The mountain wind is wrapped in the silence of snow and blows through the pine forests. Spring in the north is always much late than in the south. Even if it is already March, it is difficult to feel any spring. The plants and trees have not spit out new greens, and the animals have not woken up from hibernation. Everything is quiet.

In the chilly cold wind, a crisp sound of horse hooves broke the silence of the forest. Hundreds of messy cavalrymen drove their mounts to gallop in the narrow mountain paths. They were all wearing white sheepskin hats, long guns behind them, and grenades and sabers hanging around their waists. Judging from the expressions of the cavalry, they had been trekking in the unmelted snow for a long time. The people and horses were tired, but they were still gritting their teeth and persevering, and from time to time they turned their anxious eyes to the distance behind the mountains.

"Stop!"

After arriving at a valley covered with dense forests, the leading knight suddenly pulled the reins and reached out to signal his subordinates to stop moving forward. Looking at the black smoke rising behind the woods, he realized that he was late and that everything he should have had was already born and there was nothing to save.

Apart from the quiet trees and howling cold wind, the valley seemed very quiet, and only the cavalry mounts would occasionally sniff, but these were not auspicious signs. If there were gunfire and shouts of killing there, he would definitely rush up desperately, but now...

"We're late again!"

The elves were moving very quickly this time, and now they had probably brought their trophy or captives back to Stone Fort or Arctic Port with their trophys. The leading knight thought in grief. He sighed and suddenly felt very tired.

This fatigue does not come from the cold cheeks, nor is it from the difficult journey of more than ten miles of mountain roads, but from the inner weakness and discomfort - as the highest leader on this land, it cannot save the people from the butcher knife in the invading land. This place is different from the vast grasslands that are vast and hidden, and the mountains and canyons provide too much cover for the elves who are not good at riding horses. For these butchers who are known as the son of the jungle, the vast coniferous forests are as familiar as their own home. When the villagers attack the enemy, there is usually no time to escape.

He only had one or two thousand warriors in his hands, and was scattered everywhere, with difficulty in maneuvering, and every attack from the elves made it difficult for him to deal with. When he finally organized troops to rescue, it was often too late.

He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment, then raised his right hand and waved it, and a cavalry rode behind him. He turned around in the saddle and said to his chief guard: "Crieg, you send this child back to the garrison."

He pointed to the little boy who was shaking at the horse. The little guy first ran for more than ten miles to ask for help, and then took them back without stopping. Such exercise was difficult for a well-trained regular cavalryman, not to mention a child who was only eleven or twelve years old. If the last section of the road was not for the help of others, he would have fallen long ago.

Besides, he didn't want the child to see the next scene, which would be a nightmare for many people throughout their lives.

"His Speaker, our people will protect him, and our duty is to follow your actions at any time..." Krieger obviously did not want to leave at this time and protested at the top of his voice.

"No need to say anything more. Execute the order!" The middle-aged man, known as the Speaker, raised his hand and refused to let him continue, "Go and take him back! This is not where the child should come."

He pulled out his pistol and kicked the horse hard and galloped forward. The cavalry then unfolded behind him in a strait line, and the guns in each other were ready to strike. No order was needed, because the cruel war this year had made everyone very clear about what they should do, even if the enemy's muzzle or spear formation was ahead.

The village is right behind the woodland. When you climb over a hill, you will see the sea covered with ice. In the long-term peaceful Xin Naserel, the village's defense ability is actually quite good. There is a circle of stone-building inner wall around the village, and a temporary exterior wall composed of thick wooden stakes outside. In addition to the two walls, there is a trench full of spikes at the bottom, even the usual military camp is just like this.

But in the face of powerful magic, these measures have no effect at all.

"Fossils into mud, meteor showers, earthquake techniques, oh, and ice storms! So many magics are actually used on a small village. Damn, are all elves so worthless?"

The Speaker looked at the magic marks of attack in front of him and cursed softly. He jumped off the horse, found a gap in the wall that was already strangely shaped like soft mud, and walked into the village by passing a corpse of a young villager. The cavalry also dismounted and followed, leaving only a few people outside to guard the horses.

