"Is that all?" the thief got up from the ground, if there was only fog and bats that confused his vision, then he would have managed to get out of here even if he was alone, and he might have been injured, but the injury would have healed one day, but if it had become a sacrifice, it would have been difficult for his soul to rest in peace.

"Nope. "The former undead said that he had lied to Kerryben, and that he had read on that fragment something that appealed to him, but he didn't want to explain how he was able to communicate with an undead person decades ago, knowing that the undead were floating in this main material plane, but their bodies and souls belonged to another category, and their thoughts, words, and spells were completely different from those of the living, which is why they were so difficult to exterminate. You never know where they'll go next or what they'll do, not to mention that most of the undead will be in a state of frantic concentration for long periods of time.

The symbols and patterns on the fragment are essentially a spell set by the Lich on the spellbook, to ensure that his spellbook cannot be read and stolen by others. But according to what Cremar had learned from his mentor before, even after much disguise and transformation, the rest of the spell was incorrect, and the torn cover or page should be like a torn scroll, and the spells on it would have been lost by the broken lines that dominated the flow of magic, instead of being usable as it is now, and by a priest of a good god- It brought death, but without the resentment and chill that Cremar had when he was an undead, it made him feel a lot like some of the magic cast by the followers of Cranvo, the god of death, though it was much stronger than theirs.

The former undead had silently reproduced all the patterns and symbols in his memory when he examined the fragment, and he almost couldn't wait to see more - almost all liches were like this, and some of them may have chosen this evil and dangerous path of no turning back only because of fear of death or other reasons, but most of them chose to become an immortal being to fear, hate, and stay away from magic and knowledge.

Fantastic, if we want to divide Cremar. He was supposed to be the former, but in the Mentor's Tower, he was fascinated by the vastness of the unknown like every newborn immortal, always stretching out their slender fingers with only the bones of the forest, and drawing magic from wherever they could reach it—magic, for them, wealth, honor, life, soul and faith.

But he didn't say anything. He knew that the elven ranger would do everything for him - he had been mindful that he didn't seem to be completely separating himself from the otherworldly spirit, but he didn't want to suppress and disguise himself too much. There were very few fools around him, including the knight who had been abandoned and betrayed by the king to whom he was loyal, and he was unresponsive to the affairs of his wife and loyalists, which was understandable, after all, they were all people whom he loved and respected, and he was blinded by more than a dozen years of affection, and could not see the hypocrisy that seemed like a black spot in the snow in the eyes of others, but that did not mean that he would be the same to everyone.

It is useless to try to hide the difference between him and another soul. They are two souls, one a warlock and one a mage, and can be said to stand in two diametrically opposed positions.

The Lich's current practice is to downplay their presence as much as possible. Yes, when he was with the believers of the good gods, the souls of the other world shone brighter than he was, and he seemed to be hidden in the morning light. Pale shadows—he knew they would like that stupid thief, and he would keep quiet while he took control of the body, stocking up on spells. Copying scrolls and crafting potions is both to protect the temporarily dual-purpose body and to gain their approval more quickly, inducing them to invest in him and trust him—forcing them to subconsciously avoid and ignore the anomalies of the body.

See, he must be glad that he had carefully studied the emotions that many immortals regarded as cumbersome and useless, and that his mentor had expressed his approval when he was alone with him, "Emotions are not born of the body," said the half-lich, who in outward form was not much different from an ordinary grey robe, "Emotions are born of the soul, and as long as the soul remains, emotions will exist - whether they are alive or dead, whether they are demons or gods, they all have emotions - It's a weapon, it's a shield, it's up to you to use it. ”

With a gesture to return the thin silver rope to his wrist, the former undead split himself into two parts, one still thinking- He wasn't prepared to completely suppress his nature, and while that meant he would be walking dangerously on a line thinner than spider silk, if he were to become a soft, hot, cute thing like an otherworldly soul, the lich was sure that he would go mad in the shortest possible time, and he didn't know what the mad self would do, maybe he would kill Kerryben - He would fail, and then be punished, and the body might be completely transferred to a thief who should sink forever in the Endless Abyss, and the Lich couldn't believe that he could do anything unbelievable with his body, and he could imagine that the Undead's Midnight Tea Party would add his name, accompanied by countless jokes and fools, like small cookies, crystals mixed with negative energy to be swallowed into the stomachs of the undead. There may be a story about him that will be sung by bards for tens of thousands of years, possibly longer, and in all planes - elemental life is intelligent and memories!

Thinking of this, the lich's tenacity through two transformation tests in a row would involuntarily tremble.

On the other hand, he analyzed what he saw, what he smelled, what he touched, what he heard, and the itching that a spellcaster would surely feel when the power of magic worked.

"If this is indeed a sacrificial ground," said the lich, "then it will not be." ”

He raised his finger and cast a spell, it was just a trick, the spell lit up the woods, and the bats were agitated, and they broke into small pieces and pounced on the caster and the thief.

The mage throws a fireball. Most of them were burned, and the few remaining ones were dealt with by thieves.

