Collection, yell

The fleeing woodman sat around the fire in the hotel hall with his group of refugee brothers. They were anxious and unhappy.

"Is the guy we saved a monster?" a man said in a very low voice. His voice seemed to be a candle in the wind, and the crackling sound of charcoal even overshadowed his words. "Or... other... those guys?"[]

"Share, please who they are." Another middle-aged man didn't drink, but his tongue was knotted as if he was drunk. He slapped himself hard—a "pop" sound particularly loud—the pain made his tongue a little obedient. He glanced at the hall in panic, "What should we do?"

No one knows what to do.

Brothers and brothers looked at each other, their eyes full of fear.

"How could they lock us up with those people?" Another person spoke, "We are not monsters! Do the people in this village want us to die and feed that monster?"

"We're going out." Then another person expressed their desire. "We're going out."

The woodcutter did not move. He looked at the quiet, dark staircase and raised his head to stare at the ceiling above his head. He knew that the man he had rescued was on his head, separated by a wall. He couldn't help but tremble his legs.

He couldn't help but wonder if he had done the wrong thing with kindness and brought the monster back to the village from the wilderness.

If he was really a monster... the woodcutter found that he dared not imagine it anymore. There was no need for him to imagine it. Along the way, the destroyed villages he passed by had all the endings in front of him. He was just afraid, afraid that if the village encountered such disaster, it was all caused by him. Even if he died, he could not atone for it.

The woodcutter felt that he should do something, no matter what, even a trivial thing. Otherwise, he would not be able to eliminate the guilt in his heart. He grabbed the logging axe that had been with him for many years, and the hard oak handle had been polished. The familiar touch and heavy burden temporarily suppressed his violently beating heart.

At this moment, his refugee brothers gathered at the door.

They panic and slapped the locked door frantically, the door frames clattered and shaking, and the dust fell down with the trembling. "Let's go out!" they shouted. The voice echoed in the hotel. The woodcutter turned his head and looked at the stairs behind him. They must have been awakened, and he suddenly thought uneasily that we woke them up.

"Damn it, let's go out!"

"Yunjing, you idiots." The militia yelled at them outside the hotel. "If you make trouble, you will throw you all into the cell!"

"We are not prisoners!"

The militia smashed the door panel with the hilt of the sword, "Get back to sleep. It is up to the village chief to decide whether to leave it or not, and it is useless to tell us."

A man suddenly shouted. "Then put us in a cell!" He shouted, "I would rather be a robber and be regarded as a prisoner by you than stay here! Don't lock us up with monsters!"

The woodcutter felt the surroundings pause for several seconds, but the noisy shouts seemed to be able to directly overturn the roof.

Everyone wanted to be a prisoner, and he couldn't help but feel sad about it: when did the world become so sad? Because even his heart was willing to be bound by shackles, and even willing to be tied to a rope, and dragged into a dungeon where there is no light of day. Even facing torture instruments is better than this unknown fear.

"Don't think about it, the sky is coming." The militia was shocked and said nothing. "This... this is impossible."

"Then let's go out." The refugees grabbed the chairs and smashed the door panels hard. "We will die here, you cold-blooded creep!"

"Smash open this door and let's go out by ourselves!"

The woodcutter was surrounded by a group of people to walk to the door. He looked at the brothers shouting beside him and hesitated for a while. He had to admit that the dark stairs on the quiet second floor brought him great pressure. Their noise added to his anger and irritability. He felt that he could hardly think. He raised his logging axe.

However, he felt the weight, and the heavy weight seemed to gather on his axe. He tried to resist this inexplicable force, but no matter how hard he worked, the axe could not move as if it was pulled in his hand by a giant born with divine power... It was not until sweat broke out on his head that he suddenly woke up, and then his clothes were soaked with cold sweat. This force could not come from anything else, it could only be... a monster...

The woodcutter twisted his stiff neck with difficulty. He saw the white gas exhaled from the mouths of the people around him turning into white frost.

The room with fire was filled with a extreme cold, and the room suddenly became silent. In the thrilling fear, they trembled, wrapped their clothes tightly, and looked at each other in fear.

The oil lamp on the table was extinguished. The flames of the candle turned into blue smoke. The flames in the fireplace were also suppressed into cold blue flames, dying.

"What happened?"

"Soldier, speak." A man was almost about to cry. "Please, speak."

There was a quiet outside.

