Chapter 1: Treated Like a King
The slender blades of grass blocked the view like a dense forest.

Only through the gaps between the grass leaves can you see the deformed gray-black clouds in the sky.

The rain and fog hit Horn's face, but it didn't feel very cold.

If you put your nose close to the ground, you can just smell the grassy smell coming from the wet soil.

It seems like I have traveled through time.

Horn was so sure because in the last moments of his memory, he saw the yellow license plate of the Dayun heavy truck and the distant blue sky.

He has melted into the blue sky.

Sure enough, the moment you look into the distance, a hunter's hut that could be described as a stereotypical medieval building appears on the hillside.

It consists of log walls, a lath frame and a thatched roof. A cross shaped like a "屮" is erected on the top of the gabled roof, and an old lynx skin that has been dried to the point of shrinkage is hung under the eaves.

Subconsciously, Horn tried to twist his head, but no matter how hard he tried, the sight in front of him remained motionless. He wanted to shout, but no sound came out.

What's going on? Has the soul not yet adapted to the new body?
Just as Horn tried to control his body and got up, he heard a thudding sound of footsteps at his right ear, which was pressed against the ground.

Horn stopped trying immediately.

Along with the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, there were shouts and curses mixed with the sound of metal clashing.

Horn had never heard of this cursing language before, but he could understand it surprisingly.

"There is obviously food in the forest, and we can obviously avoid starving to death. Why can't we go in and find food?"

It was a somewhat hoarse voice of a young girl, she was breathing heavily and roaring like a lioness.

"Hungry? Why should I be hungry? Didn't I also suffer from the flood? Why didn't I feel hungry? Sometimes, you should look for your own problems. Is it because your faith is not pious enough? Have you prayed well all these years?"

The answer to the girl's question was a grown man's sneer and the sound of a whirring sound breaking through the air.

There was a sharp sound of metal friction, followed by the sound of a person falling heavily to the ground. Horn, who was lying on the ground, heard the sound of something sliding across the mud.

...Why does this sound seem to be getting closer?
The grass in front of him began to tremble, and the rain fell to the ground, and the splashing mud even fell on Horn's face.

With eyes wide open, Horn looked straight ahead.

Like Moses parting the sea, a huge, plump butt suddenly parted the grass in front of him, pushing the wet soil to the tip of his nose, and directly filling Horn's entire field of vision.

Horn could not help but be stunned by the tight touch on his face.

For some reason, he always felt that the butt in front of him looked familiar.

He took a deep breath, the smell was also very familiar.

Before he could remember who it was, the butt had left Horn's sight.

Supporting herself with the pitchfork in her hand, the girl stood up with trembling legs, her left leg slightly forward, and she faced the knight in front of her in the right iron gate stance of the lance technique.

Thanks to the girl's act of dividing the grass, the grass that blocked Horn's view finally cleared the way.

Through the girl's legs, he saw the man who spoke.

He was about 1.80 meters tall, with a red nose, a mustache, and a mouthful of dirty, yellow teeth hidden under his pale lips.

The black paint on the Milanese half-body armor was somewhat faded by the rain, and in the dragon claw-like iron gloves, there was a half-sword about one meter and fourteen in length.

He held the half-sword in his hand on the round plate of the fine iron shoulder armor, stared at the girl's body, and licked his cracked lips with his bright red tongue.

This was a knight, Horn knew it, and he even felt inexplicably angry.

Behind the man, between him and the hut, was a group of farmers and women, huddled together and shivering like quails.

Most of them wore khaki linen robes with a woolen vest on the outside, a hemp rope tied around their waists, and hooded cloaks or headscarves on their heads. They walked barefoot in the mud.

"Your Excellency, is your friendship, which is dispensable, more important than your subjects?" The girl took a step towards the man in front of her and roared with tears in her voice, "We just want to survive. What have we done wrong?"

"The forest is the property of the church. How can we let you go into the forest to forage for food? How can unclean things defile the pure land?"

"But I've already told you, Lord Myrcella told me in a dream last night that the forest is a treasure house given by God to the poor. As long as you are poor..."

"I find it funny even when you talk about Myrcella."

