(Alas, I feel that my brain is not enough, and I guess I should write a cool article after holding on for a while...... How is it possible, don't write even if you kill it)

Yunzhou.

Once again, the dark night shrouded the shadow of evil over Yunzhou City, and the clear light of the bright moon and the ugly light of the evil moon intertwined with each other to compete for the ownership of the sky. The beacon fire on the city wall of Yunzhou stands vividly against the dark sky, clearly marking the location of the city gate tower and watchtower. As they passed behind the battlements, some smaller lights flickered, revealing the lanterns of the patrol sentinels.

In the city lord's private hunting area, in a small garden, Moth was studying the rules of the city's patrols. Moth crouched under the branches of a snow-covered fir tree, waiting for the sign described by Osmar to summon the smugglers to the city walls.

"You said we're going to find more people." Osmar whispered in the boy's ear. Unlike Francis, the Randers managed to refrain from calling Morse the title. Moth's stubborn refusal to inform his father of the adventure infuriated the knight's sense of duty, and it was hard for him not to let a hint of resentment in his voice.

"We're not sure if they'll be there." Moth replied in a low voice. "We'll help if we need it."

Francis wiped his bald head with his calloused hands and swept the snow off his scalp. Anything that touches his head makes the knight uncomfortable - snow, rain, hat, and even his own hair are sacrificed for his sensitivity. When he is stressed or upset, his scalp is at its most irritable.

"I don't like that, Your Highness." Francis coughed. "It's better to tell your father what happened."

Moth gave his bodyguard a stern look. It was annoying enough to make the Randers question his plans, and now his own courtiers were suspicious of his actions.

Moth was about to reproach Francis, when suddenly, the pattern of the lantern on the wall above Sugato changed, which caught his attention. Instead of continuing along the normal route, the lights stopped abruptly. It bobbed up and down as the sentinel holding it signaled to someone in the city below. This action was repeated three times, and then the lights went out. People are less likely to notice this irregularity if they don't know what they're looking for.

"Looks like your friends are going to the wall, and you say they used ladders to climb the battlements?"

Osmar nodded. "That's how they brought us off the wall," he said. "Obviously, that's how they climbed up."

Moth stepped out from under the cover of the cedar tree, "Let's see if the ladder is there." The way Osmar looked at him made it clear to Moth that he still thought Moth should inform his father and send more men to deal with the smugglers.

Moth felt a pang of regret that he had to deceive the knight, and in the short time he had known Osmar, he had been impressed by the man's integrity. He reminds himself that there is something greater than the dignity of a knight at risk, and uses this as an excuse for deception. It is the lives of the countless unfortunate people in the shantytowns who are truly at risk.

The three men crept through the garden's forest, cautiously into the garden's hedges and flower beds. Large areas of the park have been demolished, cleared of trees and shrubs, and ploughed in preparation for the arrival of the spring thaw. The torn dirt gave Mo the battlefield, the piles of dirt reminiscent of earthworks, and the deep furrows resembled jagged trenches. It was this resemblance that made Moth extremely uneasy. Yunzhou was his home, and it was not pleasant to think that the war might soon reach his door.

The bell rings at the Shariah Temple, which is the closest temple to Sugato in Yunzhou. There were no priestesses left in the temple; They all believed Mowen's words and left the city to attend to the sick. Only one deacon remained to maintain the temple, ringing the bell to remind the people of Yunzhou that the goddess was still with them even without her priestess.

When Osmar called out to him, he didn't hear him. Osmar had to grab his arm to get his attention. He followed Osmar's hand, and the knight gestured to the wall. As he promised, a pair of tall ladders rested against the fence.

They are made of a soft white pine, with a peculiar shape and strange spacing between the steps. It took a moment for Moth to understand what it was—a scaffolding in an abandoned park. The smugglers picked them out of the rubble and tied them together with ropes to make ladders. It's a clever idea.

When they're done, they can simply cut the trellises one by one and throw them back with the rest of the park's garbage. Don't worry about dragging things around, the scaffolding will be waiting for them on the garbage heap the next time you need them.

