The slender blades of grass obscured the view like a dense forest.
Only through the gaps between the grass can one see the deford gray-black clouds in the sky.
The rain mist splashed onto Horn’s face, yet there was little chill.
With his nose close to the ground, he could just sll the grassy scent emitted by the moist soil.
It seems like he has traveled through ti.
Horn was so certain because at the last mont of his mory, he saw the yellow license plate of a heavy Da Yun truck and the distant, azure sky.
He had already lded into the blue sky.
Indeed, the mont he gazed far, a Hunter’s Hut, which could be described as a dieval stereotype, appeared on the hillside.
It was made of log walls, a board fra, and a thatched roof, with a cross resembling the shape of "屮" standing at the peak of the gabled eaves, and beneath the eaves hung an old lynx skin, shrunken from drying.
Involuntarily, Horn tried to move his head, but no matter how hard he tried, his sight remained fixed, and he wanted to shout, but no sound ca out.
What’s going on? Has the soul not adapted to the new body yet?
Just as Horn tried to control his body to rise, his right ear close to the ground caught the sound of approaching footsteps.
Horn imdiately ceased his attempt.
Together with the rapidly approaching footsteps, were curses mixed with the sound of tal clashing.
This language of cursing was one Horn had never heard, yet surprisingly he could understand.
"There’s clearly food in the forest, we clearly don’t have to starve, why can’t we go in to forage?"
It was a slightly hoarse girl’s voice, she panted heavily, roaring like a lioness.
"Hungry? Hungry for what? I too suffered from the flood, didn’t I? Why don’t I feel hungry? Sotis, look into yourself, maybe you’re not pious enough in your faith, have you been praying properly all these years?"
A cold sneer from an adult man answered the girl’s question, followed by the whoosh of sothing slicing through the air.
The harsh screech of tal flashed by, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground, and as Horn lay on the ground, he heard the sound of sothing dragging through the mud.
...Why does that sound seem to be getting closer?
The blades of grass in front of him began to tremble, raindrops shook off onto the ground, and the splattering mud even hit Horn’s face.
Eyes widening, Horn looked straight ahead.
Like Moses parting the sea, a large, full rear suddenly parted the grass in front of him, sliding through the wet earth to his nose, filling Horn’s entire view.
With a solid touch on his face, Horn couldn’t help but be dumbfounded.
For so reason, he felt this rear looked familiar.
He took a deep breath, the sll was familiar too.
Just before he recalled who it was, the rear left his sight.
Propping herself up with a grass fork, the girl stood up with trembling legs, her left leg slightly forward, and posed a right iron gate stance of short spear technique towards the knight in front of her.
Thanks to the girl’s act of parting the grass, the path was finally cleared for Horn’s vision.
Through the girl’s legs, he saw the man who had spoken.
He was about six feet tall, with a bulbous nose and a handlebar mustache, and under his pale lips was a set of filthy yellow teeth.
The black lacquer on his Milanese-style half armor was a bit washed out from the rain, and in his claw-like iron gloves, he held a hand-and-a-half sword about four feet long.
He rested the hand-and-a-half sword on the round plate of his wrought iron shoulder guard, his eyes fixed on the girl’s body as he licked his chapped lips with a crimson tongue.
He was a Knight, Horn just knew, even an unexpected anger inexplicably welled up in him.
Behind the man, between him and the hut, was a group of peasant farrs huddled together like quail, trembling.
Most of them wore earth-yellow linen smock robes, over which they wore a woolen vest, tied a hemp rope around their waists, and donned hooded cloaks or scarves on their heads, barefoot, standing in the mud.
"Is the so-called friendship of His Excellency the Bishop more important than your subjects?" The girl took a step toward the man in front of her, shouting with tears in her voice, "We just want to live, what wrong have we done?"
"The forest is the Church’s property, letting you enter the forest to forage? How can the unclean desecrate the sacred land!"
"But I’ve told you, my Lord Miseria spoke to in a dream last night, saying the forest is a treasure granted by God to the poor, as long as the poor..."
"It’s laughable when you ntion Miseria."
