A terrible scream, then more.

The black-haired spellcaster gave a slight snort, and turned to leave quickly, he didn't cast a spell, but he was no more likely to attract the attention of other creatures as he made his way through the dark cavern than a slightly larger moth - the thief stood still, listening, and now the sound of metal colliding and the neighing of livestock. He stood there with a stiff face, hesitating, unable to decide what to do for a moment. If it was in Sharp Jaw Harbor, or any other city, he would have taken this great opportunity to escape without hesitation, but this is Thundercastle- He had peeked at the single wall, and although the humans of Thundercastle had built it only to defend it against human thieves and armies, it was no less wide and tall than the other two walls of Thundercastle, and its gates had fallen, and each of the iron gates was doused with molten lead, and there were soldiers on the walls and towers, with crossbows in their hands, and Gülen didn't want to test whether their eyes were as sharp as the falcons that people had said they were.

As for the cliffs on both sides of Thundercastle, the kind of mountain walls that can be compared to the vertical mirror surface are probably only possible for elves, spellcasters, and argali, and Glenn to climb and walk on them, and Glenn didn't even try.

Also, he didn't think that the conversation between Cremar, the dark-haired spellcaster with a name that seemed to have been made up on purpose, was over.

The thief turned his toes, his boots sinking into the thick bat droppings, and sneered silently, of course not, he was not the kind of ignorant person who would be deceived and played with by the nonsense of the white robes. Whether the black-haired spellcaster was half-elf, half-dragon, half-orc, half-ogre, his background was no different from Glenn's, and the thieves knew it from the first sight of him—there was more than just a rope around his neck.

Glenn the Thief wasn't a good babe with a thumbs up, but sometimes he had to show satisfactory meekness and stupidity — and he had been doing it for twenty years, maybe longer, so he was alive until now.

A beetle got into the shaft of his boot, the boot he had stolen from someone else was slightly larger, and Gülen lifted his toes and crushed the beetle with his heel - the sounds echoed through the cave, and the frightened bats rose into the air again, their wings flapping like a gust of wind through the cave, and even then, Gülen thought he could hear the beetle's broken voice, its juice seeping through the footwrap that the thieves had used to replace their socks.

Did the mage ever throw a spell at him in the dark?

Unbeknownst to Gülen, he took a deep breath of the dirty, cold air and walked towards the source of light and sound.

The elven mage's long dark golden hair rolled in the scorching heat of the flames, her enemy was a red-robed mantle, he might not be that powerful, but he was better than being mean, cunning and unscrupulous - he didn't have to think about whether it would harm the humans around him when he threw his spells, but Raven couldn't, she couldn't cast a magnified lethal or hurtful spell on the frail old man and child, the caster and the strong warrior might be able to endure and dodge the flames and blades of the past that would kill them mercilessly.

Kerribben stood on top of the carriage and fired arrows to interrupt the mage's spell - they were confronted by three red robes and one gray robe.

Beside him was an elven mage who had to leave the battlefield early because he had broken his leg bone, but he still memorized his spells as the morning sun swept past Thundercastle, and his usual caution helped him and his companions, without his spell casting assistance, Kerry would have been swallowed up by the spells of the red robes, the other two were warriors, one of them had their collarbones cut off by an orc's axe, all the way down to the ribs, and the other was pierced through the chest by a pike dart thrown by a small thrower, and although the priest applied the healing in time, the newborn bones and internal organs were still fragile, and every jump and swing would have caused their bodies to tear and ache。

Priests and mages never approve of the wounded being thrown into a new battle as soon as the healing technique takes effect, because the tender and fragile new muscles, bones, and internal organs cannot withstand too much vibration and blow, they will shatter and even melt, and this kind of injury will require stronger healing spells, longer recuperation to heal, or rather, the wounded person will never need to be healed after being severely injured again, because he is already dead.

But the elves had to go into battle, and the sudden enemy obviously did not need prisoners or slaves, and the first attack they encountered was two fireballs as bright and dazzling as the rising sun, which were thrown into the crowd and burst in an instant, and the tiny flames and huge sparks flew in all directions like the sharp needles of the porcupine, and the people were on fire, discarding the straw ropes, and running away with wide eyes and crying. The flames fell into the bat droppings, and the smoke and steam rising from the dung were inaudible, illuminating the cave by the firelight, and the stenching smoke and steam blocked the view.

