The sun climbed up to the treetops, and the snow in the dense forest began to melt. Perhaps because there were no humans and animals walking around, the shrubs and grasses showed their super reproductive ability. The forest path that had just been cleared three months ago was once again covered by shrubs and grasses. Art had to pull out his dagger and chop as he walked, barely opening a path. After the snow melted, the jungle looked even more muddy. When Art walked through the hills and streams and through the winding paths of the dense forest, he could vaguely see the grassland on the edge of the dense forest. A morning had passed.
The forest path did not extend to the edge of the dense forest. Art was worried that his enemies would find his habitat, so the entrance to the small path in the dense forest was deliberately hidden, even though he had never found a pedestrian passing through it in the past three years.
From the remaining memories of the original owner and his own shallow knowledge, Art knew that the history of the world he was in and his original world did not completely overlap, but it didn't matter. He was equally unfamiliar with both histories anyway. It was enough to rely on the memory of the original owner to basically understand the world in front of him.
It is said that during the heyday of the empire, this was an important trade route. Wheat grain, linen, woolen cloth, velvet and other goods from the northern continent continuously passed through the dense forest at the north end, passed through the canyon plain, and went out from the winding, steep and deep mountain streams in the south to the rich southern European plains. , and gold, jewelry, spices, dyes, raw silk and even Eastern silk porcelain from the Southern Continent also flowed to the entire Northern Continent through this route... However, hundreds of years of desolation have turned this place into a paradise for mountain birds and beasts, and the once prosperous and rich land has turned into dense forest grass on the soil.
After walking through this dense forest, sweat had soaked through the inner lining of Art. Standing in the wilderness in front of him, a gust of cold wind hit him, making Art feel chilled and relaxed. He put the heavy mountain goods on the grass, opened his bearskin coat, and a cloud of white mist rose from his chest...
Took off the hunting bow quiver and dagger, sat on the ground, and opened the deerskin water bag. He drank a mouthful of cold water so hard that it made him cough. After taking a short rest and swallowing a few mouthfuls of wheat bread with cold water, Art packed up and set off again. He wanted to rush to a stream in the north of the wilderness before the sun set over the mountains. That stream was the only source of water in the entire wilderness...
…
As night falls, in a vast wasteland, there is a thin water belt, and a small bonfire is lit beside the water belt, making a crackling sound. The wild boar meat roasted sizzling on the fire exuded an alluring aroma, the wheat bread skewered with dead branches was already toasty and fragrant, and the deerskin water bladder was placed a little further away to absorb the remaining heat of the campfire and gradually became warm.
At his back leaned against a pile of furry mountain animals, he pulled out the single-edged hunting knife with a wooden handle from his waist, reached out and cut off a piece of browned pork, then carefully took out the salt bag, pinched a handful of salt grains and sprinkled it evenly on the barbecue, and then enjoyed the satisfaction of his taste buds with the toasted bread...
A fairly sumptuous dinner made Ater feel hot, and the cold air around him was also dissipated by the slight bonfire. Art got up and went around the camp again to collect dead branches and shrubs. There was a large shrubbery upstream of the stream. Many dead branches and leaves drifted here along the stream, leaving a lot on the beaches on both sides of the stream. These dead branches and leaves were barely enough to keep the bonfire burning weakly all night. You must know that in this winter snowy wilderness, a night without a bonfire would be hell.
The night was already very deep, and Art felt a little tired from the day's journey, and his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier...
"Howl~~~"
At suddenly started to wake up!
"Howl~~~aww~~~" The wolf howls are getting closer and closer.
In a short breath, Art had fastened his dagger and hunting knife. Several iron-tipped light arrows were clasped in the left hand holding the bow. His right hand had already nocked the arrow and nocked the bow. His eyes were fixed on the direction of the sound without moving...
After a while, he slowly put down the hunting bow. He carefully analyzed the wolf howl. It was not a pack of wolves, but just two or three steppenwolves hunting in the wilderness.
Having only relaxed a little, Art reacted immediately with the instinct of the original owner and three years of learning - he piled all the dead branches and leaves on the bonfire. In an instant, the bonfire burned violently and raised high flames, illuminating the surrounding wilderness.
