It looks like it saw me.
Surrounded by wolves and tigers, this is not a good omen.
Dear Martha, I can't help but pray to the deity in my heart. I'm only nineteen this year, I can't just die in such a remote place.
Right, I haven't confessed to the woman I fancy yet. Just thinking about that enchanting young Miss Merchant makes my heart beat faster. Her house is right opposite mine; I can't let the girl I fancy be in danger.
Only then do I calm down and try to find a way to escape. My mind races, and the Sergeant's lesson flashes in my mind—
"Only by calming down can one fight!"
This view coincides with my current situation, but I don't have a weapon right now; I can't just fight a beast barehanded, can I? While nervously leaning against the wall, I glance around the room anxiously; although this old mansion isn't completely bare, there's nothing in the hall that can serve as a temporary weapon.
If only my grandfather were a great noble, I'd have visited the Earl of Leimington's Mansion; their main hall is five times larger than this one, with many shields, longswords, and axes hanging on the walls. I'd have easily found a suitable weapon there.
Moreover, my swordsmanship isn't bad, I'm not bragging; that old Sergeant himself praised me, saying that among the trainees this year, my swordsmanship is the best.
The boy from the Breison family isn't my match either, though I've always envied him for having a father who is a local officer. If my dad were a local officer too, I'd definitely join the Guard Team.
Of course, saying all this now is pointless. In any case, my sword is still separated from me by the skeleton soldier in front of me. Although they can't run, their walking speed is about the same as an ordinary person's, their movements are somewhat stiff, but only slightly slower than an adult.
I bet I could easily deal with it in the training grounds, but in this narrow place, charging forward would probably get me a sword wound.
The two skeletons are getting closer now, the 'clack clack clack' sound of their footsteps is like hammering on my heart, while my own heartbeat echoes like thunder.
I feel a bit at a loss—The skeleton from the bedroom comes out, pauses for a moment, then swiftly turns to walk towards me. I instinctively take a step back, bumping into a hard object behind me.
I suddenly remember that there's an oil painting hanging behind me, passed down from my grandfather's generation, supposedly a family heirloom. The Limp Man from Black Pepper Alley once offered ten gold coins for it, but my father refused.
My father is a stubborn old man, but I'm different from him. If not for this situation, I've often thought that I would sell the painting when I hit a dead end, buy a beautiful horse, and travel the continent with the Miss Merchant from across the street.
But now there's no time for that. This family heirloom has to save my life now. I turn around and grab the wooden frame of the painting, pulling it down. At this moment, I have no mind to worry about damaging it—Knowing it's worth at least ten gold coins. Although I suspect it might be worth more because the Limp Man from Black Pepper Alley is notoriously stingy.
Ten gold coins is a significant fortune; the most money I've ever seen in my life is about ten silver coins.
I can't help but take a deep breath, feeling my hands trembling. I plan to throw this painting at the terrifying undead in front of me, and while it's distracted, slip past it and grab my sword. With my swordsmanship, I'll turn these bone skeletons into fragments.
Of course, I could use the same method to run out onto the street. But I can't guarantee that there aren't other similar monsters outside, charging out barehanded would be suicide. So I steady my mind, thinking it's better to be brave.
Although this is just an idealized thought, it might end up stabbing me regardless, then I'll be off to see Lord Martha.
I can't help but wonder, will they erect a monument for me, saying—
"Poor Brand, he clearly miscalculated—"
I shiver, quickly shaking my head to clear that ghostly cold and terrifying thought from my mind—Spit spit spit, I won't die.
Then I look at the grayish painting in my hand, honestly, I can't see what's so good about this—Is this worth ten gold coins? Who knows if that Limp Man from Black Pepper Alley would regret it when I throw it?
But the terrifying undead is already close. I don't have time to regret the imminent loss of ten gold coins and the chance to travel the continent with Miss Merchant, because I've subconsciously thrown the painting frame.
I threw it accurately; the painting almost flew in a straight line towards the white skeleton. Great, and that idiot instinctively raised its sword for a horizontal slash, I see the grayish painting tear into two pieces mid-air.
Such force! Luckily, the Sergeant didn't lie about the crucial point, these bone skeletons indeed lack intelligence.
The thought barely flashes through my mind before I instinctively charge forward.
My bedroom door isn't far from me, thank Lord Marsha, just a few more steps and I can see my sword lying there quietly.
That sword is also one of my family heirlooms. My grandfather used it in battle; it's said he served as an attendant to a knight for a period, and the knight awarded him this sword—
The sword should be from the thirty-second year. It has the Ivy mark, commemorating the victory at the Golan-Elsen Plateau.
I remember that year Your Majesty modified the cavalry sword's design, shortening it from two arms length to one and a half arms, and replaced the copper ornaments on the guard with common iron flowers to cut costs for the prolonged 'November War.'
Yes, that's definitely a cavalry sword.
Humph, once I get that sword—
"Madara's bastards, it's your turn to be unlucky—"