Ostahl knew he was doing something very dangerous, but no matter how dangerous it was, he had to try it - some might question why he was willing to pay such a heavy price for revenge on Cremar - because they didn't understand how much Ostal had and how much he had lost. Pen, fun, and www.biquge.info

Yes, he wasn't a Dragonborn with a lot of blood, and for that reason he was grateful to Gredy, after all, it was none other than the ancient Red Dragon who pulled him out of the colony of low-level warlocks when his great-grandmothers were disappointed in him. He lived up to Greday's expectations, others had purer blood, amazing talents, hard scales and pliable skin, or sharp ears and eyes, but he had his mind, and while he was still in the Warlock Tower, and the crowd of low-ranking Warlocks, he had to play with his tricks carefully lest he be reduced to ashes by the angry losers. But after becoming the leader of the Dragonthorn, he can use his talents to the fullest in the darkness and shadows, deceiving, betraying, stealing, betraying, plundering, seducing...... He is cowardly, he is hypocritical, he does whatever he wants, he has a hundred identities, a thousand shadows, ten thousand tentacles, he is ambitious, although the dragon thorn has never been the last in the three legions of the red dragon in Grenada, but in Ostar's heart, the dragon thorn is the strongest, and a real strong man never needs to shout to show his identity.

However, as his great-grandmother had warned him, his weakness was his greatest weakness, and while he could already be considered a powerful mage outside of the Dragonborn, a mage of this rank could be supported by a wealthy principality or a thriving city-state, let alone Grenada. The reason why he can stand side by side with Mittekot, Kelmen and other direct relatives is entirely because he has won the favor and trust of Gredi, who can lift him up to heaven with one hand, or banish him into the mire with a glance, and one day, no one will be willing to help him, jealousy and injustice have always been the sharpest sword, and perhaps, at that time, it will be Ostal's luxury to get a quick and painless death.

Ostal respectfully accepted this warning, and he gave his body and soul to the Red Dragon Gredi, believing that he would receive the final reward for his loyalty and piety—for he was almost certain, for even the new King, Mitkot, or Kelmenkels, or the Children of the Red Dragon, might not know more than he did—and he might become a god, or at least a chosen one, whose life and prestige would shine forever on Grenada and the continent like the splendor of the Red Dragon.

When the Red Dragon ordered him to retrieve the new king's lost son, Ostar didn't care, and although he had been cautious enough to let the little fish escape through his fingers, all he saw was a ...... An indescribable, naïve and clumsy outsider, he may have a purer dragon's blood in his body than Ostal, but his way of thinking and acting only makes it difficult for him to get along in Grenada, and even if Ostal doesn't do anything, he will bring about his own destruction—Ostal thinks so.

Then, when he didn't see it, the sprouts of catastrophe grew silently, and finally, the ancient and great Red Dragon, Gredi, who Ostahl could not believe, died humbly, leaving no trace—he inquired about every soul, every tree, every grain of ash, but there was an incomparably powerful force that cast an insurmountable heaven between him and the truth, and when Ostahl understood that the continuation of his actions would only lead to death and destruction, he fell silent.

The only thing he could grasp was the black-haired Dragonborn, the son of the new king, a mongrel with half filthy blood. The latter may or may not have an unshirkable responsibility, but it is an unforgivable mistake that he remains the glorious and illustrious master of Crefa.

If he could catch that arrogant and despicable soul, perhaps many of his questions could be answered. The cold wind brought a few words to Ostahl, allowing him to know that Cremar may be in the bottomless abyss, in the bloody battle between demons and demons, this information made Ostaal anxious, but he is no longer the leader of the dragon thorns, in the name of Gredi, King Grenada, who got rid of the shadow of the red dragon, took the three legions, dragon thorns, dragon fangs and dragon claws into his own hands, although he never issued a relevant order, but Ostaal knew that even if King Grenada could not be jealous of Ostal obeying Gredi's orders and imposing layers of shackles and shackles on his body, he would not allow the three legions to have a second leader, even the only descendant he has so far barely said is still with him, Mitkot.

Ostal did not dare to set foot in Grenada and his subjects, as the former leader of the Dragonthorn, he knew the Dragonthorn well, and the Dragonthorn knew him well, he was in exile, and even though Gredi had left him a precious inheritance, he still lived in fear and sleepless—perhaps because they were so precious, he could almost imagine how desperately King Grenada was desperate to find them. He didn't dare to expose them to others easily, as the founder of the Thieves' Guild, did he see and personally test less humanity?

He had thought of secretly controlling a small duchy or city-state, and there were many evil spellcasters who had done so, and those archdukes and consuls who had been so fearful of welcoming a powerful mage or warlock into their palace probably never thought that they would end up as a puppet (and even if they didn't, then their descendants would always find such a cowardly and stupid fellow), Ostal didn't think it was a difficult thing to do—but now, it was all about to be postponed. If Cremar ends up being a meal for some of the abyssal creatures in the Blood War, then that secret, at least for Ostahl, will always be a secret.