Before the girl could finish, the knight interrupted her with a sneer: "I only give you two choices. Either let me have an orgasm once and I will spare your life, or, like your brother, I will chop off your head!"

"You lowly creature, you will be punished!"

The figure who pushed her away flashed in her mind, and the girl trembled all over. She raised the pitchfork in her hand and rushed towards the knight. The pitchfork made a sharp sound, drew an arc, and stabbed the knight's neck accurately.

But before she could touch it, the knight easily blocked the pitchfork with the strong body of his sword, and casually rolled the sword up and pushed it, almost disarming the girl.

The girl only knew the first level of the Knight's Breathing Technique, not to mention her martial arts skills. She could only be made fun of by the armored knight of the squire knight rank.

As the girl and the knight moved away, Horn's vision expanded again.

Although I can't turn my head, the range I can see is at least much larger because the obstructions have disappeared.

He looked around and found that he was currently standing on a low hill, no more than ten meters high.

Under the hill, the muddy flood flowed slowly, with only the towering Moulin Rouge able to stick half its head out. Wooden boards, carriages, thatched roofs, and corpses of people and animals floated in the water.

The rain surged like waves in the wind, but it couldn't shake the gray-white mist that seemed to be solidified in the black pine forest.

There was a path in front of the black pine forest that extended all the way to Horn's sight. Just opposite the path was a headless corpse wearing a padded jacket.

It seems that he is the girl's "scapegoat brother" mentioned by the knight.

Death by beheading is the treatment of a king...wait!
Eh, that’s not right!
He looked at the headless corpse over there, and then tried to move his gaze to the chin, but no matter how hard he tried, Horn could not see or feel even a trace of the existence of his body.

The scapegoat is actually me?!
He was a dead person before traveling through time, and he is still a dead person after traveling through time. Then, wasn’t this journey through time in vain?

Although I was lucky before traveling through time, at least I still have an intact body!
No wonder I can only move my sight but not my perspective. It turns out there’s only a head left.

Perhaps because a large body is easier to cool down, Horn calmed down quickly.

According to the Yellow Fang Knight, the original owner of this body was the brother of the girl just now?

Turning his attention back to the fighting girl and knight, Horn looked at the girl carefully.

She is about 1.7 meters tall, a high school student, with long black hair tied into a braid that hangs down to her waist.

The men wore linen shirts with cuffs and drawstrings, revealing their white skin, and animal-skin breeches.

The girl was wearing a knee-length robe, a thin belt around her slender waist, and the pitchfork in her hand was dancing like the wind.

It’s a pity that such an attack is not painful at all.

Even if it managed to land on the knight once or twice, at most it would just scratch some paint off his armor.

What good iron can be used for the pitchfork? It is very impressive if it keeps working.

Compared to fighting, the knight is more like playing with the girl.

Every time, he could clearly hit her with his sword, but he insisted on hitting her with the sword, constantly draining the girl's strength.

After about two and a half minutes, the Knight finally got bored.

Facing the pitchfork that was stabbing at him, he rushed forward and reached out with his iron hand to grab the pitchfork.

Before the girl could react, the weighted ball on the hilt of the sword hit her forehead hard.

In an instant, the girl's forehead swelled up and turned purple.

Staggering, the girl took three or five steps back, trying to stand steady by holding on to the pitchfork, but she could not hold on and fell to the ground.

It was not until this time that Horn was finally able to see the girl's face clearly from the front.

Unlike the rough skin of other farm girls, this girl's face was flawless white, almost as delicate as mutton fat. The black in her eyes was darker than obsidian, and the white was whiter than white marble.

The rain wet a few strands of her messy hair, sticking them tightly to her cheeks. It was unclear whether it was rain or tears, but it was sliding from the corners of her eyes along her cheekbones to her chin.

So familiar.

That was an important person, someone who could not be forgotten. Horn felt a sharp pain in his brain and could not help but frown. Who was it? Who was it?

Jeanne d'Arc.

The name suddenly appeared in Horn's mind.

It was as if a fuse had been lit, and the memories sealed in his mind exploded.

　New author of Qidian, please collect and recommend, please
　　

(End of this chapter)