The soles of his boots tread over the water-soaked ground in the rainy season, and the garrison panted as he mixed his footprints into the mud. The rain and the movement of the drinkers had made the front of the house as dirty as a swamp, and the burly sir's boots could easily sink a few inches deep. The garrison wasn't so heavy in itself, but the fine chain mail he had put on to save his life had given him another thirty pounds on his shoulders.

The unhelmeted head was as low as possible, barely visible to the neck, and the garrison walked through the tavern door, his boots stained with black mud making an ugly mark on the oak floor like a row of cow dung. "I have brought with me the decree of Lord Earl. The knight tentatively entered the room, but the mixed smell of food scraps, alcohol, and blood made him swallow the rest back into his stomach. The rainy season doesn't mean it's cool, in fact, most of the time people can only feel the pressure as hard as stones. The stone was hidden in their hearts, and it fell as the rain continued.

The right hand holding the parchment decree waved in front of him, and while Jazz became familiar with the smell and darkness of the room, the Quaids who surrounded him terrified him. "You don't have to worry, no one will be punished. He twitched his nose and spread out the tawny paper scroll, tugging his hands up and down in front of the barbarians. "By the eyes and horns of the platinum dragon god, Lord Earl declares you innocent. It's all a tease of fate. ”

The centurion took an oil lamp from the wooden wall, blew the flame up a little more, and carried it closer to the garrison. He read it out word for word with great care, explaining it to the barbarians in Quaid, with an icy chill. He pondered the meaning of the text of the decree, but he didn't delay by seeing the fiery paint mark. Written in ancient dragon script, 'Northern Rulers' forms a flaming circle and is surrounded by blades of grass that he can't name.

"Praise the dragon god, praise the ruler. The centurion solemnly took the parchment, folded it carefully, and stuffed it into his bosom with the same care as he had done with a steel coin. He is a Dragonus after all, so this edict must be carefully kept for future safety.

The lancers, hiding in the shadow corners of the tavern, were of course unhappy with the result. But under the threat of the Quaid's sharp weapons, they could only agree to this way. The decapitated corpse was still lying on the floor, reminding the barbarians of their fate. The sweltering heat had already made the blood and coat wrapped in ** stink, but everyone deliberately ignored the dead who continued to be silent in that little corner. The warrior who burst into vindictiveness is indeed not low, but this one is only the protector arranged by Viscount Licona for the first heir. In other words, except for the father and son, no one cares whether this guy lives or dies.

The Earlguard, which had stood guard outside the tavern, soon left with most of the garrison. The Northern Ruler is not a casual old man who has to rack his brains every day for taxes. Just because the country needs coins to guard its territory and fill the bellies of its soldiers. The Quaids then walked out of the tavern, found the horses fed by the soldiers, and hurried to the garrison. The remaining two dozen garrisons and lancers were the last to leave, and when the barbarian figure disappeared from sight, they began to dispose of the slightly decomposed corpse. Although there were no buzzing flying insects on the side, the blood and yellow slime that had solidified on the floor gave the group a headache.

After finding a few woolen blankets and wrapping the corpses, the lancers dropped the garrison and mounted their horses and left. They gritted their teeth and muttered that they wanted the barbarians to swallow the bitter fruit, leaving only the militiamen smiling behind their backs. The tavern had been abandoned by the landlady, and it was said that the sexy stunner was going to sell everything and rush to the capital of Pompeira, and the soldiers were now able to keep a third of the items left in the room.

The carriage of the Count of Lytognes did not advance very fast, so the Quaidians bypassed it halfway. The poor people next to the dilapidated roads have long been driven away by the guards. can only be projected from the dark corners of the angry and unwilling gaze. This is also the point that bothers the ruler the most. He did increase the taxes of the entire North, but the stupid pariahs and farmers cared only about the extra amount of money and grain. 'This is the cornerstone of the defense of the country!' the Earl, who had put down the carriage barrier, retracted into his seat, and sighed inwardly as he pressed his fingers firmly against his head. 'Front-line soldiers need food, armor, and weapons, all of which need to be purchased with shiny steel coins. And the situation of Longinus is really bad. After the right to mint steel coins was given to the aristocracy, all kinds of inferior coins have flooded this country that used to flow with nobility and glory. Now when buying items from other countries, the Count is always being oppressed by merchants. After all, the tax rate when paying with inferior coins was a big problem, and as long as the merchants or nobles who held large steel coins collected their wealth, then Longinus had to raise the price to induce them to agree. ’

"I hope that brute won't trouble me again. The archon sighed dreamily and muttered. But then he buried himself in a towering pile of papers. There were so many things he had to deal with right now. The complaints of lords from all over the North, the collapse of the mines, and the neglect of taxes, each of them was enough for the Archon to be overwhelmed.

As a matter of fact. It is true that things did not go as many people had prayed for. While the Count was still in the slow-moving carriage on business, the roar of the northern legion camp near Carrasang was enough to shame Thor. The general, who was presumed to have Quaid in his veins, was roaring at the soldiers to put on their armor. "The platinum dragon god is above, and he swears with the eyes and horns of the one true god. We should get rid of all the robbers. It is enough for us to protect the country, and the rotten nobles who are still wasting their wealth and hiring thieves and thieves should be driven back to the country. They are only worthy of being a stinking hillbilly and taking pleasure in directing a group of farmers to fight. ”

His Excellency the Count of Lutonius would have dueled this fellow if he heard this, but the soldiers who were following him for now had no objection. They saw firsthand that the taxes on the land were getting heavier and heavier. And extremely dissatisfied with the high weekly salaries of those barbarian mercenaries. Keep in mind that a lancer's salary is only four steel coins per week, and the average light infantry is even more pitiful, as they usually only get two inferior coins with a dull luster and irregular openings around them.

"Go, my boys. Drive out all the barbarians, and kill him if anyone resists. "The general stepped on the stirrup and sat on a sturdy and fast-paced horse. His face was full of menacing rage, but if you looked closely, you could see the sadness hidden in his eyes. This burly warrior is reminiscing about his childhood. Remembering the mother who was gone, thin, poor, and bullied. He remembered that the Dragoninus people in the village called him a mongrel because his unknown father was a barbarian who had invaded the area from the ice fields. (To be continued......)