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Ostar's current hiding place was a half-plane opened up by Gredi, where she had never hatched her eggs, welcomed guests, or fought enemies, and she rarely stayed here for long, leaving most of the dragon eggs she had collected after the dragon's departure. Time passed very slowly, and the eggs themselves were tough enough, and it was so desolate that Ostal could hear the dragon's embryos flipping and scratching in the eggs, but he also noticed that the eggs were petrifying for no apparent reason, and the stronger they were, the more powerful they were, and even without intervening, one of the eggs shattered without being hatched, and the transparent egg flowed all over the ground, and Ostarr threw himself up and picked up the little dragon, which was also a red dragon. , it saw fear in the golden eyes that suddenly opened - it was dying, and it knew it itself, so it was frightened and angry, but before Ostar could do anything, it hung its triangular head.

This happened again and again, and Ostahl suddenly realized that there was a force he did not know and could not touch to contain the dragons. Those who are wise, who can cast spells, who can rule over mankind and build nations, dragons like gods. Only the so-called dragons, who have degenerated like a large lizard, can survive, but they only know the difference between food and beasts, and sometimes Ostar wants to kill them one by one in disgust.

The dragon's blood, which had been prized by countless spellcasters, was poured on the gray-white ground, flowing along the thin depression to the predetermined position, and the red-robed warlock felt the flow of magical power, and threw some precious spell-casting materials into the fire, and the flame met the dragon's blood, and it burned as quickly as it met grease, and the closed room suddenly became hot and dry, and Ostarr crossed his ten fingers together, raised them above his head, and began to chant a new lengthy incantation- And throughout the process, the flames kept changing, either small enough to seem to have been extinguished, or so large that they could fill the caster's entire field of vision, and it changed from a dazzling golden yellow, to a blood-clotting crimson, and from crimson to violet smoke, and when the smoke dissipated, Ostal saw the turquoise tentacles protruding from the carved runes, which brought a sharp pain like a blunt knife cut when they were about to touch him. If it weren't for the fact that Grenada's Warlock Tower had trained the young apprentices to be patient with pain by burning candles under their arms, Ostard might have really screamed, but he held back, even though the pain caused to him by the flames of magic seemed a hundred times longer and stronger, and he insisted on finishing the last syllable, and the color of the flames gradually faded, but as if humans from another plane had already studied, the temperature of the flames at this time was terrifyingly high.

Ostar took out a flat silver jug from his bosom, which contained the increasingly rare eaux-de-vie, not a potion, very pure, and he drank every drop of it, and the part of him that had been burned by the flames was healed at once, and the warlock could feel how the blackened, irretrievable impurities were pushed out by the new flesh, and the skin brought a slight but noticeable itching sensation as it healed. Ostahl put the silver kettle back in his bosom, and then took out a seemingly unremarkable iron ring from the dimensional pouch, which he had summoned as an intermediary from the cowardly master, Ostarr only knew that the man who had made the deal with him was a big man, and that the deal was worth hanging by the Mentor for a hundred years in Grenada's Warlock Tower - as a negative example, but the red-robed warlock didn't care at all.

He threw the ring into the flames, and the flames immediately held it up, and in the blink of an eye the ring glowed brightly, and then it melted, and the iron juice fell from the void, and the magic led them to the sides, and then re-condensed into a ring with hair-thin edges, and Ostal threw the spell into the flames again, chanting another incantation, and the air inside the ring fluctuated, and then, like a wisp of black smoke, spread through the ring, and the inner part of the ring that fell from the top of the house to the ground became a black round mirror- The red-robed warlock, after the form of the iron ring had become stable, had created the same black mirror on the other side, and there was nothing in the mirror that belonged to this room, not fires, runes, walls, not even Ostal, and when the warlock occasionally looked at one of them, he had to hastily look away - the black was like an eye full of pupils, and like a bottomless cavern, Ostar's body and soul could not help but tremble.

Finally, he took out a horn sharpened from the Dimensional Bag, and blew softly, one of the mirrors began to ripple softly from the center point, and then, from there, a claw covered in scales stretched out.

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The bloody battle between the devil and the demon may continue for a long time, and elegant intrigue and bloody hand-to-hand combat are staged every day, but for the main material plane, it is difficult to say what effect it will have - if it must be said, the casters suddenly find it difficult for them to summon powerful demons and demons, but they also quickly learn from the mouths of the inferior demons and cowardly demons that the summoned in the bottomless abyss are almost busy fighting, and they can wait for fifty years. Of course, not to mention whether their affairs and lifespan can wait for fifty years, just saying that the owner of the name they know (the names of demons and demons, which is necessary for summoning) dies in a bloody battle (which is normal), which means that these unlucky guys will have to try to get another name...... If, of course, the owner of another name also unfortunately, dies, then...... Well, if you can get three devil or demon names in a row, why don't you take care of that matter yourself?

Basil the Mage was the one who had to take care of the tricky matter himself, but unfortunately he didn't seem like the best person to handle it, or rather, he was the one to be dealt with.

But he didn't panic too much, perhaps because his enemy wasn't a demon with fangs and fangs, or a hideous assassin, but an elf.

Even if the age of the elves has nothing to do with their appearance, but Basil can still see that this elf is very, very, very young, this is the blue headland fort, which is the first stop that the elves on the Emerald Forest Island choose most often to travel, and she is likely to be one of them, look at those eyes full of curiosity, and like the young leaves of early spring, they contain morning light and dew, and have not been contaminated with a trace of sad dirt and gloom......

Other words...... Inexperience, it will be easy to deceive!