"My friend," said Master Demon on the other side of the mirror, "I thought you knew the elves better than I did, and you had half elven blood in you, and you had been with them for seventy years," he carefully controlled his smile so that it seemed neither mocking nor sympathetic, lest the stubborn and narrow half-elf be angry with him: "The elves have always been like that," he said, "they like beautiful and vibrant things, and people, nothing to blame, it's their nature." ”

He smiled slightly, "I have not been able to meet the mage of Cremar, but according to my brother Adelle, he is a near-perfect young man, intelligent, powerful, handsome and pure, with black hair that belongs to the elves of Aya, in that case, Fenway, who can not be attracted to him? ”

"I'm not here to discuss this. Fenway said.

"Ah," said Demon, "of course." He didn't remind him that it was Fenway who had complained to him about Ilda's closeness to Cremar in the first place, and he nodded softly as if he understood, "I'm sorry." ”

"It doesn't matter. ”

Fenway said dryly, his long, human-like fingers gripping the edge of the table, and he turned his head weakly to stare at a silk carpet on the wall, as if this would prevent Demon's words from echoing in his ears— The silk carpet that covers almost the entire wall is the work of Ilda, which has taken her ten years of free time, and it presents a scene in the depths of the Silvercrown Forest, where the fog is dissipating, where the light is speckled in the dense forest, where the Silvercrown trees stretch out their dense foliage, and the countless vines entangle and hang from the branches, like curtains and iron walls, and the low, thorny shrubs crisscross with the multitude of plants, and the transparent and shiny streams bubble under their shelter. In the upper left of the entire canvas, silvery-white silk threads of almost the same color as the canvas weave a vaguely visible outline, and it is possible for a careless human to even ignore or mistake the projection of a distant mountain peak, but Fenway knows that it is a corner of a huge temple that elves are not only hidden from the outside world.

A sacred place that half-elves will never be able to see and touch with their own eyes.

"Fenway?" Demont raised his voice slightly, his brother's return disrupted his plans, there wasn't much time left for him, he had to get all the wheels turning.

"I'm listening. Fenway replied impatiently.

"I just wanted to ask," Demon kept a hypocritically kind tone, "did you destroy that spell book?"

Fenway panicked for a moment, his gaze sliding uncontrollably to the side: "I still need a little time." ”

"The spells it contains are dangerous," said Demon, seductively, "and equally powerful—my friend, if you are not sure—my mentor will return to the White Tower in the near future, and perhaps we should leave the book to him to deal with......

"No!" exclaimed Fenway, "I know what to do, and with a little experiment or two, I'll be able to determine how to destroy it once and for all - I exchanged the materials with you - you know!?"

"Yes," said Demon, "I know, but to tell you the truth, this book was originally the Guru's, and I cannot refuse him if he asks me for it." ”

"How much longer?"

"Two days, three days at most. Demon said, "Go for it, time is running out for you, venerable Mage Fenway." With that, he gave Fenway a shallow mage salute, and the picture darkened, and the mirror gradually returned to a silvery white, and the blood stains disappeared, as if absorbed by it.

"Two days, or three days. Fenway repeated, his hands trembling as he put away the Mithril Mirror, took the spell book from the spell-sealed drawer, and frantically read one of the spells......

Fingal was dead, he was a half-elf, with long, pale blonde hair and emerald eyes like Singer's elves, and he was indistinguishable from an elf in appearance except for his ears.

He had been hanged by the neck, and his throat bone was deeply dented, but it was not the only fatal wound, his chest was dissected, and his heart and part of his internal organs were taken, as well as most of the blood, all while he was still alive, and the technique was clean and neat.

Ilda had seen a similar technique, on a red-robed victim.

Fenway's attempt to enter the Eternal Wasteland, the place where souls must pass, to search for the consciousness of the deceased, to inquire about the details of it, but surprisingly failed - he received no response, which should not have happened, even if only a fragment remained, and the soul would respond to the call of the people before it was devoured, assimilated, and selected - which meant that not only the body, but also the soul of the victim was destroyed in its entirety.

