Sword of Daybreaker

It has been a few days since the news of the victory in the Eastern Front. In the southern regions where information transmission channels are more developed, more and more news is spreading between cities and villages.

At the end of the street, in the pub room, almost everyone is eager to discuss the recent amazing and exciting news, discussing the past of the Ansu royal family and the future of the Cecil empire, even if it is in this land. The most ordinary citizens will also express their opinions on similar topics, even if the opinions are ridiculous and shallow.

In Shishicheng, a pub in the merchant area, the bright magic stone lamp dispels the dimness at dusk, and the rows of wine bottles placed on the bar counter are shimmering, and the wine in the bottle is illuminated. With a fascinating brilliance, a small machine resembling a cabinet is placed next to the bar. The small machine is spreading the country tune that the Southland people love. The rhythm is simple and bright and cheerful.

A light illuminates the nameplate on the top of the small machine, and the words "Corder House" are shining on the surface of the brass nameplate.

A man in a tooling suit sat in front of the bar. He took the beer mug handed over by the bartender and lifted it slightly: "Cheers for the off hours."

"Joe, look at the recent newspaper?" A tall, thin man sat next to him and said casually, "The royal family is going to the end - even the king has taken the initiative to abdicate."

"Inevitably, Mr. Godwin did not say it - the kingship is over. This beating is down, and the kingdom can't keep up. If it is not for the army rescue in the south, I am afraid that the north will be completely finished. The royal family has already controlled. Can't live without the situation, what can be done without restructuring..."

"It is also true that the newspaper said that the eastern plains of the Holy Spirit have completely turned into ruins. If the Cecil Army did not block the river in time, the West could not keep it."

"To pay tribute to Gao Wen? Cecil - we will soon ask him to kneel down," the man in the tooling smiled and shook the cup in his hand. "It's not bad, he is much better than the king...say the king Who is coming?"

"It’s Welsh just retiring, but I guess what you want to say is François... There isn’t much difference anyway, we don’t know.”

The two laughed and it seemed that no one regretted the end of the Ansu royal power.

For a long time in the past, people in the South have not cared about their king. This abandoned land has been self-defeating since a century ago. For the distant St. Sunil and the Silver Fort, many southern people It will even be treated as part of the story.

Ordinary people are such a reality.

However, not everyone's thoughts will be the same. The sound of a glass of wine hitting the table suddenly came from afar, and the eyes of the bar near the bar turned.

"I just don't want to understand..." A man with a mouth full of alcohol and a beard screamed, but he could hear it around the voice. "He is not the Duke, the Duke... How did the Duke suddenly become a King?" The duke can't be a king..."

"Hey, Potter, you are drunk again," a familiar person shouted behind. "You have been here since the morning?"

Others reminded the drunkard: "Not a king, it should be called the emperor's majesty - the title of the king is gone."

"The emperor is also the same...the emperor...and the government office and the constitution are all a bunch of things that people can't understand..." The drunkard staggered and stood up and opened a few pairs to help. The hand, swaying through the bar, "said what is everywhere new opportunities... new opportunities for ghosts..."

The man swaying through the aisle suddenly stopped at the side of the bar next to the small machine that was releasing the country folk songs. The drunken eyes turned around and suddenly there was anger.

"You...the noisy thing, you ruined...destroyed my work..."

He groaned, suddenly lifted his foot and slammed toward the machine - but before he lifted his foot, the bartender behind the bar had raised his hand, and the magical device on the wrist flashed a glimmer of light. The cold ice squatted on the drunkard's face and turned his squatting face upside down.

The two security guards stepped forward and picked up the drunken man who was still noisy, ready to drag him outside the door, but the bartender stopped the security guard and came to the drunkard and reached out to find a copper plate from the other pocket. Come.

"The current ice cube, a copper coin." The bartender shook his hand in front of the drunken man's hand to make ice cubes and fire the magic terminal, confirming that the other party nodded before getting up and leaving.

The drunkard was towed away. The little riots were just a trivial episode. People continued to drink and drink. The chat was chatting. Some unfamiliar people inquired about the origins of the drunkard. Someone explained: "That Potter, a bard, is actually a lame organist. There weren’t many people who listened to his noise, and now there’s no one.”

"He went to the factory for a few days, because the stolen things were fired, and he didn't want to go down and do something else. Now... I think he is afraid to sell his piano."

"The bard... no wonder he thinks that the Cod player has smashed his job."

"It’s just a radio player. He used to blame newspapers and magic nets, and even blamed chess and football teams. It’s because these things have attracted people’s attention, so that everyone is not willing to listen in the square. His story and performance..."

It seems that this little episode has caused people to discuss in their spare time. Listening to the discussion around them, the tooling man in front of the bar turned his head and looked at the tall and thin man beside him: "Speak up, I Remember that you are also a bard - now you are not going to the street, will you blame this machine for your job?"

The tall and thin man looked at the small machine next to the bar and looked at his friend again, and suddenly smiled quite proudly.

