The flames swayed like dancing rattans and shot out dim light, sending the village under the silver moon to the night. Half of the three wooden houses were consumed by the flames, and even the walls were covered with leech-like flames. Smoke and blazing air monsters flicked their teeth and claws around, forcing the grizzled Dragonus soldiers to rush out. But a few dozen peasants awaited the routs in front of the wooden gate, some of whom were able to shoot them down with rudimentary hunting bows made of fir wood, but many more waited with scythes, hoes, and even sticks, their eyes red like hyenas.

Half a dozen soldiers had rushed out of the other two houses, but the weak bows and arrows made of hemp rope, which had been mocked only before, had killed and wounded them heavily. Escaping left them with everything they could abandon, including the heavy set of chain mail or iron-plated leather armor. The soldiers were knocked down by the arrows fired by the villagers, and then several farmers dragged them aside with hoe hooks and were beaten by their companions.

"Dragons forbid!Warn the western skunks with a sickle and hoe that the Grand Dukes cannot be blackmailed casually! Especially these cowards who have just lost the castle of Hede, they don't deserve to eat the food that grows on the land of Dragoninus!" The village elder was surrounded by a few stronger farmers, and he raised his pine cane in excitement and roared.

The surrounding civilians, who usually had only numb and restrained faces, howled wildly as if they were controlled by demons, and they surrounded a few soldiers who had been wounded by arrows, and stomped their feet these former farmers. Dirty mud and foul-smelling boots were trampled on their chests and abdomen, and the soldiers scrambled to fend off the attack until several civilians suddenly stomped their heads on the ground, and after several successive impacts, they fell to the ground in a dizzy and bloody mud, spitting blood and losing their breath.

The peasants shouted in celebration of their victory, but the walls of one house suddenly let out a shrill wail. The elder immediately asked half a dozen young men to run over and take a look, and the same shrill voice rang out several times in quick succession. Then, with a violent impact, the wall made of thick pine planks suddenly snapped. Wood chips from the wooden planks were scattered everywhere, and the flames were crushed by the broken wall underneath the damp mud of the earth. Before the dozen civilians could react, an ancient long wooden table with black rotten pine spots on it flew out of the crack, easily knocking down the novices who were still stunned.

"It's the barbarians! the dragon god is above, tear them apart!" the elder immediately let out a panicked cry. But the tall Quaids who had come out of the flames had already killed several of the fallen farmers. They didn't have the steel chainmail to protect their bodies, but the furs and strong bodies of the beasts that were draped over them made the farmer's courage slip away like the water in a clay jar.

The tip of the tomahawk's handle stabbed down, and Riga pierced the neck of the grim, gray-faced farmer who was lying down with a wailing face. With their eyes closed to avoid the splashes of blood, the Quaid stared at the boiling blood pouring out of the wound and scar, blooming like a flower on his neck with thick hair. The hunter took a sip and stabbed the fresh, bloody air into his lungs, then he let out a long exhale and pulled out the battle axe, which easily smashed away from the wooden arrow that shot at his chest as he lifted it.

"Kill this group of dragoninus, they don't lay eggs but they cry like snow hens. The hunter roared with his tomahawk in hand, and a dozen barbarians ran unscrupulously towards the panicked villagers. When the barbarians killed the young men. The villagers, who had just mustered up their blood, were scared back to their original colors by fear. The farmers in the back immediately began to retreat, and the young men surrounding the village elders also hid in the crowd. The panicked villagers forgot about the attack on the soldiers in the room, and one by one the dragons rushed out of the wooden door with arrows, and bit their prey like fierce beasts.

The villagers, who had not experienced the battle, were quickly defeated, and the remaining civilians surrendered, except for more than two dozen unlucky ones who had just been killed. They trembled and fell to their knees in the mud, dropping their weapons and burying their heads in their necks. A group of Dragonus soldiers, covered in bloody scars and scorred flames, stood around, occasionally striking the metal hilts of their swords against the villagers' heads or backs.

The attack, which should not have happened, caused the rout to lose more than a dozen of his companions. After all, the farmer, who had only been through one battle, had not yet learned how to defend himself, so that the villagers could defeat them with hunting bows and hoes made of cedar. In addition to this, there were about half a dozen wounded who were hit by arrows. However, the lucky ones can still walk, after all, the hunting bowstring made of hemp rope is not very elastic, and the bronze blunt-tipped arrow is not as sharp as steel.

Ser Morley was not as silent as he had been before, the knight was still wearing the black leather armor, but the new cloak and head were smoky with unevenly distributed gray spots. "You untouchables who want to betray your country and openly attack the nobility!" heard Sir 'Wild Boar', who himself was called the Skunk of the West, squeezed a low roar out of his throat, and he handed the captives over to the farmer. Satisfied, he watched as the smiling soldiers cut off their heads.

The village farmer was quickly grabbed and dragged to the clearing to be beheaded, while the elder who had agitated the villagers was nailed to a stake. The old man, who had lost his arms and tongue, could only whimper in pain and struggle, and then watched through his grayish-brown eyes as the male villagers were slaughtered, and the peasant women struggled to be dragged into the room or by the hordes of soldiers into the room or the pyre.

Food salvaged from the house was piled up on wooden tables, and soldiers laughed noisily as they shoved smoked fish and ham into their mouths. The ale was poured into the glass without hesitation. The Quaid shouted and let go of the drink. The small village by the river was richer than expected, but now it belonged to the rout who had fled from Head Castle. After a few drinks with the barbarians, Sir Morley walked out of the room and walked alone to a barn not far away. A few loyal soldiers were holding a young and energetic girl there. Although there were a few freckles on her lovely reddened face, the youthful body made Jazz a little crazy. If it weren't for this war, Sir Broken would only be able to vent in the lowest brothel**. 'Praise the dragon god, praise the war!' shouted the knight, who had been poor but had just made a small fortune, rejoiced inwardly, and then he took off his coat, which smelled of heavy sweat and smoke, and threw himself on the poor girl cowering in the corner with a strange smile.

No peasant woman escaped the catastrophe, and the soldier who snatched life from the gaps in the fingers of the gods went crazy like wild beasts. They vent like bulls in heat, as one Quaid warrior said: they don't care if they're a woman or not, maybe just a little hole.

The barbarians were also assigned a few stout peasant women, but Riga was not at all interested in these women with the smell of purple onions. The other Quaids, who had mostly enjoyed the beautiful bartenders or sexy prostitutes in the taverns, were not at all interested in the stinking women who seemed to have just crawled out of the pigsty, and focused more on food and ale. It was still some way to reach Pompeira, so the barbarians needed to find enough food here.

ps: Recently, the pig's feet have been playing soy sauce, and it seems that everyone doesn't like it. I'm ready to skip it. Well, that's it. (To be continued......)

ps: Thank you for the reward and monthly pass of the old book friend Qin playing the night moon.