In a crowded tavern not far from the military camp in Besançon Square, a well-built drunkard with a naked upper body and loose linen trousers was using the power of alcohol to mess around with the owner.

The tavern owner with a red beard and a pockmarked face rolled up his sleeves, put his fat face against the drunkard's nose, and growled in a low voice: "Angus, how much money do you owe me for drinks? Look at what you look like now.

, even if I sell you to a slave trader, I won't be able to get back a few silver coins. If it weren't for the fact that you have been my neighbor for many years, I would have sent you away long ago. You still have the nerve to talk to me and trick me into drinking.

?”

"Get out of here!!" The shop owner pointed at the door of the shop.

The drunkard named Angus ignored the shopkeeper's cynicism and growling, and planned to bypass the shopkeeper and jump into the wine cabinet to search for drinks.

The shopkeeper grabbed the drunkard's arm to prevent him from entering the wine cabinet. The drunkard was upset and turned around and punched the shopkeeper hard on the head. The shopkeeper's nose and face were bruised and bleeding.

"Angus, you bastard!" the shopkeeper shouted angrily, and several bartenders and cooks from the back room of the tavern came to the front room carrying sticks and surrounded the drunkard.

Seeing that the atmosphere was not right, several drinking guests hid aside with their glasses in hand, making noises while drinking.

The drunk man leaned on the wooden platform in front of the wine cabinet, looked at the fierce and strong men surrounding him, smiled and said to the shopkeeper: "Hey, man, it seems you are prepared for today?"

The shopkeeper covered the bridge of his bleeding nose and replied bitterly: "Angus, I respect you for being a warrior, but I didn't expect that you have become a complete gangster. Today I must teach you a profound lesson.

.”

The drunkard took off his belt and wrapped it around his hands, tilted his head, spat, and replied: "You little bastards want to teach me a lesson? Come on!"

After saying that, the drunk man raised his fist and hit the shop owner...

……………………

Art and Ron pushed past a woman with colorful makeup who was a pimp on the street, and walked straight towards the military camp. Many passers-by and vendors gathered around the entrance of the tavern in front of them, and there was a loud banging sound in the tavern.

, the sounds of smashing clay pots and cracking wooden tables were heard constantly, the whistling of sticks and fists hitting meat were heard from time to time, and bursts of exclamations and cheers were heard from the onlookers.

"Master, there seems to be a fight in the pub in front~" Ron stopped at the street corner, weighed his feet and looked at the crowd in front of him and said.

Art had no intention of going around and watching the excitement like those bored citizens. "It's just gangsters causing trouble. There's nothing to care about. Let's go."

Ron also felt that street gang fights were really boring compared to battle battles, so he hurried a few steps to catch up with Art.

When the two of them were trying to get around the crowd of people watching at the entrance of the tavern, a naked drunk man was carried and thrown out of the tavern by several bartenders, causing the onlookers to stare at the drunkard's lower body and exclaim.

"Get out! If you dare to come near my tavern again, I will make you unable to crawl." The owner of the tavern shouted at the naked drunkard outside the door.

A bartender with a bruised nose and swollen face saw the drunkard lying unconscious on the ground and had no intention of letting him go. He walked up and stabbed the drunkard with a half-broken fire stick. When he found that the drunkard was not dead, he vomited at the drunkard.

He took a mouthful of thick phlegm, twisted his red and swollen face and yelled at the drunkard: "Bah! Don't you call yourself the Bloody Tomahawk? Get up and give me an axe! You bastard! Go to the street and become a beggar!"

Then he picked up the stick and planned to beat him again to soothe his bruised face.

"That's enough!" the owner stopped the bartender who was swinging his stick.

Art, who had just walked through the door of the tavern, suddenly stopped, and Ron bumped into Art without noticing.

"Master, what's wrong?"

"Ron, did you hear what was said over there?"

Ron was confused and replied: "Someone said "enough!""

"The previous sentence? Did someone mention the "bloody battle axe"!"

Ron thought for a while, "Yes, it's the bloody battle axe. Master, what is the bloody battle axe?"

Ron was raising his head to ask Art, but Art had already turned around and got into the crowd at the entrance of the pub.

The "bloody battle ax" mocked by the bartender fell into Art's ears, and thunder rang out instantly.

"Scarlet Battle Ax" is a name that the "original owner" of this body, Art, was familiar with when he participated in the Eastern Expedition with his father.

Six years ago, the sixteen-year-old original owner Art had just become a Holy Order sergeant. During a battle, Art's Holy Order unit was ambushed by the local army. The leader of the Holy Order knights, knight attendants and more than a dozen

The Holy Legion sergeant was shot dead on the spot. Art and the remaining thirty or so sergeants, led by a young sergeant named Angus, fought desperately. The brothers around him died one by one, and the horses under him fell to death one by one.

At the end of the battle, the spears in the hands of the soldiers were broken and the daggers were curled. After the sergeant cut the throat of an enemy soldier with the curled sword in his hand, he picked up the long-handled battle ax dropped by the enemy soldier and roared.

The horses rushed towards the dense enemy. The blood mist caused by the sergeant major's charge boiled the blood of the soldiers. The soldiers behind them picked up the enemy's weapons one after another, climbed on their horses and launched a final desperate charge towards the enemy.

