Although it was a pity that the prey did not slack off as they had hoped, and perhaps even fell into a sound sleep despite the urge of weariness, the mage who combed his silver hair neatly to the back of his head was not too disappointed. These people have been separated, and they are all facing strong opponents, and he has to be wary of whether the young spellcaster in front of him will escape with the help of spells - the only bounty on the face of the new Norman king of the Highlands is Berdwin, Glenn and Memmy's names, but secretly, the names of the elven game Kerriben and the half-elven mage Kremar are also juxtaposed, and if there is any difference, it is that the new king wants the latter two to be captured rather than killed, which also leads to the older mages having to choose some milder spells, but magic is always cruel, and the simplest trick can kill people, let alone others- And it is better to face an ominous half-elf than to face Kerry, the ranger has not encountered danger in his adventure career that has lasted for nearly two hundred years, but except for the orcs who have no room to turn between the elves or the goblins who are stupid enough to only have an appetite and another **, Giants, or unscrupulous devils and demons, other creatures, especially humans, will always hesitate unconsciously when facing a crown prince, because everyone knows how terrible the power of a country can be, although the elves are not as strong as humans, but they also have kings, and Kerry is the only child of the king of the silver-crowned forest.

If he slain Kerribben by mistake, the mage wasn't sure if his guild would hand him over - he was not low in the guild when the enraged elven army was on the move, but not high enough to be defended by a guild.

The evening breeze lifted the black-haired spellcaster's white knee-length robes, revealing his scroll bands, and the older mage quickly mentally repeated the spell the half-elf mage had used today. The two-legged dwarf dragons had been lured in by them, but they hadn't expected the young mage to think about how to make the most of everything at his disposal in such a short period of time - instead of throwing his spells as recklessly and stubbornly as the inexperienced novices, after which his disciples had to deliberately make some extremely low-level mistakes to consume the spells that the young mage had memorized. Yes, how could a mage who could work with his mentor for a vast guild whose main business was assassination make mistakes that even an apprentice wouldn't make? None of them were hurt.

He pondered, calculated, but he didn't stupidly stay where he was for the rest of the time, but rushed high into the air like a sparrowhawk - when the two opposing mages chose to cast a flying spell first, it was definitely not a mistake to occupy a higher position. After all, this continent has the same gravity as Earth, and the ability to fly will disappear for a while, and for a mage, even the time to spit out a syllable can mean a brilliant victory. There are also spells, no doubt, that are like arrows throwing spears. When you stand on a high place and throw downwards, you can not only exert its maximum power, but also clearly see the enemy's every move.

But as he looked down, he suddenly felt a chill that had been saved by decades of experience - he fell without thinking, a scorching ray of flame piercing out from behind him, and if he were still in his original position, he might have been burned into a charred doughnut. The mage looked angrily and horrified in the direction where the spell was thrown, and he saw his enemy. If he was like a sparrowhawk, his enemies were like a giant hummingbird, and the black-haired spellcaster flew with more ease and grace than he was, without the slightest clumsiness characteristic of humans. He looked down condescendingly at the many spellcasters who were outwardly older, and calmly and calmly made a spellcasting gesture.

"Listen to me!" cried the old mage.

"Nope. Cremar said, a bolt of lightning coming out of his hand, shining like a star rising from a dark swamp. In an instant, the old mage was completely engulfed—no, maybe not, the lich did not hear the terrible wails that souls must have uttered when they left their bodies. The otherworldly soul that controlled the body changed its position at his command, several shadowy translucent tentacles clutched into the air, tangled into a useless ball in the moonlight, and behind the dark gray orb was his enemy—he was casting a second spell that pointed his wizened middle finger at the otherworldly soul, but strangely nothing seemed to work.

"Ah," said the older mage, a little embarrassed as he moved himself some distance, but was still caught some by the massive lightning beam, "you didn't keep those scrolls with you. He gave Cremar a grim smile, "It looks like you found it early. "If it weren't for the fact that he hadn't trusted them at all, no spellcaster would have set aside the scrolls that could be used to save himself and his companions in those moments of distress instead of carrying them with him.

"They're really cleverly camouflaged. Grimmar admits that it is a pity, but though the lich has lost his beloved skeleton of bones and the negative energy that swells in it, knowledge, memory, and experience are still intact, and it took him much effort to discern the trap: "Just like you." ”

"Again, at a great cost. The older mage looked at him and said - these scrolls could be sold for tens of thousands of gold coins under the control of the guild, and the identity of the caravan master - this identity was real, he was indeed a merchant, and he did have some dealings with the mage Alva of the Castle of Capeland.

(Changed to a haha in an hour)

Although it was a pity that the prey did not slack off as they had hoped, and perhaps even fell into a sound sleep despite the urge of weariness, the mage who combed his silver hair neatly to the back of his head was not too disappointed. These people have been separated, and they are all facing strong opponents, and he has to be wary of whether the young spellcaster in front of him will escape with the help of spells - the only bounty on the face of the new Norman king of the Highlands is Berdwin, Glenn and Memmy's names, but secretly, the names of the elven game Kerriben and the half-elven mage Cremar are also juxtaposed, and if there is any difference, it is that the new king wants the latter two to be captured rather than killed, which also leads to the older mages having to choose some milder spells, but magic is always cruel, and the simplest trick can kill people. Not to mention anything else - and it is better to face an ominous half-elf than to face Kerryben, the Ranger has not been without danger in his adventures that have lasted nearly two hundred years, but there is no room for turning between them and the elves, or the goblin who is stupid enough to have only appetite and another **, Giants, or unscrupulous devils and demons, other creatures, especially humans, will always hesitate unconsciously when facing a crown prince, because everyone knows how terrible the power of a country can be, although the elves are not as strong as humans, but they also have kings, and Kerry is the only child of the king of the silver-crowned forest.

