A large number of corpses and body parts were scattered randomly under the dilapidated gates and walls of Fort Verde.
Several jet-black crows were perched on the chest of a Viking warrior corpse with a huge wound on his chest, pecking at the rotten flesh in his body. From time to time, they raised their small heads and watched warily in the distance as they kept walking among the corpses. people.
A crow raised its head, and the reflection of a person reflected in its watery brown eyes grew larger and larger.
"Quack, quack!" The crows were frightened and flew away in all directions, leaving only a few black feathers and the flesh and blood that had been pulled out and covered with peck marks on the corpse.
A young militiaman wearing a badly damaged Norman helmet, a blood-stained linen robe with rolled sleeves, and a pair of very old leather gloves that exuded a disgusting smell of manure and sweat, walked up to the Viking warriors. He squatted down in front of the corpse and untied the soft armor cap, mail turban, and visor straps on the corpse's head.
"Oh God, have mercy on me, a poor guy who had nothing and almost lost his life because of the war. Please forgive me for my sins." The young militiaman muttered silently, looked around furtively for a while, and then carefully unloaded after confirming that no one was nearby. He took off the exquisite armband from the right arm of the Viking warrior's corpse and placed it in the cloth bag around his waist.
However, the Viking warrior's decorative visor helmet and the leather armor on his body did not dare to be secretly taken as his own. Firstly, this thing was too big to hide, and it would be exposed after a day in this village life where there was almost no personal privacy; secondly, there was almost no reason for him to go out to the village and secretly sell these armors.
"Okay, the next unlucky guy." The militiamen who had finished cleaning up dragged the naked Viking warrior's body to one side and placed the clothes, including linings, boots, pants, etc. on the other side.
"I'm here to help you, Ion." A militiaman with bald patches on his hair came over. At first glance, this guy looks like he has lived a very hard life since he was a child. With his ravaged face, it seems that there is no problem in saying that he is any age group from eighteen to sixty years old.
"It's you, Scarlet Bray." The militiaman named Ion raised his head and turned his head to glance at the visitor, then continued to remove the armor and clothes from the corpse of another Viking warrior without interest, "What's new, sir?" An order?"
"No, the battlefield over there has been cleaned up, and the bodies are being carried away. They will be here soon to clean up the battlefield, so I sneaked over here in advance to get some benefits." The manly militiaman named Bray squatted on a headless body. Next to the corpse of the Viking warrior, he took off his armor in a decent manner while groping in the cloth bag on his body and waist.
"Oh, put down your pig's trotters quickly. If the lord sees it, you will be punished!" After watching Scarlet Bray take out a small silver cross from the Viking's waist bag, Ion said Eyes are red.
"Bah, you slick one," Bray gave Ion a disdainful look, and put the small silver cross pendant back into his pocket, "I saw all of your sneaky and despicable deeds just now. In the eyes.”
"This," Ion instantly lost his confidence and his face was as red as an apple on the tree, "Don't talk about this, I didn't see anything just now. Why did this pagan have a cross in his pocket? Is he also a Christian?"
"I don't know," Bray the Maniac looked at Ion who was beside him and changed the subject uncomfortably. "Perhaps they were robbed in the northern territory. These bandits deserve to go to hell."
"Hey, you two lazy idiots, who allowed you to go over there and clean up the battlefield without permission? Come over here and carry the corpses!" The fat man looked at the pile of corpses under the southern section of the fort wall with a fierce expression. the two militiamen roared.
"Here we come, Master Hoffman." The two guys who had stolen the armbands and crosses walked toward the castle gate dejectedly with apologetic smiles on their faces.
At this time, people were seen carrying the naked corpses of the dead from the fort gate and placing these white and purple corpses in the open space at the edge of the village under the fort hill.
Summer has just turned to autumn, and many flies are crawling around the corpse. Maybe it won't be long before the rotten meat will be covered with maggots.
"Poor Lowen, he just left us." A militiaman held a head covered in mud and blood and placed it on the chest of a headless corpse wearing tattered cotton armor.
On the other side, an old man looked at the militiamen who were carrying and cleaning up the corpses. He sighed and stepped on the stirrups to try hard to get off the beautiful war horse wearing a bright coat with the coat of arms of the Dorsten family.
"My lord, let me help you!" A wrinkled old servant wearing linen clothes hurriedly came forward and helped the old baron dismount.
I saw the old baron wearing a square plywood helmet with padding and a chain-mail turban on his head, wearing exquisite heavy scale armor with a heart-protecting splint, a studded neck guard and a family heraldic robe, chain-mail gloves, and chain-mail feet. Greaves, holding the decorated refined slotted armed sword on his waist, slowly walked towards Simon.
"Keother, my father," Simon bowed and saluted, "Thank you very much for your timely reinforcements, which saved me and the whole village from the fire."
"Ha, Simon, you fought this battle hard enough. If you hadn't built such a simple wooden fort at such a fast speed, I'm afraid that Verde Village would have made the same mistakes as the previous two years." Baron Keother was amazed and raised his head to look at the wooden castle that had resisted the fierce Vikings for two days.
"That's right, Keother," Simon nodded. Due to being immersed in this language environment for a long time, Simon no longer felt any discomfort in calling his father by his first name.
"Little Simon, you have been away for so long, do you still remember your dearest brother?" At this moment, a low magnetic bass sounded. Simon looked around and saw a tall man wearing chainmail armor and a long heraldic robe striding towards him from the direction where the Vikings parked their ships. Looking closer, it turned out to be his eldest brother, Sir Lange.
"Of course, Lange," Simon felt unspeakably uncomfortable looking at Lange's expressionless face, "I missed you day and night when I was in Verde Village."
"Aha, that's not necessary. I hope that the person who thinks about me at night is a beautiful and virtuous girl, not a brat like you." Langer just raised the corner of his mouth and said lightly. This made it difficult for some bystanders who didn't know Lange to tell whether he was joking with Simon or quarreling with Simon.
Simon could only smile bitterly. In the memory of the previous owner of this body, Langer was such a stern guy. He always wore an unchanging face wherever he went, making people around him feel oppressive and serious all the time.
But Simon knew in his heart that this Lange brother was secretly cruel, cunning, and competitive. You have to be careful with him.
"Simon, the Vikings guarding the ship have been killed by my cavalry. Jonas found a large amount of grain and wine on one of their ships, and many fine silver and gold items on the other ship. The Holy Cross, the Holy Grail, the bowls and plates, and also a lot of spices and dyed cloths." The old baron said, looking at the fat old man behind him who was wearing gray robes and had a gloomy face.
"Hello, my Master Simon, long time no see." Jonas saluted respectfully and spoke slowly. But Simon always felt very uncomfortable listening to it.
"Indeed, Financial Controller Jonas." Simon frowned slightly and looked at the old man, but he couldn't think of any way he had offended him.
At this moment, the village chief and stonemason Ryan walked over from the riverside holding a large piece of parchment, and behind them were a steady stream of militiamen and serfs who were unloading the spoils of war from the Viking warships.
"They were so fat from plundering in the north, but they didn't want to make my wedding dress." Simon thought to himself, stroking his long beard that had not been shaved for a while. "There are rich spoils, but there are also serious consequences." Dead and wounded. I really don’t know where to find people to replenish the militia.”
