Grand Duchy of Novgorod, Karelia, Dragon's Lair.

Lothar stood on the edge of the cliff, with the bottomless abyss at his feet, the wind and snow were combined, the wind was biting, and the wind blew on him but he didn't feel much, he could feel that his taste, smell, and perception all tended to be like the ghost dragon before his death.

If this continues, the ghost dragon may really be able to occupy his body, and it is impossible to say whether he will "die" and come back to life.

The girl carried a basket woven of vines, filled with the fluorescent plant, which was supposed to be a fungus that grew on the breath of a dragon.

She is no longer an ordinary person, and there is a faint dragonborn aura in her body, just like the dragonborn warrior Torle sent by Shermel to fight, but it is much weaker.

Lothar guessed that it may be that when the ghost dragon consciousness was dominant, she used her own dragon blood to improve her life level, and it caught this woman back, most likely not to use it as a reserve food, but to "use" it.

Looking at the abyss under her feet, she felt dizzy and hurriedly withdrew her gaze.

"You're sure you can fly, right?"

She asked tremblingly.

"Don't worry, Miss Rogneda."

Lothar smiled and nodded, black scales covering her body, and a pair of broad fleshy wings stretching out from her back.

This image frightened Miss Rogneta, and she took a half step back, "Are you a dragon, or are you Lothar?"

"Lothar, of course."

Lothar asked again, "Are you ready?"

"Wait, wait..."

Before she could finish speaking, Lothar had already stepped into the air.

The sudden feeling of weightlessness made her scream.

Are your wings ornamental?

Fly, fly!

Lothar didn't move, her golden eyes shining in the wind and snow, and they descended faster and faster.

Until the two men were no longer visible from above.

He opened his wings suddenly...

When Rogeneda opened his eyes again, they were already gliding through the sky.

The girl put her arms around Lothar's neck, and the biting cold wind made her sniff hard.

They flew over the ruins of the town, which had nothing but dead branches and ruins: "Is there anyone there, is it your family?"

Rogeneda shook his head, "I don't know, maybe it's the serfs in the farm below, they came to rummage through the ruins to find some iron tools and other useful things, don't leave me down, I don't want to stay here anymore."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Come with you to Constantinople, you need me as a guide."

The girl stretched out her hand to guide the way: "From the banks of the Neva, trace the river to Lake Ladoga, then take a boat south, walk a short distance in the Tver principality, and then go to the Dnieper River to take the ships of amber merchants all the way south into the Black Sea."

"But beware of the amber merchants, who are both merchants and robbers, and it is not uncommon to take slaves or plunder the wealth of villages as commodities along the way."

Lothar was still ready to go south.

If this is a world made up of ghost dragons' memories before his death, there must be an "end of the world", which may be an impenetrable wall of air, or an endless nothingness.

He was going to check it out.

See what happens if you get out of the limits of the world you can create in the memories of the ghost dragon.

If he could get to Constantinople, he was going to ask Anna for help.

If there was an Anna in this world.

Lothar laughed and replied, "They should be careful."

...

Reality.

Central Nile Delta.

A crusader troop was driving wagons, camels, and all sorts of pack animals, laden with chests of jewels, fine fabrics, large gold and silver vessels, candlesticks, cutlery.

There are a lot of these possessions

Stained with blood.

They raided a Saracen village and, after paying most of the casualties, managed to break into the manor of the infidel chieftain, burn and loot, and vent.

Their expressions were nervous, and from time to time someone looked back.

With the sound of an eagle, the crusaders exclaimed, "The pagan falcons have caught up!"

"I've heard some knights say that in the Holy Land, as long as you see a pagan falcon, it means that the Saracen rangers are not far away, and we can't escape their pursuit at such a slow pace!"

"Otherwise, let's leave these carts behind, and we won't be able to go back."

"This is the wealth we bought with our lives!"

"This is our godly testimony, the manifestation of our merits!"

Many of the crusaders were reluctant.

As long as they brought these treasures home, they would have been worthwhile in their participation in the Crusades, selling the inconvenient ones in the port of Semanud to the Latin merchants, and then bringing the portable ones back to their homeland.

They seem to have seen those territories and fame that they did not dare to imagine in the past are beckoning to them.

As long as you have money, even if you are an ordinary soldier, you can take this step to ascend to the sky and become a noble lord.

Richard has said that he would even be willing to sell London for a price if someone offered it.

There have never been a few lords like him who sell official titles in Europe, and those urban nobles often come like this.

Is this some worthless wealth?

No, this represents a beautiful life for them in the future, a beautiful fantasy that has been fantasized countless times along the way!

"Then keep it, and I give up ownership of these possessions!"

One of the knights sneered, carrying a lot of gold and silver on his carry, and although most of the proceeds were on the wagons and camels, he still resolutely chose to give up, urging his mount to speed up and rush out.

The crusaders struggled, but in the end, no one was willing to give up.

They climbed a sand dune, and someone shouted, "We are almost at Lake Brulus, brothers, and we will soon be back in Semanud."

The crusaders cheered excitedly.

They were not well equipped, many were dressed in bloodstained old armor ripped from the Saracens, with many holes, and only a few of them were knights, and many more were landless peasants, so-called vagabonds.

They are the prototype of the child crusades, hoping to get wealth and land out of poverty by disciplining the heathen, but the people who get rich will always be a minority, and the vast majority of poor crusaders end up buried in a foreign land.

However.

Just as they cheered, in the distance, smoke and dust exploded.

In the sky, a swarm of vultures hovered over people's heads like sharks smelling blood, and these beasts, regarded by the locals as messengers of death, cast a haze over the hearts of the crusaders.

Soon.

A group of black cavalry rushed in front of them like a group of ghosts.

One of the leaders raised his spear in his hand, and on the head of the spear was the head of a dead man, the head of the Crusader knight who had just fled.

These black gurams had cruel smiles on their faces, like a pack of wolves roaming the desert.

"Hahaha, they don't really think they can return to their territory with so much treasure, do they?"

"Had it not been for the possession of these treasures by their hands, they would have been slaughtered by us on their way."

"Don't talk nonsense, let's fight quickly, and don't forget what happened that day in Rashid - these Crucidian heretics also have terrifying power in their hands."

Free to read.