"Now it's time for us to tell your father, right?" Francis asked, anxiety in his voice.

"Now we need to go up and see who is so bold." Moth said, still trying to stall for time. He looked at the other two knights with a majestic gaze. "If we had asked for help and they didn't arrive in time, at least we'd know what these smugglers look like."

"There were seven of them when I was taken to the cliff." Osmar reminded the prince. "You'll have to count the sentinels they bought."

"We're just going to see." Moth agreed. "They won't even know where we are." He felt guilty for these people for lying, but he didn't have time for them to understand his point. Moth's motives were pure, but he knew from past experience that some people were too cynical to believe in simple human nature.

Francis led the way to the ladder, the only concession Moth made to the bodyguards' constant demands that he be careful. Moth followed, and Osmar was in charge of the break. Although the climb was made more difficult by the irregular spacing of the steps, even that was a piece of cake for the athletic Moth.

This part of the battlements is not covered by lights. The bribed sentinels extinguished the lanterns, leaving the smugglers to work in the moonlight. Moth could see a rough winch, a thick rope untied from the winch and dangling from the wall. Beneath the darkness, the basket Osmar described is there, perhaps now walking down the cliff with another group of refugees.

Three men dressed in various furs walked by the winch, grunting as they laboriously pulled back the rope wrapped around the wooden spool. Two soldiers dressed in guard attire watched the operation, their faces full of worry. The other two cloaked men paced back and forth, their every move showing vigilance.

There were two other people present. Like the sentinels, they seem to watch the smugglers fiddling with the winch with their hearts. One of them was broad-shouldered, sturdy, and wore a bearskin hood on his head. There was a distinctly authoritative air about him, and even without Osmar's description, Moth would have thought of him as the head of the smugglers.

The leader's companion was a small man, with a sturdy and tense body wrapped from head to toe in a dyed woollen robe. He jumped around the leader, seemingly never able to be quiet, his head bobbing from side to side under the folds of his hood. Mo Si immediately developed a disgust with the small man, finding his every movement disturbing and disgusting.

"It's time for us to go to your father now."

Moth glanced at the knight. Now is the time to act, and he only has one chance to prove to his companions how wrong they were. He only hoped that they would give him a chance to understand. "Listen to me," the boy said to the two knights. Before they could react, Moth boldly strode towards the smuggler, his hands folded at his sides.

"Quiet." He shouted, and the two smugglers, seeing that they had been discovered, hurried towards Moth. Moth noticed that everyone had a sword in their hand. "I'm not here to stop you."

Moth's appearance attracts the attention of the smuggler leader. The broad-shouldered man turned away and stopped looking at the winch. His face disappeared into the shadow of the hood, and the man in the fur cloak stepped forward. Soldiers taking bribes and small men in woolen robes followed him.

Ottoman's slick voice chanted, "You shouldn't scare people in the dark."

"Some things have to be done at night, aren't we all doing these kinds of things?" Moth retorted, a friendly smile on his face. When a soldier heard Moth speak, a confused expression appeared on his face, one like a person recognizing something but not being entirely sure what it was. Moth knew he had to convince the smugglers of his sincerity before the soldiers remembered where he had heard him before.

"I heard about your plans." Moth continued. "I wanted to see if I could help."

Osman giggled when he heard the offer. There was an unpleasant cruelty to the laughter, and the smuggler raised a gloved hand and pointed behind Moth, pointing his finger straight at Osmar. "That guy brought you here," Osman complained. "I can't tolerate people who are rash."

"I asked him to bring me here," Moth said, hoping to distract Osman. "If it weren't for him, you might have spoken to someone from the City Lord's Mansion instead of me."

This statement is false. This seems to evoke the memories of the bewildered soldiers. "Your Highness Moth!" He shouted.

