In a bustling tavern not far from the military camp in Besançon Square, a well-built drunkard wearing loose linen trousers and a naked upper body was having a rough time with the shopkeeper while he was drunk.
The owner of the tavern with a red beard and a pockmarked face rolled up his sleeves, put his fat face against the drunkard's nose, and growled in a low voice: "Angus, how much money do you owe me for drinks? Look at what you are like now. You can't even get back a few silver coins if you sell it to a slave trader. If it weren't for the fact that you have been a neighbor for many years, I would have asked someone to drive you away. Do you still have the nerve to beg me for a drink? "
"Get out!!" The shopkeeper pointed at the door of the store.
The drunk named Angus ignored the shopkeeper's cynicism and growling, and planned to bypass the shopkeeper and jump into the wine cabinet to search for drinks.
The shopkeeper grabbed the drunkard’s arm to prevent him from entering the wine cabinet. The drunkard was upset and punched the shopkeeper on the head. The shopkeeper’s nose was bruised and his face was bleeding.
"Angus, you bastard!" the shopkeeper shouted angrily, and several bartenders and cooks from the back room of the tavern came to the front room carrying sticks and surrounded the drunken man.
Several drinking guests saw that the atmosphere was not right, so they hid aside with their glasses in their hands, making noises while drinking.
The drunken man leaned on the wooden platform in front of the wine cabinet, looked at the fierce and strong men surrounding him, smiled and said to the shopkeeper: "Hey, man, it seems you are prepared for today?"
The shop owner covered his bleeding nose and replied bitterly: "Angus, I respect you for being a warrior once, but I didn't expect that you have become a complete gangster now. I must teach you a profound lesson today."
The drunkard took off his belt and wrapped it around his hands. He tilted his head and spat, and replied: "You guys want to teach me a lesson? Come on!"
After saying that, the drunkard raised his fist and hit the shop owner...
Art and Ron pushed aside a woman with colorful makeup who was a pimp on the street, and walked straight towards the military camp. Many pedestrians and vendors gathered around the entrance of the tavern to watch the excitement. There was a loud banging sound in the tavern, the sound of smashing clay pots and cracking wooden tables continued to be heard. The whistling of sticks and fists hitting meat were heard from time to time. There were bursts of screams and cheers from the onlookers.
"Sir, there seems to be a fight in the pub in front~" Ron said as he stopped at the street corner, weighed his feet and looked at the crowd in front of him.
Art had no intention of going around and watching the excitement like those extremely bored citizens, "It's just gangsters causing trouble, nothing to care about, let's go."
Ron also felt that street gang fights were really boring compared to battle battles, so he hurried a few steps to catch up with Art.
Just as the two of them were trying to get around the crowd of people watching at the entrance of the tavern, a naked drunkard was carried and thrown out of the tavern by several bartenders, causing the onlookers to stare at the drunkard's lower body and exclaim.
"Get out! If you dare to approach my tavern again, I will make it impossible for you to crawl." The owner of the tavern shouted at the naked drunkard outside the door.
A bartender with a bruised nose and face saw the drunkard lying unconscious on the ground and had no intention of letting him go. He walked up and poked the drunkard with a half-broken fire stick. When he found that the drunkard was not dead, he spit a mouthful of thick phlegm at the drunkard. With a distorted and swollen face, he yelled at the drunkard: "Bah! Don't you call yourself the Bloody Tomahawk? Get up and give me an axe~ You bastard! Go to the street and become a beggar!" Then he picked up the stick and planned to beat him again, so as to soothe his bruised face just now.
“That’s enough!” the owner stopped the bartender from swinging his stick.
Art, who had just walked through the door of the tavern, suddenly stopped. Ron bumped into Art without noticing.
"Sir, what's the matter?"
"Ron, did you hear what was just said over there?"
Ron was confused and replied: "Someone said "Enough!""
"The previous sentence? Did someone mention the "Blood Tomahawk"! ”
Ron thought for a while, “Yes, it’s the Bloody Tomahawk. Master, what is the Bloody Tomahawk?”
The "bloody battle ax" the bartender joked about fell into Art's ears, and thunder rang out instantly.
