Pompeira prostrate like a dragon in the shadows of the mountains and rain clouds, its tail and neck tucked into its leather wings, leaving only the spurs on its back. The city, which was more than 8,000 Mordi, had more than 100,000 inhabitants, but now the nobles and the soldiers they brought with them had swelled it to an incalculable number. These Dragoninus, with their different accents, were brought here by faith and loyalty, but the first test was not battle, but hunger. Because tens of thousands of militiamen did not prepare food for themselves at all, Pompeira's warehouse, where there was little food, was quickly emptied. The sacks of oats supplied by the quartermaster to the Quid were part of the old grain donated by the nobles in response to the Grand Duke's call.

The smell of food wafting from the old camp wafted through the air, even though the heavy smell of rotting wood and fermenting dung did not stop. The swollen oat kernels are churned in a hanging pot and mixed with strips of cooked whitish brimming meat. The Quid threw their armor into the house, armed only with weapons and wooden bowls to eat, but the sudden cacophony of shouts angered the barbarians who had their spoons stuck in the hanging pots.

Storming the old camp was a group of Dragoninus soldiers, dressed in a somewhat different teal uniform, and with neat but dirty cloaks like the Quaids.

"The camp and the food were requisitioned by me, soldiers. A nobleman in shiny chain mail strode over, followed by several heavily armed squires. The knight's dark yellow calfskin boots were already stained with a few clouds of black mud, but the long cyan coat on his armor was not very dirty. The guards followed at the end with long swords around their necks, their sharp blades so that they did not dare to move.

"Who are you? We don't like to be interrupted by strangers during meals. Although he didn't understand the language of Dragonus, Riga stood up and asked in a threatening lingua franca.

"This is Viscount Spencer Carroll, master of the castle of Goting, knight blessed by the dragon, the brightest starfall in the sky of Sironinus. At the same time, it's ............" The squire who stood next to the nobleman who was chirping like a lark was interrupted by the knight, and then the strong samurai, who looked like he had spent about twenty winters, pursed his lips. "You are barbarians from the Pamirs?, armbands carved from metal, strange vine-like tattoos on the forehead, long, dragging braids behind you. I can still remember the words in that book, you mighty beasts swooping down from the northern plateau and smashing the coalition forces to pieces like untamable horses. I know you, the most powerful warrior on the earth, whom the record praises. ”

The squire repeated in the lingua franca with some concern, and did not stop to explain until Viscount Carol reopened his mouth, knowing what the knight was going to say next.

"But, get out of here now. Only the noblest of dragons are worthy of food and rest before battle. The viscount replied so rudely. His wet, blackened hair was squeezed into a mess on the chain mail, but the gaze that shot out of those eyes was as sharp and sharp as an iron spine.

Several of the guards who were holding their hands down almost burst out laughing. They knew the temper of the barbarians in Kara, so the guards knew that this turtle nobleman would soon be beaten up.

Rega snarled at the knight with red eyes, his heavy leather boots crashing into the black mud as he ran, giving the hunter the strength to continue the charge. The wind from the running caused the braids to flutter behind their backs, and the Quaid grabbed a hammer from the rack of weapons that their people had propped up, and swung it violently at the nobleman.

A string of water droplets fell from the edge of the long grass that lay on the roof, and the crystal shimmered and was smashed by the heavy steel, and the crystal powder was scattered all over the diagonal front. The first thing the knight felt was the sting of the rain mist on his face, but then the long, thick two-handed knight's sword blocked his face to resist the attack. The rain was followed by a large, angular black hammer, and the Quaid's majestic arms tensed to let the weapon fly to the nobleman's chest, but the knight's sword was leaning in the way. Like a blacksmith striking the wool on a felt with force, there was a loud crash between the weapons. But then the broad, heavy sword spun in the knight's hand like a nimble fork. His left hand assists his right wrist with force, causing the tip of the sword's only blade to arc in the air.

The barbarian's sheer force made the knight's sword swing so fast that Riga only had time to fend the hilt sideways against the incoming blurred blade. The tip of the knight's sword slashed through the leather wrist, leaving a shallow line of blood on the hunter's skin before being blocked by the handle of the steel hammer.

"You're damned!" the stinging pain coming from his skin made the Quaid snarl. However, the people on the other side could not understand Riga's hoarse Quid, and Viscount Carol immediately stabbed forward after regaining his grip on the sword. However, the Quaid man's right hand drove the hammer to smash it, easily removing the knight's sword. The force of the rage caused the viscount to stumble, and then threw the weapon to his left hand. Before the barbarians could regain their balance, he lunged at Rriga like a swift horse, and the leather glove with the iron ring on his right side struck the barbarian's ribs, which were protected only by his sackcloth coat. The knight thought he could punch the barbarian warrior twice, but Riga's rock-hard muscles made the viscount's plan a luxury.

Riga threw his hammer to force the nobleman to retreat with his knight's sword in his left hand, and then he grabbed the viscount's right arm with both hands, shouting and throwing his armor into a mud puddle. The black stinky mud immediately blackened the long cyan coat and chain mail of the rolling nobles, leaving only half of their faces still clean. Struggling to stand up and looking at the black mud and wriggling insects on the gloves, Viscount Carol immediately began to curse in dissatisfaction.

The loyal nobles of the Dragoninus soldiers and Quid warriors also shouted at each other with weapons, and when the barbarians were about to rush into battle with red eyes, a loud and indifferent shout silenced everyone.

"Private fighting is not allowed in Pompeira. A mysterious man in a red robe rode into the camp and shouted. His face was hidden in a hood with a golden thread pattern, and only one right hand held a dark red wooden staff about three feet in the handle.

"Mage?!" the barbarians immediately whispered to each other until the viscount who had crawled out of the mud puddle came out and fell to one knee on the ground. "Great Warlock, we're just having a competition. The nobleman with a dark face squeezed his eyes at Riga.

But the warlock, who was on a tall, quick-paced horse, gave them no chance to defend themselves. "Shrinking. The caster said dissatisfiedly, holding up his staff to the noble. The Quaids, who did not understand the language of magic, immediately crouched down to dodge, but they soon found that the knight was still left with weapons and chainmail, and that something was still squirming and scolding in the chainmail that had fallen to the ground.

It took the viscount a dozen breaths before he crawled out from under his armor, but before he could stand still, a pair of giant hands squeezed his arms from behind. "What are you, a gnome?" asked Riga, who was curious and didn't see the knight's face. "Where's that damn knight?"

"He's being grabbed by a stupid bear with a foul smell and lifted him up in mid-air. The 'dwarf' replied almost with a scream, his half-shortened legs kicking in the air, but he couldn't even reach the muddy ground five feet above him.

"I'm going to wring your head off and crush it like a snow bear's egg. Although they are a little smaller than yours. Riga immediately laughed at the familiar voice. He now thinks that the mysterious spellcaster is his companion.

"Laughter. The warlock quickly put the barbarians to a halt to this thought. The mystery man uttered a few incantations in different syllables and sequences, and then the hunter laughed strangely and threw the 'dwarf' nobleman into the mud pit. He clutched his throbbing abdomen with his hands, and after a few breaths, he fell as weak as a knight in the black mud.

"I said you would be punished. The warlock shook the reins and turned the tall quick-stride, then whispered through the terrified soldiers.

PS: It's a bit hard to look at this result. Ask for a recommended subscription collection, and in the end, that one fell by hundreds. (To be continued.) )