I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

Not skin and bones... to still have the leisure to make witty remarks at a time like this, it seems this person has quite a strong mentality. Guinevere's lips twitched, thinking to herself, while asking aloud, "So, you've been in this forest all this time? But that battle happened ten years ago. Ten years is a long time, and this isn't some remote place. Surely a few passing travelers would have heard your cries for help?"

“No, no. Kind girl, you didn’t understand me. From the moment the bet ended, old Talisin was trapped in that darkness, and darkness—” the skeleton paused: “is everywhere.”

“Hmm…I don’t quite understand.” Guinevere shook her head, honestly admitting it. She then turned to Al, “And you?” Calling her Artoria every time was too long, and while using the alias Artos in front of other strangers was fine after it was exposed, it felt a bit awkward when it was just the two of them. Because of this, the two discussed it briefly and finally decided that one of them would be called Fina and the other Al, just like Kai, which sounded closer.

But afterwards, the transmigrator, still using a pseudonym, felt a little guilty. If only she had just given her real name from the beginning… Although she thought that given Artoria's personality, as long as she explained clearly, there shouldn't be any resentment, and strictly speaking, Fina was a name given by her mother, and both she and Guinevere were real names, so it wasn't exactly lying. She could explain later… At this moment, she didn't realize that this thought of "later" was often the prelude to the pigeon taking flight.

Turning to look over, she saw that Artoria was also shaking her head. She wasn't the talkative type; in fact, having looked up to Hector since childhood and having Kai as a negative example, she wasn't as withdrawn and unapproachable as the old knight, but she was still rather taciturn. To put it kindly, this was a case of being good at action rather than words, a style of conduct admired by saints. In Guinevere's words, it was probably something like, "If you can do it, don't talk."

"Crack crack crack... It doesn't matter if you don't understand. Old Talisin isn't the kind of ungrateful wretches. Since you've rescued me, as a way of repaying you, before I say goodbye, I'll give you a prophecy."

It paused, and suddenly two frosty flames appeared in its dark eye sockets, flickering in the moonlight: "Fate has woven such a path—'At the end of this road, there is nothing you seek. The mist spreads, and birds of death will be born from the mist, spreading their wings and singing, traveling with bones. You who cling to life, go east, to the end of the sea, to the end of the earth, where the last light falls from the sky, people in the shadows, the light that buries the sun—'"

Guinevere's expression changed. It wasn't because she understood the so-called prophecy; in fact, apart from the first sentence, she didn't understand what the next few sentences after heading east were saying at all. But the problem was that after the skeleton uttered "This is how fate is woven," every single word was spoken in perfect Mandarin—and it was her native dialect from her previous life!

"You..." She opened her mouth, uttering the word "you" in the language of this era, but then switched to her native dialect: "You're a time traveler too!?"

Guinevere caught a glimpse of Artoria looking over with a puzzled expression, but she paid no attention to it, her eyes fixed on the skull, waiting for a response.

"Crackling sounds... What?" The skeleton's expression—it would be strange if it had any expression at all, but judging from its voice alone, it was full of surprise, not feigned: "A language I've never heard before... It seems you have many more secrets to hide, crackling sounds—"

"You just..."

The words that were already on the tip of her tongue suddenly stopped, because she suddenly realized that if the prophecy was indeed in her native tongue from her previous life, then Artoria shouldn't have been completely unresponsive. As she pondered this, suddenly, the campfire beside her seemed to dim slightly.

At first, she thought it was an illusion, but the next moment, the firelight visibly dimmed. Something was gathering deep in the woods ahead. She could feel a rustling sensation on her skin, and her hair stood on end. Guinevere stood up, her hand on the hilt of her sword. At the same time, her companion beside her did the same.

The two stood side by side, gazing at the dark forest.

Even though there was no wind, the campfire began to flicker violently, teetering on the brink of collapse, as if caught in a storm. "Is it the one you just met?" Artoria asked softly.

