really looked at Porcha and the old man's faces, a dying foreboding premonition appeared in his heart, like the clear water of a pool muddled by the sand and stones at the bottom.

As he gradually recovered from this flustered and bewildered situation, he looked out of the courtyard, where there was not a single figure in the large clearing under the clear sky, and the two horses stood quietly in the stables, barely moving. He had dug two holes in the ground of the courtyard by instinct, and in the long process, for the first time, he felt the importance of instinct, something he had rarely faced and relied on before. The pit he dug was ugly, because he hadn't done anything like that before, but it was enough to put the two men who were both old to him in it. When the body was put in, he began to bury it little by little, swinging his shovel to turn the earth back as he had dug it up. He tries not to think about anything and just focus on the action itself. But the old sense of confusion returned, and the sound of Porcha's optimist exhortations echoed in his ears again, as if it had come from some distant and strange place. In fact, he didn't know anything about the man who seemed to be too old, and he didn't know the somewhat twisted old man with a tired, frightened and excited face. He felt like he didn't know all this. He tried to convince himself that nothing had happened. When he had finally filled in the crude tomb, he leaned aside, and it was noon, and he said to himself, he hated noon.

He was tired, hungry, and thirsty, so he instinctively went out again to find some bread and water, and swallowed them all. At that time, he really didn't know why he was here, and he really didn't know what he was going to do in the first place. He just kept looking at the little piece of land he had just filled, as if he wanted to naively think that it was the way it was. For the first time, he wanted to go home so much, and the beautiful countenance of so-called travels and adventures was finally destroyed, and for the first time this strange manipulation of the so-called fate (which he now thought was) and the fear of the nothingness of death were so thoroughly displayed before him. He walked slowly to the stables, mounted the horse that Fatis had given him, and departed, and soon disappeared into the field.