A part of the Drua dead men carrying explosives rushed to the bridge as fast as they could, crossed the canal about 50 meters wide and attacked the south gate, and the smoke screen from the explosion quickly rose more than 20 meters into the air.

Despite the Druas' efforts, the steel-forged gates of Gronia were not shaken by a small explosion, the archers on the walls quickly shot the enemy death squads in sight, and the trebuchets controlled by Nabal were lucky enough to sink an enemy warship, disintegrating the last wave of the day's offensive, and Isaac saw that the last resort was fruitless, so he ordered the army to withdraw into the sea of trees for the night, leaving only a thousand cavalry on guard at the front line, intending to keep the bridge intact.

At night, the North City defense line ......

An hour earlier, under the cover of night, we had taken refuge from the eyes and ears of the Heidred rebels, and had returned to the city with the help of the Volunteer soldiers on the city walls.

"In those distant times, dark storms swept across the earth, mountains and rivers shattered, and lives were destroyed......"

Outside the tent there was a sudden melodious singing, similar to the story of the poets who used it to cheat money at the inn in Wocheze, and I lit the candle on the side of the bunk and went out of the tent to find out where the song came from.

What are people looking for in this day and age?

Is it to sit on a chariot and chase the power of the crown, to lean on a mountain made of gold coins to watch time pass by, or to stand in a church revered by thousands of people and become God's messenger on earth?

Everyone has their own ideals. It's just that most people's ideals have been crushed by reality.

Wouldn't it be ridiculous to think about any ideals if you haven't even achieved food and clothing?

The poor die for money. The weak are wiped out by the strong, so can we turn everything upside down and make the world tremble now!

"The sword is for slashing, for killing, for lethality!" Shabak charged towards Vicos with his two-handed sword, his fast running speed using the tremendous force of his feet backwards. Clouds of smoke and dust rose behind him.

The nearly five-kilogram giant sword was clenched by Shabak with both hands and raised above his head, the blazing sunlight made the sharpness of the blade even more terrifying, and the cold light gave birth to a debut essence at the blade. "Choke!" like lightning falling from the sky. The greatsword slashed through the air, making an unpleasant noise to the eardrums, and slashed straight at Vikos.

The great sword that followed the trend carried Shabak's astonishing physical explosiveness. Like a lion's teeth, it bit into Vikos's cavalry irise. The wooden body of the iris shield collided with the greatsword. There was a loud bang, and the hard and elastic xylem of the kyokum of the kite shield could not withstand the huge power of the giant sword, as if it was about to collapse.

The blade of the giant sword was deeply embedded in the shield, biting the shield body fiercely, and it slid from top to bottom, pulling out a beautiful line.

Under the sunshine, a strange scene appeared in a corner of the camp.

A knight-like warrior who is nearly middle-aged. Wearing chain mail, he held a giant sword in both hands and pressed it against a young man's iris. The young man wears a shield on his left arm. The right hand supported the ground, and the one-handed sword that was originally in the right hand fell to the side, clutching the ground fiercely with the palm of his hand, and his body leaned and fell to the ground.

Sweat soaked Vikos's hair and gathered into strands of drooping hair, the ends of which bent slightly upwards as the sweat flowed downward. It could be seen that Vicos's imfully developed body was about to be unable to support the pressure from the greatsword.

"Bang!" Shabak narrowed his eyes slightly, and suddenly exerted force, Vicos instantly felt an infinite pressure coming from the sword, his body, which should be considered stronger than his peers, could not withstand the huge force, and fell to the ground with a bang, stirring up the sand and stone array on the ground.

"Now. The dusty wind was suddenly sliced open, and the sharp blade of the sword was next to Vicos's neck, straight into the ground, "You're already a corpse." Shabak lowered his head, stared into Vicos' eyes, and said in a flat tone.

"Whew, whew!" Vicos gasped, his breath burning as hot as the midsummer sun. His eyes looked at Shabak like a falcon, as if to look straight into his heart and see what his heart was.

"If I were your enemy, you should have gone to heaven and confessed your sins to God by now. Shabak narrowed his eyes slightly upward, "Repent of what you have done in your short life, and see if God can give you a voucher!" As if suddenly remembering something, Shabak tilted his greatsword against Vikos's neck, against his slightly delicate skin.