This is another similar method used by the Grey Robes, who often do so to avoid tracking and revenge, and to accumulate some currency and food for themselves. But either way, there is no doubt that sin and calamity have once again stretched out their fierce claws to this quiet and beautiful mountain.

The keeper of Greyridge was a druid, and he summoned his animal companions, and was less surprised to learn that the birds and animals in the area had fled or died—a raven confusingly told the keeper that it was nothing else that drove them away, but a dark, cold aura, like a swamp, a tomb, or a human execution table.

"Who was he with before?"

“...... Cremar. The elf who answered the question was a little hesitant, the black-haired spellcaster had been in Grey Ridge for the shortest time, but he was also the one who gained their trust and affection in the quickest time, and no one wanted to believe that he could be a murderer or an accomplice except Fenway.

"And did Cremar see anything?"

In fact, it was the lich who first noticed the cold aura that made the animals restless, then blood and death, something all too familiar to him, and the otherworldly soul rushed to poor Fingal after being warned, but he stopped in time after the lich told him that the victim was completely dead, just for a moment, but enough to ensure that he would not be the first to appear there.

- I thought you'd hold on to the honor of being the first screamer. The lich sarcastically.

- I don't know if you've seen our movie, the Otherworldly Soul said, although I don't remember the details very clearly, but I know that if someone stands stupidly at a crime scene with blood on his body and a corpse at his feet, someone will usually point at him and scream at the murderer.

- Ha, it seems that you are not so comfortable with these elves.

- Trust is not a test, the soul of the other world retorted, if you can keep yourself clean, why jump into the mire and then go to great lengths to clear your name?

The Administrator recalled all the Half-Elves and Elves, but the most important patrol of Grey Ridge had to continue, and he strengthened each team, shortened the route of the patrol and increased the number of people in the vertical direction, but even then, a second victim appeared.

Like Fingal, he was cast on the ground, but it was evident that he had been hanged from the ground, barely resisting, having lost his heart, lungs, and most of his blood, and Fenwett was unable to find his soul.

"This man is very familiar with Grey Ridge," said the Administrator, "and he knows the route of our patrol and the intervals between the crossings, which is why he can carry out his evil deeds in such a short time." ”

"I said," Fenway said, his hands tucked into his robes, "outsiders will only bring destruction to Grey Ridge." ”

"That's enough," said Ilda, "Cremar has the same blood in her body as we do. ”

"That's the Eya elf, not the Singh elf. Fenway replied coldly.

"But he was never put on patrol," Ilda said angrily, "and he was thousands of feet away when the second man was killed." ”

"Do you think it's hard for a mage to prepare a teleportation spell within a hundred miles?" said Fenway, "and he can gather one or more of his accomplices in advance, he only needs to give the route and time." After all, he was so observant and had a remarkable memory—as you praised, he never got lost in the Grey Ridge, because he remembered the characteristics of every tree that had ever passed him, and he was so likable, and who hadn't danced, sang, drank, and tasted sweet sweets in the moonlight in just a few dozen days? They are simply defenseless against him, just like you, Ilda, and I am sure that if we can dig open his belly, we will find as many and wonderful secrets as the dragon's treasure. ”

He said, with a strange smile on his face: "No, maybe it's just him, Ilda, the silver string on his wrist, that's a Mithril rope, what kind of silk rope needs to use Mithril as the main material?Magic rope, it's very likely, it's a rope with eternal activation applied to it, you see, he doesn't need to prepare the relevant spells, just throw that rope ......"

"Fenway!"

Fenway looked at the Administrator with an excited and sickly crimson on his face, "I know you probably don't want to capture or imprison that ...... before it's clear Man," he insisted firmly, "but at least, his spell book must be confiscated—if he is as innocent as you promise," he turned to Ilda, "then he should accept it, and you will protect him, won't he?" ”

"Fenway ......"

"Otherwise, I'm going to tell everybody in Grey Ridge," Fenway said, "you're conniving at a criminal." ”

"You don't have silver coins," said Flo's priest, "and no gold coins, let alone gifts, so good man," her unusually rounded, flower-depicting nails glided gently over Monroe's fat chin, "what special thing about you that deserves my fascination?"

"Think?" she murmured, "you must have, priest of Rosada. ”