Devil's Journey

Chapter 281 Not a Serf
"But that Lich mentor definitely disagrees." Layla shrugged her shoulders, and her indifferent expression became a little more stern: "However, if necessary, those undead can be given up."

"That depends on what the master wants." Liya's scarlet eyes glanced at Occam City, which is tens of kilometers away, and then continued: "Let's build the barracks first, the weather is too bad, Those serfs probably froze to death a lot.”

Leila nodded. She came back from patrolling the camp just now. The condition of the teaching barracks is good. She is in good health and has enough warm clothes. There are not many non-combat losses, but there are many cases of serfs dying from frostbite, just marching , there were a large number of serfs lying down on the road.

Fortunately, there are enough serfs
Every time Locke felt that he was going to be unable to hold on anymore, he would use the wolf tooth pendant he was holding to ruthlessly pierce the top of his collarbone.

The pain brought him back a little bit of consciousness, made him feel alive, and then he insisted until he stopped eating, until the boiling hot vegetable porridge soaked in rough black bread was swallowed, and then he regained his spirits, and then continued to struggle , he doesn't know where he is now, and he doesn't care where he is.

He just wants to go to the battlefield quickly, or die on the battlefield, or successfully advance, and then he doesn't have to keep marching like the walking dead.

Although a hat and apron were removed from a fallen corpse and put on the head and face, the frostbite on the face was still itchy and painful.

Locke didn't know where he would die in the end, but his survival instinct made him not want to just die silently by the roadside, just like his good friend who died silently with unwillingness.

"Get up, get up, there is an army of nobles attacking in front!" The instructor raised the halberd, stepped on the snow, and kicked the tired serfs up.

Although the two god envoys had led their elite troops to break through the towns and castles in front of them, many scattered noble forces fled to the wild, and soon formed small groups, taking advantage of their familiarity with the terrain, to continuously attack those with poor quality. Serf Brigade.

The lack of food and clothing makes the already low physical fitness even weaker, and when it comes to combat skills, it cannot be compared with the capable noble children.

So when they heard the voice of the teaching soldiers, the serfs were a little panicked, but few of them dared to escape. After such a long time, the serfs also understood some truths. Following the Destiny Cult, the death rate may be relatively high.

But if they escaped, not to mention whether they would be caught and beheaded, even if they managed to escape, with their weak physique and poor knowledge, the serfs could hardly survive in the wild.

All the serfs were deeply impressed by the scene where some serfs who were lucky enough to run back cried bitterly and begged the teachers and soldiers to take them in.

More importantly, the Destiny Cult has a drug named Hope,

The barriers of class used to make all serfs feel hopeless, but it is different here in the Mandate of Heaven. Although it is narrow and rugged, it actually exists.

A few high-spirited priests were just lowly serfs a few months ago, but now they are the existences that serfs need to kiss their toes.

This living example aroused ambition in the hearts of the serfs.

Even if you can't become a priest, become a monk, or even become a teacher, it is enough for other serfs to be excited.

So after panicking, the serfs felt excited again, their eyes had a glint of greed, because they were used to being subordinates, so now they just want to be superiors.

"Stand up and line up. If anyone dares to escape later, I will cut off his head!" The instructor reprimanded the serfs loudly, and then led the dozens of serfs under his jurisdiction to move forward slowly.

The serfs holding all kinds of crude farm tools huddled together nervously and excitedly, as if this would bring them more courage.

The snow fell from the treetops, and the white air exhaled by the crowd rose up, like clouds of white mist, and the sound of heavy and somewhat messy footsteps continued.

"Don't mess around, these untouchables will flee timidly soon." A knight wearing a heavy plate armor loudly encouraged his subordinates and soldiers.

As a knight lord who originally enjoyed wealth and honor, he naturally hated the Destiny Cult under the banner of rich and powerful, and he hated those serfs who belonged to the cult.

The mob that fell into his hands never survived, and if time allowed, he would torture and kill the captive serfs who surrendered.

My beloved war horse has lost some weight these days, but it's okay, this is a war horse that is said to have the blood of a monster, not as delicate as ordinary war horses.

The [-] followers and soldiers under him had killed a serf team of [-] people, but they themselves were not killed in battle, only two soldiers were accidentally injured, and the one who injured them was the black-clothed cult soldier who led the serf team.

This is nothing to be proud of. In the eyes of the knights, this is normal, but soon more serf soldiers came from different directions.

The knight sitting on the horse frowned a little. There were too many serfs, and there were hundreds of them. The knight was a little uncertain whether more serf soldiers would come.

"Perhaps, it's time to retreat." The knight thought in his heart, but he had already succeeded in sneak attacks several times, which made him a little greedy. He wanted to charge once, and then crush a serf team, and then shouted the name of the family, Victorious retreat.

"Hey, boys, follow the master and I will smash a group of untouchables again!" He took the lance from the subordinate's hand. This light-weight lance is a high-end product, um, an excellent-level weapon.

It was more expensive than the plate armor on his body, but it was not as expensive as the war horse under his crotch.

The two servants riding ordinary war horses behind them are nephews of the knight, and their blood is nobler than those on foot on the ground.

Knights who believe in noble blood have always been eccentric, which is his pride. Even though his two nephews are not as strong as the few walking followers on the ground, the noble blood can make up for this.

At least that's what he believed in.

The knight's banner is flying. As a bronze-ranked knight-errant, he has some regrets that he failed to enter the silver rank before the age of 30. Oh, he will soon regret that he did not enter the silver rank before the age of 40 and become a square banner The knight is gone.

The square banner knight is only the basis for becoming a real nobleman. The square banner knight may not be able to become a baron, but those who are not as strong as the square banner knight will definitely not be able to become a baron. The lowliness of the blood.

A knight held a heavy lance and led two followers, and began to charge. Although there were hundreds of serfs on the opposite side, the knight firmly believed that the ones who were afraid should be the other side, those humble untouchables.

The facts seemed to be exactly the same. Fear had appeared on the faces of those serfs. It was the fear engraved in their bones, and there was also obedience, the obedience branded by their ancestors for generations.

But the instructors who had already shaken off this brand were roaring and reprimanding the serfs who were starting to panic, and their resounding curses were like whips, lashing at the serfs.

"You are all lowly serfs, I used to be too, my ancestors have been, and now I am no longer a lowly serf, but you are still, if you don't want to be serfs, hold your pitchforks tightly, Scythe, wooden spear, poke that damned knight down! If you win, you can become me!"

(End of this chapter)