Chapter 432: Black Market (3)

Larry is a merchant who has been working for the new king of Grenada since three months ago - perhaps some of us will remember him, he is the one who lost his entire caravan in the sandstorm but narrowly escaped his life, and it is ironic that the once arrogant and clever savior is dead, his blood is drained by the gravel sand, and his corpse has long since become a delicacy for the monsters, but the unfortunate man who was left behind by his great mercy is still alive and well- The loss of a caravan would break his bones, but as long as the new king didn't regain his trust, he could recover the loss exponentially in three times, no, two black markets. Pen "Fun" Pavilion www.biquge.info

So the people he invited to the black market this time were more than any before, they were either spokesmen of the Grenada court, or they were both warlocks and merchants, or leaders of guilds, and some were considered credible by the Grenadas, that is, as mentioned before, tried outsiders, who were brought into the dwarf man's mansion by Larry's messengers, and gathered in the swaying date trees. Under the gum and acacia trees, roses and jasmine bloom around them, and around the courtyard are lush boxwoods, myrtles, and mothers-in-law.

"Who is this waiting for, Larry?" asked a merchant, if there were more honorable guests than they were, and all those standing here had been earnestly inquired about by the new king, who was a newcomer, and he should not have been so rampant, even if the new king had not punished him for losing an entire caravan. But no one answered his question, and in the absence of a vital interest, the Grenada was best at protecting themselves - there was a slight commotion in the crowd, and some of the red-robed men alertly withdrew their hands into their wide sleeves, while others placed their fingers on the protective runes.

"Don't be nervous, don't be nervous," said Larry, hurrying out of the hall of hospitality, diminutive and shriveled when he was in the desert, but only because of nervousness and horror. When he returned to Grenada, he continued to eat and drink for several days, fattening himself again with fat venison and cow breast oil, sweet honey wine, and dates, and although he had not yet returned to his former form, he did not look so bad: "They are my guests. ”

"You should have told us when you sent the invitation," murmured a warlock who was also a merchant in annoyance, "a grey robe!"

"Ten thousand, excuse me," said Larry, bowing exaggeratedly, laughing stupidly, but no one would think so, "but it's just a gray robe, and we have more than a dozen red robes here, and this is Grenada, not anywhere else, and it's weird to babble over a particular color robe, isn't it?"

He's right, the kings of Grenada are probably the only place outside of the Seventy-Seven Islands where you can see necromancers roaming the streets, and many warlocks are known to have some ulterior ties to the Seventy-Seven Islands, but in general, necromancers are veritable dead houses, and their presence often means that the place is about to be conquered by plague, skeletons, and death - a small gathering of merchants is not quite suitable for laboring their noble toes.

Or rather, her, and him.

The necromancer had taken off her black hooded cloak, revealing her gray robe, which hung down to her feet and was silk, more silver-gray than the stiff and old-fashioned black ash or soot of other necromancers, with a metallic texture, like moonlit water in the firelight, with magic patterns on the hem and cuffs of the robe, cleverly hidden in the pattern of crocus, and a bright red blood chalcedony hanging from her chest, the black texture inside was constantly changing, sometimes like a screaming humanAt other times, she resembles a monster with tentacles and claws—small velvet bags hanging from her dragonskin belt, and her slender feet are wrapped in soft salamander leather boots.

If you look at this outfit alone, someone would believe that she is the daughter of a pampered lord, but if it were not for her face and hands that should have been beaten a hundred times - from the latter, she was no different from those necromancers who had been immersed in negative energy for a long time, and the evil and gloomy did not show mercy because she was a woman. She was so thin, her skin as thin as parchment hung crumblingly on protruding bones, her cheekbones were sharp like a dagger, and the veins of her neck were so peeked that it was impossible to determine whether she was forty or eighty, her nose flared to the sides, taking up almost half of her face, and below her were colorless lips, a little duller and paler than the color of her skin.

If there's anything else appealing about her, it's probably the eyes, she has a pair of dark gray-green eyes that surround a black circle, and the outline is so sharp that it's hard to look away.