Matt quickly pulled out a burning thick branch from the fire as a torch, and kept picking up dead branches and leaves and dry grass that were not soaked by the melting snow on the river beach near the camp to add to the fire.
“I hope this open fire will make the wild wolves afraid~” Art prayed.
Although Art kept searching around for firewood for burning, the vegetation in this wilderness was limited, and he did not dare to run further in the dark to collect it. The fire was getting smaller and smaller, and without the protection of firelight, God knew whether the cunning Steppenwolf would suddenly appear from behind him.
He has lived in the forest for three years and is well aware of the ferocity and cunning of wolves. With the help of sufficient preparations and traps, Art almost lost his life when faced with a jungle wolf that had been trapped for three days. This was an unsheltered wilderness, a hunting ground dominated by steppenwolves. At this moment, he became the prey.
The waning moon was sinking little by little, and it was almost approaching the mountain line at the end of the wasteland. The cold air was getting thicker and thicker, and the embers of the bonfire were still glowing slightly red. Art was lying on his side next to the fire with his sword in his arms. The extreme nervousness in the middle of the night drained his energy, and sleepiness came over him...
In the middle of the night, after the bonfire burned fiercely, the howling of the wolves gradually faded away. In this wilderness that no one had set foot on for many years, the effect of the open fire on the wolves was obvious.
周遭的安静和困意让亚特渐渐放松了警惕，他的眼皮又越来越重~越来越沉，意识开始慢慢模糊了...…
「啪」
「嗷~该死」
亚特被一截炸裂木炭弹起的火星烫了一哆嗦，他赶紧抖去手上的火星～
After taking the photo, Art subconsciously glanced at the position of the waning moon.
This glance frightened him.
Between two small rocks less than ten steps away from him, two eyes with faint green light were staring at him...
A stray Steppenwolf's hind legs were slightly bent, and its front legs were stretched forward, making a pose. In a downward swooping posture, the pointed ears are not as straight as other wolves. The fur is gray, the teeth have turned yellow, and the body is thin. Only the tail is as white as snow. In the shadow of the moon, it looks like a section of the tail has been broken. It must have not eaten for many days.
Last night, the few Steppenwolves who were frightened by the fire stood and watched from a distance, and finally chose to leave. They were not afraid of the upright animals with two legs, but they were afraid of the bright flames. Shortly after the few Steppenwolves disappeared, an old and frail old wolf appeared in the shadow not far away...
In the wilderness covered by heavy snow, the old lone wolf can no longer catch up with the wilderness antelope and larger prey. It has not had enough food for a long time. The aroma of roasting food attracts it. It is afraid of the fire but cannot resist the temptation of food. After lurking quietly for most of the night, the bonfire in the distance is getting fainter...
When Art's vigilance began to drop and he became sleepy, the lone wolf's opportunity finally came. He pressed his soft feet to the ground and moved quietly and slowly towards the burned out fire. The prey was getting closer step by step. Just when the lone wolf was about to pounce on the prey, there was a burst from the fire. The lone wolf was frightened and took a few steps back, retreating into the shadow...
Silence, deathly silence.
The lone wolf took the cold-gleaming sharp blade in Art's hand. Art was afraid of the lone wolf's glowing green eyes and bared fangs. One person and one wolf were facing each other~
"We can't continue in this stalemate, I will fall first..." Art's tense thoughts kept racing, and his mind kept searching for the memory of dealing with the wild wolf, whether it was the original owner or his own. He didn't want to die, at least he didn't want to die disgustingly in the mouth of a skinny, lazy old wolf.
The lone wolf seemed to have noticed the fierce light in the prey's eyes before it struggled to death. It took half a step back slightly, its body lowered and its nose quivered.
Hate's eyes were fixed on the lone wolf. He held the sword in his right hand and gently touched his waist with his left hand. He slowly pulled out the hunting knife. He took a half-step forward with his left foot, slightly bent his right foot and leaned forward slightly.
"Roar!" The lone wolf took half a step faster and rushed to the front in one breath, leaping towards Art. Art's legs stopped and he half-bent his body, narrowly avoiding the fatal bite of the lone wolf. The wolf fell to the ground, causing a cloud of dust to rise up, and then he bent over and rushed back.