"uncertain."

Guinevere answered.

But she pressed her left hand on the hilt of her sword, her meaning clear: whether he was or not, if he dared to come closer, she would first slash his mother. Artoria understood perfectly and clearly agreed with the decision.

But under their gaze, the darkness in the forest grew even denser, its surging light revealing a distinct difference in depth from the surrounding night, yet it remained fixed at the outermost edge of the forest, as if an invisible dividing line separated the forest from the outside, keeping this ink-black presence inside.

"Kakaka-"

The skeleton suddenly let out a hoarse laugh: "It seems the time for parting has come. Although it's only a brief reunion, old Tarrysian is very happy to be able to speak with a living person again after ten years. As the prophecy foretold, the person you are looking for is not in Cornwall. Continuing forward may draw you into a great affair. If you don't want to lose your life easily, head east. Crack crack crack, crack crack crack—"

Before the laughter subsided, the two phosphorescent flames in their eye sockets suddenly intensified, engulfing the entire skull in an instant. The next moment, the two watched helplessly as the head burned to ashes in the white flames, drifting away in the wind and disappearing without a trace, leaving only a few scorch marks on the stone. Meanwhile—

Guinevere looked up.

They discovered that the darkness in the forest was slowly receding, its color fading, until it finally merged with the night, leaving no trace of its existence.

"It came for that man named Talisin."

"Ah."

With her hand still on the sword hilt, Guinevere spoke softly. Artoria responded, and the two gazed at the woods for a long while before turning around. The campfire had gone out, leaving only a pile of firewood and wisps of smoke. After everything that had happened, the long night had ended, but the chill remained. In the distance, a faint, pale light was beginning to appear in the sky.

"This is... amazing. I thought I was dreaming."

A moment later, it was unclear whether one of the two said something. Then someone laughed and said, "This kind of unexpected experience is also part of the magic of travel."

"That's right."

The other person smiled, went into the cave, packed up their bedding, which Guinevere then magically transformed into a small bag, which they hung back on their waist. After washing up by a nearby stream, they picked some fruit to feed the horses. Amidst their busy work, the morning sun burst forth, birds sang, and the sun rose, bringing a bright and beautiful spring scene.

"That prophecy..."

“If it’s true, something big is going to happen in Cornwall soon. Should we do as the prophecy says and turn east? I remember the east is supposed to be…”

"The territory of 'Fisherman King' Pelles".

"Hmm, never heard of it. So what should we do? I'm fine with going either way. The prophecy sounds pretty plausible, but who knows if that old skeleton gentleman is just being funny and tricked us. So, if you don't mind, Al, I'll decide."

"Fina".

"Ok?"

"That's the direction we came from."

"...You know what? The world is actually round. Even if we go in opposite directions, we will eventually reach our destination...I can't keep making this up. Al, you lead the way."

"May I?"

"of course."

Under the morning sun and a pleasant breeze, after gathering the firewood for the campfire, the two men and their horse descended the hillside and continued southwest...

P.S.: Reaching a memorable 50,000 words! Remember to recommend, vote, and add to your favorites after reading!

Chapter Seventeen: A Few Things About the Small Village

"This is all the food the village has..."

The small door to the warehouse opened amidst the voices, and a burly figure stood in front of it, almost blocking out all the sunlight. He squinted as he looked into the room, his tone full of dissatisfaction: "Only this much?"

"Sir Knight, the harvest last autumn was already bad. It was alright once or twice, but in just a few months, you've come to collect it five times already..." The hunched old man spoke tremblingly, but before he could finish his sentence, the knight in armor suddenly reached out, grabbed his collar, and lifted him up.

"Knight, please spare me! Please spare me..."

