If anyone is willing to sculpt a worldly image of the vagaries of fate, then the man at our feet, this ridiculous thief, can be a pretty good template. - By a former immortal

The Prince's henchman, the Knight, looked gloomy, and he took a deep breath, suppressing his anger - in any case, this is Thundercastle, and it is not something that a wise man should do to clash head-on with its ruler in a place where the lord is the law: "If you insist on it," he stroked the hilt of his sword inlaid with emeralds and rubies, "Lord ......"

His words were interrupted, not by someone else, but by the crux of his position with Berdwin, the innocent thief, but not because of what the latter had said, but because he had risen with the support of the two knights, and then suddenly fell without warning- A knight lowered his knees, half-knelt down, and turned him over, face up, while the lucky man seemed to have lost consciousness, his limbs were limp, his face was pale, and there was a smug smile on his lips, but his black pupils had been dilated many times.

The knight, kneeling beside him, drew his dagger and pressed the cold blade under the prisoner's nose, and after a while he looked up and replied with a little bewilderment: "Sir," he said, "he is dead." ”

"Well, now everything is settled," said the Prince's confidant, the knight, mockingly at the corners of his mouth, "Sir, everything you have done has come to naught-along with this lowly thief---your kindness, your tolerance and justice, all have to be buried in the earth--will you have to hold a funeral for him? ”

Baldwin touched his beard helplessly.

The lich stood up and approached the thief's body, yes, not a corpse, as a spellcaster who was familiar with death and adept at exploiting death, he had not heard the door to the mourning wasteland open, nor had he felt the cold wind blowing from the door—though there was indeed a cold breath oozing from the body that seemed to be thin but more tenacious than any human being, and the former undead walked around his outstretched hands and feet in a half-circle: "No," he said amusefully, "he is not dead. ”

"But he doesn't breathe anymore," said the knight, who put the dagger back in its sheath, and then he put his hand under the thief's chest, "and his heart stopped beating." He said.

"Stay away from him. The lich rudely replied, "He's cursed." ”

The knight hesitated for a moment, then immediately stood up - a spellcaster who is not friend or foe had to listen carefully and follow his words if he wants to say something, this is the experience that the knights of Castle Thunder have accumulated over a long period of working with spellcasters. He had made the right choice, for the thief's body was changing at a rate visible to the naked eye—it was shrinking, cracking, shattering at a hundredfold rate. Skin, guts, blood, and hair turned into a fine pile of crimson dust, leaving only shriveled muscles and twisted bones, and the lich made a gesture to remove the armor so that he could observe the changes more closely...... Dust, Bird's warmth and the others unconsciously hurriedly retreated, lest they be contaminated with something that was doubly uncomfortable.

A small number of them fluttered in the sunlight, and more were piled up around the neatly arranged white bones, which looked indistinguishable from ordinary dust except for their color, and those who did not know the inside might think that some careless maid had accidentally knocked over a handful of ordinary, dull-colored rouge powder.

"What is this?" asked the knight from the royal capital.

"Wait," said the lich, "if this is what I thought was the curse." ”

"They're moving. A knight said in horror and disgust—the dust was gathering slowly, slowly, but with the human eye it was perfectly capable of catching its movement: "Is this something to do with the undead?"

"Quite the opposite. Said the lich.

The dust regrouped into a thin red shadow on the stone floor that had been rendered dark gold by the sun, but it didn't last long, just as the brief time before had been reversed, and the deprived things returned to his body, and the thieves who had been pardoned by Birdwin's mercy were seen again, naked** Lying on the ground, intact, he opened his eyes after a few heavy, difficult breaths, which at first were painful and confused, but soon the cunning and cruelty of a seasoned thief took over the brown eyes.

He saw the black-robed spellcaster, the source of all calamity - the mage was looking at him condescendingly, the black eyes that had appeared countless times in the nightmare of thieves were looking at his body without blinking, the thief Glenn was not ugly, on the contrary, he had a face that would shake the hearts of ignorant girls, although men would think that the face was too feminine and mean. After all, Gülen had inherited the face of his mother, a priest of Flo, with narrow eyes, high tails, a narrow, pointed nose, and a slightly upturned mouth at the sides, like a smiling mask at all times—though as a prisoner he had neither the right nor the opportunity to touch a razor, and his bushy beard obscured half of his face, but still could not completely conceal his innate strange attraction. His hair had been trimmed short in the Sharp Jaw Harbor, after all, a thief was not fit to have the long, unmanageable hair of some beauty-loving aristocrats, which had grown to shoulder length, and formed several curved swirls of soft brown.

The thief's body was pale and slender, but not weak, his strength was as carefully hidden as his muscles, and there was a large scar on the lower left side of his chest, shaped like a hand bone, which was held weakly, as if it were clutching his heart.

"This is the curse of the god of death," said the lich, "and you have killed a priest of the god of death, and this is his revenge." ”

Not even the best painters and sculptors could redraw and sculpt Gülen's expression, and it would not be surprising to say that he would turn into a beast in the next moment, tearing the man in front of him and swallowing every piece of flesh and bone, licking every drop of blood that fell to the ground, and the knights immediately stepped forward and drew their swords and pointed them at the vital point of the resurrected man.

With a tired wave of his hand, Baldwin's knights stepped forward, and the shackles and collars that had been taken off a moment earlier were put back on Glenn's hands, feet, and neck.

"I killed the orcs. The thief said, not loud, but unusually sharp, piercing Berdwin's ear: "I deserve to be pardoned, self-proclaimed just Knight of Tyre - I killed the orcs!"

Baldwin slumped back into his chair, rubbing his forehead and furrowing his brows, but fortunately his knights were known for their swiftness, and Gülen was dragged out, his voice immediately muffled by the heavy wooden door.

"Oh," said the knight of the Prince, "I thought you would hold on—even if the wretched creature you wanted to pardon had killed a priest, the servant of the god of death. ”

"I pardoned him because he did not murder His Highness's heir. But the curse on him proves that he has committed another crime," said Baldwin, "and I will get to the bottom of the whole thing and give him the final verdict." ”

――It seems to be a little cold, and I wrote a little less, I'm sorry, I'll make up for it tomorrow......