Matt has already lost half a step, and the lone wolf didn't give him a chance to breathe. He had no choice but to surrender and turn around to face the lone wolf. At this time, he no longer trembled, and the fierceness in his body surged up. He held the sword in his right hand and slashed at the lone wolf. The hunting knife in his left hand stabbed upward from between his waist and legs. The lone wolf bit the dagger, but he did not dodge the hunting knife coming from the side and below.
"Ouch~" The lone wolf who was stabbed in the right rib howled in pain and jumped a few steps away. Taking advantage of the victory, Art threw out the hunting knife in his left hand. The handle of the knife hit the lone wolf's hind leg bone hard, and the lone wolf let out another wail...
Out of instinct, after receiving a fatal threat, the lone wolf began to whine and retreat. After Art shouted loudly and tried to rush forward with a sword, the lone wolf finally realized the power of its prey and began to retreat sideways~
Art, who took a breath and stared at the slowly retreating lone wolf, quickly retreated to the fire, dropped the dagger, quickly squatted down with bent legs, picked up the hunting bow, pulled out a light arrow, and nocked it. The bow fired sharply at the lone wolf who was more than ten steps away. The lone wolf ducked, and the sharp arrow passed by and nailed into the grass...
Looking at the lone wolf limping away gradually, Art no longer had the strength to shoot a second arrow. A night of confrontation and several rounds of fighting drained all his strength. Seeing that the lone wolf was seriously injured and fled and disappeared into the horizon, his body softened and he lay on the ground...
On the second day, the sky was slightly bright, and Art had already swallowed a few mouthfuls of wheat bread with the leftover barbecue last night, hurriedly packed up his sword and hunting bow, picked up the packed fur mountain animals, and quickly left the camp by the stream.
He was terrified of last night's danger. If it hadn't been for the exploding sparks that scalded him awake, giving him the last moment to respond; if it were those sturdy steppenwolves that attacked him instead of an old lone wolf; if he hadn't unleashed a fatal thrust at the critical moment... If any of them had become a reality, he would have turned into a pile of broken bones hanging with rotten flesh.
Ignoring his dizziness and body aches, Art walked towards the north of the wasteland from when the sun just raised its head to the zenith of the sun.
He was very tired and tired, but he was worried that the lone wolf would continue to entangle him, and he was even more worried that the few steppenwolves that left yesterday would return. If a few steppenwolves followed him, there would be no more luck or if.
At noon, Art didn't dare to cook meat over the fire, so he cut a piece of smoked venison in a pile of huge rocks in the wilderness and ate a few bites. He lay in the shade for a while and got up on the road again just as the sun set.
When the sun set on the top of the mountain, Art was already close to the northern edge of the wasteland. A large sparse birch forest appeared at the end of the wasteland. Half a day's journey north of the birch forest, there was a manor village called Lane, which was a manor owned by Baron Basel Chris.
Since last spring, sporadic bandits have begun to appear on this road leading to the north. Just in case, he has to rest in the birch forest tonight, where there is an abandoned hunter's cabin.
When we arrived at the abandoned cabin, it was already dark. Art picked up a pile of dead wood branches in the dark and lit a fire in the fire pit of the wooden house. After a simple meal and drink, the wooden house soon began to be filled with snoring sounds, and there was no words for the whole night~
At noon the next day, Art had already seen traces of human activities - a large area of flat farmland, where winter wheat had been planted, and the farmers only needed to wait for the spring breeze to wake up the buds.
Through the end of the large farmland, there are several tall oaks and red pine trees. Under the trees are sparsely distributed about twenty short-roofed huts built of stone, pine and thatch. Smoke is rising from the roofs, and the smoke is blown by the cold wind to the center of the village. There is a round fortress made of wood and stone about two hundred feet long and fifty feet high. The top is a circular stacked wall and a simple wooden watchtower. An oak door with copper buckles and rivets is inlaid at the bottom of the round castle. Several small square windows are arranged above the door from bottom to top - that is the manor castle of Baron Bazell, but Baron Bazell does not live here. It is just a small manor under his name and is taken care of by his retainers and stewards.
At walked into the village, some farmers walked out of the huts on both sides of the muddy road. They were wrapped in old linen cloths, bulging with hay, stooped at the waist, and looked at Ater with dull and wary eyes.