On the narrow road among the cottages,

Eight had several corpses upside down, most of them holding shotguns or axes tightly. Half of the house was burned, and there were still beating remaining flames burning on the collapsed beams. Apart from the crackling sound of wood burning, there was almost a silence here, and even the barking of dogs could not be heard.

The Speaker walked in front with a blue face. Although it was not the first time he saw such a tragic phenomenon, he still felt an uncontrollable anger and sorrow stirring in his chest. He wanted to roar, kill people, and avenge the villagers who died tragically, but he could not do anything. The enemy had already left, and he had no way to deal with the solid fortresses occupied by the elves.

He could only walk silently between the frozen blood and the floating ashes, searching with the soldiers for any trace of survival, although everyone knew that this hope was extremely slim.

A huge headless body fell at the door of a fairly intact house, holding a large terrible machete in his hand, and the head rolled to the other side of the road. The speaker recognized him as the militia captain of the village, a warrior who claimed to be able to kill tigers with his bare hands. He had drunk wine with him a few days ago, but now he meets again in such a sad way.

The speaker leaned his head into the door and saw a girl lying wide eyes under the dining table. Her skirt was torn to pieces, and her blood mixed with dust formed a strange pattern under her body. Judging from her age, she should be the daughter of the militia captain... He felt ache in his heart, and walked into the room with sighs, bent down and closed the girl's eyes that were dying with eyes.

The more he walked towards the center of the village, the more corpses there were on the ground. Most of them maintained a fighting posture, some were already charred by magic or bombs, but they still did not let go of the weapons in their hands. The speaker closed his eyes and couldn't bear to look at them anymore, but soon forced himself to open his eyes. Now is not the time to be weak, he warned himself.

In the small square in the middle of the village, the cavalry who came to rescue saw the most tragic scene: dozens of women and children were tied to thick wooden stakes, and their bodies were almost cut into bone frames except for their distorted heads. Some of the indistinguishable wreckage was randomly discarded on the ground. Even though the weather was still cold, it still attracted a large group of crows to circle and peck. When a few young soldiers saw such a terrifying scene, they couldn't help but vomit.

"Does the elves, known as gentle and kind, like eating human flesh now?" The speaker angrily inserted the saber into the ground. He knew that this was not the first time the elves army had done this. Their food storage could not be maintained this winter. Naturally, in order to survive, everything was done, and the villages in the northern prefectures were their best target.

If I had known this, I should have insisted on letting them retreat to the rear. The Speaker grabbed his head in pain and thought to himself. When he led his army south last winter, he had mobilized rural villagers from Northern Prefecture to go to the south to escape the war. However, most people were reluctant to abandon their homes, and they believed that the elves would not stay away from their strongholds to attack remote mountain villages. As a result, only a few people left this dangerous place. Although most of the remaining villages strengthened their defense, they were still just lambs that were slaughtered in front of the elves' magic commando.

"Your Excellency." A low-level officer came over and glanced at the corpse in the square with his eyes, then quickly turned to look at the speaker and said, "Most of the villagers here are dead, and some may have escaped, but we have not yet appeared. The enemy took away all the food and livestock, and has now escaped for a long time."

"Which direction did they escape?" The Speaker pulled out his saber, wiped it with his sleeve, and then retracted it into the sheath.

"Towards the stone fort." The officer whined northwest, "Your Excellency, are we going to chase after us?"

"Forget it." The Speaker waved his hand and turned to walk out of the village. "In the forest, we can't catch up with the elves, and we don't have heavy weapons to attack the stone castle. Go and ask a few people to bury the body, and then burn the village!"

“Burn?”

"Yes, this place is too far from our army's garrison. No one lives there. Since there is no way to defend it, it's better not to stay." The Speaker walked out of the wall from the gap again and stopped in front of a big tree at the entrance of the village. He took out a dagger to cut off a large piece of bark, and then carved a line of brief notice on it: The enemy has retreated and has not survived. If anyone returns, please ask the garrison for help. State Speaker Ludwig dr 37, 1991.

After carving the last letter, he sighed, inserted his dagger hard on the trunk, turned to look south, then turned to look in the direction of the sea to the east, and tears flowed out of his eyes.
Chapter completed!