The man struggled desperately in mid-air, but the arm was like cast iron, refusing to budge no matter how much the old man struggled, as if he were holding a chick rather than a living person. The knight stared at him and said, word by word, "Why do you think this is? War is about to break out! Without food, how can you go to the battlefield and kill people! You should honestly hand over your grain, and we will naturally protect you. But if anyone dares to disobey the king's orders, or secretly plots anything... that village to your west is a prime example!"

Having said that, he tossed the old man to the ground, leaving him hunched over and coughing incessantly. The knight glanced at him coldly. "I'll come again tomorrow morning. Prepare enough food before then. Otherwise, I don't mind spending some time searching house by house." He pressed the hilt of his sword, turned, and left. A small group of people had gathered in the open space outside the warehouse. They had been talking quietly, but upon seeing him approach, they immediately fell silent and hurriedly made way for him. One young girl was a little slow, and the knight reached out and touched her. Embarrassed and annoyed, her face flushed crimson.

"you--"

The boy beside her suddenly took a step forward, about to speak, but when he looked up and met the knight's gaze, he froze, the words stuck in his throat. The knight raised his chin and stepped right in front of him. The boy was already tall for his age, but compared to the knight, he was still more than half a head shorter. The knight looked down at him, "I—what's wrong?" He even spat on the boy's face.

He clenched and unclenched his fist, while those around him watched with concern, and everyone, including the girl, subtly distanced themselves from him. After a long while, the boy gritted his teeth and lowered his head: "No...thing."

"Think carefully about what you're going to say before you open your mouth next time, understand?"

The knight patted the man's face a few times, laughed, and strode through the crowd toward the edge of the village. Only after the figure disappeared at the village entrance did the people, who had been silent for so long, begin to whisper again. Someone came over and said, "Doug, you were too reckless just now—" The boy ignored him and ran straight toward the old man on the ground.

Several people went over to help the old man to his feet, but perhaps because the fall had been too hard, he was still coughing incessantly and could barely breathe. A boy named Doug squatted down, reaching out his hand but unsure what to do, he hesitated, asking repeatedly, "Dad, are you alright?"

The old man patted the back of his hand, indicating that he was alright. The boy nodded, then gritted his teeth: "This is...this is really too much! They don't want food, they want our lives!"

The man who had spoken earlier approached, squatted down beside the old man, and patted his back to help him catch his breath. He was a man in his forties, thin and small, with dark skin, a horizontal stripe of blue paint on his face, and his hair tied in several buns at the back of his head. He wore a brown cloak made of wild boar skin, and a herbal fragrance emanated from him. Once the old man felt better, he stood up, pressing his knees, and repeated, "Doug, you were too reckless. That was a knight who had been officially knighted; even if he had killed you on the spot, there wouldn't have been any problem."

"I..." The boy seemed to want to argue for a moment.

But then the man continued, "It doesn't matter if you die, but think of Heath and your father." His tone was calm, but the boy didn't finish his sentence. He turned to look at the girl who had been taken advantage of earlier. Their eyes met, and the girl blushed again, her face flushed with shyness and a hint of guilt for having backed away out of fear. He opened his mouth, and after a long while, silently nodded.

Then another silence fell. The village was small, with only about twenty households. Many men had perished in the years of war and monster attacks. Now, aside from the elderly, women, and children, there were only about ten able-bodied men left who could be considered able-bodied, including Doug and the middle-aged man in the boar skin. Normally, just working in the fields was a heavy burden, let alone in recent years. Because of the constant disputes, large and small, between Marco and several surrounding lords, the lords, under the guise of preparing for war, frequently levied grain from the villages and towns under their jurisdiction. As for how much of this grain actually went to the war effort and how much ended up in the pockets of certain individuals, the people knew, but dared not speak out against it.

"But no matter what, this is too much! Where are we supposed to conjure up so much food for him in a day? And the harvest is getting worse every year; we're barely enough to eat ourselves..."

“There was no other way. You’ve heard about what happened in Nishimura. When the deadline arrived, there wasn’t enough food. That knight drew his sword and searched house by house. When he found the hidden food, he killed the whole family with one sword… Half the village died.”