"Bloody Axe" is a name familiar to the "original owner" of this body, Art, when he accompanied his father in the Eastern Expedition.
Six years ago, the sixteen-year-old original master Art had just become a Holy Order sergeant. During a battle, Art's Holy Order detachment was ambushed by the local army. The leader of the Holy Order knights, knight attendants and a dozen Holy Order sergeants were shot on the spot. Kill, Art and the remaining thirty or so sergeants, led by a young sergeant named Angus, fought desperately. The brothers around him died one by one, and the horses under him fell one by one. In the end of the battle, the spears in the hands of the soldiers were broken and the daggers were curled. , after the sergeant major cut the throat of an enemy soldier with the curled sword in his hand, he picked up the long-handled battle ax dropped by the enemy soldier and roared his horse to rush towards the dense enemy. The blood mist that the sergeant major burst into the formation boiled the blood of the soldiers. The soldiers behind picked up the enemy's weapons one after another, climbed on their horses and launched a final desperate charge towards the enemy. The sergeant major immediately wielded his long-handled battle ax and slashed at the enemy like crazy, carving out a breakthrough from the enemy...
In that ambush battle, two hundred pagan cavalry ambushed Art's Holy Order detachment. One Knight of the Holy Order, five attendants and thirty-seven sergeants in the detachment were killed on the spot. The remaining thirteen Holy Order sergeants followed the sergeant major carrying the bloody battle ax and rushed out of the encirclement and entered the vast desert~
The enemy kept chasing, and the sergeant major led Art and the others to run away in the desert for a whole day. By the time they got rid of the enemy's pursuit, Art and the others had lost their way and survived. More than a dozen soldiers walked in the desert for five days. The scorching sun burned the pus and blood from the wounds into black scabs. The iron armor on their bodies was burnt and shiny. There was no water source in the desert, there were no doctors, and there was no holy light of God. In the end, everyone could only rely on slaughtering their own horses to drink blood and eat meat to avoid being wiped out. In the end, only eight of the thirteen soldiers who escaped the enemy's ambush walked out of the desert and returned to the Holy Group's stronghold.
Since then, the sergeant major has been called the "Scarlet Battle Ax" by the soldiers in the Holy Order...
After returning from the desert, Art's father, Old Baron Wells, transferred Art to his own Holy Order unit. Soon after, he became disheartened. Baron Wells took Art with him and evacuated the Holy Land and returned to his hometown...
...................................
Ate squatted down and turned over the drunkard who was lying on the ground like a dead dog.
"Sergeant major?" Art shouted in surprise.
The drunk man on the ground couldn't hear any sound at all. He was already drunk and unconscious.
"Ron, go find some clothes."
Even though Ron didn't understand what was going on, he rushed into the tavern without hesitation, threw two silver coins to a drunkard, took off his coarse cloth coat, picked up a pair of shorts on the ground, and ran out of the store to put the drunkard on.
Yat tried to wake up the drunkard again, but the drunkard still did not move, "Can any of you tell me what's going on?"
The crowd onlookers didn't know what was going on and kept silent.
At this time, the owner of the tavern stood up hesitantly and replied: "My lord, this guy was drunk and causing trouble in my shop, and I kicked him out."
Att stood up and asked the owner: "Do you know his name?"
"Angus Doyle, he is my neighbor~ Sir, do you know this guy?"
Matt ignored the shopkeeper's question and turned to stare at the drunkard on the ground. The drunkard turned over and grunted a few times.
Art didn't know what this former warrior had been through. He shook his head, turned to the shopkeeper and said: "Man, since he is your neighbor, please send him home~"
"Sir, this guy not only owed me wine money but also damaged my tavern - I don't want to send him back." The shopkeeper said reluctantly.
"How much does he owe you?"
"Hmm, probably, at least one to two hundred pfennigs, well, including the things he broke today, two hundred pfennigs!" The shopkeeper looked at Art's dress and offered a very high price.
Matt took out two silver marks from the money bag around his waist and threw them to the owner of the tavern, "Find a few people to take him home."
