If the Wolf Bandits didn't have a bandit leader like him, the only fate would be their destruction - just like the bandits of the Northland Norgo in the history of the game, this winter's bone-chilling barren wilderness is their eternal rest.

Bandits?

Of course, those noble lords who are high up. I have long been accustomed to using this derogatory term to refer to them, but in the final analysis, the so-called "bandits" are just a group of civilians who are struggling to survive in troubled times-

The nobles didn't mind whether they lived or died, and Gross didn't mind sending these nobles to death as well.

A group of four people, four inaugurants, stopped in front of the gate of the Ampton mine.

"Oliver, Levine, stay here, don't let one go."

Gross confessed coldly, and he looked at Scott again, who nodded, his gaze determined.

The two figures were getting closer and closer.

Half an hour ago, after driving those stinky mud legs away from the Empton mines, the Red Feather Mercenary Regiment's mission this time was substantially over-

Randall and his guards were learning about the situation in the mine and counting the general supplies, while the mercenaries of the Red Feather Mercenary Regiment were riding three Western war horses on the flat ground in the middle of the mine, constantly riding their horses and cheering.

The war horses still obediently succumbed to the whipping, like those uninteresting mud legs.

"It's a pleasure to ride on such a good horse."

Christopher laughed and sighed. Beside him, the mercenary Anthony rode another war horse with pure black fur and casually echoed from time to time-

Unbeknownst to him, this horse originally belonged to Gross, the "wolf leader" of the wolf bandits.

Two figures.

It's a very ordinary dress, and the one who walks in front looks like his clothes are in tatters.

"Those mud legs are back?"

Christophle turned the horse, and he frowned and said, "Anthony, you go and see, get these two guys away." ”

"Okay, Christopher."

The war horse and the figure approached step by step.

Gross saw the high, oily, glowing hooked nose - he was riding Gross's warhorse, and according to Old York, it was the same guy who had severed Barron's arm.

Anthony had already whipped his horsewhip.

Riding on a tall warhorse, this feeling of looking down on his opponent was really good, and he licked his cold and dry lips with his tongue with some excitement, staring at the young man in the lead-

The blood of the mountain people is nothing special in appearance, except for a pair of bright brown eyes.

Suddenly, these eyes were fixed on him—

For some reason, Anthony felt a creep, like a prey under the watchful eye of a falcon—as if he saw the gaze of these eyes suddenly become substantial, penetrating his body.

Charge!

Draw the sword!

Cut your throat.

When Anthony reacted, there was only a whirlwind in front of him, and before the cut on his neck bloomed red blood, his body had already fallen-

A few involuntarily rolled, his back hit the hard stone on the ground, and he was about to stand up, but he found that the strength of his whole body was passing quickly.

The field of vision was dim, and soon, it became pitch black.

Gross mounted.

People and horses have a heart, and the horses' hooves run wildly.

Target, Christopher, the deputy head of the Red Feather Mercenary Regiment.

With just one sword, Anthony was defeated.

The head of the regiment, Cang Lan, stayed in the house behind at this time and did not show up - these mercenaries couldn't help but be stunned when they looked at this scene, and Christopher couldn't help but feel a chill in his heart.

A casual blow.

The figure standing on the ground had already knocked Anthony off his horse, and when the blood splattered from his neck flew upside down with his body and scattered a red blood splash, he knew that this time he had encountered a hard stubble.

A very strong enemy, he is not an opponent at all - the power of that sword not only frightened the mercenaries of the Red Feather Mercenary Group, but even Christopher, who was in the middle rank, did not dare to have the courage to fight head-on.

Because Anthony just now has the strength to be close to the middle level of employment.

Horses with pure black fur charge at high speed.

Christopher was about to escape, but the distance was getting closer, and he suddenly realized that he was too late—he had no choice but to unsheath his sword, and he lifted the reins of his horse and hurriedly met it.

Two horses staggered.

The sword light is swallowed, and the sharp cut is made.

Christopher's sword-swinging block seems to be a completely useless kung fu at this time-

His eyebrows, eyes, Adam's apple, chest, and waist were all swords, and several blood flowers splattered. He felt a cold breath that seemed to freeze the blood in his body, making his movements sluggish and stiff.

[Chill].

Side attribute of the Frostbite Sword.

The horse's hooves turned, and Gross turned sideways and swung his sword again.

The sunlight cast a brilliant golden halo on the sword, and Christopher saw only a flower in front of him.

Pain.

Fly higher and higher.

One last glance he saw the headless corpse of the horse.

Scott swung his two-handed sword and fought with the rest of the mercenaries—

Although his strength is much inferior to that of the bandit leader Gross, in the face of these mercenaries who are generally at the beginning of the ranks, Scott at this time looks like a tiger in the flock and is unstoppable.

Gross sat on his horse, his cold gaze glancing.

He soon found his purpose again-

A knight with long blond hair, Randall Jeffrey.

The target also spotted him.

In fact, long before he fought Christopher, the deputy head of the Red Feather Mercenary Regiment, the handsome noble knight had already noticed -

Randall turned over and mounted the white war horse, looking solemnly at the young man on the flat ground in the middle of the mine.

Black Horse vs. White Horse.

Aristocracy against bandits.

The light-heartedness of this operation had made Randall somewhat careless, but now, he had to admit that this guy in front of him was quite difficult to deal with.

With his strength and vision, it was not difficult to see the depth of the enemy in the battle just now.

The same inauguration is high-level, and, swordsmanship is extremely extraordinary.

But he is not afraid, his martial arts come from the inheritance of the Jeffrey family, and can be regarded as the standard model of a regular knight of Talen-

The knights of the Talon region are known as the "strongest knights of the Northlands", and the Jeffrey family happens to be one of the best of these knight families.

Randall rode his war horse to the flat ground, his gaze awe-inspiring, staring at the young man opposite—

This is an extremely beautiful pair of dark gray eyes, deep and smart, showing the charm of the owner of these eyes, making people feel inexplicably good and want to be close.

Unfortunately, Gross looked back at him on his neck.

Because of the previous hunting activities, his whole body was no longer intact, but at this time, riding on a black war horse, that kind of terrifying power was unexpectedly snatched for a while.

The mercenaries of the Red Feather Mercenary Regiment had already been frightened, they were far away from Gross, and for a while, there were only two knights in the wide flat land.

Gross is not a knight, but the strength he shows is not inferior to that of a regular knight.

Randall knows this.

Draw your sword, swing it, and perform a standard sword salute.