But that was some time later, and now, the golems were only a third of what they expected. The Warlocks and Mages under Ostal were starting to get tired of it, and they felt that they were inferior to their colleagues who had been assigned to the Emperor of Falun and perched high above the desolate Arrow Peak, at least the air there was much fresher than the abandoned Iron Bone City, and it wasn't far from the human city, they said. In order to ensure that the secret would not be revealed so quickly, they were not allowed to make contact with merchants in exchange for food, wine, and women, and the lack of supplies made them complain, and if it were not for the rich money, precious spell-casting materials, and wonderful prospects, they would most likely have left silently.

It's not without a chance to leave, Ostar has become a powerful dragonborn, but he is still alone after all, he doesn't trust anyone, at least, he is the only one who knows where those dragons came from, and whoever tries to get their hands on them will be punished by him cruelly, not only will he be deprived of his life, but even his soul will not be saved - in order to care for these dragons, he will sometimes disappear for a while, at irregular intervals, but he will leave for a minimum- So these boring warlocks began to abuse the gnomes. There are almost only gnomes, because dwarfs are just like human children in appearance, with petite bodies, snow-white skin, and some of them have beautiful features. Of course, for people with a certain morality, children deserve protection and pity, but will there be such people here? Perhaps, the dwarves did, they hid the gnomes as much as they could, to help them hide from the obscene and vicious gaze, and to smear their faces and hands with dust and ore powder, for which they were often whipped and subjected to the pain of magic, but as Crash proudly said, the dwarves had rocky skin and bones of steel, and even if the blood they shed was still red and warm, the bad guys could not force them to give in.

Even so, gnomes and dwarves continue to die, and if it weren't for the fact that Ostar's golem army was not yet complete, the warlocks might have tortured them to death one by one to pass the boring days.

Crash held the chains between the shackles in his hand, so that when he moved, there would be no sound of the chains rubbing against the rocks, so that his movements would not be detected too quickly, and one of the dwarves immediately shifted to his place as soon as he left the furnace, and then another dwarf took the place of the previous dwarf, then the third, then the fourth...... All the movements are silent, and the amplitude is so small that it is difficult to detect in the dim light.

A female dwarf curled up in the shadows cast by the ore pile, her body covered in scars of shame, only a cloak full of charred holes barely left her with the last of her dignity, but when Crash reached out her hand, she pushed another person, the dwarf, towards Crash, who lowered his head and found that the dwarf was dead, "He's dead." Crash whispered, but the female dwarf just pushed him forward, her eyes filled with a childlike light, "He's dead." "He went back to Moradin's knees and struck iron for him." He thought he had made it clear, but the female dwarf acted as if she hadn't heard him at all.

"I'm sorry. The other gnome finally spoke, and he had maintained a glimmer of hope, but it had finally dimmed as the starlight at dawn. "She's thinking a little out of her right," he grabbed the female dwarf, "Iron Shield, I mean, your people, to prevent her from being taken away...... Met with misfortune. When he said this, he couldn't help but show a look of hatred and humiliation on his face - gnomes are not the kind of creatures with a strong temperament and good nature, just like when they were still in the Dragonfire Islands, they were also quite interested in torturing and ravaging human slaves, but this does not mean that they can also accept everything that happens to them when they are reduced to the lowest inhabitants.

At this time, Collapse had already stretched out his hand and placed a short finger on the female dwarf's body, and the dwarves and gnomes around him immediately crowded over, blocking the light generated when the magic came. The female gnome grunted and fell asleep in the white light that had brought her peace and comfort, some of the superficial wounds had begun to shrink and heal, and the male gnome watched all this with a complicated expression, the battle between the dwarf and the dwarves could continue until the battle of the gods, the dwarves hated the dwarves, and the gnomes regarded the dwarves as a disgrace, just as McGene had declared that he wanted to be a dwarf for hating his people, and he knew what it would take to stab the hearts of his people most sharply. But in this dark cavern, the dwarves and the gnomes became slaves together, chained to the same iron rope, and the dwarves, either by nature, or perhaps by the actions of the sorcerers, became the protectors of the gnomes - the gnomes were selfish, but they still had a little bit of genuine feelings, and they whispered, with a strange feeling that they recognized the high position of the dwarves in the whole group, and made some compensation and reciprocation as much as possible.

But as long as they still have a little computing power, the gnomes will know that the little thing they give is no match for the protection given by the dwarves, not to mention how many dwarf lives have been saved by the priests of the dwarves (almost all of whom are called here).

"But you ......," the male dwarf asked, taking a step forward, hesitantly, "why do you do this?"

"Because we are dwarves. "That's it," he said, "He was a little slurred when he was younger, but now he's much better: "We're dwarves." "Though they toiled for long hours and rested in the dark mines, their souls were like raging flames, unable to contain a single darkness or filth.

He didn't care if the gnome understood him, and muttered a prayer as a handful of clean water flowed from his fingers to the dead dwarf's lips. Before the dwarves left this earthly world, the priests would pour a little mead or ale into his mouth, so that he could return to Moradin's knees with satisfaction, but here a little clean water is already very precious.