If he misses and kills Kerry Ben. The mage wasn't sure if his guild would hand him over - his status in the guild wasn't low as the enraged elven army was attacking, but not so high that it was worth maintaining with a guild.

The evening breeze lifted the black-haired spellcaster's white knee-length robes, revealing his scroll bands, and the older mage quickly mentally repeated the spell the half-elf mage had used today. The two-legged dwarf dragons had been lured in by them, but they hadn't expected the young mage to think about how to make the most of everything at his disposal in such a short period of time - instead of throwing his spells as recklessly and stubbornly as the inexperienced novices, after which his disciples had to deliberately make some extremely low-level mistakes to consume the spells that the young mage had memorized. Yes, how could a mage who could work with his mentor for a vast guild whose main business was assassination make mistakes that even an apprentice wouldn't make? Even the mercenaries who were "mistakenly hit" by his spells were just rubbish hired by them to cover up people's eyes, and none of them were hurt.

He pondered. Reckoning, but he didn't stupidly stay where he was during the time, but rushed high into the air like a sparrowhawk - when the two opposing mages coincidentally chose to cast a flying spell first, occupying a higher position could never be said to be a mistake. After all, this continent has the same gravity as the Earth. Flying also disappears for a while, and for a mage, even the time to spit out a syllable can mean a glorious victory. And some spells, no doubt. Just like an arrow throwing a spear, it can be used to its maximum power when you stand on a high place and throw it downward. You can clearly see the enemy's every move.

But as he looked down, he suddenly felt a chill that had been saved by decades of experience - he fell without thinking, a scorching ray of flame piercing out from behind him, and if he were still in his original position, he might have been burned into a charred doughnut. The mage looked angrily and horrified in the direction where the spell was thrown, and he saw his enemy, if he was like a sparrowhawk, then his enemy was like a giant hummingbird, the black-haired spellcaster flew more easily and gracefully than he was, without the slightest clumsiness characteristic of humans, and he looked down condescendingly at the spellcaster who was many older than him, and made a spellcasting gesture calmly and calmly.

"Listen to me!" cried the old mage.

"Nope. Cremar said, a bolt of lightning coming out of his hand, a dazzling light like a star rising from a dark swamp, engulfing the older mage in an instant. No, maybe not, the lich didn't hear the miserable wails that the soul must have when it left its body, and the otherworldly soul that controlled the body changed its position at his command, and a few intertwined shadowy translucent tentacles clawed into the air, tangled in a useless ball in the moonlight, and behind the dark gray orb was his enemy—he was casting a second spell that pointed his wizened middle finger at the otherworldly soul, but strangely nothing seemed to work.

"Ah," said the older mage, a little embarrassed as he moved himself some distance, but was still caught some by the massive lightning beam, "you didn't keep those scrolls with you. He gave Cremar a grim smile, "It looks like you found it early. "If it weren't for the fact that he hadn't trusted them at all, no spellcaster would have set aside the scrolls that could be used to save himself and his companions in those moments of distress instead of carrying them with him.

"They're really cleverly camouflaged. Grimmar admits that it is a pity, but though the lich has lost his beloved skeleton of bones and the negative energy that swells in it, knowledge, memory, and experience are still intact, and it took him much effort to discern the trap: "Just like you." ”

"Again, at a great cost. The older mage looked at him and said - these scrolls could be sold for tens of thousands of gold coins under the control of the guild, and the identity of the caravan master - this identity was real, he was indeed a merchant, and he did have some dealings with the mage Alva of the Castle of Capeland.

But as he looked down, he suddenly felt a chill that had been saved by decades of experience - he fell without thinking, a scorching ray of flame piercing out from behind him, and if he were still in his original position, he might have been burned into a charred doughnut. The mage looked angrily and horrified in the direction where the spell was thrown, and he saw his enemy, if he was like a sparrowhawk, then his enemy was like a giant hummingbird, the black-haired spellcaster flew more easily and gracefully than he was, without the slightest clumsiness characteristic of humans, and he looked down condescendingly at the spellcaster who was many older than him, and made a spellcasting gesture calmly and calmly.

"Listen to me!" cried the old mage.

"Nope. Cremar said, a bolt of lightning coming out of his hand, a dazzling light like a star rising from a dark swamp, engulfing the older mage in an instant. No, maybe not, the lich didn't hear the miserable wails that the soul must have when it left its body, and the otherworldly soul that controlled the body changed its position at his command, and a few intertwined shadowy translucent tentacles clawed into the air, tangled in a useless ball in the moonlight, and behind the dark gray orb was his enemy—he was casting a second spell that pointed his wizened middle finger at the otherworldly soul, but strangely nothing seemed to work. (To be continued.) )