Before the girl could finish, the Master Knight interrupted her with a sneer: "I’ll give you two choices, either let have my way once and I’ll spare your life, or end up like your brother, with your head chopped off by !"
"You vile scum, you will face retribution!"
The image of the figure pushing her away flashed in her mind, and the young girl trembled all over, raising the pitchfork in her hand as she lunged fiercely at the Master Knight.
The pitchfork cut through the air with a sharp whistle, tracing an arc as it aid precisely for the Master Knight’s neck.
But before it could reach its target, the Master Knight effortlessly intercepted the pitchfork with the strong blade of his sword, easily twisting his sword upward, nearly disarming the girl.
The girl’s knight breathing technique was only at the first stage, not to ntion her martial skills; she was rely a plaything in the hands of an armored knight at the squire knight level.
As the girl distanced herself from the knight, Horn’s vision expanded once again.
Though he couldn’t turn his head, the disappearance of obstacles significantly widened his view.
His gaze road around; his current position was on a low hill, at most ten ters high.
Below the hill, turbid floodwaters flowed slowly, with only the towering red mill revealing half its face, while wooden planks, wagons, thatch, and the bodies of people or livestock bobbed in the water.
The rain surged like ocean waves in the wind, incapable of disturbing the solidified gray-white mist in the black pine forest.
A small path in front of the black pine forest stretched all the way to Horn’s view, and directly opposite the path was a headless body dressed in a padded jacket.
This must be the "scapegoat brother" the knight ntioned belonging to the young girl.
Decapitated, what a royal treatnt... Wait!
Hey, that’s not right!
Looking at the headless body over there, his sight struggled to move to his chin, but no matter how hard he tried, Horn couldn’t see or sense even a trace of his body’s existence.
The scapegoat is ?!
Dead before crossing over, dead after crossing over; wasn’t this crossing for nothing?
Before crossing, even if he had a stroke of luck, at least he had an intact body!
No wonder he could only move his eyes and not his perspective; he was left with just a head.
Perhaps because head-to-body cooling is more efficient, Horn quickly cald down.
According to the yellow-toothed knight’s words, the owner of this body was the brother of that young girl, whom he just saw?
Shifting his gaze once again to the fighting girl and the knight, Horn began to scrutinize the girl carefully.
She was about 1.7 ters tall, a high school age, with long, shiny black hair braided into a plait that hung at her waist.
An男子-style shirt with sleeve ties revealed her fair skin beneath, with leather riding pants on her lower body.
The girl wore a knee-length cloak, a slender belt around her slim waist, and her pitchfork danced like the wind.
Sadly, such attacks were ineffectual.
Even if she landed one or two blows on the knight, it at most abraded a bit of paint off his armor.
A pitchfork couldn’t be made of good iron; not breaking was already giving face.
Compared to fighting, the knight seed more like he was toying with the girl.
Every ti, he could have struck her with his longsword but insisted on using the sword’s flat side, constantly wearing her out.
After about two and a half minutes, the Master Knight finally grew tired of it.
Facing an oncoming pitchfork, he dashed forward, reaching out his iron hand to seize it.
Before the girl could react, the poml of the sword hit her forehead heavily.
In an instant, the girl’s forehead swelled high, turning a bluish-purple.
Staggering, she retreated three to five steps, trying to steady herself with the pitchfork but unable to, ultimately collapsing to the ground.
Only at this mont did Horn finally see the girl’s face from the front clearly.
Unlike other farm girls’ coarse skin, this girl’s face was pure and flawless, as delicate as white jade, her eyes blacker than obsidian, whiter than alabaster.
Raindrops wetted a few stray locks of her hair, pressing them against her cheek. Whether it was rain or tears, they slid from her eyes down to her chin along her cheekbones.
It feels so familiar.
That is, that is an important person; a person who cannot be forgotten. A sharp pain shot through his brain, and Horn couldn’t help but frown. Who? Who is it?
Jeanne D’Arc.
The na Jeanne D’Arc suddenly erupted in Horn’s mind.
Like igniting a fuse, the sealed mories in his mind exploded overwhelmingly.
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