Warhammer: I, Bartor Farmer

Chapter 20 The Pitchfork

No matter how much he has achieved, for Roel, life still has to go on.

Looking south from the reef camp, the dark forests of Musilon, the corrupted plains, the huge swamps and surging lakes gradually turned into black haze in the setting sun.

How crazy is the daily life for the night watchman in the eyes of the peasants?
The damp wind blowing off the coast is chilly, but autumn is an eventful day, and the Yankees or whatever are hoping to get something more out of Bretonnia before winter.

Roel was squatting by the campfire at the moment, talking to his friends. "The harvest day of this year is coming soon, shall we rest on the Holy Grail Festival?"

Eustabe shook his head naturally, and then poured a bottle of brandy down his throat. He is still drunk today, making one doubt whether he can fight well.

Elf girls are not festive at all, not to mention their position is also very important.

Roel couldn't help complaining. "Oh, everyone can rest now, but we can't."

"It seems that the city defense will get worse that day. I really don't know what else will come out of this fringe area?"

Elena might be tired of hearing it, and retorted. "If someone hadn't let the ghoul smash the statue of More, I'd still be in the forest listening to the stories of the trees."

Eustabe blushed with that scrawny zombie face. "Moore, do we still have that thing?"

"In Musilon, the More Garden is a rare place, and no one can guarantee that you will not become a dead spirit after death."

He is no longer acting, and the elves don't care about his origin at all, and Roel already knew about it.

Roel blushed. "How do I know that a statue needs to be finished and sent to the garden to be consecrated by believers for a month before it will be useful."

"I didn't take it seriously at the time..."

Eustabe waved his hand and walked to the stone pile in front of him. This was the place where he was going to make a defensive point, and it was completely destroyed by the Norscans yesterday.

At this moment, I couldn't help but feel distressed, and then I picked up the chisel and continued to tinkle.

Elena looked listless, after all, night is not the time for wood elves to be active, this time Roel didn't bring his precious firecracker because he had no bullets.

He raised the pitchfork and walked around like a peasant thug, gesticulating now and then with the pitchfork.

Of course, he wasn't strong enough, fast enough, or experienced enough to act like a real farmer without a firearm.

Because of the high popularity and size of the peasant army in Bretonnia, some imperial scholars judged that in a large-scale war, the peasant's pitchfork may kill more enemies than the knight's sword and horseshoe.

But such a heresy is obviously not believed in Bretonnia itself, and a pitchfork is just a pitchfork.

As the night gradually darkened, a large number of undead began to move. If it was just the wind of death and the corruption of the undead, the most born dead would be ghouls and zombies.

But today it seems that the opposite side is no longer acting. Skeleton soldiers began to appear continuously tonight. This thing is not a dead spirit like a zombie that only resurrects the brain, but a completely magical creature that requires the caster's full attention to control it.

There is no doubt that many corpses were found on the opposite side, but the weakness of the skeletons is also obvious. Compared with real soldiers, they are extremely weak, and the power provided by the wind of magic is also very poor. Although the formation looks neat, But the only advantage over zombies is that they won't be used as carrion supper by dragon leeches in the river.

At this moment, about 50 skeletons were slowly approaching, but Roel immediately asked Elena to leave. "Go to the other side of the river and see if there is a mage casting a spell. There should be no way to escape like this!"

Elena understood, jumped onto the nearby tree, and began to search for traces of the enemy.

And the skeleton army in the distance looked even more terrifying under the moonlight, all of them were strictly disciplined, because they were controlled by one person, and their movements were uniform.

However, Ostak naturally smashed a skeleton's head with two hands directly behind the bunker, like two small hammers.

Maybe it's because he looks like a Necromancer, or Musilon's mutation made him get something, his strength is not decent, especially the strength of his grip, maybe he is more suitable to be a blacksmith?

And Roel was behind him, relying on the long pole characteristics of the pitchfork, thrusting into the bone of the skeleton in front.

All of a sudden, the skeleton was knocked out, Caracalla, and fell to the muddy ground, falling apart into a ball.

And the rib that was hit by the pitchfork was directly broken into two halves, and Eustabe showed a surprised expression at this moment, because he knew very well how hard human bones are.

"Wow~ did you load the pitchfork with dynamite?"

Roel's mysterious answer. "Not that extravagant, just some skill, a little luck, and, well, a good enough pitchfork."

Eustabe returned him. "Don't be kidding, a pitchfork has this power, so I won't be a debt collector!"

Roel once again performed the trick of using a pitchfork to instantly kill a skeleton, and then said firmly. "That's right, you really quit."

Eustabe couldn't refute, so he could only sprinkle his doubts and a little bit of anger on the skeleton in front of him, and punched the skeleton with a knuckle punch, causing the skeleton to fall to the ground, but he still found that his full strength punch It is impossible to smash the weathered human skulls for a long time, and one or two is not easy, but there will be 1 or so!

Eustabe shouted. "Can you teach me!"

Roel shook his fingers inscrutablely. "King Lawn says you're not qualified to make a pitchfork, even a farmer."

Eustabe really believed it, because Roel made up the article, and felt that the work on the other side was so easy, and his heart was unbalanced. "King Lawn is wise, so please do your best, Master Pitchfork, I will go to rest for a while."

Roel pulled him back. "Don't run away, keep working."

Eustabe rubbed his shoulders. "A bottle of brandy, don't mix it with water."

Roel was very dissatisfied in the face of this guy who took advantage of the fire to rob, but the skeletons obviously didn't want to use all their strength. "Half a bottle!"

Erstabe returns immediately to "Deal!"

After that, the two of them looked at the dozens of skeletons in front of them, gearing up.

(End of this chapter)