A shout from ahead spread through the trees, crashing into the ears of everyone in the group.

The procession of more than twenty men, consisting of soldiers, city guards, and two knights' retinues, stretched loosely through the woods, thirty paces away. The oblique obscurations of vegetation form layers of information filters, and only the nearest hukou can see clearly.

The city guards in the rear didn't even hear the deafening metal sound, and the word "enemy attack" lingered in Chengping's mind for a long time before he realized that something impossible had happened, but it was completely impossible to find where the other party came from in the dense forest.

Instead of working as well as they should, the warning caused even more confusion in a disjointed command environment, with most of the people who had never been trained to combat in combat hurriedly drawing their weapons and then being overwhelmed.

They had no idea that they would face any resistance in Westminster, where there should be no armed forces who would dare to confront the ruling power.

In each direction was a deep green forest, the crooked shadows of the fungus seemed to move in the background, and the overgrown weeds and wild vines under their feet stumbled on the steps of eager to get closer to their companions. Someone fell to the ground, and the people around him, who were already like frightened birds, fled in panic, and the unformed formation became more and more scattered.

Diego couldn't see any of this, and instinctively looked around, looking for the source of the arrows.

The second attack came, and the arrow slashed through the side of Hu, who was approaching him and trying to provide cover, hitting the ribs of his shoulder armor, and the broken pole was whipped against his helmet, causing his ears to ring.

After a brief startle, he felt an unbearable outburst of rage at the audacity of his attackers, threatening the life of one of the knights with a sneak attack, and most infuriatingly, they almost succeeded.

This exposes the location of the attackers and reminds Diego of what he should do now. Raise your arm to cover your face with your armarmor and drop your armor to block the only weak point.

Then, from the view of the horizontal sieve, he pointed out the direction and rushed towards the place where the arrow had come from. The figure crouching in the grass in the distance hadn't left yet, moving as if preparing for the next shot.

Many people may feel a little intimidated at this time, but Diego is not included in this. The armor on his body is a status symbol, and it is also the confidence that he dares to go on a rampage in any battle.

In terms of the strength of the previous two hits, whether it was a bow or a crossbow with a small probability, the close-range shot also left a dent on the armor surface at most.

Armed iron men run, breaking twigs and overpowering weeds, slices of mushrooms crushing beneath their feet, and you can imagine the disgusting stuff turning into a disgusting patch from the slippery feeling.

His flexible joints allow him to make short sprints that don't lose too much lightweight, while still not having to worry about frontal attacks. The good accuracy of the two arrows just now was premised on closing the distance, and Diego could already see the weapon in the shooter's hand, an old-fashioned crossbow that he had gotten out of nowhere. Facing the onrushing knight, the man was finishing winding.

Diego didn't quite understand what his motivation and purpose was, risking his life to complete another pointless shot?

The archer took aim with his arrow, and this time Diego didn't make any defensive moves, raising his sword and stepping over the last section of the barricade. However, instead of shooting at him, the arrow was aimed at another target, and it was shot behind him.

An unfamiliar scream, not from the two servants, Diego had already come to the shooter. In the shadow of the helmet's vision, two figures pounced on him from the side, and it seemed that this was the reason why the other party dared to shoot three shots in succession on the spot.

The first man yelled and stepped forward, slamming into the knight's side, who had no time to change direction, trying to make him unbalanced and fall.

But he greatly underestimated the weight difference between the two sides, and the armor seemed to be filled with sand, and he only shook back a few steps to stop the momentum, but he bounced himself back and fell to the ground, and before he could recover from the vertigo of hitting the bare root in the back of his head, the puncture pain in his abdomen made him cry out in fear.

Without giving the guy a chance to struggle, Diego swirled his sword and pulled it out, feeling someone behind him strangle his neck, and put some thin piece of iron into the gap between the breastplate of his helmet, and thrust it fiercely.

This unhesitating and decisive method is not like an amateur bandit, but an outlaw with both courage and experience in fighting.

The blade slashed across the small interlocking hoop, far from strong enough to break through the unexpected layer of protection and the cotton armor underneath, and he had no second chance. The left elbow of the saddle piece hit the flank of the person behind him, and a long strip of fragile bone floating on the abdominal wall at one end was broken by the blow, and the broken end continued to be squeezed deeper into the position.

As soon as the restraint on his neck was loosened, the knight broke free of the restraint and stabbed his backhand out from under his armpit, piercing through the detached body with too much force.

This gave Diego a moment to draw the blade of his sword. The blow of the arrow striking the armpit armor of the disc shows the shooter's incomprehensible will to fight, and instead of taking the opportunity to open the distance, he shoots at the imaginary weak point closely.

Realizing that the crossbow in his hand was useless, he drew a short sword, hissed and shouted prayers that deformed like martyrs in flames, and swung it at the enemy who had easily killed his two companions.

The voice that seemed to come from the hollow of a dammed strain recited something familiar to Diego, but it had a different meaning in the mouth of the madman, a distortion of the beast's tongue and the evil crown, like some familiar skin being forcibly put over something else, but the imitation was so similar to the original.