Collapse couldn't afford to waste much time here, he paused, then turned back to his place, and then, as before, the dwarves made a slight change, and by the time the warlock in charge of overseeing them lazily came over to check on the situation, everything was back to normal. The dead dwarves were sunk in the ore, the dwarves' home, and although there were no rituals or prayers, Crash believed that he would return to Moradin.

The parts that make up the golems are constantly produced from the hands of the dwarves and gnomes, each of which is checked by three warlocks to make sure that the lowly slaves are not intentionally missing or altering their dimensions, and the parts are transferred to some of their other colleagues, assembled into golems in more secret places, and injected with souls, the warlocks thought that this would make it impossible for the dwarves and gnomes to figure out how many golems he had made, but he was underestimating their computing power- If gnomes and dwarves lack a talent for mathematics, how can they create machines and weapons that can go wrong even by the slightest margin. Crash only glanced at the gnomes on his left, and read the number of the gnomes from the other party's cocked fingers, which was the opposite of the number gathered by the dwarves, and it was almost possible to know how many golems had already taken the rudimentary form.

Sometimes, these warlocks would complain in dragon language, and in the same way, they didn't think that the gnomes and dwarves would master dragon language, but they were wrong, and there were merchants among the dwarves, and they were clever enough to master the languages of most of the intelligent races on the continent, and even if they couldn't translate every word clearly, the rough meaning could still be guessed— They didn't hear much, but the consolation was that the success rate of the warlocks in infusing the soul into the golem was not high, indeed, this spell was quite powerful and sophisticated, and it was also related to the soul, and those soul warlocks and mages who belonged to slaves or commoners would not use it for the catalysis of the golem, because they were dull and fragile, some mages would use the souls of magical creatures or monsters, and more often than not, like Ostar, the souls of sinners or thugs, these souls were tough enough and evil enough to be keenly aware that the key to the caster's words was a lie, or that even if it was a lie, they were willing to believe itAfter all, they desperately want to return to their bodies and become human again, and for that reason they don't care how many of their kind are slaughtered.

The wide corridor where McGee had wept and staggered, and where there had been huge dwarf statues on either side, were now almost all occupied by the Black Iron Golems, who stood quietly between the pillars, standing in silence, their heads bowed, the souls of the wicked were forced to remain semi-asleep in their metal bodies, but the warlocks of each soul Austal had been tempered hundreds of times, and each of them was filled with contempt and hatred for the living, and as soon as the shackles of magic were lifted on the metal golem, they would rush out to satisfy their bloody and greedy desires。

A warlock walked past them satisfied, his eyes of his creation, which could even be described as soft and amiable, as if he were looking at his own child, nay, perhaps a little gentle, just as he waved his finger and threw a small probing spell on one of the golems, a fleeting flash of magical light made him feel as if he had "seen" something, and he immediately became vigilant, and a handful of flames rushed out from the tips of his fingers, illuminating and burning the corner, but there was nothing there.

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The ugly chicken bent her knees in the dense fluffy grass, she was not good at praying, even after becoming the prince's teacher she learned to read and write with the court ladies, but those brilliant and gorgeous words still made her feel that she was still the clumsy little girl, but the god of suffering, Ilmot, never cared about their tongues when choosing his followers, he always looked at their souls and deeds, so the ugly chicken's simple prayer was quickly answered - "I need your help," Ugly Chicken muttered, they have come to the Dragon's Back Mountains, but it has been dozens of days, and no one has been able to find any trace of the missing gnomes and dwarves, "I need your help, noble Ilmot," Ugly Chicken closed his eyes and whispered, "Please guide me, guide your children, so that I can see the footprints of wild beasts, the clouds torn apart by birds of prey, and the shadows cast by those evil raiders." ”

Then she felt a hand on her forehead, her body trembling slightly, and even with her eyes closed, the ugly chicken was still able to sketch a projection of Ilmote with her reverence—a thin, scarred old man, his sideburns thinning and ragged, but his eyes shining as bright as stars, and he gave strength to his elect and regained her strength and confidence.

When the ugly chicken opened his eyes, Ilmot's projection was long gone, leaving only a clump of onion shoots where he had stayed, and the ugly chicken sincerely thanked her gods, and she stood up, her huge body like a tower.

The wind had begun to pierce their bones, and the ugly chicken thought that time was running out.

The ugly chicken looked at her companions, they were all paladins and priests, and although they did not necessarily believe in the same deity, their thoughts and codes of conduct were similar or even identical—they were allies and friends. She nodded to them, and turned to walk out into the thorns and fluffy grass, and they followed closely behind, without questioning or hesitating.

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Leona looked up, and could hear Tyre's call in the mourning wasteland, something she had not thought of before she left the child and the highland Norman, she was not a devout believer, and even once doubted Tyre's justice, she thought that she could not be accepted by Tyre, but it was the case, as soon as she fell into the mourning wasteland, before her feet could be dusted, she heard the sound of a horn extremely loud, she ran towards the sound, and came to the kingdom of God of Tyre.

She had thought that she might become a pale invoker, but Tyre's generosity was far greater than she had imagined, and she became a warrior in the kingdom of God, like the esteemed saints, dressed in armor and cloaked in Tyre's emblem.