The delicate two-handed sword is repeatedly hammered by a skilled craftsman, and the blade of the sword is still sharp and shining even though it has been rolled up after years of fighting. Therefore, even if it was against Vicos's neck, a red thread was cut, and blood slowly oozed outward.

"I will wait for you, in hell, not in heaven. Vicos pinched the blade of the sword against his neck with his fingers, and his face, flushed from the fierce battle, showed no signs of panic. Because in Vicos's memory, Shabak's treatment of himself so strictly is already similar to the ordinary and frequent occurrence of a dispute between a certain viscount and a certain baron in this era.

In this world, there are always people who do not know their identity, and their parents may have died in the war, or they have been abandoned by their parents in front of churches or villages. Because their families could not afford to raise another child, they could only pray for God's care for their newborn people in this way.

Vikos was an abandoned orphan who found this little life when the priest of the village of Ekachi opened the wooden door of the chapel in early spring. Speckled traces of sunlight in the forest, through the gaps in the green leaves, dotted the baby's body. No one knows where the child came from, except that in the bedding tightly wrapped around him was a roll of parchment written with Vicos Metoglio written in the plant pigment oozing from the Trina tree. Blue handwriting. Juan Xiu is like the flowing water of a stream. It can be seen that this baby has a noble birth, and in this era, can write words. In addition to church priests, there are professions that specialize in writing, such as scribes and scribes. Most of the nobles also did not know how to write, because they did not have to, nor did they need to write, and the sword and power were what they were willing to know. The only remaining literate people were the true nobles or the mystical magicians, warlocks, and learned scholars.

The Trina tree is a plant that grows north of the Vantary Mountains. Although it is not rare, it can only be cultivated north of the Vantali Mountains and cannot be transplanted elsewhere. To the north of Mount Vantari is within the boundaries of the Mosanlana Orc Empire. The hostile shape between the races determined the scarcity of the supply of this pigment. The blue color of Trina's ink, as well as its subtle violet fragrance, make it highly sought after among all races. So Trina ink became a status symbol. Non-powerful people can't enjoy it.

In this way, the mysterious Vicos Tommelio became an orphan adopted by the church of the village of Ecachi and a squire of the Knight Chabak Richter, the owner of the village of Ecachi.

This was not the first time he had seen Shabak look at him with a murderous look, Vicos calmly looked at Shabak with slightly silver hair above, not at all worried about his words that did not fit the identity of the squire. While a knight can punish his squire for unceremonious actions or words, Shabak is uncharacteristically never at Vicos for such a rudeness, after all, he is also a person who does not behave very well and does not conform to etiquette.

"Woo-woo!!" suddenly came the sound of a rapid horn in the center of the camp. This rhythm of two long notes and one short note conveys a message to everyone. Assemble in front of the battle in a quarter of an hour. It is not the sound of a quick battle or an enemy attack, but an order to assemble when two opposing troops send each other to negotiate with each other.

Shabak raised his head and looked at the enemy's position in the distance, and although he could only see the horizon bordering heaven and earth, his gaze seemed to be able to see through thousands of miles and see the traces of the enemy's camp.

He shook his sword-wielding right arm and drew the greatsword, which quickly pulled out the wind it carried, causing a red mark to appear on Vikos's handsome face.

"Bang. With his two-handed sword, which was nearly 1.5 meters long, Shabak picked the handguard sword that had fallen to the ground at Vikos. His slightly cloudy brown eyes looked deeply at Vicos, who was lying on the ground and reached out to grab the handguard, his upper and lower lips slightly opened, as if to say something, but turned his face away again, and left without saying a word.

Vikos looked at the gradually blurring figure of the knight, looked at Shabak wearing chain mail and carrying a giant sword, and always felt that the summer sun was too scorching and dazzling, so that he could not see clearly in front of him.

Due to the heavy rain during the day, the clouds in the sky have not completely receded, and the moonlight shines on the earth through the bustling clouds, accompanied by the howling night wind, which makes people feel a chill in their hearts.

"Just when the people were desperate, five-colored light fell from the sky, and O king of the brave, with the sword in his hand, tore through the darkness. The earth recovers, and hope is rekindled ......"

The voice came again, and the creature who was chanting poetry in the middle of the night was very close, and after passing through several very crowded tents in succession, he finally found him dancing on the back of a steed beside the stable, and the seemingly cold moonlight shone directly on the white steed he was riding, and the halo of light could not help but revel in it.