The owner took the silver coins and looked at them carefully, then asked a few bartenders to lift the drunken man and walk to the east of the city.
"Ron, you go back to the camp first, I'll go back later."
Ron took the order and returned to the square camp, while Art followed the tavern owner to the drunkard's home...... .........
Dilapidated wooden houses, old furniture, dusty rooms, carpets full of wine smell, pottery pots and wine bottles rolling around on the floor, rats running rampant in the corners, this is the home of Angus Doyle, the former sergeant major of the Holy Legion "Scarlet Battle Ax", in Besançon.
Matt pulled out a broken wooden stool from the corner of the wooden house, sat down on the edge of the wooden bed, looked at the drooling drunk in front of him, and said to himself: "It seems that you are not the only frustrated holy warrior~"
Matt just sat quietly in the dilapidated wooden house, recalling the original owner in the Holy Land. Going through the scenes, I was thinking about how to recruit this fierce general...
The sky slowly turned dark, and before he knew it, Art had fallen asleep...
Suddenly, Art felt something strange, and when he opened his eyes, a sharp dagger was already placed on his throat.
"Don't move, your neck is not as strong as you think." A voice full of alcohol smelled from behind.
Matt clenched his hands and said calmly: "Relax! Sergeant, can't you hear my voice?"
Slowly loosened the short knife around his neck.
The sound of rummaging and the sound of the fire sickle being struck were heard in the wooden house, and then the wooden house lit up.
Angus picked up the candle and put it in Art's face. He was surprised and asked, "Are you ~ little Wells ~ Art?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major, I am Sergeant Art Wood Wells of the Holy Order."
Angus was surprised for a moment, and then became cold for a moment. He went under the wooden bed and took out a wine bottle, raised his head and took a big sip, and then said to Art with the smell of wine: "Master Art, didn't you leave the Holy Land and go back to your hometown? Why did you come to Burgundy? You came to me specifically? I am not worthy of a personal visit from a noble young master~"
Angus surrounded Yat Te turned around and flipped Art's chainmail hood, "Man, I didn't expect you to be so tall now. How is your sick father?"
"The Wells family has been deprived of its Lordship. I am now a trainee knight in the County of Burgundy." Art sat straight on the spot and let Angus wander around.
Angus stopped wandering around, walked up to Art, glanced up and down, put down the bottle and remained silent.
Matt broke the silence and asked: "Sergeant, I saw you being beaten at the door of the pub today~"
Angus smiled, picked up the bottle and took a sip, "That shopkeeper was my former neighbor and Good brother, I owe him wine money. If I give him a chance to beat him up, I can write off the wine debt openly~"
Matt looked around the cabin, turned to Angus and said: "Sergeant Major, I guess you haven't had a good life these years, okay?"
“Well, as you can see, it’s really not that good~” Angus looked indifferent.
"As he spoke, he shook the wine bottle in his hand.
Matt didn't want to talk too much to a man who was pretending to sleep, so he directly explained his purpose: "Sergeant Major, I am now responding to the palace's call to lead soldiers to participate in the war with Swabia. I hope to continue to fight side by side with an outstanding warrior like you and establish meritorious deeds. As long as you are willing, I can give you a very high salary."
Angus sneered: "Hahaha ~ Apprentice knight? Enlist? Fight? Art, I guess the pagan steel swords and axes didn't scare your courage, but burned your brain, right? A trainee knight with seven or eight farm tools A farmer dares to make false claims about conquering the battlefield and achieving meritorious deeds? "
Att was not moved at all and retorted: "My courage is still with me. I wonder if the sergeant major's courage is still in that cannibalistic desert~"
Angus saw that Art's eyes were firm and unmoved by his ridicule, and he lost interest. He raised his head and took another sip of strong wine, saying: "You go, I don't want to deal with weapons anymore."
Art said no more, stood up and pushed open the broken wooden door. When he went out, Art pointed to a long-handled battle ax on the wall that was polished and glowing with blood, and said softly: "You have never forgotten your beliefs."
“My military camp is on the west side of the church square. If you think about it, you can come to me.” The voice gradually disappeared into the night.