They sucked their spirits, as if they were fixed by magic, and they didn't dare to move. The terrible silence surrounded them, but the sudden terrifying screams broke the silence and made them scream almost at the same time. But in addition to making noises in their throats, they terrified that even the simplest movements were extremely difficult, as if there was an invisible chain that tied them up. Some of them tried their best to put their hands into the buckle and took out their amulets, so these people finally got rid of the dilemma of paralysis. However, their first reaction was not to open the door, but to use their inactive companions as shields and hide behind them. They squatted on the ground, trembling, and stared at the hotel gate with wide eyes because of fear.

Outside the hotel, the militia's screams had turned into low wails and begging sobbing. "Monster, monster-" could not move, and the woodcutter closest to the gate heard their voices clearly. The monster was outside? He was stunned, and even the axe slipped from his palm to the ground without knowing it.

A sudden sound of iron hoof echoed in the air, like the thunder in winter, which was a steady and brutal knocking sound from a galloping war horse. Then a huge shadow covered the door and window. The militia cried in panic, but the screams were cut off, scaryly short.

Then, the sound of iron hooves gradually faded away.

The room was silent for several minutes until the flames in the fireplace burned again. This sudden situation made everyone breathe rapidly, and they all threw away what they were in their hands. But no one went to re-light the candlelight and the oil lamp. All eyes stared at the closed door, the only sound was a low prayer and heavy breathing.

The sticky red liquid flowed into the tavern from under the door. The men grabbed the legs of the chair beside them, as if it was the sword of the Andal Paladin, and several women held the amulet in front of them. The woodcutter swallowed with difficulty. He bent down and picked up the woodcutting axe at his feet, and suddenly felt it was heavy. He slowly raised his arms, and the shiny blade aimed at the door bolt. He paused, no one stopped him. So he slashed heavily... The wood chips flew, and a piece of wood swirled over his eyebrows. The door locked and opened. Two headless corpses fell in the dirty dust. Their heads were left in the middle of the street, and the black pieces of flesh were half hidden in the sacred silver moonlight.

The women screamed in fear, the men cursed. The chair was knocked over, the woodcutter leaned against the wall, his mouth opened as if he had left the water. Some people started crying, and some people vomited. One man rushed into the bar in a frenzy, broke the barrel, and drowned himself in the barrel. The scorching wine made his twitching belly hot. He sat down in the brandy all over the floor, shaking even harder.

It seemed that after a long time, the woodcutter mustered up the courage to look outside again:

A row of huge horse hoof prints spread all the time... It was not like the horses in the mortal world... The woodcutter swore that he had never seen such a big one before...footprints. He forced himself to raise his head: at the end of the footprints, the lights were all gone, hiding under the darkness.

The village died? They survived? The woodcutter couldn't believe it. He slammed the door with all his strength.

The huge noise slightly recalled some of their consciousness. They curled up by the fireplace, squeezed together like penguins, and could feel each other's trembling and cold as if they were frozen.

"Just now, what is that...outside?"

Everyone shook their heads in a consistent frequency. They didn't even dare to look, let alone anything else. The woodcutter saw it a little clearly. In the fog-storm, the figure appeared and disappeared. The figure was not weird in shape, it was a person riding on a horse. He didn't know what it was, nor did he want to know who the knight was. He was a monster! He only knew this! And he might... maybe he killed everyone in the village. In addition to them... not right, there were...

The woodcutter suddenly raised his head and stared at the dark stairs.

From the beginning, they yelled, they smashed the door, they yelled with the militia, and then the knights appeared, and they screamed... all the sounds did not wake them up. They seemed to be... dead? Just above their heads. The woodcutter suddenly realized that the hotel he had thought was safe before was no longer safe.

"Both, upstairs..." Another person also realized this. He pointed his trembling finger at the dark stairs, staring at the woodcutter with horror, unable to say a complete sentence.

Everyone was tighter. They held their breath and curled up in the corner, looking at the broken door creaking in the cold wind, and looking at the silent stairs, in panic all day long. They didn't know what else would come out of the shadows. The woodcutter mustered up his courage to stand up and planned to go and see it alone.

"Don't go!" Several hands grabbed his clothes. "We...we need your...ax."

The woodcutter had to sit down again. He could not live without it. In this long dark night, this cold woodcutting axe was the only thing he could rely on. Although... he deeply doubted whether this mortal weapon used by ordinary people could hurt the knight. Through the window, the woodcutter took a last look at the sky: it was dark. He prayed deeply: Dawn will come soon.


Chapter completed!