The sergeant major immediately wielded his long-handled battle ax and slashed at the enemy troops like crazy, carving out a breakthrough from the enemy troops...

In that ambush battle, two hundred pagan cavalry ambushed Art's Holy Order detachment. One Holy Order knight, five attendants and thirty-seven sergeants in the detachment were killed on the spot, and the remaining thirteen Holy Order sergeants followed.

The sergeant major carrying the bloody battle ax broke out of the siege and entered the vast desert~

The enemy kept pursuing them. The sergeant major led Art and the others to run away in the desert for a whole day. By the time they got rid of the enemy's pursuit, Art and the others had lost their way. The dozen or so surviving soldiers walked in the desert for five days.

The scorching sun burned the pus and blood from the wound into black scabs, and the armor on the body was burnt to a shiny color. There was no water source in the desert, there were no doctors, and there was no holy light from God. In the end, everyone could only rely on slaughtering.

His own horses drank blood and meat to prevent the entire army from being wiped out. In the end, only eight of the thirteen soldiers who escaped the enemy's ambush walked out of the desert and returned to the Holy Group's stronghold.

Since then, that sergeant major has been called the "Bloody Ax" by the soldiers in the Holy Order...

After returning from the desert, Art's father, Baron Wells, transferred Art to his own Holy Order unit. Soon after, the frustrated Baron Wells evacuated Art and returned to the Holy Land.

hometown……

............................

Art knelt down and turned over the drunkard who was lying on the ground like a dead dog.

"Sergeant major?" Art shouted in surprise.

The drunk man on the ground couldn't hear any sound at all. He was already drunk and unconscious.

"Ron, go find some clothes."

Although Ron still didn't understand what happened, he rushed into the tavern without hesitation, threw two silver coins to a drunkard, took off his coarse cloth coat, and picked up a pair of shorts on the ground.

He ran out of the store and put it on the drunkard.

Art tried to wake up the drunk man again, but the drunk man still didn't move. "Can any of you tell me what's going on?"

The crowd of onlookers didn't know what was going on and kept silent.

At this time, the owner of the tavern stood up hesitantly and replied: "Sir, this guy was drunk and causing trouble in my shop, and I kicked him out."

Art stood up and asked the shopkeeper: "Do you know his name?"

"Angus Doyle is my neighbor. Sir, do you know this guy?"

Art ignored the shopkeeper's question and turned to stare at the drunkard on the ground. The drunkard turned over and grunted a few times.

Art didn't know what this former warrior had gone through. He shook his head and turned to the shopkeeper and said, "Man, since he is your neighbor, please send him home~"

"Sir, this guy not only owed me wine money but also trashed my pub. I don't want to send him back." The shopkeeper said reluctantly.

"How much does he owe you?"

"Hmm, probably, at least one to two hundred pfennigs. Well, including the things he broke today, it's two hundred pfennigs!" The shopkeeper looked at Art's clothes and offered a very high price.

Art took out two silver marks from the money bag at his waist and threw them to the owner of the tavern, "Find a few people to take him home."

The shopkeeper took the silver coin and looked at it carefully before asking a few bartenders to lift the drunken man up and walk to the east of the city.

"Ron, you go back to the camp first, I'll go back later."

Ron took the order and returned to the square camp, while Art followed the tavern owner to the drunkard's home...

............................

The dilapidated wooden house, the old furniture, the dusty room, the carpet full of wine smell, the pottery pots and wine bottles rolling around on the floor, and the rats running rampant in the corners, this is the former sergeant major of the Holy Legion "Blood"

Tomahawk "Angus Doyle's home in Besançon.

Art dug out a tattered wooden stool from the corner of the wooden house, sat down on the wooden bed, looked at the drunk man in front of him with saliva at the corner of his mouth, and said to himself: "It seems that you are not the only frustrated holy warrior.

Just one~"

Art just sat quietly in the dilapidated wooden house, recalling the scenes the original owner experienced in the Holy Land, thinking about how to recruit this fierce general under his command...

The sky slowly turned dark, and before he knew it, Art had fallen asleep...

Suddenly, Art felt something strange, and when he opened his eyes, a sharp dagger was already placed on his throat.

"Don't move, your neck is not as strong as you think." A voice full of alcohol smelled from behind.

Art clenched his hands and said calmly: "Relax! Sergeant major, can't you hear my voice?"

The short knife around his neck was slowly released.

The sound of rummaging and the sound of a fire sickle were heard in the wooden house, and then the wooden house lit up.

Angus picked up the candle and put it close to Art's face. He was surprised and said, "Are you ~ little Wells ~ Art?"

"Yes, Sergeant Major, I am Sergeant Art Wood Wells of the Holy Legion."

Angus was surprised for a moment, and then became cold for a moment. He went under the wooden bed and took out a wine bottle, raised his head and took a big sip, and then said to Art with the smell of alcohol: "Ah

Young Master Special, didn’t you leave the Holy Land and return to your hometown? Why did you come to Burgundy? You came to see me specifically? I’m not worthy of a personal visit from a noble young master~”

Angus circled around Art and flipped Art's chainmail hood, "Man, I didn't expect you to be so tall now~ How is your sick father?"

"My father has passed away~"

Angus paused for a moment, then continued teasing: "Then should I call you Baron Art now?"
To be continued...