"Pappapap."

Warm applause, cheers, applause, and various words blessing King Charles mixed in the room, echoing repeatedly.

"So this is the sad and sad story of the Duke of Blood Eagle. This is a song full of tragedy and horror. Its sad elegy will surely arouse the tears of the elves." The singer changed the proclaimed tone this time. His magnetic baritone said.

"Children of Burtania, you must be careful! Beware of the evil forces lurking in the dark, they try to use temptation and traps to capture even the strongest soul! Be careful of the heroic knight, the spirit of the knight and the crown The tragic ending of the defenders! "This time, the singer used a solemn tenor, with the recitation to mobilize the audience's emotions.

"These children of Aquitaine, you must be careful! Lest your evil will lead the evil curse of the Duke of Blood Eagle to you!" The singer ended the whole story with a small aria.

The minstrel took off his gorgeous hat decorated with long feathers, leaned over and bowed to the audience, the feathers at the end of the hat swept across the floor.

The hotel was filled with warm applause, moans on the wooden floor, stomping feet dozens of feet round, and hand hammers on the table on the tabletop, making a thud. These all expressed agreement with the singer's songs.

Robert Lee Burns recited the epic at the court banquet of the nobles and the duke; on one occasion, he even performed in front of King Charles.

There is no doubt that his current environment is neither magnificent nor royal. This small hotel surrounded by wood is no different from hundreds of other small hotels scattered on the road between Aquitaine and Cornwall.

Is an inconspicuous place. Merchants and messengers can remove dust from their shoes. Local farmers and woodcutters can take a sip of wine during the break to ease the pain caused by labor.

Over the years, Robert has performed "The Last Lament of the Duke of Blood Eagle" hundreds of times, and expanded on the basis of the folk songs of the early bards, combining different versions of the story until he created many Burtas. The Niahans praised it as the most authoritative version of the story.

This bard is proud of his work. This pride is expressed by any artist when he creates high-quality works that he knows. Like any real artist, Robert does not measure his success by wealth or privilege, but by the praise of the audience.

It didn't matter to him whether the applause came from the court or from a group of dirty farmers.

For him, everything is the same.

In spite of this, Robert felt a special sense of satisfaction. He looked out at the crowded hotel lobby outside, where the hotel owner used it as a common lounge, and sold cheap wine by the way, and was full of drunken villagers everywhere.

The audience here is not just a gathering of Burtanians. These people are neither the shepherds of Belfort nor the wine merchants of Gascony.

These people are Aquitaine, they grew up listening to the story of the Duke of Blood Eagle, and they grew up listening to the stories of the heroes who had fought him and told him about his evil destruction.

All this bard has to do is walk out the door of the hotel and turn his eyes to the north, and he will see the dark shadows of the forest. Some superstitious farmers insist that the vampire monster is lurking somewhere there, plotting his response to Burtan Niah ’s revenge and dreamed of building an evil Scarlet Empire.

To Robert, these people's praise is like a coin more valuable than gold. It is easy to forget his critics, the scorn of the stubborn historians in the Cornwall Library, and the sneer at his work.

These humble people, who grew up in the legends of their land, their applause is a true proof of Robert's talent.

Made historians spit out their bitter poison; Robert's ballad was passed down in people's hearts.

It was already very late, and the crowd finally began to sneak away from the warm fire in the hotel. They retreated into the night in droves, some waving heavy crutches, while others nervously touched the wooden statue of the goddess of dawn they wore when they entered the darkness.

Robert smiled slightly at the simple fear of these simple people. He knew better than them that Aquitaine is now the most peaceful on the land of Burtania.

Beasts in the forest rarely wander north, and monsters and orcs on the mountain rarely reach the vast pastures of Aquitaine through the cold mountains.

The surviving bandits are uncommon. The bandits soon found themselves surrounded by the Knights of Aquitaine. There are no more valuable enemies to taste their steel spears.

When the farmers go out to night, what makes them nervous is the horror opera of the bard. Robert evokes the memory of the once-rich heroes and tragic stories of the Aquitaine in this land, but he also evokes the deep horror of that era that is deeply rooted in people's hearts and hidden in the most unwilling memories.

The Duke of Blood Eagle is a name that every Aquitaine knows before he leaves the cradle. It is a monster used by mothers and nannies to frighten naughty children. Through his songs, Robert revived the terrible ghost in the hearts of the farmers.

When they left the hotel, everyone imagined the vampire lurking in the dark, his steel fangs waiting to bite their throats, cursing them to join his **** empire.

Robert shook his head at the credulous attitude in the mind of these farmers who had never even left the village. The Duke of Blood Eagle died and was destroyed by King Charles on the battlefield of Camranfield thirty years ago.

Indeed, less than ten years later, another vampire calling himself "Duke of Blood Eagle" threatened Aquitaine, but Robert didn't think this guy was that monster.