"Without food, we'll still starve to death!"

“It’s better than dying at the hands of that knight right now.” The conversation continued for a while, with Doug speaking passionately and angrily, while the man remained calm and indifferent throughout. He paused, turned to the hunchbacked old man, and said, “Sir, you’re the one who makes the decision. We’ll all listen to you on what to do.”

The old man pursed his lips. When he fell, a pebble had cut his face, and blood was flowing down his cheeks, but he didn't wipe it away. He was helped to stand there. After the man finished speaking, everyone else gradually stopped talking and looked over. After a moment, he let out a long sigh: "Go and bring out all the food you have. Let's pool our resources... it should be enough."

"dad!"

The boy called out. The old man looked at him and shook his head: "Doug, in this world, don't think too much about the future, it's useless. Living one more day is good enough; if you really can't survive... well, we'll see. Cough, cough..."

"Doug, take the old man back to rest."

"Um……"

With a nod, the boy took over the task of helping the old man, guiding him toward the largest house in the center of the village. The middle-aged man stood outside the warehouse, glanced inside, closed the door, then looked up at the sky with a serious expression. A moment later, several men, carrying stone spears and wooden guns, surrounded him: "Uru, what do we do now?"

"What do we do?" Uru was still looking at the sky, which was clear and cloudless.

“At this rate, none of us will survive. In the past, when things were like this, at least we could go into the woods and hunt a few rabbits or birds to eat. But now, with that demonic boar around, we can't even get into the forest. And what we grow isn't enough to meet the taxes we have to pay... We can't just sit here and wait to die, can we?”

"Yes. We have to think of something..." he muttered to himself, "but what can we do?"

“We can’t figure it out, but Uru, you’ve always been very clever and capable, unlike us. You must have a good idea. Stop keeping us in suspense and tell us!” someone urged.

Uru simply shook his head and gave a wry smile: "I'm sorry to disappoint you, I don't have any good ideas either. Or rather, the idea has always been there, but I just haven't been able to implement it."

"We have to do it no matter how difficult it is... What's the best way?"

"It's simple. Since we can't enter the forest right now because of that demonic boar, we just need to drive it away or kill it, and then we can hunt again. The problem is..."

He didn't say the last sentence.

But there's no need to say anything more.

As Uru said, it wasn't a brilliant plan. Surely no one in the village had considered it, but several attempts to organize it ended in disastrous defeat, leaving behind several corpses. The most valiant fighter, Doug's brother, the young man slated to become the next village chief, was pierced through the body by the boar's tusks in a single encounter. The others fought desperately, managing only to salvage a small piece of the body; the rest was shattered. Now, the village's situation was worsening; people couldn't even get enough to eat, let alone have the strength to drive away the boar.

Traditionally, when faced with a powerful enemy that one cannot defeat alone, one would often seek help from the local lord, who would then dispatch his knights to resolve the situation. This would both relieve the suffering of the people and enhance the knight's reputation for bravery—a win-win situation in a sense. However, the ruler of this land, King Marco, was notoriously petty, suspicious, and jealous, and this suspicion extended even to his own subordinates. Several years ago, Marco and the Fisherman King of the East had a border dispute. Before it escalated into a full-blown war, both sides followed an ancient custom, each sending a knight to duel before several respected elders. The loser would cede a portion of the border territory to the winner.

Marco won that time, and the knight's fame soared. However, this fame displeased Marco, who soon found a pretext to strip him of his title, reclaim his territory, and banish him. After this incident, no knight was willing to accept any requests from within his territory. Not only did they have to risk their lives in battle, but even if they won, they risked displeasing the king, and decades of effort could vanish in an instant. Who could bear that?