But the young man beside her was unusually handsome, and he wore a black robe, but the black robe was trimmed with gray. Grey robes rarely care what their apprentices and disciples choose to wear - as long as it's not a nasty white robe, and of course, if you have to wear it, it's not too much of a problem, as long as you have the strength to match it. Don't say it's a white robe, a gray robe, or a black robe. If you can become a demigod lich, you'll only get a false compliment if you want to wear pink robes.

But if they can, they still prefer their disciples to be able to wear the established gray-edged black robes without hurting their eyes, which can also reduce some accidental injuries (although many times accidental injuries cannot be said to be accidental injuries), and the gray robes are also aesthetic and vanity, and sometimes they may be more sensitive and intense than mortals.

The grey robe was obviously one of them, and she placed a hand in the crook of her disciple's arm, revealing her ringed fingers, her disciple was about a foot and three inches taller than her, but still bent his back slightly to talk to his mentor, and as they walked, he would accommodate his mentor's slow steps.

Several Warlocks exchanged a meaningful smile, which is also common in Warlock Towers, when a Mentor's apprentice or disciple has excellent looks and posture, his/her mentor will not mind a short lover relationship with them, this relationship is generally not very long, because getting a person too familiar with you is like giving him a knife in his hand, and the Mentors like the new and the old faster than they can change their robes- But those disciples who have not yet become sorcerers are always eager for this kind of relationship, and if nothing else, the Guru will put you last when choosing sacrifices - you won't find wrinkles, stench, and quirks unbearable.

People thought they were the guests Larry was waiting for, but no, Larry was just very eager to welcome and surprise the grey-robed - but they weren't the ones they were waiting for.

And just before the gray-robed frowned, Larry suddenly ran out, and the atmosphere in the courtyard suddenly changed slightly, when the gray-robed disciple wanted to move his footsteps, the gray-robed hand moved from the crook of his arm to his shoulder, and the cold breath seeped into the robe from her fingertips, and the young male disciple immediately stood still, but a tingling sensation of numbness still made him involuntarily show a little pain.

Larry greeted the people in the courtyard with a clear look, bowing to them and the warlock performing a mage salute.

The otherworldly soul looked around - the mansion here looked like a square divided by a cross in plan, and the line at the bottom of the square was a colonnade facing the street and a row of narrow houses behind the colonnade, and behind them was a lavish courtyard and mansion, with a square pool in the center, and the extension of the cross was an aqueduct, in which the water was drawn from the ground. The water in the ground does not automatically pour into the ground, the water in the canals and pools is not depleted and muddy all year round, and it takes a long time to cast magic to maintain, although Grenada is not short of spellcasters, but over the years, the cost may ruin the king of a small country, but these are necessary, gold coins can sometimes be a kind of deterrent to others, just like swords.

These aqueducts reminded the souls of the other world of the sanctuary of Rosada, but the aqueducts and pools of the Sanctuary of Rosada only made one feel the love and mercy of the god of the morning light, the water here was cold and dark, the light of the flames shone on the water, and the ripples were as dazzling and alluring as falling gold coins, but the souls of the other world just turned their heads quietly. He saw a large number of red robes, the same as the ones he was wearing, crimson silk or velvet, and Mittkot next to him was also wearing the red robes of a warlock today, instead of the chainmail and tights he was used to, indicating that he was participating in the party as a warlock this time, but no one would be stupid enough to think of him as an ordinary warlock.

The banquet was set up in a courtyard, and people sat around the pool, beneath which were silky ivory mats, the ingenious craftsmanship of the Serisians, who were able to split the ivory into threads as thick as hair, and then specially treated them to make them as soft as cattails, and then weave them into fine mats, like which each foot was worth as much as Mithril, but no one would deny their value - Touching their skin is like being submerged in water, and it is like being blown by a breeze, which is indescribably comfortable and comfortable.

Behind them were the drapery of the veil, and the ice from the Far North was contained in a large urn of silver and white porcelain, and when the wind blew through it, the cold breath was blocked and broken down by the veil, leaving only a slight but lasting coolness, which made it feel neither hot nor cold.

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