They panicked and fled aimlessly, turning a deaf ear to the shouting soldiers and the crying children, pushing away everything that stood in their way and trampling on them, both those who protected them and those who should be protected.

And the enemies who clinged to the walls and roofs of the cavern with ropes and spells raised their crossbows, and they would not deal with the ordinary people for a while—Lord Bodwin had drawn three hundred soldiers and fifty knights from his already strained forces, and they were only a hundred, but they were clever and had spellcasters, and with the latter's spells alone they could turn the whole situation in the direction they wanted— Out of the corner of his eye, a half-orc glanced at the gray robe less than ten feet in front of him, he was hooded, cloaked, his outstretched fingers were indistinguishable from the paper-like skin of his bones, he pointed to one place, chanted a spell, and then the thief saw that the humans in that direction were suddenly plunged into uncontrollable confusion and panic, although they were not on fire or stabbed by their swords, they still ran wildly, and a soldier was pushed down as he tried to pull a little girl up, and then many feet stepped over his back。

A thief who had blended into the crowd tried to stab him in the neck, but a small stream of lightning struck his dagger through the crack in the crowd, and the electricity swirled around him like a small snake, and he screamed and fell into the thick bat droppings.

The grey robe immediately looked in the direction where the spell was thrown, a white-robed mage, or rather, a mage who was clumsily disguised as a priest or paladin, was disgusting, "You should at least wear a black robe!" the grey-robed whispered reproach, holding out his finger again.

But to his surprise, the spell he threw was like a ripple on the white-robed mage's body for a moment and then vanished, it did not cause pain or damage to the target, the black-haired young spellcaster continued to move forward, he even had the strength to make gestures and throw the spell - a sudden wind passed through the cavern, taking away some of the smoke, steam, fire, and fear.

The chief knight who commanded and commanded the soldiers died from a dagger that stabbed out of the darkness after the first fireball exploded in the crowd, and the strange thing was that the first person to perform his duties in his place did not belong to Thundercastle, he came from the royal capital, and he quickly put on his armor and put on a mask with the help of his servants, and galloped back and forth on his horse (his servants followed closely with his banner), while loudly and continuously announcing his name and giving orders, his title and expensive equipment served to convince people, and the soldiers who could move rallied to him with pike darts and spears, and after a moment of hesitationAt the knight's orders, they began to "comb" the fools who had been overrun by fear, with loud intimidation, flashing swords and tangible damage—those who were still screaming or trying to run around were stabbed in the ears, arms, and other inconsequential places, and the pain brought them to their senses, and the few who were still trembling in the spells of the grey robe were knocked unconscious, and the animals that lost control were killed.

The elven mage threw the seeds he carried with him into the mire of dung, and then dripped his own blood, and the vines grew like flies, tangled into barriers and traps, and the flames of the red robe roared on them, and the emerald green turned black, and the black turned emerald green, they did not last long, but the people hiding inside were given a respite.

Some soldiers gave their relatives and friends, or people they knew, to increase their chances of surviving the battle.

"Do you know how to use a knife?" asked one of the soldiers, asking a bard, the one that Berdwin had brought to Thundercastle from the White Tower.

"I'm better at playing the piano. The bard said.

The soldier looked at him, and saw that he was indeed skinny and pale, he shook his head, and turned away, "Then hide under the carriage, it stinks, but it is better than not having to die." ”

"Really," said the bard, smiling, "I'm not kidding. ”

Ever since he entered the tunnel, he had always carried his beloved Saltri in his arms, and now, with the mere movement of his nimble fingers, a string had been removed—a string like this one that a woman even had to strike with a small hammer to make a sound, of course, was not made of silk thread or hair, every string was silver-plated or gold-plated wire, and the strings of our bard's hot pants were not plated with gold or silver, they were unadorned, smooth and pliable, and they only broke the soldier's neck at once.

The soldier could not figure out what had happened until he died, and the bard held the heavy corpse on only one knee, wiped his strings off the soldier's shoulder, and gently and covertly lowered him, it didn't matter, there were many corpses here, and no one would ever inquire into the cause of the death of an ordinary soldier—if no one would pay attention to their temporary leader.

The bard opened the base plate of the Saltri, and ten crossbow arrows were securely fixed inside, each as small as a pigeon's tail feather. Author's Words: Thank you for your tip!!Well deserved!!!

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