In the field of vision of the visor divided by the holes, the face that was distorted by fear and driven forward by something for some reason, with the out-of-tune words, actually made the soul protected by the thick plate armor feel terrified for a moment.

His horizontal sword blocked the slashing short sword, and in the fierce metal collision, a little thought escaped from the source of the other party's neurotic shout, which was the original sentence from a sacred scripture, which was used to encourage those who died in valiant battle to ascend to the kingdom of the afterlife.

This sparked a fear that he didn't want to admit, and he slammed his gauntlet into the roaring mouth as he slammed his sword into his left chest.

It wasn't until the fanatic or crazy man fell that Diego regained his little peace, and the senseless shouts and the clashing of iron weapons from behind him left him no time to think about the impulse that he couldn't explain, and chose to kill the other man rather than keep the captive.

With the knight's reinforcements, the attackers, who were already small in number and had a brief advantage in surprise attacks, quickly fell to a disadvantage, and no other ranged weapon appeared.

Poorly equipped, dressed like civilians, lacking in armor, and roughly ranging from hooligans to low-level caravan guards, their extraordinary will to fight may strike fear into the hearts of most underground gangs, but it cannot bridge the gap in skill and material.

Not all of them have the will to die together, and after Diego once again knocks down a guy who recited the Morphed Sacred Verses aloud, the remaining few quickly enter the daily routine of non-professional and partially professional weapons, breaking down and fleeing, incidentally showing the way to their pursuers.

"What about that guy?" Diego found everyone joining in the scuffle, including the servant who was supposed to be dragging the prisoner who was supposed to lead the way, and was kicking down an opponent who was still trying to get up, and making up for it.

"Dead, shot." Hu shook off the blood from the blade of his sword and smeared the remaining bits on the deceased's clothes.

"These hellish things even know how to kill them!" Too late to put together the scattered ranks, Diego pursued the fleeing enemies with his followers and the soldiers who could still be gathered.

He was sure that there was a secret behind it that would allow him to escape the status quo, even if it had nothing to do with the disappearance. But the premise is to catch up with the remnants of the enemy, and not to lose the leader in this woods and lose the ready-made guide at the same time.

There was little hesitation, the victory just now gave them plenty of confidence, the goal was in front of them, and the soldiers also believed that the generous commander would give them a piece of the pie afterwards, and the victory reward was waiting for them to receive.

The high-spirited team, including Diego, pursued the fleeing figures in front of them. The men seemed completely unaware of the meaning of their actions, and only ran in unison in a certain direction, accustomed to their environment so that they would not be held back by the slippery ringworm fungus on the ground, and kept their distance at all times.

Diego gasped, the armor that protected his life was also a drag at this time, the hot and humid weather made the cotton armor lining soaked with sweat, the chain mail seemed to have burst an iron ring in the fight, the broken cut wore the skin on the side of the neck, and the salty smell of sweat could be smelled inside the helmet, and the salt irritated the broken skin.

There was also an indescribable strange smell, tickling his nasal cavity, which made him can't help but sneeze, and he didn't continue to breathe rhythmically, and his throat was sweet.

He had to admit that there was a smell that resembled ...... The dust, like the feeling he felt when he snapped the long-lost helmet to his head, had fine particles that had been absorbed everywhere.

Breathing for lack of oxygen, his mind was dizzy, the sweat that could not be wiped crossed his eyelashes, the curled edge scene with slight pain in the confined field of vision, and the extravagant colors that grew on the ground also swayed around his eyes with the flow of liquid, which reminded him of the difficult times when he endured this discomfort and confronted his fellow trainers in the past training, as long as he squinted his eyes slightly, he would be seized, and he was mostly the one who was caught.

But now there was no one to toss Knight Diego, he avoided a tree trunk, blinked, squeezed out the sweat in his eyes, and his eyes were slightly clearer.

However, the colors that spread have not diminished, and they are indeed spread out in large areas of vision, and all kinds of bright strains are accumulated, many of which are rarely seen in ordinary times, and they are present in the upper and lower directions, more densely than those seen before, but there are no traces of artificial cultivation.

The idea struck him as absurd, how could a man grow mushrooms in the same way that wheat was grown. Not to mention, the fungi were already more luxuriant than they could have imagined, and Diego even felt that if they were allowed to go any further, they would fill the entire forest, taking up every inch of space and squeezing into his armor.

The bizarre disgusting imagination only stayed in his mind for a moment, but it made his tongue smell strange, as if he had really inhaled the mushrooms that filled the world.

"Damn rats, snakes in the gutter!" Diego roared and ran, shifting his emotions to the amateur armed criminal gang that had brought him to this terrible place, a way of conditioning that allowed him to focus.

The mushroom jungle ahead had finally come to an end, and they had finally blocked the group of people on a bay of floating oil-stained dark harbor waters.

The pursuers fled to a crude dock made of black logs and mushroom-lit mushrooms, where there was only a small wooden boat in the water, and the receiver hidden under a hooded robe, drawing an unfashionable ring on the placket with dirty white dye.