When Sanders saw the oncoming werewolf drop his weapon, he knew that this was no longer a battle, but a one-sided killing. So he ordered as loudly as he could: "All retreat, flee as much as you can, go back and report the situation here..... and the next words he was too busy to say. The reason why the werewolf dropped his weapon was simple, that kind of thing was originally only against armor and shields, and now that this opponent has given up his defense, there is no weapon more flexible than his own claws, and it is more able to entangle the opponent and make it difficult for him to deal with it.

The ogre avoided Sanders' interception and stormed the crowd without incident, embarking on a blood-spilling feast.

The two huge maces didn't have any fancy changes, and they didn't even have a fixed goal, just to be able to hit as many human bodies as possible. Any piece of armor is indistinguishable from a papier-mâché toy, and it is not a barrier to the power of these two terrifying weapons. In this heartland where flesh and viscera were splashed everywhere, there was hardly a scream. As soon as it came into contact with the wielding mace, the person who had been alive a moment ago immediately became a mass of weapons, armor, skeletal muscles, and a mixture of dead things

The ogre swung his weapon frantically, forward, slammed into a crowded place, trampled on it, and then rushed in another crowded direction, like a killing machine driven by a demon of hell, constantly crushing and shattering all the flesh and blood that could be touched.

Sanders' orders are irrelevant. When the ogre rushed into the crowd, there was only hysterical terror in the soldier's heart. The soldiers rushed towards the mountain crossing, most of them intercepted by the ogres, slaughtered, and reduced to a blur of flesh, while werewolves and lizardmen were able to escape with great agility and agility. The two orcs guarding the intersection took out two smaller crossbow arrows and fired them at those who occasionally approached the intersection, and the arrows flew through their heads. Some soldiers jumped off the cliff in extreme fear, pulled out a long scream, and then stopped abruptly.

Those who were still on the hill could not even scream.

When a person flees in fear of death, only to know that in the end he will still be reduced to a puddle of flesh, fear and despair will eat away all his strength and consciousness to a trickle, and only a wail will remain. It's a sound that people who haven't heard before can never imagine and feel.

The wailing of the ocean, the strange sound of bones shattering and deformation, and the sound of weapons tearing through air and flesh intermingled and undulated, forming a concerto that one will never forget once you hear it. A person of the same kind who was obviously the same as himself just now, suddenly he could see Bai Shengsheng's bones turned out, his internal organs were still pulsating but had been pulled out of his body, and his blood and flesh were cheaper than garbage. Asa suddenly understood the precise meaning of the word 'hell'.

Half of the soldier's corpse flew over and landed next to Asa and the lizardmen, who were in the middle of a difficult killing. The corpse was pulled in two by a huge force below the abdomen, and the internal organs were scattered all the way to the lower half of the body, which was more than ten meters away.

Asa remembered that the soldier had done it to him during the recruitment check, and that the arm that had been very strong, which had once been entangled with him, was flattened like mud and embedded in his chest along with the iron shield in his hand.

Fear mixed with grief surged over and immediately overshadowed all his fighting spirit. A few desperate slashes finally forced the lizardman to jump backwards, and Asa seized the fleeting opportunity to turn and rush into the camp.

Sanders also made the same move at about the same time as Asa. After a few sword attacks, a scalp on his forehead was grabbed as the werewolf retreated. He was standing closer to the intersection ahead, with ogres and lizardmen behind him, so he ran to the intersection occupied by only two orcs and the cloaked figure.

There was a loud wind behind him, and a mace of fangs swept over his head, flying down the hill with a threat that would turn him into a puddle of mud.

Sanders glanced back, and the only surviving soldier wrapped his arms around the ogre's head, making the hammer he threw slightly higher.

"Captain, run...," shouted the soldier with all his remaining strength. The blood-stained face was a little hideous, it was a face distorted by countless wounds, half of which had been shattered by a hammer weapon and recessed. This is a seasoned veteran, presumably he fell to the ground and pretended to be dead, and only then did he put his arms around the ogre's head while he was not paying attention.

At this glance, he also saw the werewolf pick up an axe from the ground and throw it. The axe spun rapidly in the air, pulling in a straight line and chasing after his back.

He couldn't dodge left and right anymore. Now he was running with all his might, and once he moved left and right, he could only roll on the spot, and the werewolves behind him would immediately catch up and re-entangle him.

There was an ogre roar, followed by a half-scream and a very strange sound. It was as if a lot of dead branches were put into a wet towel and twisted vigorously, and the dense cracking sound mixed with the sound of liquid oozing.

Sanders didn't have time to look back, he used all his strength on his right leg and jumped forward, while slaying his sword on his back, protecting his spine and condensing his magic to prepare a healing spell.

There was a muffled sound. Sanders slid some distance through the air and landed, staggered a few steps, spurted out a mouthful of blood, and then rushed back to the intersection.

As luck would have it, the axe landed on the edge of the close-fitting goggles, breaking three ribs and injuring the lungs. The pre-prepared healing spell immediately stops the bleeding and relieves pain, and will not affect the movement for a short time.

