The residence of the Teutonic family is in a valley that is not very concave, and there are two roads leading out of the valley.
A wide and flat passage was used by the Teutonic Knights to go to the battlefield or for other vassals to come to discuss affairs and pay visits.
The other is a narrow path. Not only is the road rugged, but it is also covered with large and small stones. It is round and has no sharp edges. It looks harmless to humans and animals, but it cannot be passed by horses.
This is also the path that successive generations of the Teutonic family have trodden on the hills.
Because according to the unwritten rules, in addition to riding back to report urgent military situations, all Teutonic members must choose to take this path to enter the valley no matter what reason they have to go home.
Once upon a time, the young Atwood thought this kind of rule was strange.
And his father and brother told him that this was an ancestral precept that all generations of Teutonic people had followed. It would be fine for future generations to continue to follow it, and there was no need to explore the reason.
And when Atwood began to learn riding, he complained again.
The ancestral precepts cannot be changed, but the path can be rested a little!
In response, his father, the last Teutonic Duke, just smiled and comforted him by saying that no matter how difficult the road was, it would eventually come to an end, so just be patient and put away your complaints and get through it.
But Atwood still couldn't understand.
After all, whether the road has an end or not has nothing to do with whether it is built or not!
But when he raised questions again, his father no longer responded directly, but simply said that you will know when you grow up.
Atwood, who was just seven years old at the time, didn't want to wait too long for an answer.
So I went to ask my eldest brother, John, who had already held a coming-of-age ceremony and became a member of the Teutonic Knights.
John did not deal with him with great principles.
Instead, he said with a solemn face that the Teutons were a family that thrived in the cold wind and frozen soil, and were born for responsibility and oaths. Every family member would not have rich clothes, fine food, and a pampered life. They would spend their whole lives fighting against
Centaur and hard work. The life of all Teutons is as rugged and difficult as the road under their feet, full of thorns and ups and downs. Only by adhering to the family motto of "never give up" can we face life fearlessly.
This unwritten rule set by our ancestors is to allow every Teutonic man to go home more slowly and have enough time to think about whether what he did when he went out is appropriate; before returning to a warm room, he must first think about it.
I wonder if my duty as a Teutonic person has been fulfilled.
Today, Atwood chose to take this path home.
The weeds on both sides of the road are not only waist-high, but also spread into the path, taking root and growing in the gaps between large and small stones, announcing that everything has changed with the passage of time.
He led the horse on foot, followed John's teachings back then, and when he looked back on what he had done, he felt that things were different.
As a Teutonic, I actually reached an agreement with the Centaurs, the old enemies of Teutonic...
Maybe, if other Teutons find out, they will strip me of my surname and draw swords to fight against me?
He laughed self-deprecatingly.
Slowly raised his head and looked towards the valley at the end of the path.
The once bustling home is now quiet everywhere, even the air is silent.
The brown mountainous area exposes the old chest, the dry mountain walls are barren of grass, and there is endless loneliness.
Boundlessness is its most appropriate background color.
The low wall on the outside is riddled with holes, and the dense nettles clinging to it have left a thick layer of mottled patches after the winter. The houses made of stone and adobe inside are also crumbling after being eroded by wind and rain; dead branches
The dead leaves accumulated thickly on the ground, giving off a faint smell of decay.
Only the cellar-style cemetery built with stacked walls is the best preserved.
The huge and hard stone is not afraid of the sun and rain. In the cold wind and frozen soil, it still records the past that time has forgotten, remembering the glory and vicissitudes of a family that once thrived here.
Atwood tied the horse to a small tree and walked slowly to the valley.
Lifting the brim of the cloak that covered most of his face, he looked for familiar traces in his memory with strange eyes. He gently placed his hand on the low wall and stroked the dried nettles. He knelt on the ground and picked up the dry soil and sniffed it.
"I'm back....."
After an unknown amount of time, he finally murmured.
It was clear that I was very excited and sentimental, but pouring it out in a voice could not relieve the emotion at all.
The winter days in the north are short.
When Atwood woke up from his thoughts, night had quietly come.
After placing the horse in a leeward place, Atwood did not look around at the other houses, but walked directly through the leaf-strewn yard into the graveyard.
Only Teutons who died in the war against the Centaurs will be buried here.
Families will hold funerals for those who abide by family responsibilities and devote themselves to family glory, burn the items they used during their lifetimes on the firewood pile, and engrave their deeds on tombstones.
Today, the outermost tombstone bears John's name.
In the spring of the year Atwood left home, John, who was only eighteen years old, died in battle.
This kind of thing is very common in the Teutonic family.
In the Teutonic family, which also follows the eldest son's succession system, almost half of the eldest sons will not live to inherit the title.
Because most of the men with Teutonic surnames died on the battlefield against the centaurs.
That is Teutonic destiny.
Atwood really wants to have such a fate.
But he knew that this was a luxury hope, at least for now, because there was no Teutonic party to hold a funeral for him.
I am the last Teutonic, the Teutonic who betrayed the glory of my surname.
Looking at his brother John's tombstone, Atwood muttered silently in his heart, quietly waiting for the passage of time and the appearance of the Teutonic ghost.
He was very cold, but he did not dare to light a fire.
He was afraid that the fire would frighten the souls of his family.
He was curled up against the tombstone, not even daring to move, for fear that if he held the position for too long and suddenly stretched, his joints would make a snapping sound and the souls of his family would not dare to come out.
He is also very sleepy.
After returning from wandering for many years, he found an indescribable sense of security in this dilapidated ruins.
This sense of security made him want to leave everything behind and have a good sleep.
So he tried hard to keep his eyes open, and his eyes kept moving back and forth in the darkness.
He also put a hand on his thigh and pinched himself hard from time to time, using the pain to resist the waves of sleepiness. He was afraid that he would accidentally miss it because he fell asleep. He had been looking forward to it for more than twenty years.
Year’s “reunion after a long separation”.
Time passes bit by bit.
The night is getting darker.
The strong cold wind surged in from the entrance, wandering around the cellar-style cemetery looking for windows and gaps, and then left with a joyous cry of breaking free.
Coming and going, over and over again, constantly playing with Atwood's mood.
He went to the grassland first, worried that the Teutonic ghost would not come out to see him.
Therefore, amid the excitement and expectation, emotions such as anxiety, loss, helplessness, and pleading were also constantly entangled in his heart.
His thighs were so pinched that he lost all feeling, his eyes that kept looking around had become numb and blank, and his mood became as empty as the empty cemetery.
But he still insisted on waiting.
The only thing he could do was wait.
No matter how long the night is, there will eventually be light.
Atwood, who had never shed tears since the old retainer who took him to hide in the city of Gardenanras, died. Looking at the morning light that lit up the skyline, the tears that had accumulated for more than 20 years finally let go like a river.
It surged down. After waiting hard all night, he still didn't see the ghost appear. The contrast in his mood from full of hope to extremely lost made him cry heartbreakingly, making him as helpless as an abandoned child, making him be abandoned.
Emotions of grievance and anger dominated her and made her speech incoherent.
"Why!?"
"Why don't you come out to see me!?"
"I am Teutonic!"
"I was only eight years old and you abandoned me and left me alone in the world..."
"Do you know? I almost forgot the way home~I can't remember what you look like~"
"It's been more than twenty years, and I'm back alive, but you don't want to see me!"
"Justice, fearlessness, and never give up! I have always remembered the family motto and have always abided by it! Although I have not experienced the baptism of family rituals, I am also Teutonic!"