"Human Miscellaneous, Kill, Kill!"

The sound resembling a rodent chewing on a bone gradually shifted into a clear and indisputable human voice in the mouth of the tall gray prophet.

It sounded terrifying enough, like a whisper from the tomb, and absolutely no real human could make such a terrifying sound.

Step by step, Lord Scotta, the Grey Prophet Lord, walked as if he were walking through his own army, carrying a heavy skull scepter towards Lord Muller, who was several heads shorter than him.

As a powerful warlord, Skita is cautious and cunning, often wanting to use more backstabs or intrigues against opponents who are weaker than him.

For the rats, glory and fairness are basically children's jokes. Only victory and killing the enemy are glorious, and no matter what the process is, a bad result is a complete failure.

This time, Sita openly ordered the rats to stop trying to drown Lord Müller's albino rats like moths to a flame, and proposed a relatively "dangerous" one-on-one battle.

First of all, Skita is a strange nezumi who is born to represent strength and violence. When he advanced to the Council of Thirteen, he went head-to-head with the original lord, and it was obviously a nezumi blood mage, and it rushed forward, and the bloated former last warlord didn't even have time to raise the cumbersome machete, and the inferior mutated rat's head had already been twisted off the neck by Sitta, who stood up straight for the first time.

At this time, every thirteen-member council present found that this clumsy-looking rat-man was actually strong enough and cruel enough to gladly accept its joining.

Since then, Skita has always felt that he is the chosen warrior of the god of the rat people, the Great Horned Rat, and that he is bound to rule the whole world, because he is invincible alone.

Its crazy obsession with heads-up, whenever it is possible to win, it will definitely propose one-on-one duels to win a vital war for itself in the midst of blood and killing.

And this time, it didn't even have any fear, and the opponent in front of it was really not worth mentioning.

The old lord in front of it was no longer old enough to fight, and seemed to be barely standing on the ground. The only ornate saber in his hand that was already about to crumble was really not worth mentioning, and Skida even wondered if such a weapon would be able to cut through his hard fur.

There were only five paces left between the two men, and the warriors on both sides of the flanks were ready to crush the defeated enemy and defend their commander.

"Whew——!" Unleashing a primal war cry, the Grey Prophet was the first to strike the Lord in the head with the scepter in his hand. As one of the few tacticians and skilled warriors among the rats, it knows exactly how important it is to get ahead.

"Ding ——!" The heavy scepter was barely lifted by the saber, and the lord staggered, but he stood anyway.

Skita, who thought he could kill with one blow, was a little surprised, but he still felt that he could win, adding prestige and glory to himself once again.

Back and forth, the two men barely started fighting, each smash was set apart, and every slash of the Lord was blocked by the iron armor on the limbs on Skita's shoulder, and both sides made no progress.

But the Lord was old, and one eye still had black blood tainted by the nezumi weapon, and the pain was unbearable, and he himself fought, stood, and even survived with sheer willpower.

"There are 40,000 more, and I'm just- cough!"

The old man's beard had been completely stained red with blood, and his body was always on the verge of collapse due to repeated attacks and defenses, but he couldn't fall down.

"I can't lose!"

Shouting as hard as he could, Lord Muller struck out as if he had returned to the light, and set up the striking scepter in front of him, dodging to attack him, only to find himself completely immobile.

With a sinister grin, Skita's terrible rat face finally smiled in triumph, though it looked more terrifying than anything else to the grinning ugly face of the human.

One of its hands had grasped the Lord's unarmed arm, the old man's left arm, which was too strong to exert because of the injury.

"Hey, hey—you're done, you're done!"

With a cruel smile, the thick arm like a monster was forced, and in the staring eyes of the surrounding soldiers, he directly tore off that arm!

"Ah——!h

The uncontrollable pain forced the Lord to scream, but he still had a trace of stubbornness and military persistence.

With all the strength of his right hand, the long saber slashed directly through Skita without any armor protection, except for his chest, which was now completely clumped!

"Boom-"

With another heavy muffled thud, it was all over.

At the end of the Great Council of the Thirteen, the Grey Prophet clan warlord Erin Sjita, a powerful nezumi mage and warrior, has earned its new trophy, a veteran's arm.

In return, the head and scepter of this ugly monster became Lord Muller's trophy and, of course, the life of this arrogant mouse.

Nezumi are not loyal, never have been, always.

When the warlords fell, the endless tide of rats began to retreat, trampling and biting each other in almost no order, and soon they all hid back in every crevice and underground cavern they could find.

The morale of the soldiers in front of them was greatly shaken, and they shouted and rushed forward, fighting with the albino rat guards, who were already leaderless, and although they did not escape, their morale was already declining.

Lord Müller stuck his saber in the blood-soaked earth, and in his hand he held the skull scepter he had picked up from the rotten flesh that had just been immortalized on the ground, and proudly walked at the forefront of the battle.

He was almost completely unable to walk, limping forward, the pain of losing his arm and the hollow darkness of his eyes making the old fellow almost faint, but he knew he had to hold on now.

He was right, every time he appeared on the battlefield, the rat man who had been attacking fiercely retreated again and again as if he had seen an evil ghost, as if he was afraid that this terrible monster would kill him by some terrible means.

In this way, the already precarious city was saved, and at dawn it returned to the earth again, and under the rising sun, there was no longer a standing mouse, and the entire battlefield of Aldolf was covered with corpses, and Lord Müller and his warriors stood proudly in the sea of corpses and blood.

Until the last big white mouse was slashed by a sword, and after a few convulsions, he could no longer move, and Mueller glared at the people behind him who had begun to rush towards him, and laughed with satisfaction.

Then, like a collapsed tall building.

This determined warrior finally allowed himself to fall, after a day and a night of fighting.