All of this, and so on, made it clear that hoping the king would send someone to drive away the demonic boar from the forest was highly unlikely. Clinging to a sliver of hope, the village made several more requests. The first couple of times, the official in charge promised to report to the king as soon as possible, but later, the villagers who went to the castle couldn't even see the official before being driven away by the guards.

After this incident, their hearts were already half-dead. Then, Marco, under the pretext of needing to replenish supplies for an impending war with a neighboring country, sent men to requisition grain from their territory five times within three months, completely shattering the villagers' hope. As for resistance… it wasn't that no one had considered it, but even ten ordinary people couldn't defeat a regular knight. They couldn't win, and they didn't know where to flee to. Generations of their ancestors had lived, grown old, and died here. No matter how desperate and pessimistic they were, few had the courage to abandon their homeland and start over in a completely unfamiliar place.

The future is so distant. Ten years ago, when all the kings submitted to Uther as their lord, and England, Wales, and Scotland united to fight the Picts in the north, those days are still fresh in most people's minds. But the passage of time has gradually blurred those days. Life was certainly better ten years ago than it is now, but in what ways was it better, and what were the differences? When asked, people often can't answer. Since that's the case, they can only take it one day at a time, living each day as it comes.

Uru stood with his hands behind his back, looking up at the sky, letting his thoughts drift aimlessly. Those who had gathered, seeing he seemed truly helpless, dispersed. He had to go back and count the grain, do another count in the afternoon, and then search every house to make sure no one had secretly hidden anything, lest it harm everyone tomorrow. And so another busy day passed. This was how he had spent the past few years.

Suddenly, as if he heard something, his left ear twitched slightly, and then his gaze shifted to the side—towards the village entrance. Most of the villagers had gone home to check their food supplies; only two or three children were playing outside, and only they could still laugh at this time. The laughter echoed under the clear sky, but soon faded away. He looked at the village entrance; the children seemed to have noticed the approaching sound as well. Some looked bewildered, while others showed expressions of fear, hurriedly running home—the last time the knight came, he was accidentally bumped into by a child, and the knight kicked the child. The knight was wearing armor and iron boots; with that kick, the child broke several ribs and struggled for several days before finally dying.

From then on, the other children were terrified not only by the knight, but even by the sound of his hooves, fearing they might suffer the same fate as that unfortunate child. Children of that age couldn't truly understand death, but they witnessed the agonizing struggles before death. Uru listened intently for a while, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

He initially thought it was the knight from that morning returning, but upon closer listening, the sound of hooves was different... The children scattered and fled, and the sound of hooves gradually approached the village entrance. He thought for a moment and then went to meet it.

Then, in the gentle spring breeze, I saw an old brown horse carrying luggage approaching from the other end of the road, and a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy and girl who looked like a brother and sister walking in front of the horse...

P.S.: It's still a long chapter of 4,000 words~ Remember to vote for it after you finish reading, and if you have monthly tickets, please use them; if you haven't added it to your favorites yet, please do so. Thanks~

P.S.: My older sister doesn't love me, so this thread sank. I'll try again in a couple of days during the double-up event...

Chapter 18: Is there an exclamation mark above this person's head?

After encountering the skeleton who called himself Tarrysin, the two headed southwest. At this time, Britain was sparsely populated; even the most prosperous fortified city of Lentinium had only tens of thousands of inhabitants. As for the various kingdoms and territories, they were even less numerous. In remote areas, one might walk for an entire day without ever encountering a village or town. The two traveled on foot, their pace not fast to begin with. Aite, being an old horseman, was not in good physical condition, so they walked and stopped frequently, occasionally seeking shelter in populated areas for the night. However, most of the time they slept in the open, hunting for game and gathering wild vegetables and fruits to eat. They took turns keeping watch, and when they couldn't sleep, they would use branches to spar and practice their skills under the moonlight.

