Central merchant federation

Habsha Village

1538 in the Nine Divine Calendar, July

Nine years have passed since the night of the miracles, but the shock of the miracles is far from dissipating, thanks to the deliberate beautification of the gods. The number of cultists of the gods www.biquge.info has increased exponentially, while the heretics who have gathered in the northeast of the continent of Huronjar and the hypocrites lurking in the central continent seem to have settled down a lot. The St. Aaron's Empire has been quiet on the heretic's borders for a long time, and the villages on the border have gradually become richer, after all, the heretics have not come to raid for a long time.

The entire continent of Huron Yar is singing the praises of the greatness of the gods, and even the Central Merchant Federation at the junction of humans, dwarves, elves, and orcs is also praising the will of the gods.

The same seems to be the case in the village of Habsha.

"The gods are above, and Simon Haber, the great, valiant and strong blacksmith, must have been protected by the god of the mountains. Oh, look at those powerful arms, the sparks that come with every swing of the hammer, so powerful, so sexy, even with only one arm, I promise to beat all the men in the world. A teenage boy wore a long turban and veil unique to the desert, and his arms stretched out of his yellow sand robe, and he vigorously posed in various postures, showing off his muscles that had not yet begun to develop.

"Yes, yes, he must have aroused the jealousy of the gods, and the gods would send Arthur Haber to punish him. The other, slightly younger boy, pulled off his veil and clapped his hands as if he had a new idea.

"Haha..." "Hahaha..."

The boys formed a small circle, and in the middle of the open space was a small boy about eight years old. A small lump, like letting someone fiddle with the ball, really kicked a few children around from time to time, but it didn't roll out as expected. For an eight-year-old boy, he wasn't short, but he was too thin to look pitiful and bullied. He didn't speak, just trembled, his eyes closed, and sobbed one after another.

The boy's silence and helplessness made the boys around him feel bored, as if they were provoked by something. The eldest boy standing around him giggled and squatted down, pulled out the dagger that was stuck in the boot of the boy's left foot, pinched it with two fingers, lifted it up, and swayed in the wind: "Arthur, what is this? Your father gave you this, something that only girls use." Arthur, you're a shame on your father. ”

"Sissy, Arthur!"

"Shame on you, Arthur!"

"You're going to cry, Arthur!"

"Stand up when you have to, Arthur!"

The children around should be in tune. Immediately afterward, someone shouted at the boy who had just crouched down.

"Garcia, let him see what a man is!"

"Yes, yes, Garcia, take out your axe and show him!"

García Harbor stood up, tossed his dagger to the ground, took the desert camel rider's one-handed axe from his belt, and waved it in the air with both hands clenched. The hideous blades on both sides of the axe are weirdly curved, and the specially designed center of gravity for throwing and rotating is not easy for teenagers to master. Garcia was a little tired from swinging, and his arms were raised and slashed downward, and the blade of the axe turned into a streamer of light and cut into the sand beside Arthur

"Arthur, do you see it, this is a man! This is power! You are not worthy of your father!

Arthur was still just curled up on the ground, crying without a word, looking at the group of playmates who had once admired him so much, without saying a word. Maybe his heart was angry, maybe he wanted to pull out the dagger next to him and poke it into Garcia's eye socket, twist it in a half circle, and then pull it out with blood, of course, maybe the strange sense of justice in Arthur's chest made him not do it after all, but the moment he lay on the ground, there was only infinite fear in his heart. He could no longer hear how the boys humiliated him, the fear was so intense that he was suffocating, and he had to work hard to make sure he could catch his breath.

Arthur began to pray, as a devout believer of the gods, which was always useful: "The gods are above, the gods love men, the gods make man, the gods give me light, the gods give me heat, I am grateful, and I vow to serve the gods in this way until my last day comes." Therefore, when injustice is inflicted on me, God the Father will give me courage, Mother God will give me warmth, God of the sun will give me light, God of the moon will give me comfort, God of mountains will sustain me, God of rivers will give me will..."

I don't know if the gods finally heard Arthur's prayers, or if the children were just bored, but gradually, Arthur could only hear his own sobs.

The children dispersed.

The devout would have thanked the gods for their help, but Arthur didn't. It didn't hurt as much as expected, and the children didn't seem to deal with him harshly, just crying and draining every ounce of strength out of Arthur's body. Arthur lay on the ground for a moment more, like a cold-blooded animal waiting from the sun for the return of power. Slowly, Arthur, curled up in a ball on the ground, wriggled like a caterpillar. Slowly propping himself up from the ground, he slowly picked up the dagger and inserted it into his boots, slowly stood up again, and slowly walked forward, forgetting the prayer of thanking the gods.

Arthur walked to a small two-story building and stopped. The small building is very exquisitely built, although the most ordinary planks and nails are used, but from the treatment of each plank, it is obvious that it is ingenious. Xiao Lou hadn't been painted with dye, just potions to protect against lizards and scorpions. The traces of the potion formed a wonderful pattern, lined with the surrounding scenery, and the small building seemed to tell us that its owner, although not very wealthy, must have an amazing skill and noble taste.

