King of the North: My Lord's Diary Weekly Summary

In the instant after the initial shock, Wayne came to his senses—many of the bandits who had died at his hands before had lost their chance to defend themselves because of the shock, and he couldn't follow in their footsteps.

However, before he could run a few steps, an arrow grazed past him again, forcing him to change direction once more.

The sound of footsteps around him began to increase, and gradually one or two bandits appeared on his escape route.

What alarmed Wayne the most was that the extremely heavy and obvious footsteps were getting closer and closer to him.

September 3rd, Arthurian calendar 324.

The arrow caught up with you, and gave your head to its master's sword.

A new death scene appears.

Without thinking, Wayne smashed open the bed in the nearby wooden cabin and rolled inside.

Almost as soon as he landed, an arrow pierced the wall of the wooden house at an angle, nearly pinning him to death.

"With that kind of ability, why become a bandit?!"

Wayne couldn't help but curse inwardly.

But he didn't have time to complain.

Outside the window, the heavy footsteps were already within ten meters.

Wayne climbed out of the broken window on the other side of the cabin, rolled on the ground, got up and continued running.

He was like a wild deer being chased by a hunter, weaving through the gaps between houses, constantly changing direction, trying to shake off his pursuers.

But that archer was too accurate.

No matter how Wayne dodged, the arrows always found him. Sometimes they grazed his clothes, sometimes they landed right at his feet.

Even worse, these arrows blocked his best route to retreat to the central region, forcing him to slowly approach the center while circling around the outside.

September 3rd, Arthurian calendar 324.

As you opened the door and fled, you had no idea that death was lurking behind it.

Again.

Wayne abruptly stopped in his tracks—he was about to rush into the cabin he was in.

The warning made him stop abruptly in front of the door, and in the next second—

"boom!"

The wooden door was split open from the inside by two blows, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere.

A tall figure stepped out from inside the door.

It was a bearded man wearing worn but thick leather armor, holding a large cleaver in his right hand, carrying a longbow on his back, and a quiver of arrows at his waist.

His skin had an abnormal dark red color, as if it had been burned by flames, or as if it was congested with blood to the extreme.

Upon seeing Wayne, he grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco.

A cruel smile.

"Baron Wayne".

The man's voice was rough and hoarse: "Let me introduce myself—Eric, the man who's going to kill you."

Eric.

Wayne remembered; this was the third leader of the Black Blade Gang.

Looking at Eric, whose strong physique and ferocious expression did not match the descriptions given by Barton and Gordon, Wayne felt that this state looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

All he knew was that the man in front of him must have gone through some kind of strange event, and he was definitely in danger!

Wayne's only means of survival was his notebook.

Eric seemed to sense Wayne's nervousness and his smile became even more sinister.

He ripped the bow off his shoulder and the quiver of arrows off his back, and tossed them into the snow.

He cracked his neck, making a snapping sound: "I'll use a knife to chop you to pieces, piece by piece, to avenge Scarface."

Before he finished speaking, he had already taken a step forward!

Extremely fast!

Wayne's pupils contracted sharply, and his body instinctively retreated rapidly to the side and back.

But Eric's blade had already struck—no fancy techniques, just the simplest and most violent diagonal slash, yet the force was terrifying.

"clang!"

Wayne raised his sword to parry from the side, and the moment the two blades clashed, he felt a sharp pain in his hand and his entire arm went numb.

The sword itself wasn't damaged, but the force nearly made it slip from my hand.

The difference in strength is too great!

Wayne used the momentum to roll backward, creating distance between them.

Eric didn't give chase, but stood still, tilting his head to look at him, like a cat toying with a mouse.

"Is that all you've got?"

Eric scoffed, "It's a disgrace that Scarface died at your hands."

Wayne did not reply.

He adjusted his breathing, and the frost-covered glands in his chest contracted wildly, sending a chill through his entire body.

Stay calm, you must stay calm.

The journal entries did not issue any further warnings—indicating that there was no immediate threat of death following Eric's attack.

But the footsteps around them grew closer. At least a dozen bandits were closing in from all directions.

Wayne's only chance of survival is to charge into the central area, lure Eric into the cavalry's defensive perimeter, and let the others share the burden.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and ran through the side window.

"Trying to run away?!"

Eric roared and strode after him.

He was faster than Wayne and closed the distance in just a few steps.

However, his robust body was temporarily confined by the window.

Wayne could hear the roar behind him, and he dared not stop, preparing to turn into the central area from the alleyway ahead.

September 3rd, Arthurian calendar 324.

An ambush awaits around the corner, waiting for you to walk right into its trap.

Wayne abruptly turned at the alley entrance and lunged into a nearby wooden hut.

Almost simultaneously, two machetes came out from around the corner, but missed.

"Damn it, how did this kid know?!"

The bandits lying in ambush cursed.

Wayne burst through the wall on the other side of the cabin and continued running.

He kept changing his route, using houses, low walls, and stacks of firewood as cover to evade Eric's pursuit.

Fortunately, although Eric is incredibly strong, fast, and physically imposing, he doesn't seem to be very bright.

When he needs to overcome obstacles, pass through narrow gates, or make sharp turns, his movements are always a beat slower.

And the best news was that he threw away the bow.

However, Wayne's stamina was being rapidly depleted, and while the Frostraven glands provided a cool and clear mind, they were also increasing the burden on his body.

His breathing became rapid, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

Ahead, they finally saw the sentry area set up by Hank and Anke—two cavalrymen were hiding behind a low wall, watching them nervously.

Wayne gritted his teeth and charged forward, shouting hoarsely:

"Plans have changed! Engage in close combat in the central region! Absolutely avoid direct confrontation!"

His shouts echoed through the alley.

Almost simultaneously, Hank's voice came from the side roof: "My lord?!"

"Don't come down! Shoot from the roof! Hold off the one behind!"

Wayne didn't even turn his head.

Eric had already chased after him. Like a raging bull, he smashed through the wooden cart blocking his way and swung his machete at Wayne's back.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Wayne lunged forward, the blade slicing across his head.

He rolled over and got up to continue sprinting.

Arrows began to fall from the roof.

Hank's aim was good, but Eric slashed across and knocked him down, then accelerated and disappeared from Hank's sight.

"monster……"

Hank gasped for breath on the rooftop.

But the arrows did serve to delay him, allowing Wayne to create distance and rush into a densely populated area.

The narrow alleyways here, piled with miscellaneous items, are more suitable for close combat.

"Anke! Take some men and block the western alleyway! Weimeng, the north!"

"yes!"

The cavalrymen began to assemble, and Anke and a few others even mounted their horses. They charged out from their respective ambush points or fired arrows to meet the bandits behind them, and after another round of attacks, they entered the residential area.

Eric lunged again, his eyes red, and with his machete he cleaved through the makeshift wooden barrier that Hank and his men had set up, sending splinters flying everywhere.