The elderly troll shaman Akbar was a rickety figure, holding a magic staff, and slowly ascended the hill. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 info

The sturdy ox-like winter wolf "Johnny" followed the old shaman, his fluffy mane shining brightly, his mouth spewing cold air, and his eyes scarlet like fire.

Akbar stood on a hill and looked out at the campfire below. The shouts of killing came in the wind, and fierce fighting was raging in the camp.

Akbar's lips curled, his eyes flashing with mockery. He had warned the young trolls not to be careless when he set out on his expedition, and that the Kitlander caravans would not give up their resistance easily. However, those who did not know the height of the sky obviously did not listen to his advice, and probably laughed at him behind his back, and became timid as a mouse.

Indeed, as a troll, Akbar has lived for too long, and his aging body has almost lost the regenerative power that the trolls are proud of, and he can still rule over those unruly offspring, not by brute force, but by spell and experience.

Akbar was born in a turbulent era. He still remembered that when he was young, the entire Troll clan in the Far East was forced to bow down to the Orc King, but within a few years the Orc Kingdom had come to an end, and was divided by infighting and vendettas.

The youthful Akbar had thought that the Troll Horde would be able to take advantage of the decline of the Orcs, but reality soon shattered his naïve dream.

The Dragonlord Mars Bloodlin's furious reign at the top of the Lucia Mountains led the Dragonblood army to brutally suppress warlords from all sides, becoming the new overlord of the Northlands.

Akbar's troll tribe did not escape the suppression of the "Dragon's Eye", and found that he was powerless to fight against it, so Akbar gave up resistance and accepted the rule of the dragon king. To prove his loyalty, he cut off the diehards of his clan who resisted one by one, and used their corpses to secure his throne as patriarch.

This speculation paid him handsomely. His Majesty the Dragon King was pleased with his performance and rewarded him with the castle where the former orc court was located.

For a long time after that, Akbar sat on a high throne and looked down on his clan as a true king, and only in the presence of the dragon-blooded nobles did he show the virtue of humility.

However, not long ago, when a powerful and evil Titan broke into his castle, ripped him off his throne and threw him to the ground, stepping on his chest and demanding that he submit to him.

Akbar's anger was soon replaced by fear, and in order to survive, he had to surrender his throne to a man named Grande, who rebranded the Troll Castle as the "War-Plagued Fortress" and feigned conversion to the supreme god "Hexstowe" in Grande's mouth.

After that, Akbar secretly appealed to the Dragon's Eye for help, but the Dragon King and his five generals remained eerily silent about the incident, indifferent to what happened to him.

Since the old master didn't care about his own life or death, Akbar had no choice but to swear allegiance to the new master, Grande.

In the final analysis, his survival wisdom is nothing more than one sentence - always stand on the side of the strong.

Tonight's attack was Grande's mission, and Akbar didn't understand why the Lord hated the Kitlanders and would not miss any chance to attack them, but killing and looting was a pleasure for him, and he didn't need a reason at all.

The battle in the camp was becoming more and more unfavorable for the trolls, and more than half of the thirty-four participants in the night raid had already been killed. Akbar was very satisfied with this, and it was in vain that he specially selected the guy who was not respectful to him on weekdays and intended to seize the position of patriarch to participate in the operation.

Cutting off dissidents at the hands of the enemy seemed to him a sign of wisdom.

Now that those hairy boys have suffered and learned their lessons, it is up to the wise Akbar to personally reverse the decline, kill all the Kitlanders, strengthen his prestige among the clan, and win the trust of Lord Grande.

The old troll smiled as he took control of everything and slowly raised the diamond-encrusted staff in his hand.

The wind over the hill suddenly changed direction, and the wind swept through the camp under the control of the magic, and the blizzard descended, blowing out the campfire and the torches in the hands of the people.

There were also a few bull's-eye lanterns lit in the tents at the camp, but the faint flames hidden in the lampshades could neither dispel the chill of the wind and snow, nor could they be used to prevent the trolls from regenerating. Mikhail stared blankly at the extinguished campfire, and a look of despair could not help but appear in his eyes.

He knew that the savage race of trolls rarely had spellcasters, but unfortunately the caravans also lacked spellcasters, and the appearance of shamans caused the balance of victory to favor the trolls, and if he didn't give up the goods immediately, he would miss the last chance to escape.

Mikhail gritted his teeth, forcibly jumped into the truck, and was about to order his men to leave their goods and escape separately, when a heat wave suddenly set off behind him.

"Spell Sharpening, Extreme Fireball Technique!"

Swish! A little spark passed by Mikhail and quickly swelled into a huge fireball, hitting the place where the trolls gathered in the center of the camp, and then exploded.

The flames filled the twenty feet of space around the explosion point, and nearly ten trolls were affected by the explosion, and in an instant they were blasted into powder, only two trolls were lucky enough to escape from the fire through reflex immunity, and searched for the caster who had caused the massacre with red eyes.

Mikhail saw the trolls rushing towards him, and he turned his head in fright and crouched behind the trailer, until the two trolls covered in scorched smoke ran past him, and realized that they were not coming for him, and turned his head to see a girl in red standing in front of the tent with a super magic scepter, exuding palpitating magic fluctuations from her body.

Mikhail's eyes couldn't help but widen, he never expected that this sick and weak girl who had suffered from altitude sickness along the way turned out to be a powerful mage!

Nikita looked haggard, but her gaze was as cold as ice and snow, she raised her hand slightly, and a "strong acid arrow" shot out, hitting the troll's throat, instantly corroding a hole the size of an egg, and the wound was bleeding pus, exuding a pungent sour smell.

The strong acid prevented the troll's flesh from regenerating, causing great pain to the powerful monster, and it freed up a hand to cover its throat, and tried to insist on pounced on the female mage who was close in front of it, but the strong acid arrow was like a bone appendage, rapidly expanding the corroded area, causing his trachea to ulcerate, unable to breathe, and finally collapsed.

The other troll leaped directly into the corpse of his companion, and spun into the arms of his long muscles, claws like sharp iron hooks, trying to tear the beautiful face of the female mage apart!

Nikita didn't have time to cast a third spell, but she didn't panic and just took a step back.

A slender figure scurried from her side, like a silver lightning bolt slamming into the troll, sending the monster flying through the air and crashing headlong into the trailer with a dull loud thud.

"Oh my God!" As soon as Mikhail looked up, he saw the troll's shattered face, and he screamed in fright and turned to run.

The chain-wound non-slip wheels creak and turn on impact, and the trailer slides backwards a digital distance. The troll's head happened to be stuck in the wheel, and his neck couldn't rotate with the wheel, and the spokes were broken!

Severed Neck spewed a large amount of green plasma, but the troll wasn't dead, the headless corpse struggling to its feet, staggering through the snow.

Lyudmila frowned slightly, stepped forward and flew up with a kick, kicking the troll into the fire, burning it to charcoal in an instant, completely losing its vitality. (To be continued.) )