They met Art from the south one evening at the end of last summer. However, Art did not stay in the village, so when the steward arrived with two manor guards, he had already left Lane Village. At that time, the steward did not dare to chase the guy who the villagers said looked like a forest bandit based on the belief that doing more is worse than doing less.
At noon today, when the lame blacksmith reported to the housekeeper that the guy came to the village again last summer, the housekeeper was worried: "I'm afraid he is being targeted by bandits!"
"Jon, how many people have come? Are there any outside the village?" The housekeeper immediately asked.
"No, no one else, just a young hunter," the lame blacksmith replied.
The housekeeper hesitated for a moment and asked the servants to close the gate of the manor tightly. He also ordered the only two manor guards to put on leather armor and weapons and follow him to take a look.
At this time, Art was sitting under an oak tree at the entrance of the village. Not far away, there were three or five slightly hostile farmers holding farm tools and wooden sticks. He regretted entering the village.
In the past, he always bypassed the village far away. Last year, when he was on his way carrying heavy goods and daringly passed through the village in order to save time, he saw the manor. Later, after learning in a tavern in Tyniec that this small village named Lane was the territory of Baron Bazel, Art decided to bring the mountain goods here to try his luck. Baron Bazel, who is famous for his bravery and war, would definitely be interested in bearskins and wolf pelts, and he might be able to make a huge profit and buy them at a high price...
The housekeeper had already arrived at the entrance of the village and murmured with the farmers for a long time. After sending a nimble-legged guy out of the village to investigate, he led the guards and several farmers towards Ate.
Att did not wait for Baron Barzel, but instead waited for a bald, big-eared, fat-headed guy. The guy leaned back slightly, using the farmer's body to block himself, and looked at Art.
"Where did the robber come from? Do you know that this is Baron Bazel's manor?" the butler yelled and retracted his head.
At looked at the guy in front of him who was strong on the outside but capable on the inside, he couldn't help but feel contempt. Loosening his hand on the hilt of the sword, Art bowed slightly and said:
"Dear Sir, please allow me to pay the highest respect to the heroic Baron Baron. As you can see, I am not a forest robber. , I'm just a hunter from the south."
"Just a hunter?" The steward moved out from behind the farmer, looked at Art carefully, and then looked at the large bag of mountain fur behind Art.
The sentry from outside the village came back and whispered in the housekeeper's ear, and the housekeeper suddenly changed his face.
"You'd better not be poaching in my Baron's territory, or you'll suffer the consequences!" After confirming the identity of the visitor, the butler walked up behind Art, kicked the pile of leather goods with his short legs, and turned around to signal everyone to relax.
"Dear Sir, here are bear skins, wolf skins, deer skins, antlers, fox skins, mink skins, and some other animal skins, all of which are good things.” Ate spoke of his treasures.
"Deerskin? This is a good thing, not easy to get."
It wasn’t that the robbers’ attack made the housekeeper feel more relaxed. Art’s words of “adult” were more useful to the fat housekeeper who had been a slave all his life. The guy in front of him seemed quite pleasing to the eye, and he had already decided to only charge him a deerskin transit tax.
The steward put away his skirt, crouched down, opened his bag, and picked out a very attractive deer skin. When he turned to leave, he also picked up two rabbit skins and threw them to the two guards. Looking at the back of the man who left calmly, Art just realized - this was forced! ! !
"Sir, I gave you two rabbit skins, but the deer skin in your hand is worth sixty copper pfennigs." Art took a few steps forward.
The housekeeper stopped, turned around slowly, and stared at Art as if he was seeing a monster.
"Man, do you think you are a messenger of God? Every inch of the ground you step on is the sacred territory of the Baron. You set foot on the Baron's territory with a lot of hunts of unknown origin. Shouldn't you pay something for it?"
"Let me ask you, you said you came from the south, but do you have a document with a lacquer seal? I now doubt that you have anything like this. It was poached from the forest of Earl Salas in the east! !” The butler glared and shook his mustache, with a ferocious look on his face~
“What about it, man, is this deerskin still worth anything now?”
"I will tolerate this bad breath for the time being." Art spat towards the ground.