I can evolve everything

The old village chief recalled the events with a somewhat blank expression, his eyes darting around in their sockets.

"It was a man, very tall. He was wearing a black cloak," the old man said, gesturing as he spoke.

"He claimed to be a knight. Oh, and by the way, he didn't have a longsword at his waist, but rather a thick roll of linen rope. Before he attacked, he even took out a tattered law book and recited a prayer to the three bandits, saying something like, 'According to Chapter Three of the Silver Law, you are sentenced to hanging...'"

Upon hearing the words "Silver Law," Karen's previously solemn expression suddenly turned somewhat strange.

He exhaled a puff of cold air from his nostrils, as if he had heard an extremely absurd joke.

"So it was him." The old knight sneered. "No wonder those three unlucky fellows ended up hanging in the tree."

"Do you know that person?" Ella asked curiously.

"Of course I know him. Most knights know him. He's no ordinary man." Karen patted the hilt of her sword at her waist, her tone tinged with disgust. "We call him 'The Executioner' Baron now."

He sat down on the stone trough by the well and said to Raine and Ella:

"That madman was once the chief knight under Viscount Edric. That was more than a decade ago. The Edric family was implicated in factional struggles in the capital and convicted of treason. The Earl was sent to the guillotine, his lands were confiscated, and his family crest was stripped."

Karen's gaze was somewhat unfocused, as if she were recalling the past.

"Logically, now that their lord has fallen, knights who swore allegiance should either die for their cause, be recruited into the army, or simply become mercenaries or adventurers without any honor. But Baron is different. That stubborn fool refuses to acknowledge the king's verdict. He believes his lord is innocent and that the laws of his territory still apply."

"So he became a wild knight?" Renn asked.

"A wild knight?" Karen scoffed.

"That's a nice way of putting it. In reality, he's a ghost wandering the border. He still wears that old armor stripped of its insignia and carries with him that long-abolished code of territorial laws. He roams the wilderness, capturing those he deems guilty—bandits, deserters, even poaching farmers—and then judges them with that outdated set of laws, and finally…"

Karen pointed in the direction of the dead tree at the entrance of the village.

"If he were just passing by and doing a good deed, the Knights would usually not care, but this guy is different."

"He hanged them from a passing tree. He believed he was upholding justice, but in the eyes of the Knights, it was vigilante justice. Those who uphold order must be authorized; otherwise, what difference is there between them and thugs?"

"Moreover, this time they were robbers and should be executed, but in the past, there have often been cases where villagers who stole something were hanged by Baron from trees."

Renn nodded thoughtfully.

This is like a policeman from a previous dynasty using obsolete laws to arbitrarily execute thieves on the streets of the present dynasty.

While the thief is indeed guilty, the act itself is a provocation against the existing order.

"So what do we do now?" Ella asked. "Should we go after Baron?"

"We definitely need to find him. His name is on the Knights' wanted list."

Karen stood up, but her gaze did not look into the distance; instead, it fell on the old village chief who was still trembling.

"But before that, we need to help this village first."

"Baron only killed three bandits and left. But in my experience, how could a gang of bandits consist of only three people? These three corpses will only enrage them."

He turned to the old village chief and asked, "How many people are in the Black Dog Gang?"

"There are... about twenty or thirty of them," the old village chief stammered. "Their main base is in the mountains to the north."

"Did you hear that?" Karen looked at Ryan and Ella:

"Three are dead, but a whole brood is left. Soon, the remaining bandits will surely return to take revenge on this village. By then, not even a chicken will be left."

Renn felt a chill run down his spine.

Indeed, that is reality.

In reality, stories of chivalrous acts followed by quick departures are often accompanied by tragic consequences.

"So, we have a goal now," Karen continued.

"Before we go and settle accounts with Barron, let's clean this place up first."

The old village chief was stunned for several seconds before he realized what the knight meant.

He was so excited that he trembled all over, and even wanted to kneel down again to kiss Karen's boots, but Karen stopped him with her sword sheath.

"Stop with the formalities. Find us a draft-free room, and get us some hot water and hot food." Karen sheathed her sword.

"We'll stay here tonight. We'll head up the mountain first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes! Yes! This way, sir!"

The old village chief hurriedly got up, bent over as if worshipping a god, and led the three to the only relatively intact stone house in the center of the village—it used to be the village mill, and now it is the only place in the village that can shelter them from the wind and rain.

Ryan followed behind, leading his horse, and glanced at Karen's retreating figure.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The old village chief led the three to the mill in the center of the village.

Pushing open the wooden door, a stench of stale flour and rat urine hit you.

"Sir, this is the best... the best house in the village."

The old village chief hung the oil lamp on an iron hook on the wall, its dim yellow light barely illuminating the space filled with clutter.

The ground was covered with relatively dry wheat straw, and in the corner were several bags of rye that had been sitting for who knows how long.

To entertain the three knights, the old village chief quickly had his wife bring over two patched wool blankets.

"Is there anything else... you need to tell me?" the old village chief asked cautiously, rubbing his hands together.

"Food." Karen unsheathed the greatsword from her back and leaned against the millstone. "And hot water. It doesn't need to be fancy, just enough to fill our stomachs."

"Yes, yes."

Not long after, the village chief's wife—an old woman whose back was hunched over like a shrimp—came in.

On the tray were three bowls of steaming, mushy food and several pieces of dark bread.

Ryan picked up the bowl and glanced at it in the light.

It was a soup made with turnips, cabbage roots, and a small amount of oats, with a few tiny specks of oil floating on top.

He picked up the black bread that was as hard as a rock. This kind of bread, which was eaten by the poor, was usually mixed with a lot of bran, and sometimes sawdust or even dirt to make it more substantial.

Ella frowned, clearly somewhat resistant to this kind of food.

But Karen remained unfazed.

He broke off a piece of black bread, soaked it in the hot soup, and ate it quietly once it had softened a little.

"Eat," the old knight mumbled. "In the wild, when you're so hungry you have to gnaw on tree bark, you'll feel like you're at a king's feast."

Ryan didn't say anything, but followed Karen's example, soaking the bread until it softened, and then forcing himself to swallow it.