Roger saw that it was a woman dressed in Arabic clothes, with a hijab scarf wrapped around her neck but not covering her face.

Roger couldn't see clearly the other person's appearance in the dimness, but he only felt that her eyes were as bright as two stars.

The woman's voice was very clear, and she said: "Well done!"

It's in Arabic and Roger can understand it.

So he replied in Arabic: "Hello."

More than a dozen horses emerged from the entrance of the alley, crowding Roger and the woman, and they ran toward the north gate together.

Roger saw that they were wearing helmets made of metal sheets riveted directly together, lightweight leather breastplates that only covered the front body, and scimitars instead of swords slung around their waists.

He knew that this was the attire of Arab warriors. Obviously these people were not in the same camp as him.

Roger guessed that they probably saw him knocking down the officer, so they regarded him as one of their own.

He wanted to get out, but was trapped in a dilemma and had no choice but to race with them.

Soon they arrived at the north gate, and all the soldiers drew their swords.

A bearded man took the lead and cut the throat of an unprepared city guard, then knocked another guard away with his horse.

Several more Arab warriors rushed forward, and together with the bearded man, they slashed at the city guards who were left guarding the city gate.

Several others dismounted and went to open the city gate.

Roger saw that they were killing people decisively and ruthlessly, and most of the city guards at the gate had been deployed, so they were obviously no match for them.

He looked at the Arab warriors around him who were on alert with their swords drawn, but did not rush to join the city guards.

The city guards guarding the gate sounded the alarm, but those guards who were scattered everywhere to arrest people could not get back in time.

A few came here and there, just like moths flying into the flames, just killing these tough bandits.

The city gate was opened.

The woman shouted: "Let's go!"

The woman took the lead and rushed out, and the rest of the Arab warriors rushed out together. Roger was being held hostage and could only run along.

He wanted to stop, but the horse and sword behind him refused.

He turned around and saw the fierce man with a large beard cut down a pursuer in front of him with a knife, and then he patted his horse and caught up.

Roger wondered if he would be struck by a knife if he stopped.

As soon as he hesitated, the horse ran out of the light of the torch at the top of the city and escaped into the darkness with them.

Roger couldn't see the road at all, but his horse was led by the horse next to him and galloped all the way.

He knew that outside the city were crisscrossed farmlands, and he was worried about where he might fall into a ditch.

But these people seemed to be very familiar with the road conditions. Sometimes they went straight and sometimes they turned, without any hesitation, but they kept running on the road.

By the time their horses descended, they had reached the edge of the basin and set foot on the winding mountain path.

Roger looked back and saw that the torch at the north entrance of Palermo was as small as a candlelight. Danny's figure was swaying back and forth in the firelight. Even from a distance, he could feel his hesitation and frustration.

Roger didn't shout, Danny couldn't have come faster than the knife at the side.

He didn't turn around and run away. In the darkness, he would just fall into a ditch, and then be caught up and have his throat cut by these people who were very familiar with the road conditions.

The bearded man followed behind, and the smell of blood wafting from his body overwhelmed the salty sea breeze.

So Roger could only follow them silently, spinning around on the mountain road.

Looking back, there are only shadows, and the fire of Palermo can no longer be seen.

Before dawn, the group arrived at a very simple temporary camp. There was a group of Arab warriors stationed in the camp. Roger couldn't see how many there were.

The horsemen in this group dismounted their horses to rest and took turns praying.

Roger also dismounted and found a tree trunk to sit against.

His heart was filled with regret, and he knew that one wrong choice in life would often lead to a huge difference, but he didn't know what went wrong with him that would lead him to this point.

His life was completely in the hands of others. He was now like a defeated slave in a duel, helplessly looking at the noble's thumb.

A voice taunted in his mind: "Do you know how the pig died?"

Another weak but stubborn voice asked: "What if I am 'Porco Rosso'?" (Note: Hayao Miyazaki's "Porco Rosso")

This weak voice gradually became stronger, and finally completely occupied his mind.

Roger stopped feeling sorry for himself and decided to give it a try.

He put out his little ears and at the same time began to think about his advantages.

He thought, first, he didn't have any emblem on his body, and the other party didn't know his identity, so he seemed to regard him as one of his own; second, he knew Arabic, and his little ears could bring him information; third...

Little Ear suddenly interrupted his thinking and gave him a hint.

"Princess Amyra, who is that person?"

"I don't know, Assad, I just saw the dog-legged officer attacking him and being knocked down by him."

"Princess Amyra, we can't trust an outsider easily. Let me end him."

Roger, who was eavesdropping, felt a chill. He thought that before he could figure out the third advantage, the other party was actually about to take action.

Fortunately, Princess Amyra gave him a glimmer of hope.

She said: "Let me ask who he is before I make a decision."

Roger's brain began to work at full speed, and he had to find a suitable identity for himself.

Honest reporting of family names may have been a common practice among knights in this era, which could lead to an honorable death, but it was not in keeping with Roger's character.

There is no point in giving him a random name. These murderous gangsters will happily help him manage the relics.

Roger suddenly realized that he had overlooked something, "Princess", the man called her princess, this was a clue, which princess was she?

The famous detective Roger Kogoro jumped out of his mind. He said to Roger: I will not let you die, I will let you understand how big a mistake you have made.

Roger humbly admitted his shortcomings and said: Please help in any way.

Roger Kogoro answered confidently: As long as you take a nap, any problem can be solved! Hahahahaha!

Roger slapped himself in the face to wake up his mind after a sleepless night.

Then, he began to analyze it seriously.

In the Arab world, there are many princesses. Every chief or emir who rules an area can have their daughter called a princess.

There are many princesses in Africa across the sea, but they have no reason to come.

It seems that there is no Emir in Sicily after Dad completed the reunification, but what if it is a posthumous daughter?

Roger started wrangling his fingers. The last emir should be Ibn Hamoud. He surrendered to his father 18 years ago, converted to God, and had a manor in Calabria as his own baron.

Ibn Hamud attended his own baptism. A few days ago, he sent a letter to explain that he was old and unwell and could not come to attend the knighthood ceremony, and swore allegiance to him in the letter.

That woman's voice didn't sound old. If it was Ibn Hamud's daughter born 18 years ago, she would be of a suitable age, but she should have no reason to come against him.

Further ahead are Syracuse, which surrendered 30 years ago, and Palermo, which surrendered 37 years ago.

Roger tried his best to squeeze his brain cells. He had to figure it out before dawn and figure out how to talk to them.

sometimes,
Chapter completed!