Lying on the ground in a strange posture, Horn could feel the alternating cold and heat coursing through his flesh, the previous muscle soreness from training and rapid breathing had all disappeared.
He softly exhaled the turbid air, and the sensation of alternating cold and heat gradually faded away. Horn opened his eyes, feeling his stomach rumbling continuously.
He quickly tossed some berries and jerky into his mouth to temporarily alleviate the hunger.
The knight breathing technique requires a lot from food, not only requiring enough meat and fat intake daily but rice and flour are indispensable as well.
This means that for an ordinary person wanting to practice the breathing technique, they must either be like Jeanne with extraordinary talent to gain weight eating anything, or have three meals a day with vegetables and meat, plus time to train.
That’s why the practice of knight breathing technique is widespread, yet most practitioners belong to the Armed Farmers or higher social strata.
Ordinary people cannot afford such high food consumption.
However, ever since the end of the hundred-year War of the Grass character, the wages of laborers and artisans have risen significantly, leading to first and second level breathing practitioners emerging among ordinary laborers and even drifters, resulting in the rise of the mercenary industry.
The Imperial Noble Council hurriedly issued the "Fugitive Slave Law" and "Labor Law" to restrict them, fearing that these lower classes would gain extraordinary powers.
In this world, extraordinary power equals violence equals authority.
Finishing the last two bites of coarse oat bread with water, Horn belched, exhaling a lot of unpleasant sour air.
With his eyes closed, Horn slowly recalled the previous sensation.
According to Jeanne, the mark of first-level breathing technique is being able to effortlessly activate this sensation.
By then, the body’s endurance will significantly increase.
"Master Saint Grandson Pope..."
Horn opened his eyes, and Jeska’s wrinkled big face popped into view.
"Is everyone here? If they’re here, let’s set off." Horn thought Jeska was here to urge him to hit the road to the forest.
But Jeska shook his head bitterly: "Not everyone is here. Two members of the hunting team went missing when collecting cages this morning."
"Missing? Did they run off? Have you looked for them?"
"We only found one, but he was already unconscious. We just carried him to Priest Kosse, hoping that Priest Kosse’s blessing can wake him up."
As soon as Jeska finished speaking, Horn heard a crisp and loud sound not far away, followed by a cry-like wailing and villagers’ series of praises.
Tucking the handkerchief into his belt, Horn stood up and walked toward the open space where villagers were gathering.
Halfway there, he saw about seventeen or eighteen villagers, surrounding Priest Kosse, two robust young men in the middle carrying a young boy walking towards them.
The young boy’s nose was crooked, eyes slanted, and two streams of tears flowed down the corners of his eyes; his right cheek bore a high swollen red handprint.
"Tell me carefully, what happened?" Horn approached the young boy smacked by Kosse.
"I don’t know what happened either. My brother and I were collecting cages in the woods, then I felt dizzy, and while dizzy, I heard the sound of a flute, and after that, I don’t know anything."
Before the boy finished speaking, Priest Kosse beside him muttered with a pale face: "Green-clothed Flute Player, it must be the Green-clothed Flute Player."
Whether it was Jeska or other villagers rushing from another direction, even Jeanne, who feared neither heaven nor earth, their faces suddenly changed.
Green-clothed Flute Player?
With this keyword, Horn quickly searched related memories in his mind and soon found them.
The Green-clothed Flute Player is similar to Horn’s hometown legend of the "Flower Slapping Man."
Legend has it that when the ancestors of the Thousand River Valley people migrated from Bear Castle Territory Kush River to Thousand River Valley, they were once besieged by giant rats.
The chieftain of the Thousand River Valley people hired a Green-clothed Flute Player with a hundred pounds of silver to take away the mice.
The flute player accepted the chieftain’s request and took away the giant rats while playing the flute.
However, the chieftain did not fulfill his promise, so every few years, the angry flute player raises the fog and lures children with his flute, pushing them off cliffs.
If it were in Horn’s hometown, this kind of legend was merely used to scare disobedient children.
But in this place called the Middle-earth world, it’s a real existence; every few years, there are unlucky ones.
Whenever there is heavy fog weather, children below twelve years old are locked indoors and not allowed to go outside.
However, considering that Thousand River Valley is the second most frequent activity area for the empire’s Secret Faction and Cult Group, Horn could easily speculate the origins of these "Flute Players."