Arthur was pulling out the key—yes, his father's key—when he heard the sound of striking iron coming from the backyard. Arthur imagined that his father, who had only one right arm, was on a special anvil, biting the mechanism with his teeth and flipping the red-hot iron block, and the hammer in his right hand fell rhythmically, and every time it fell, sparks would splash on his father's naked upper body, but his father never cared, and his face was full of concentration.

Yes, even if Arthur was still on the porch, of course he could see his father striking iron in the backyard. When Arthur was a child, he used to crouch near his father, and it was like an afternoon. When Arthur was a child, he often dreamed that one day he would be able to swing that hammer and drop it hard, like his father.

After all, he is not the same as his strong father.

Arthur looked up at the noon-day sun, and suddenly felt a little tightness in his chest, like pressing a huge stone, and a little out of breath.

Arthur decided to walk around first.

In the Gobi to the west of the village, Arthur frequented, especially at moments like this.

Arthur sat on the sand against a large rock, playing with the strange greenery that had managed to stick out of the gap, as if he hadn't been crying on the ground a moment before.

Arthur knew why the kids were doing this to him.

The village of Habsha often has to deal with sand lizards or giant scorpions, but the Habers have mixed emotions about this. Looking at the eyes of the sand lizards the size of an adult's fist, or the scorpion needles that can pierce people through their chests and nail them to the ground, you know that the Haber must have paid a great price in the face of these terrifying desert beasts. However, the sand lizard and the giant scorpion are the most important sources of income for the sand village - the sand lizard's flexible scale armor is an ideal substitute for expensive chain mail, the delicate flesh of the sand lizard can promote muscle growth, the venom of the giant scorpion is prominent in war and medicine, and the scorpion chela and scorpion needle are the symbols of strength that the nobles compete to collect. So in every sense, the ability to kill sand lizards and giant scorpions is something that Sand Village admires.

The average Haber will be selected by the Hunters from the age of eight. Stronger hubblers, such as Garcia, will use axes or spears at the edge of the battlefield to weaken their prey, while less powerful hubbers will survey the battlefield and set up traps - mostly low-grade spike traps, while experienced hunters will set them up in advance in an attempt to artificially create quicksand and make a great contribution to a dangerous hunt or defense.

And the worst Haber, like Arthur Haber. The thin body and hemp pole-like arms, not to mention the knight throwing the axe, or the warrior throwing the spear, even the light short sword used by the tower shield soldiers for self-defense will cut their own arms when they are wielded. The older Haber in Sand Village looked at the strong Simon Haber and always felt that Arthur would eventually become stronger, perhaps just a little later in his development. The instructors had tried to teach Arthur to lay traps, but when they saw that Arthur had been shoveling the sand for less than ten minutes, the muscles in his arms began to spasm, and they shook their heads and sighed that no one had ever mentioned the matter again.

Oh, Arthur still has something to do - Arthur is a fast runner, like a gust of wind, but the desert is home to sand lizards and giant scorpions, and Arthur will only kill him if he runs fast.

As the son of Simon Harbour, Arthur is highly anticipated. The useless are always spurned, so after Arthur's eighth birthday, the world becomes hell.

Arthur, who was leaning on the stone, moved his body, and his bones hurt as if he had touched a bruise on his body.

He remembered his father.

Arthur felt that his father had actually wanted to train him to be a knight.

For as long as he can remember, Arthur had endless expensive sand lizard meat on his plate, while his father only chewed on scones. Arthur learned from his father the use and weaknesses of all the knight's standard weapons, and Arthur could also use Arthur very well if it was the lightest wooden war toy, such as Garcia's throwing axe, which was a bit problematic.

Arthur jumped up and waved in the air, his arms dexterous and powerful as never before. The weapon that was usually uncontrollable in his hand was now as nimble as his arm, and like Garcia, Arthur picked up his arm and slashed at the stone he was leaning on.

"Zheng!-" A white glow reflecting the red glow of the setting sun flew out from in front of Arthur, spun and flew backwards, plunging into the sand.

Arthur crouched down, clutching his bleeding right hand, and stared in amazement at the dagger vibrating in the sand.

Arthur reached out and pulled out the dagger, cut off a turban, wrapped it around his hand, and inserted the dagger back into his boot.

Little Arthur shrank back to the stone, clasped his hands on his knees, buried his head deep in the crook of his arm, curled up into a ball, and began to cry, soaking his blood-stained turban.

Little Arthur remembered his father's eyes. The flame of once excited pride was extinguished, and the godless eyes sometimes swept over irrepressible anger, only to be replaced in the blink of an eye by guilt and dodging. Little Arthur didn't know why his father used to feel joy and pride when he looked at his little face, just as little Arthur didn't know why his father was guilty and dodgy.

But Arthur knew that his father's anger must have come from disappointment in him. Because of that look, Arthur had seen it countless times in the eyes of the villagers.

Arthur looked up at the fiery sunset that was facing him.

Arthur couldn't understand what the sun was looking like now.

Perhaps, he was a disappointing child.