Bear with it.

"Okay," he opened his mouth, bit the kettle lid into his mouth, took three deep breaths, and whispered softly: "Then - I owe you."

The next second, he closed his eyes tightly and the wine in the kettle poured down.

The severe pain in my shoulder was like an endless flame, surging together with the burning heat.

He trembled, heard himself making a muffled sound, and felt the kettle lid in his mouth begin to slowly deform.

Finally, the pain passed.

He sweated profusely and spit out the pot lid, stretched out his hands tremblingly to tear off his clothes, and bandaged himself in the way the captain taught him.

The veteran who was watching all this sneered.

"Ha, I can die together with a young nobleman," the veteran said in a mocking tone, "I didn't expect that I would be so lucky."

He ignored the veteran's words.

From the first day he arrived in the Western Wilderness and the Blade Ya Camp, he had to endure such ridicule and ridicule, whether intentional or unintentional, intentional or malicious.

got used to.

"Really?" He said calmly, tightening it one last time.

"No wonder you were assigned to such a good guard when you arrived," the veteran flexed his hands and sighed: "In another year or two, maybe you can become a commander - at least a captain."

He hummed softly.

"What a pity, you are out of luck, recruit." The veteran shook his head.

He felt a little annoyed, although he was grateful for the help the veteran had just given him.

"We are all unlucky," he decided to end the topic. Then he raised his head and looked at the dozen soldiers resting under the sand dunes. Most of them were scarred and looked miserable. He frowned and said, "These are what we live for."

Is anyone coming down?"

"Of course not," the veteran's face looked a little ugly: "There are still some who were captured and ended up worse than death - I heard that the bastards are short of food, and the wild breeds are short of men."

food.

He thought of the human skulls that were inserted into the abandoned camp and strung into one piece, and he suppressed the nausea: "Lack of men?"

"The tribe of Huangzhong is short of men, but don't get me wrong," the veteran sneered: "They will give you a medicine to keep your penis hard until they run out or you die -

Usually, you're dead before they run out."

He looked at the veteran's eyes with ulterior motives, sighed, and stopped thinking about the problem.

"Why can't you think about it?" The veteran's voice came from my ears again: "From the comfortable manor and castle, you stupidly come here to die?"

Oh my god.

Really annoying.

he thought irritably.

But the other party just gave him the jug of wine.

Feeling that his shoulders were feeling much better, he also dimmed his eyes: Yes, why can't I think about it?

At that moment, he suddenly missed his home in Wallaland very much.

That castle full of forbidden doors and keys.

That lifeless manor.

He wished he could use one hand to round up the two and throw them away, the windy sister, and the old man with a prim expression.

He smiled bitterly.

"At least," he sighed, leaning the back of his head on the hot sand: "I can freely choose my own way of death here."

The veteran looked at him quietly and suddenly sneered.

"You should stay in those comfortable manors," the veteran shook his head: "Everything here is so unfair to you, young master."

An unconvinced anger welled up in his heart.

He turned his head and sighed: "It's not fair, what about you? Why do you come to Xihuang? Come to this hell?"

The veteran was slightly startled.

"Me? Ha," the veteran squinted his eyes, seeming to recall the distant past, his voice filled with fatigue and vicissitudes of life: "For someone like me who should have died long ago, exchanging lives with the gray bastards..."

"Nothing can be more fair than this."

He listened to the veteran's words and said nothing.

After a long time, he sighed.

"Hey, recruit," the veteran looked at the sky and said quietly, "I remember."

"There is no glory on the battlefield," the veteran exhaled slowly: "There is only life and death."

"Honor does not belong to the chess pieces," he saw the nostalgia in the veteran's eyes and listened to the veteran murmur:

"Only for chess players."

He tightened the sword in his hand.

That is the glory that belongs to Karabyan.

At least it was the glory it once was.

It's past three o'clock.

But reinforcements haven't arrived yet.

so……

"When will the next wave of pursuit be?" He looked at the sky, despair rising in his heart.

"Almost," the veteran said nonchalantly: "The heat can't stop those gray bastards."

"We're all going to die here."

The next moment, a black shadow appeared on the distant horizon.

It was a huge figure wearing ugly armor, holding a very familiar chain hammer and swinging it out angrily.

And he watched helplessly as the hammer flew towards his head, and saw that the captain's brain was still on it.

His skull was about to be smashed.

He subconsciously struggled up, his eyes filled with stars, and he spoke instinctively.

Severe pain came from my right arm.

"The enemy," he gasped and shouted incoherently, "the enemy is attacking!"

"Orcs!"

Cohen Karabyan roared and sat up in the darkness and severe pain, and subconsciously shouted with all his strength: "The gray bastards are coming!"

But this time, there were no harsh words or ugly curses in response to him.

There was only the sound of the cold iron chains rubbing together, and his own echo.

There was also never-ending severe pain in my right arm.

When Cohen woke up from his nightmare, what he smelled in his nose was the thick smell of lamp oil instead of the dry smell unique to the desert.

Only then did he realize: he was not on the dangerous front line of the Western Wilderness.

The security officer shook his heavy head vigorously, took two breaths, and brought his consciousness back to his body.

"Wake up, Cohen, be careful with your right arm..."

It was Miranda's voice, and it sounded weak.

Cohen, who was enduring severe pain and covered in cold sweat, was shocked to find that his upper body was tightly surrounded by a circle of iron chains, and even his fingers were tied to death.

Unable to move.

"Where are we?"

Cohen turned his head and was not surprised to see Miranda who was also locked up in the dark cell opposite. He exclaimed: "Where's Kaslan!"

"I don't know." The female swordsman revealed half of her haggard and embarrassed face: "It seems to be very close to the Palace of Heroes."

"Shut up, Imperial," a patrol-looking soldier outside the cell would look over his shoulder and say coldly to Cohen: "If you say one more word, I will remove your jaw altogether."

Cohen and Miranda looked at each other, and the latter shook her head slightly at him.

There were at least six people guarding the cell alone.

The security officer moved his ankle, which was also chained, and concluded that he had no chance.

Cohen sighed and fell back to the ground.

At this moment, a thick iron door in the distance was opened.

Light leaks in from the open door.
To be continued...