The gray robe probably didn't expect this - among the many spellcasters, the servants of the gods, that is, the white robes, were the most numerous, and the ordinary mages in the black robes were second, and the warlocks (red robes) who carried the blood of the devil or dragon were roughly equal to the black robes, and the gray robes were the least, accounting for only one percent of the spellcasters.

Proficient in necromancy, the grey robes have long lost interest in mundane pleasures and **, and neither likes nor are good at socializing with people, in order to obtain spell casting materials and avoid harassment by the white-robed people and fools, they set up their dwellings in deserted swamps or gloomy tombs; Golems or apprentices come to pick up the predetermined spells and experiments, but if you want to get a glimpse of him, you probably don't have to wait until the next day, when a necromancer or skeleton will come and knock your head open to see how much you've heard and seen.

Unless you're a direct blood relative or spouse, parent, brother, or wife, or something like in the Grey robe, or you, your guild has had a solid relationship with him as an apprentice - although neither is so reliable, and the world knows that the Grey and Red robes think on the other plane entirely—but at least you can be guaranteed to make it to him alive.

The only place known to the world is the Seventy-Seven Islands, where the Grey robes and some of the undead live, although its name is the Seventy-Seven Islands, in fact it is a combination of thousands of small islands, and at any time the small islands sink or rise for various reasons, the smallest of which is no more than a hundred paces away, and the largest is only a hook (thirty acres, or 0.12 square kilometers), and the islands are full of reefs, whirlpools and undercurrents, and the dark waters are full of high seaweeds like land forests, and countless hungry slender-toothed octopuses, poisonous sea snakes, eels, eels and bonefish, like birds and insects in the forest.

There was no day, no night, the sky was grey and gloomy, the clouds were low, and the spirits trembled in the wind and wailed.

The Lich didn't know how the guild had acquired it, but from the point of view of the former undead, even if he was a mage, he was just a young chick who had not been away from his mentor for a long time, and this was probably the first battle he had been involved in rather than a fight. At first, he threw a scare spell at the crowd - but a missile or a fireball or an acid ball would do the same thing, and then he threw a blight at the elves, and the gods were above, didn't his mentor tell him that blight was always twice as effective on elves who were immune to most diseases? well, these problems were secondary, and the bad thing was that he never seemed to think of hiding his identity and casting spells to manipulate corpses after half of the battle- The Lich had also been a Grey Robe, but since he was an apprentice, he knew that not everyone had the experience of confronting the Necromancer and his creations - in a battle with more than ten participants, as a Grey Robe who is not alone, it is better to give those opportunities to show off to the enthusiastic Red Robes, a necromancer is better suited to jump out before or even after the curtain to surprise them. But if you have a spell to manipulate corpses, you can use it much earlier, before your enemies realize there's a grey robe standing there. You know, when people see their injured friend or loved one back on their feet, their first reaction is never to be vigilant - if you're lucky, you'll be able to manipulate one more, and if you can't, sometimes one is greater than one.

Instead of being like now, although the corpses standing up were as dense as spears, the elves had already spawned lush vines one step ahead, and the humans had been prepared for this, and they did not do much damage, at least for the once undead, this shoddy mistake would have his head screwed off by the Mentor.

Well, it's not that he's unhappy with such an enemy right now - the lich thinks he's busy.

Two of the three red-robed were apprentices, and the third was the mentor of the first two, but it wasn't good news. If there were three red-robed warlocks of equal skill standing here, then it was quite possible that they would fight each other for various reasons, either explicitly or covertly, and if not, the lich would be more than willing to provide them with some, but given the way the red robes have always been taught close to torture and torture, they will always be respectful and docile to their mentor until the apprentice has left his mentor, and as an apprentice, they are equally familiar with the ways and ideas of the mentor and their companions, and there are almost no flaws in their cooperation in casting spells-- One mentor, two apprentices, as solid and sharp as a triangle, unstoppable.

After returning to the main material plane, the former undead felt the pressure for the first time.

Luckily, before he could tear open the last scroll, the reinforcements from Thundercastle finally arrived—and the lightning thrown by Master Alfred killed a red-robed guy in an instant, but alas, it was just an apprentice- But their arrival did tip the game in favor of humanity, and the red-robed warlock and his apprentice were keenly aware that they were the first to disappear into the smoke after another violent collision, and the grey-robed who realized it later whispered a spell after a brief curse, and more of the dead rose from the bloody mire—and they staggered towards the humans along with the thieves, forcing them to retreat.

The cavern suddenly began to shake and the people screamed in horror, stones fell from the sky, walls shattered and the ground tumbled, and torches were extinguished by the oncoming murky air.

When everything had quieted down, the elven mage beside Kerriben cast a small trick and lit up his fingers, the little light that was faint in the darkness, but enough for him to figure out what had just happened.

"We're blocked. He said.

"Magic?" asked the royal knight.

"No," said the elven mage, "it's dwarf's dynamite." ”

Successively, the torches were rekindled, and people were finally able to see around, they were still in the cave, but the road ahead had been blocked by crumbling rubble, and the grey robes had forced them back to make sure that the convoy carrying precious goods and gold coins would be cut to their side.

If Baldwin refused to trust a thief, or if he was stupid enough to send soldiers and knights, then the gunpowder from the gnomes was meant to stop the pursuers, whether humans or orcs, and of course, now, though they couldn't take everything.

No, to be precise, they've taken too much - human scolding and crying can be heard from the crevices of the rocks, but even mages can't do anything about it, and while magic can turn rocks into sand, stones without support will only cause more catastrophes, and sand can be just as deadly or more dangerous.

"Can we still return to Castle Thunder?" asked one of the knights.

"I'm afraid not," said Gen Alfred, "we must get out of here as soon as possible." ”

Author's note: After much hesitation, I still made a big deletion - there is a story about the war, after all, there are enough descriptions in the front - I originally wanted to write 3,000 words, but because suddenly the cold became serious, my hands and feet were weak, and I had no strength, so I could only write here, sorry, the recent state is really not good...... I'm sorry......

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