There weren't any clear-cut rules for the competition. Guinevere estimated that she could win about three or four out of ten matches. Moreover, she could tell that although her opponent was the same age, she had the aura of someone who had already killed and stained her skin with blood. If it came to a real fight, her chances of winning would probably be even lower, but considering that her opponent was Artoria, Guinevere didn't feel there was anything shameful about it.

As the days and months passed, Guinevere woke up to birdsong in the mountains, as usual. She packed the two tents back into her small bag. There were still a few fruits left over from yesterday, so she washed them by the stream. On the way back, she ate one herself, giving the rest to Artoria—perhaps because of her small, thin frame and small appetite, she was only slightly better off than the birds; a couple of fruits and a few pieces of rabbit meat were enough to fill her up. For this little princess, who had tasted all sorts of delicacies from around the world, nothing else mattered. Even the dishes painstakingly prepared by the Scottish royal chef, praised by others, she merely found to be mediocre.

As for the slightly less appealing dishes, they were either so greasy they were unbearable or so bland they tasted like birds flying out of your mouth—none of them were worthy of her praise. Even if she wanted to cook, firstly, she hadn't learned much in her previous life, and secondly, the seasonings she could get her hands on were extremely scarce. A skilled cook can't cook without ingredients, so this "small appetite" saved her from a lot of culinary torment. And since traveling with Artoria, she had come to appreciate the benefits of eating less—if the two of them could eat that much, by the time they reached this point, Britain would probably be completely devastated, without a single blade of grass left, before they even had a chance to raise an army to overthrow the lowly king.

Of course, she wouldn't say these words to Artoria's face until she was confident she could defeat her in a one-on-one fight. After all... life is only once, and it should be cherished.

"What are you thinking?"

"I was wondering, you eat so much every day, why aren't you as fat as a ball... Wow, I didn't say anything. You didn't hear anything either, that's all!"

Hearing the question from the person beside her, she instinctively blurted out what she was thinking. Guinevere immediately reacted, covering her mouth with her hand and jumping aside to create distance between herself and Artoria, in case the latter suddenly attacked. But when she looked over, the latter was still standing in place, leading her horse. She blinked, seemingly thinking of something, and suddenly laughed: "Fat as a ball... Pfft. Fina, you sometimes use some strange metaphors... Although they seem quite interesting, they make riding a horse and wielding a sword very troublesome, so... I'm sorry."

"Then when you no longer need to ride horses and wield swords, you can try eating your fill and sleeping every day, then eating again after waking up, and try to evolve yourself into an Al-ball."

"Hmm." Trying to imagine that kind of life, Artoria smiled slightly. "And you? Do you also eat your fill and then sleep, only to eat again after waking up?"

"No, I'm responsible for taking photos on the side and then putting the photos in the museum so that people all over the world can appreciate Al-Qiu's heroic figure."

"Take a photo as a souvenir? What's that?"

“It’s a kind of magic prop from my hometown…like this—” She gestured with her hands to form a square frame, took a few steps forward, turned around, and the frame swayed a few times, capturing the blonde girl leading the horse inside: “It can freeze a moment in time. You can then watch it countless times.”

"There are such amazing magic props... Scotland is truly an incredible place." Artoria exclaimed in surprise, her eyes wide.

"That's it."

Guinevere nodded seriously.

The pointless conversation continued for a while. To be honest, after being exposed to his rambling and nonsensical pronouncements for so long, Guinevere couldn't imagine what kind of bizarre country Scotland would be in the mind of the certain knight king. Anyway, after putting herself in his shoes, based on his somewhat nonsensical (and gossipy) descriptions, the Scottish capital would at least be a developed metropolis with airships in the sky and traverses by land, a vast subway system where you could eat Hainanese chicken rice without even leaving the station…

The authentic Hainanese chicken rice must be served with three different sauces.

By the way.

Guinevere herself preferred to eat it with that black sauce.

"The other two sauces simply don't bring out the true flavor of the chicken!"

"It sounds delicious. I'd like to try it sometime if I have the chance."

"...I'll treat you then."