The two smugglers were also approaching Moth, and they took a few steps back in horror when they heard the soldier's words, but Osman only smiled. "This is a despicable and wicked mockery, Your Highness," he hissed. "You want to help us, the lowly pauper? It's probably the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life........"

The soldiers who recognized Moth rushed to Osman's side, clinging to the smuggler's arm. "That's the young master of the Mo family!" He repeated. "You can't hurt him!"

Osman turned, and a dagger suddenly appeared in his hand. "Look at me," he roared, and then stabbed the soldier in the heart. As the soldier was about to fall, the dying soldier's fingers gripped the folds of the Ottoman cloak and pulled it out of him

The smuggler's face was exposed, and Moth's eyes widened in horror. Because Uthman's head was covered with sores and scabs, and dirty black hair was scattered on his scalp. A fat, wrinkled, fish-like mouth flowed from his right temple, and greasy saliva flowed into his shrunken residual ear. The face itself was like leprosy, rotting and puffy, and the jaundice eyes glared greedily in the wrinkles of dead skin. A pair of rotten teeth, like the fangs of a snake, gleamed from a mouth without lips.

"With you as a hostage," Osman roared, wiping the blood of the soldiers from his dagger, "Murwin won't dare do anything to us." "The mutant's eyes gleam from his rotten face, and evil thoughts swirl in his head." If your father did this, then you would be a great contributor to Nepgag!"

When Moth heard the forbidden name of the plague god being spoken, he felt a burning sound in his nose and his throat stood up. He understood the terrible truth. These people are not just smugglers, they are servants of the forces of destruction! This awakening was like a physical blow, and all his ideals and noble intentions withered before the vicious eyes of the plague god.

Was his father right? Does helping refugees only bring evil? Is compassion a weakness that these pathological cultists have been waiting to exploit?

"Be careful!"

Shocked, Moth didn't even realize that a believer was rushing towards him. If he was an ordinary person, then he would not have been able to stop that man's sword from falling in the future. But to his eyes, the blade seemed to be slashing at him in slow motion, and his eyes could see every notch and notch in the rusted steel.

At this moment Francis appeared, and his sword creaked through the shoulders of the believer, unloading both the enemy's sword and the arm holding the sword. The smuggler whimpered, a thick layer of blood gushing out of his bloody body. Out of the corner of his eye, Moth saw Osmar fighting an enemy from another lookout, and his training and skill quickly put the heretic on the defensive. Even the surviving soldiers stretched out a hand and pounced on Osman, pushing the leading believer to the city walls.

A blurry mass crawled around the stone slabs, tearing at Francis, and the Bald Knights prepared to take out his enemies. He cried out in pain as two scimitars cut through his legs. He fell to the ground, wallowing in pain, his sword stabbing in vain at the fleece-robed believer. The villain rushed in, stabbed Francis in the knee with a knife, and let out a shrill and terrifying snicker.

"Stay away from him, you scumbag!" Moth yelled. With a sword in his hand, he charged towards the sneaking killer. Believers jumped away as soon as they heard his voice, displaying incredible agility and speed. Moth blamed himself for not yelling, and if he remained silent, he might have chopped off the freak's head with a sword.

But Moth didn't have time to think about his mistakes. The scrawny cultist roared and lunged at Morth with lightning speed, ripping off the woollen cloak from his shoulder and throwing it at him. Morth was forced to dodge the flying clothes, and then quickly raised his sword, blocking a knife that slashed downward. Another knife slashed through his body, slicing through the soft armor on his body with a single slash.

Moth barely noticed how painful the wound on his abdomen was. For the second time, the boy was frightened by something hidden under the clerical robes. What attacked him was utterly inhuman, more of a beast than a man, the most despicable fusion of the two he had ever seen. Its face is pulled into a bug-like nose, its hands are claw-pointed, and its body is covered in dirty brown fur.

The orc bit its yellow fangs at Moth, then stabbed him with a knife. Moth spun away from the stabbing blade, his other hand gripped his furry wrist tightly. He got goosebumps of disgust at the contact, and utter disgust welled up in him, overpowering the cautious discipline that had been instilled in him by coaches such as Yan Fu over the years.