Even if it is rumored that this monster has a son living in the world, but what about it, no one has claimed that he has inherited the blood of the Duke of Blood Eagle in thirty years, and no monster can cause blood eagles in Burtania. Duke-like injuries.

All the evil monsters once destroyed by King Charles have never appeared again.

Evil, once conquered by the King of Burtania, will not be resurrected from the grave.

"Your tongue is almost silver, at least it can be changed into silver coins." The fat boss of the drunk country hotel chuckled softly. His chubby smile moved between light and shadow, and between the rough tables and wooden benches scattered in the room.

In front of every rough and rough wooden round table, he would stop and stretch out his hand to grab the wooden cups and clay pots left by the customers. He looked carefully and seemed to be looking at a piece of art.

This artwork has not been poured into the stomach of the group of rural customers will be carefully poured into a small wooden wine barrel by the fat boss, the barrel is tightly clamped under the arm of the fat boss of the hotel.

Robert silently reminded himself not to buy the cheapest wine on the wine list from the fat boss.

"I rarely see them staying so late," the fat boss explained, and he frowned when he noticed a long crack in a clay pot filled with wine.

"Master Baron here will not forget when his serf should go back to the field. I bet there will soon be many people with headaches cursing the dawn."

Robert waved a tin wine glass in his hand, which contained a luxury wine, usually only used when a ranger or adventurer visited his inn-merchants and nobles in Burtania would not come to this farmer Where it will come.

"When they left here, they looked like they were welcoming the sun. No matter how early the baron asked them to start work, they were reluctant to go out."

The fat hotel owner heard the words of the troubadour and raised his lips, laughing, but there was no joy in his eyes.

Robert filled his stomach with wine in the hotel like everyone else, so he didn't notice the owner's uneasiness.

"Now!" He persuaded. "They can't be scared for any rational reason. If the person who lives farthest among them has to walk a mile to get home, then I accept the fact that you don't put water in the wine!"

The bard took a sip from his blackjack and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of the ruffled shirt.

ァ 新 ヤ ~ ⑧ ~ 1 ~ 中文 网 ωωω.χ ~ ⒏ ~ 1zщ.còм

"You think my song called the Duke of Blood Eagle out of the grave!"

The hotel owner listened to the last sentence, shivered, and turned to leave Robert.

"Like you said, they have no reason to be afraid of anything."

"Ms. Jingming Liming!" Robert screamed and tossed his knee with the other hand. "That lady, that's what you should really be afraid of!"

Shook his head in disbelief at the strange ideas of the hotel owner and the villagers.

"I admit that my song is different, but you can't lose control of reality."

"This is a story sung beautifully by you, and none of those people will regret hearing it," the fat boss told the bard. "But you are not familiar with this area, you are just a stranger. You don't understand the old fear that your story reawakened."

Robert walked towards the fat boss and sipped from his beer mug.

"Fairy tales and myths are all made for unruly children to be obedient." He said as he poured his last drink from the glass into the inn of the innkeeper to emphasize his point of view .

The fat inn boss put down the wine barrel and glared provocatively at Robert.

"A shepherdess disappeared and was found only a few weeks later. Her blood was drained. Is this a fairy tale?"

He pressed a callused finger on the minstrel's chest.

"Is this a child's imagination, when a knight rides a horse through the village and wants to challenge the evil forces lurking in the forest, but finds his body floating in the Odur River?"

"Orc, maybe it's a beast." Robert said.

The fat boss snickered at this answer ~ lightnovelpub.net ~ Since I remembered, there have been no orcs in this area. Who has ever heard of a beast leaving meat on the bones of its prey? There is only one thing that will drink blood from a person ’s blood vessel, leaving his pale body behind. "

Robert made a grimace after listening and shook his head at the logic of the innkeeper. He spent years reading every story about the horror rule of the Duke of Blood Eagle, listening to every ballad about the vampire and his doomsday.

They are all things of the past. Even though he threatened the real Duke of Aquitaine thirty years ago, the monster was buried by King Charles in Camranfield. The following guys who were under the name of the Duke of Blood Eagle were either hanged at the gate of the city or burned to ashes.

When Robert tried to explain all of this to the fat boss, the fat boss just smiled slightly. This is a sad smile on his face when a person knows he is right, but he wholeheartedly hopes that he is wrong.

"You have your faith," he said to the troubadour.

"But I know, I just know. You said that the Duke of Blood Eagle died in Camranfield. I said that the vampire was still alive, waiting for his revenge somewhere in the Falcon Forest."

Robert was silent for a while, his eyes glanced at the shadow of the room, and the room seemed suddenly ominous. It took him some time to free himself from that inexplicable anxiety.

"You should be a storyteller," he said with a grin, patting the fat boss's shoulder.

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