The smoke is initially located roughly in the middle of both sides, and over time will slowly move towards the weaker side of the attack.

The Pompeii Mage Regiment was significantly larger, with higher titles and more formal formations, and theoretically it was undoubtedly a far more powerful spell-casting force than its opponents.

Baate – A lot of times theories are just theories. But if you have eyes, it is not difficult to see that the elemental smoke not only did not reach the Stuart people's faces as expected, but began to move towards the side of the Pompeii mage in mid-air, slowly but unstoppable!

In other words, the Pompeii mage regiment, which has better book strength, is at a disadvantage in the confrontation!

Anyone with even the slightest knowledge knows that the mages can't be blamed for their lack of work.

There are too many off-site factors - Winterfell, one of the largest cities in Stuart, is equipped with a mana extraction device. Use the magic circle to extract the original magic power contained in the magic crystal, and after a series of purification and transformation, it is provided to the mage for direct calling, which can save its own magic power and shorten the casting time.

The role of this super-large alchemy equipment in the mage confrontation is self-evident, but because the structure is too complex, there is basically no portability at all, and the Pompeii army that came from afar has not been equipped with it.

It's like two children fighting with mud, one is thirsty and hungry and eats meat, but the other can only hold back tears on an empty stomach, full of grievances and hard resistance. This kind of confrontation, which was unfair from the beginning, does not reflect the true level of the two sides.

In addition, there is a more important reason that one of the fire mages who blessed the trebuchet just now did not participate in the battle!

They weren't trying to slack off, but they were meditating in the wagon.

In order to create the quietest environment for them to be, the mage servants in white gloves and tuxedos had to tear up the velvet curtains on the battlefield and light the fragrance of pure spices.

Since there is no free lunch in the world, there will naturally be no free spells. Earth-shattering power has always been at the cost of earth-shattering attrition.

The trebuchet is easy to reset, but the mana consumed is not replenished so quickly. Even if the supply of magic crystals is open, these fire mages will have to rest for at least a quarter of an hour, and they can't expect to be effective anytime soon.

A combination of factors has created the current awkward situation.

The hands of the Pompeii mage group did not stop for a moment, and one spell after another left a brilliant trail in mid-air, as if a meteor was rubbing in the atmosphere.

These powerful and dense spells, destroying the charge of an elite cavalry brigade head-on are as easy as bending down to pick up a mustard.

But this can't change the fact that they are suppressed, because the opponent's spells are faster, more and stronger! If there must be one wound when two strong fights, then it seems that the only one who will swallow the bitter fruit of defeat at this moment is the Pompeii!

"Damn, where is the dragon knight!" Although Gao Shan Fort was in the position of watching the play, Richard still couldn't help but feel angry.

With an absolute advantage in strength, this virtue is not enough to describe it as embarrassing!

Before the war, he was in the Legion ward, and in Winterfell was the famous Stuart general Seedorf. At that time, he still thought it was funny, what kind of bullshit celebrity general was only able to defend the city? He was also a "rock", and even an "anvil" was not easy to use in the face of absolute strength.

And now the lord is completely convinced—not Seedorf, but the pigs' brains of the top of the Pompeii expeditionary force!

From the beginning of the all-out bombardment of the city wall, every step was pinched by Seedorf, and the interlocking accuracy was amazing. It's like the two sides are cooperating in acting, and if there is a slight mistake in the middle, it will definitely not be difficult to stand at this point!

There is no doubt that the dragon knight assault can solve the current dilemma, but with the strong strength of the Pompeii expeditionary force, it is undoubtedly a dark history for all officers to be reduced to the point that they must rely on the dragon knight to put out the fire.

The lord didn't have time to do anything, and first memorized a piece of black history, which made him not annoyed.

"Chief, look over there!" Gunther threw away the skin of the melon seeds, patted his lord's arm and pointed into the distance.

"Ang!" Before Richard could react, the dragon groan suddenly sounded. It was so long and loud that it sounded like thousands of yards of copper pipes resonating and resonating, shaking people's ears.

When he turned his head, he saw two dragons with more than ten blades flapping their wings and soaring into the air, and the two figures on their backs looked extremely small in comparison. It was Higuain and another dragon knight, Count Zed, and his mount was a prime-age frost dragon that looked a full lap larger than Higuain's Osiris.

"Huh. "Even if Richard has never been accustomed to Higuain, he has to admit that the Dragon Knight does have the ability to break the deadlock.

The broad dragon's wings flattened in midair, and the currents propelled the dragon toward Winterfell at breakneck speeds.

As the dragon faded away, the lord could not help but be fascinated by the scene before him—roaring, spelling, wailing, bloody battles on the walls, a rain of arrows like locusts, and bright smoke, arrows on fire in tall chariots, spells piercing the sky like meteors, and mage's robes hunting and flying under the agitation of the air currents.

There is also the huge dragon beast that soars in the sky, which is challenging the even larger Xiongcheng in the distance.

Taken together, it was a hundred times more powerful than any image Richard had ever seen. He took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling the most extreme visual impact on his face, and the hairs on his body couldn't help but stand on end.

Richard couldn't help but miss the precious camera that used to be, and with a flick of the button, it could become eternal in an instant.

"It would be nice to be able to record that. So the lord muttered to himself subconsciously. Sometimes, even if he knows that he can't go back, he can't help but miss that convenience.

"I! I'm a painter!" Monet grabbed his brush and threw himself at the drawing board, babbling and trembling all the time.

Richard turned his head to look at the supposedly famous painter, who was beginning to work like a mad eccentric.

Whether it's the attacker or the defender, no one will honestly stand still and be a model. The warriors who are still in the limelight at one moment may be cut off by the bed crossbow the next moment.

Monet was ready to carefully describe it at first, but it was not enough to describe the situation on the battlefield as ever-changing, how could there be so much time and brushstrokes.

So he quickly abandoned this senseless insistence. Instead, he focused on depicting that "feeling" with more arbitrary brushstrokes.

His eyes grew brighter, and the expression of a layman became more and more confused.

Richard had seen the line drawings he had sketched for himself, as well as some of his previous paintings, all of which were very elaborate and exquisite. As for this one, well, very, very "impression" - in the eyes of some laymen, as long as it doesn't look like it, it's certainly of little value.

Unfortunately, the lord is just such a layman.