Moth howled, kicking his boots into the beast's emaciated body. As its claws were tightly grasped by Moth, the mouse could only twist part of its body, and the beast, which could not dodge, was kicked in the stomach by Moth.

The thing screamed in pain, its scaly tail flicking at Moth in exchange for an escape. Moth's sword slashed down, severing the tip of the monster's tail. The smell of blood on its body seemed to drive the beast crazy. The monster grunted viciously and lunged at Moth again, knocking him to the ground, the roaring rat lying on his chest.

Moth saw the guy twist his arm, as if trying to pull out the other knife from his waist. Moth pressed his boots against the stone slab, flipped himself over, rolled sideways, and carried the monster on his shoulders. The guy screamed in horror, and the knife fell from its numb claws.

The monster flapped in panic, pushing Mothdu to the edge of the cliff. Moth struggled to break free from the monster's dead ground, its gripping claws trying to tear through his coat. Moth screamed in pain as the rat-like creature's fangs dug into the back of his ear.

When Moth and his enemies crashed into the stone pillar, blood flowed down his side. Moth pressed his body against the hard stone, using it to gain extra chips against his enemies. He leaned his body against the battlements and climbed up with all his strength. Despite its savage fury and terrifying speed, this rat animal is light in size and weighs much less than a human being.

Moth's force broke the object's restraints, throwing it outward, sandwiched between the two round teeth. He saw its claws desperately trying to grasp the masonry and fell headfirst down the wall. The screams of terror died down with the sound of objects falling to the ground, and there was another shattered corpse under the walls.

Moth's trembling hand pressed tightly against the lintel, supporting himself with it, and he stood up again. He stared across the fortifications, the slabs mottled black in the moonlight. All the Christians either died or fled into the night. Except for the burly Ottomans.

The cult leader halted the heroic efforts of the guard who resisted him, but before that, the soldier crippled one of the mutants' arm. Now that he's looking for a way to get past Osmar's flashing sword, he finds the effort conceptually easier than practical. Whenever the cultists tried to bypass the knight, Osmar would knock him back with a sweep of his sword. Slowly, the Ottomans were pushed back to the battlements.

Moth reached for the bloody ground and picked up a halberd discarded by the soldiers. He turned to the Ottoman flank, cutting off all possible opportunities for escape.

The mutant turned his misshapen head, his lipsless mouth twisted in a sneer. Osman pointed his bloody dagger at the winch and the rope hanging from the wall. "There's someone in the basket underneath, just waiting to be pulled up. Innocent people, like this rash Rander. ”

Seeing the sly light in the disciple's eyes, Mo Si's blood instantly froze. The Ottomans were closer to the winch than anyone. With a single stab, the basket will fall out of the air.

"We'll let you go." He stared at Osmar intently. "Do you understand? This person...... Be unscathed. ”

Osman's lipsless mouth erupted with another evil laugh. "It's lovely that you expect me to trust you." He narrowed his eyes maliciously. "But you're a complete idiot to believe me."

Before Moth could act, Osman slashed the winch with the blade of his dagger, breaking the rope holding the winch in place. When the loosened rope threw the basket to the ground, a faint scream rang out from below.

"Bastard!" Moth roared, charging towards the gloating mutant. As Morse pierced the believer with the tip of his halberd, his body trembled. Osman let out a contemptuous boo and tried to stab the boy in the face with a dagger, but the length of the halberd prevented his blow. Before he could get up and try again, Osmar's sword pierced the mutant's arm, and the sword and dagger snapped through the battlements.

"You're all finished," the dying mutant laughed as he wilted on the slate. "You can't even surrender because they've already won, hopefully I can see your painful look, stupid noble young master......."

Moth thrust the halberd deeper into the believer's body, causing gout-like blood to gush out of his mouth. The malicious glint in Osman's eyes slowly faded. When Osmar walked up to him, the prince looked up.

"Now can we go to see your father?"