When I began to pay attention to his figure, I noticed that he was dressed in a classical Ryrdian style cloth armor, with old Kugit shin guards tied to his legs, a Vigian scimitar and a Nord broadsword hanging from the saddle, an older Viruga long-handled knife within reach, and a woman's braid with shoulder-length middle-parted hair tied at the back of his neck, this guy gave me the first impression that he was like a madman with all the characteristics of the Calradian army, and when he sensed my approach, he suddenly turned his head and had a pale stubble on his cheeksThe face with a moustache on the chin appeared in my field of vision, and the overall look was quite rounded, at least much better than the angular face of Porcha.

"It's a pity that on such a beautiful moonlit night, you have to worry about being attacked by the rebels at night...... Hey, boy, I heard you're from Wings of Freedom?"

He stopped suddenly, and rode closer to him, and greeted him first, his voice very different from the timbre of the poem he had just recited, and as I approached, I could clearly see the wrinkles on his forehead by the moonlight, and the few scars that were not obvious under the dusty dirt on his face, which, together with the rest of his facial features, looked like a warrior of nearly forty years old and experienced in combat.

"Ah, I'm not actually from Freedom Wings, but my boss is a member of Freedom Wings. And sir, what about your name?"

"I haven't decided to make you a friend yet, after all, I didn't ask your name, and you shouldn't have asked me. ”

This answer was unexpected, and I didn't know how to answer for a while, but the other party didn't seem to want to embarrass me, and quickly changed his mind.

"Tsk...... The name is Gorko, Gorco of Agollon. What's your name, kid?"

"Lemuel Sigris. That one...... I'm almost thirty years old, can I change my name?"

"All right, young man. Your eyes are as vicious as a crow that hasn't eaten in a long time, are you a Nord, or a Northuriku half-blood, are you interested in talking about your hometown?"

My complaint had some effect, the term young man was more acceptable than a child, and he did not need to guess, for I had been born in Fairchen twenty-eight years ago, and my parents were native-born Nords, so I had no Virgian or Raldian characteristics in me, and I did not need to think much to determine my origin.

"I come from the coastal town of Ferchen, which has always been my hometown, sir, though it was devastated and reduced to a small fishing village worth mentioning after the Novi War. ”

"It turned out to be a Nord...... I visited Fairchen once 10 years ago, when it was still one of the few bustling towns in Hokuriku, with welcoming residents, delicious seafood and, most importantly, plenty of Nord beauties and young women around. It sounds like the Nords' war with Virginia has destroyed a lot of valuable things, and I'm sorry to bring you up the subject. ”

"It's nothing, since I lived the life of a pirate, I haven't cared about my hometown anymore. Mr. Gorco, the ballad just now seems to be about the story of the dark ages of Calradia, and you are referring to the town near the sea of trees in Gernroze?"

"Yes, Ancient Tales is one of the first poems I learned at the poets' school in Agoron, and as my name suggests, I used to live in the town of Agoron in the territory of Rhodoc, and as a young man I traveled most of Calradia, served in the armies of all the nations, and then crossed the sea to Gronia for some personal problems. ”

After a few words of chatter, Gorko said that he was also a Calradian, a former troubadour, and some interesting stories about his service in the armies, which explained the origin of the old equipment on him, but there was still something about him that attracted me and made me more confused.

"This is the first time I've heard this poem...... By the way, Mr. Gorko, why are you here, this is a volunteer camp, isn't it, it's really okay for you to make so much 'noise'?"

"It seems that I have forgotten to introduce my current identity, and the commander of the rebel army, Gorko, along with four hundred and fifty volunteer soldiers, is at your service. ”

"Huh!?"

The middle-aged man in front of me, who was crazy for a while, and very serious for a while, was actually the commander of the volunteer army, which surprised me, and I couldn't help but cry out, and the rebel soldiers in the tents around heard the sound and jumped out, and they were very angry after finding out that it was a false alarm, but when I saw Gorko saluting again, a few of the bad-tempered ones rolled their eyes at me, and then went back to rest, and at this time, I accepted Gorko's identity as a commander.

I wanted to have a little more to say to this interesting guy by the urge to meet new people, but the herald of Atros came to the camp and asked Gorko to lead ten warriors to the battle site to join the rest of the squad, and it seemed that there was a serious incident outside the line.

======

He was right...... It's incredible that the people of Gronian have pinned their hopes on those of us who claim to be defenders, and I'll have to work hard to keep them from being disappointed!" (To be continued......