"Do you listen to the sound in this machine?" He smiled smugly and saw the old friend's expression, his smile was even brighter. "This is what I recorded... well, although only two of them were recorded." ”

Many people around have heard the conversation here, and some people can't help but show a surprised look - seeing the people in the magical machine appear in front of themselves, this feeling is novel and interesting at any time, and harvested Many high-skinned men with amazed eyes smiled and added: "But compared to playing, I really like to tell stories, so I will go to the Magic Broadcasting Bureau in Carroll City for a while. It seems to be recruiting people who are good at storytelling to do new shows..."

More and more people gathered around the bar, and a new topic of focus apparently appeared there, but in a corner far from the bar, a man wearing an old gown, thin and pale, with short brown hair was messed up. Still sitting quietly in his position, it seems that he is not interested in what happened in this bar and the topics discussed by people around him.

In front of this pale and pale man, a current newspaper is quietly spreading on the table, his eyes moving slowly in the newspaper, focusing on one of the layouts:

"According to the preliminary investigation, the catastrophe caused by the death of all things stems from the 'power of the gods' they stole, and the 'evil creation' that was jointly eliminated by the Cecil Corps and the Kraken allies, the body seems to be the eternal dead. a mimetic imitation made by some means...

"The power of this imitation comes from the fallen **** of nature...

"The **** of nature, the **** that the Druid once believed in, there is evidence that the fall of this **** happened three thousand years ago..."

The thin and pale middle-aged man read the contents of the newspaper and suddenly sighed softly: "This kind of content... was printed on the newspaper, letting the civilians who had just been literate for a long time discuss it casually... Is it wrong? Here?"

No one heard his low sigh. After the thin and pale middle-aged man finished speaking, he stood up quietly. He gently rubbed his fingers and suddenly the flames burst into flames. I dropped the newspaper on the table.

Looking at the ashes on the table, after a moment of ecstasy, he turned and walked straight to the bar door and pushed the door away.

"The Rock City... I didn't expect this place to be so prosperous."

Walking on the streets of this southern gateway city, looking at the tall new buildings and the wide and clean streets around, the middle-aged people couldn't help but pick them up.

Then he noticed that the pedestrians around him suddenly ran away, and a large group of security officers wearing black uniforms equipped with weapons and shields did not know when they had appeared in the nearby crossings and gathered quickly toward them.

The first reaction of the thin and pale man was to reach out and touch the waist - there was a self-defense short sword, but after noticing the number of security players and the weapons in their hands, he stopped wisely.

A tall sheriff stepped forward and the solid magic shield shimmered at the sheriff's side: "Sir, put down your arms and raise your hand over your head! You were arrested for violating the Extraordinary Control Act!"

At the same time as the loud announcement, the sheriff quickly looked at the man in front of him with a professional instinct:

Wearing traditional robes of old style, lace-up fabric belts, hand-stitched boots, short robes underneath seems to be wide-leg trousers... an obvious foreigner, and should be just coming to the south.

In the south, changes in labor tools and labor methods have caused changes in all aspects. Due to the safe operation requirements of various types of machinery and equipment, due to the dress code of the factory, new styles that are close, light, easy to move, beautiful and practical have gradually become mainstream. All kinds of robes, wide-leg trousers, wide-brimmed long sleeves, and jackets with lace-up belts are gradually being replaced by dresses and lightweight tooling, as well as everyday variants of such clothing, although some scholars believe that this The change of machine-determining person is a constraint and a retrogression of traditional customs, but it is undeniable that 90% of the workers in the South are accepting such changes, and still maintain the old-fashioned dress... or It is a relatively old-fashioned person or a foreigner.

The latter is more likely to be in this fortress city in the southern gateway.

The middle-aged man surrounded by the security team was obviously still in the wrong and unexpected, but he understood the meaning of the sheriff. He put the short-sword and short-shoulder on the ground and raised his hand over his head.

The sheriff nodded: "Very good, sir, active cooperation is a good start - your name?"

The middle-aged man watched the surrounding security guards with vigilance. He was silent for two seconds, but in the end he finally said: "Bard...Bad Wendell."

"Mr. Badbad?"

The middle-aged man's face shook a little: "No, it's Bad Weindel. There is only one Bard."

The sheriff still maintains a serious look: "Okay, Mr. Wendell, you need to take a walk with us next time - whether it can be released depends on your performance."

"Why are you arresting me?" The middle-aged man finally couldn't help but say, "I didn't hurt anything..."

"We detected unauthorized spellcasting," the Sheriff stared at Bud. "The times have changed, Mr. Wendell, what is your license?"

Bard stunned: "...casting the license? What is that?"

The sheriff shrugged: "Well, it seems that you still sneak in. This time, I am afraid you have to be locked up."

Bud’s eyes trembled, but after a brief hesitation, he finally sighed.

"It doesn't matter to the present..." he sighed. "Be free, I won't resist."

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