He took a step forward, but slammed down—the solid ground suddenly turned into a slippery swamp, the kind of swamp on which even a bird could not fall to rest, floating thick with moss and greenweeds, small and lush plants that covered the sticky, black mud beneath, and the thicker mud wrapped around the caster's feet, dragging him down, and the muddy water flooded Cremar's waist in an instant.

The thief took a definite step back as the mutation spawned, but only when he could understand what was happening. He immediately pulled out his adamantite dagger, cut off a thick sweet potato vine, and threw it to the mage.

At that moment, the mist dispersed by the caster gathered without warning, carrying the foul stench of the swamp, and the thief noticed that something was wrong when he took the first inhale, and he held his breath in time, but he was still dizzy, but he still caught the sound of the bat's wings flapping. He wrapped a section of the vine around his waist, lowered his knees, and swooped down on them as if he had been poisoned and unconscious. When they tried to tear open the human who dared to kill their companion with their sharp claws and triangular serrated teeth, they were killed by the thief's adamantite dagger.

Gülen pulled the bottle of honey from the leather pouch in his belt, it couldn't be considered real honey because it wasn't made from honey. It was just a light wine that Kerry had added with winter honey, but the thief didn't complain about it, and he took two sips in a row. Molten icy liquid flowed down his throat into his body, like the hurricane the caster had cast earlier, forcefully and quickly driving away the discomfort of the mist—the kind of intense vomiting and colic that comes from being forced to swallow an entire bottle of rotting rat mashed with blood wine.

The fog had become more cloudy, but its adverse effects on the thieves had been minimized, and Gülen listened cautiously, failing to hear the movements of the bats, which he suspected would also be afraid of the increasingly thick venom in the mist, and he stood up, a bat with its severed wings at his feet proving his point—it twitched, spitting out rotting entrails from its mouth.

"Master Mage......" he said, and then stopped abruptly—the swamp was empty, the moss and duckweed had closed, and if it weren't for the sweet potato vine, he would have thought that the caster hadn't fallen into the swamp at all.

&&&

In the sanctuary of Rosada, Anrui met with Master Antonio, the current captain of the guard, and the heads of the three guilds, who ran and controlled the jewelry, silk, and liquor businesses of the White Tower, the most harassed by thieves.

The leaders of the guilds were dressed as women, and in normal times, such behavior would be ridiculed and smoked, and at least would be condemned and driven out by the priests of Rosada, but now, in order to avoid the omnipresent eyes and ears of the members of the "fine net" guild, both they and the followers of Rosada had to be patient.

The leader of the Jewel Guild was wearing clothes that had apparently been stripped from his wife, who was a slender beauty, and though she was no longer in her prime, she still had her original figure, and the leader of the Jewel Guild was a fat man, and the stone pavement would rattle when he walked on his feet instead of in a carriage, so as Ann Rui had seen, he was tightly wrapped in a coarse cloth robe, and every movement made one worry that the fragile fabric would tear apart in an instant, and people could see something unsuitable for exposure in broad daylight, perhaps he had noticed thisSo he always clung to the cloak, which was of a very inferior quality, and in the past, even the servants of his house did not bother to wear such clothes.

He wore a veil, heavy as a blackout curtain, which the women in the White Tower wore when they had to go out - as the guild became more and more in control of the city, the behavior of the guild members began to become rampant, and the ordinary, road-walking women could become their prey and cargo at any time, and a veil would at least reduce their interest, especially if the woman wearing the veil was the size of the two of them.

It's also a good way to disguise who they are.

The leader of the liquor guild could not stop suppressing the urge to scratch, he had never worn clothes made of such coarse fabrics, they were like little insects that made him itch all over his body and his skin was red, but he also knew that if he dared to walk alone in silk on the streets of the White Tower, he would be caught, if not worth selling and extorting, the appearance and shape were unsightly, but at least the clothes could be used to buy a few gold coins, and the thieves would not mind.

Of the three of them, the most well-dressed was the leader of the Silk Guild, who had not been very athletic, but now he was a living skeleton, he was dressed in a black robe, and his face was even more pale as if he had just crawled out of a grave - the leader of the Jewel Guild had no pity for him, and they knew about him. He had three beautiful and intelligent daughters, and although their father, as a merchant, had wanted to trade them, he had never thought of making them prostitutes anyway.

But the members of the Thieves' Guild didn't think so, and they attacked his mansion, took his daughter from her room, and demanded a hefty ransom that would ruin his family. He was clever enough to try to reduce his losses, and gave an expensive gift to the consul of the White Tower and the de facto lord of Demon, but he did not see Demon, and a priest of Fro's accepted the gift and promised to pass it on to Demun and told him that a loyal man was expecting his help, but that night he was forcibly taken to a place where his daughters were auctioned off, and he wanted to pay a ransom to save them, but even if he dug up the last gold coin in his skin, he could not save even one of his daughters.

He didn't get his daughter back, he didn't get his gold back, his wife died of grief, and he became a wandering beggar. As for the leaders of the other two guilds, although they have not lost all their possessions and families, they are not far away. (To be continued......)