When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#726 - The Shepherd and the Sheep Thief

Following the direction of the young recruit, Old Rafter's initially listless body tensed up immediately.

At the end of the wasteland, dust and smoke rose, and the sound of horns and rumbling hooves sounded simultaneously.

Fire-red or white fox tails danced on the iron helmets, deerskin gloves held riding bows, and white-feathered arrows in the quiver danced with the long wind and horses' hooves.

More than fifty elite light cavalrymen outflanked in a fan shape.

Their mounts were smaller than the warhorses of Thousand River Valley, but the colorful cloth strips tied to their manes fluttered in the wind like snake tongues.

"Hunter-thieves attack! Get into the wagon fort for shelter!" The ten-captains and hundred-captains immediately shouted at the top of their lungs.

Immediately following was the sentinel arrow flying from that group of Gravel Field bandits, a series of sharp bone whistle sounds resounded through the clouds.

The shepherds on the hillside hurriedly picked up the lambs and hid behind the rocks or in the bushes.

"The Gravel Field people are attacking, run!" Someone shouted, and the recruits scattered like an ant colony poured over with boiling water.

Old Rafter took two quick steps, originally wanting to get inside before the Bear Nibble Fort gate closed.

But before he could approach, the gate slowly closed amidst the officers' impatient shouts.

"Damn it!" He cursed angrily, but instead of crying and banging on the door like the other recruits, he simply turned back.

Skipping over the scattered rye and sacks, Old Rafter took off the wolf hunting bow from his back while ducking behind a carriage with his head in his hands.

Unfortunately, just as he hid behind the carriage, that young recruit grabbed the edge of the carriage and climbed onto it.

"Get down!" he roared, trying to tug at the boy's trouser leg.

A crossbow bolt grazed the boy's hair and stuck into the oak carriage panel with a muffled sound at close range.

The young recruit fell to the ground, and a rain of arrows almost simultaneously landed on the carriage panels, causing the entire carriage to shake.

A recruit who didn't have time to run and hide was hit in the back of the heart by an arrow, staggered forward two steps, and then spat out blood and collapsed to the ground.

In this open space in front of the mountain hollow, seven or eight recruits were shot by arrows, lying on the ground dead or wounded, making sounds of sorrow.

With his ear pressed against the wheel, Old Rafter ignored the wounded soldiers a few steps away who were reaching out for help, and silently nocked a hardwood shaft arrow on the bowstring.

The grass in front of him shook, a spear pierced through the resisting ten-captain, and a scimitar, brandished into a silver whirlwind, swept across the chests, abdomens, and backs of the recruits.

On the hard frozen earth, horses neighed, spears and scimitars clashed, and sparks flew.

The garrisoned veterans and brave recruits took up arms and began to fight with these sheep-stealing thieves.

Seeing hooves rapidly approaching from under the carriage, Old Rafter bent down, just like he used to hide in an ice hole, feigning death to lure forest wolves.

"Dung digger!"

First the spear tip, then the horse's head, and finally the Gravel Field cavalryman's boot tip.

Old Rafter's springing speed shook off the frost and snow, the bowstring vibrated, and an arrow carrying an afterimage rotated and shaking, accurately shooting into the unarmored thigh of that cavalryman.

That Gravel Field sheep-stealing thief screamed, lost his balance for a moment, subconsciously pulling the reins to slow down the horse.

Old Rafter immediately pounced on him.

His right hand reached out, grabbing the edge of the sheep-stealing thief's clothes by a hair's breadth, and the already unbalanced thief was actually pulled down just like that.

But this sheep-stealing thief had a fierce strength, and with a backhand he pulled out his scimitar and chopped it towards Old Rafter's crown of the head.

Old Rafter naturally dodged, but his right hand held on tightly, jumping up to choke his neck.

But the sheep-stealing thief grabbed Old Rafter's collar with one hand, and with his knee against Old Rafter's chest and abdomen, he actually used the force to throw him out.

Landing heavily on his back, Old Rafter cried out in pain, clutching his lower back, his entire waist and abdomen arched forward, aching so much that he cramped up.

"Ah, damn sheep slang for 'fuck'-er… how could it be extraordinary..."

That sheep-stealing thief propped himself up with his scimitar, revealing a grin, he shouted some Gravel Field dialect that Old Rafter couldn't understand.

Old Rafter gasped for breath, trying to turn over, but the sheep-stealing thief pounced over like a frog before even standing up, pressing down on Old Rafter's waist.