Thinking of this, Horn’s gaze involuntarily fell on Kosse.
He remembered Priest Kosse’s twin daughters, Anna and Lena, were taken away by the Flute Player.
Priest Kosse, known for indecision, was staring fixedly at Horn, making Horn a bit uneasy.
How could it be that a witch shows up, and then a monster pops out, Horn truly didn’t expect such a small Red Mill Village to produce so many remarkable figures.
Now, with the forest yielding so little food, if the news gets out, who would dare enter it?
When people lose heart, it’s hard to lead the team.
Horn scratched his philtrum with his thumb, pondering for a moment, and looked up to find everyone staring at him expectantly.
No one said a word; they were all waiting for his decision.
No more hesitation. Horn drew the sword hanging at his waist, pointed it high towards the forest, and spoke solemnly, "This is no ordinary demon anymore; a heavy strike is necessary! All gathering teams of ten households will temporarily stop gathering. The ten households’ leaders will immediately select strong young men to serve as meat... guards, and follow me to rid the forest of demons!"
A few of the bolder young men immediately started to cheer.
Horn’s face held a confident smile.
After all, no matter what monster you are, in front of the witch, you’re just a small demon before a greater one.
In countless demon hunter stories and adventure poems, a prominent trait of witches is their ability to suppress or even control certain demons.
Miseria’s top adversary’s gold content!
After some preparations, Horn, Jeanne, and thirty young men each took fishing nets, grass forks, flails, axes, and torches and set out.
The always cautious Zhongken Old Kosse did not avoid this time; he actually picked up the pig-killing knife that had been unused for a long time and entered the forest with them.
The sky was gloomily overcast, but it didn’t rain—just occasionally a few drops seeped through the blazing torches, stirring up wisps of green smoke.
Traversing the black pine forest in scattered morning mist, aside from the unpleasant cawing of the jays, only the slippery sound of shoes stepping on treacherous ground could be heard.
It felt like a sticky tongue was licking his ear canal, or so Horn felt at the moment.
He donned Master Knight’s leather jerkin, wearing a longsword, walking in the second row.
Beside him, Jeanne, holding a long stick with a charred, sharpened end, dressed in tight leather armor, looked around silently as they moved.
"Master Holy Grandson, look, this is where they fainted," Jeska said, pointing to a crude wooden trap.
Following Jeska’s direction, a European Beech tree could be seen.
Stepping forward, Horn peeked around, using half a sword to push aside a clump of grass, revealing a clear footprint submerged in the muddy water.
Following in the direction the footprint extended, Horn and others lifted their torches and set off again.
As they advanced, the weeds and shrubs became denser, and the mist also thickened.
The chaotic footsteps occasionally halted; Horn and the others frequently had to stop to cut a path or leap over streams, ditches, and moss-covered logs.
Reaching out to hold Jeanne’s hand, Horn pulled her over a ditch.
Jeanne’s face visibly reddened, but she did not pull away; instead, she held Horn’s hand tighter.
"Stay close to me." A witch, this mighty weapon, was safer in Horn’s own hands.
The jays’ cawing had somehow disappeared, even the insects’ calls started to fade away, and the footprints on the ground remained uneven.
Following the footprints, Horn and his party stopped at a small stream, where the prints vanished.
Did they jump into the stream?
Anyone who has seen horror movies knows that splitting up is a big taboo in situations . Horn frowned, just about ready to call out for the young men to head upstream.
But suddenly, he felt a dampness on his ear, as a strong gust of wind came out of nowhere, rustling the leaves and grass heavily.
What was that? In the roaring wind, Horn thought he heard something odd, like a window forgotten open on a stormy night.
No, it was flute music.
The flute sound was faint yet melodious, quietly threading into one’s eardrums.
After the gust, Horn felt a strange silence settle in, even his footsteps stopped, let alone the whispering of the young men.
Amidst the barely audible flute music, Horn turned his head, and his hair stood on end.
He saw that all the young men now stood frozen, their faces vacant, swaying lightly in the wind as if sleepwalking.
It was as if the thirty suddenly halted machines stopped all movement, maintaining their original posture without a twitch.
After the wind died down, the air turned eerily quiet, so silent it felt a bit creepy.
The indistinct flute music drifted into the distance, and Horn swallowed a gulp of saliva—was this for real?