The two wrestled on the frozen earth and withered grass, their foreheads and arms bumping into 혈(혈: bloody) wounds on the jagged rocks.

It was clearly Old Rafter who had the first move, but he was actually suppressed by this sheep-stealing thief.

At this moment, Old Rafter was both shocked and angry, these sheep-stealing thieves were just typical Gravel Field bandits, specializing in stealing cattle, sheep, donkeys, and horses for a living.

Don't think that bandits have strong combat power, Huo En's previous bandit suppression in the cave dense forest proved that - only a small handful are strong, and most are not even as good as the militia.

But the combat power of the sheep-stealing thief in front of him was obviously different from ordinary people, not only was he extraordinary, but he even had superb extraordinary martial arts.

Being pinned down by that sheep-stealing thief, no matter how hard Old Rafter tried to turn red in the face, it was difficult to stop the trembling scimitar from getting closer and closer to his neck.

Fortunately, the young recruit who had been dragged down from the top of the carriage by Old Rafter earlier reacted.

This young man from Hotam County darted out like a bobcat, and with a sound of stabbing sound, the rusty dagger immediately pierced into the sheep-stealing thief's back.

Gritting his teeth and twisting the dagger, the sheep-stealing thief let out a shrill wail, kicking out his hind legs and knocking the recruit over.

But the sheep-stealing thief, who had lost his strength, could hardly suppress Old Rafter's resistance.

Snatching the sheep-stealing thief's knife, in the narrow space filled with armpit odor and sheep stench, the scimitar backhanded across the sheep-stealing thief's throat.

The most ⊥ new ⊥ small ⊥ say ⊥ in ⊥ six ⊥ 9 ⊥⊥ book ⊥⊥ bar ⊥⊥ first ⊥ hair!

Warm blood splattered on Old Rafter's face, and the heavy and stunned corpse pressed down on Old Rafter.

"Praise the Holy Wind!"

As Old Rafter finally breathed a sigh of relief, the watchtower finally roared.

The muzzle of the falcon cannon slowly turned, and the gears of the spring-loaded gun made a teeth-aching friction sound.

The leader of the wasteland sheep bandits suddenly reined in his horse, preparing to escape, but the fan-shaped storm composed of iron sand and lead bullets had already enveloped them.

Lying behind the carriage, lead bullets swept across the sheep-stealing thieves who were a head taller than others, and these bandits trembled like grass leaves hit by hail.

Warm blood splattered on the cold rocks, instantly congealing into dark red snow crystals, almost blending into one with the red dragon blood moss.

"Woo ah woo ah (it's a magic crossbow!)"

"Woo hoo (run!)"

Soon, the sound of retreating hooves and cheers sounded at the same time.

Slumped on the ground covered with wheat grains, with the dagger still trembling in the corpse, the young recruit sat up, staring blankly at Old Rafter who pushed away the corpse on his body.

"You saved my life, kid." Bending down, Old Rafter pulled the dagger out of the back of the corpse and threw it on the grass in front of the young recruit, "What's your name."

The army respects capable people, and everything else takes a back seat, because surviving and winning on the battlefield are the most important things.

Human relations are a matter for the high-level monks of the Holy Machinery Court who do not eat the fireworks of the world.

The boy seemed to have just recovered from the bloody battle, he pulled the dagger out of the grass, stood up and shook hands with Old Rafter: "My name is Kaler, what about you, old uncle?"

"Just call me Old Rafter, I should be about the same age as your parents, it's okay for you to call me Uncle Rafter."

…………

This sudden attack was масштабный(масштабный: large-scale), but the actual losses were only twenty or thirty people, of which more than half were not killed or injured by the enemy.

Some slipped and fell while running away, some were accidentally injured by stray lead bullets, and many fled into the wasteland in a panic and were taken away as prisoners by the sheep-stealing thieves.

The remaining recruits could not rest well, cleaning the battlefield, bandaging the wounded, repairing the wooden stake spikes, and holding a collective funeral.

Those who were from the same hometown as the deceased either chose to cremate and send the ashes home by postal car, or chose to bury them on the hillside to the south.

Some recruits even died outside Bear Nibble Fort before they had time to register for camp.

But for the commander of this Bear Nibble Fort, this was just a small episode.

After all, on the border line of the Thorn Garden, Gravel Field, and Thousand River Valley, such frictions can only be regarded as inconspicuous small-scale frictions.

However, for Old Rafter, on the first day of arriving at Bear Nibble Fort, two new recruits from his village that he knew would never return home.