There was only about ten meters left from the intersection, and the fangs on the corners of the mouths of the two orcs and the slightly panicked look on their faces were clearly visible. The cloaked figure in the middle still didn't react in the slightest.

Just rush down the hill and jump into the Dono, and you have a chance to escape. Sanders condensed all the remaining mana into his sword-wielding hands.

The cliff was in front of him, and Asa remembered the location of the tree very well, and he flew and jumped.

Thankfully, he twisted around in mid-air to take a look, and the lizardman pulled out a small crossbow from behind and shot it at him. He volleyed his head down and bent forward, feeling the bolt grazing his skin, and then his body flew completely off the cliff and fell straight down. The lizardman who followed him watched from the edge of the cliff as he stepped on a branch in mid-air and thrust another branch with his knife, completely relieving his fall and entering the water safely.

Upon one last glance at the mountain, Asa saw a white light shining the entire mountain as if it were day.

The sword in Sanders' hand glowed as sharp as the sun. All the mana has been infused into the sword.

The blood from his forehead had turned everything he saw in his left eye blood-red, and Sanders didn't feel it at all, all his mental will was in the sword he was about to swing.

The two orcs dodged to the side with their eyes covered in the intense light, and the cloaked figure in the middle still didn't move. Under the strong light emitted by the long sword, the face under the cloak could be seen clearly.

It was a human face. Slightly thin, pale, sculpturally distinct, but also as silent as a sculpture. Under the long eyelashes, the dark eyes were like a bottomless deep pool that had stayed for a thousand years, unable to make any fluctuations, only quietly reflecting the dazzling sword light that came to them.

There were still ten steps away, and the man still didn't have the slightest intention of avoiding it, the expression on his face didn't change in the slightest, and his whole body didn't move at all. It is as if it is a stone statue that has been standing there since the beginning of the world, and will remain there until the beginning of the next world.

There are also eight steps, seven steps, six steps, five steps, four steps, three steps, Sanders rushed forward and stepped three hundred and sixty degrees, turning and drawing his sword. The reaction force of the toe on the ground is transmitted through the calf, thigh, waist to the chest, and then to the upper shoulder, to the wrist, and directly to the blade. Every muscle in the body unreservedly superimposed the power all the way to the swing of this sword.

It's not that the person is swinging the sword, but that the sword is manipulating the person. Every slightest movement is to pour out his sharpness and the magic power that is about to unleash according to the most perfect track. All the orcs stopped moving, completely shocked and attracted by the sword.

The light of the sword swirled into a curtain of light, and it stretched forward with a power that could cut through the entire night. There wasn't the slightest sound, but all the orcs felt like they were about to hear the mountain split in two.

All speed, power, magic, will, spirit, every tiny presence of life all fused into one sword and bloomed again and again, splashing with sparks never before. Sanders was no longer afraid, angry, and even the hope of escaping was lost. It's like a singer who sings the climax of the whole aria, only to indulge in the dissolution of his soul and burst out. He was about to split the flesh and blood in front of him in two like a fictional imagination with the highest note.......

The brilliant light curtain that seemed to last until the end of the world suddenly disappeared, and was reduced to a stationary sword by one hand.

It's a very clean, very slender hand. The fingers are long, each knuckle is well-proportioned, and the protrusions are so beautiful that when you see them, you will naturally associate all the elegant words and movements.

The graceful hand grasped the blade of the sword with a graceful gesture that matched it, like a butterfly fluttering in the air.

All the sensations that were all in one go came to an abrupt halt. The first thing Sanders felt was the loss, the loss that suddenly had his throat cut when the singer's most beautiful notes were about to come out. And then came pain and fear.

The other hand, which must have been equally elegant, he couldn't see, he could only feel. It was all sunk into his chest, and he could even feel the four fingers protruding from his back just as slender and well-proportioned.

Sanders opened his mouth and tried to moan, only to find that all the sounds were drowned out in blood in his throat. It was as if the blood from all over the body was being pulled to the throat, surging out from the trachea and esophagus. The hand in the chest was withdrawn, and the blood had a better place to vent, and immediately and happily withdrew from the throat and diverted.

Saunders clearly felt his strength, his will, his spirit, everything that was still surging in his body just a moment ago, along with the blood, poured out of his body with the withdrawal of that hand. Those things that were so real and abundant, that constituted the whole of his life, flowed out of the big hole in his chest, flowed out, no matter how unwilling he was, there was not even the slightest room for redemption. Eventually, even the strength to support his feet dissipated in his body, and he collapsed.

The sword's glow faded rapidly, and then with a soft snap, it shattered into countless tiny flakes scattered across the master's corpse.

A gust of wind blew, and the human man's cloak turned into wisps of tattered cloth falling under the blowing of the mountain wind, witnessing the incomparable sword qi just now.

The man lifted his hand that was gripping the sword and looked at it in the moonlight. A trail of blood lay across the center of the palm, like a newly reborn palm print. The man's face still didn't fluctuate like a sculpture.

Werewolves and lizardmen scrutinized through the piles of corpses, and even relatively intact corpses had to be refilled a few more times until they became a mass of flesh that could not have any life. The lizardman who had fought Asa walked over and reported the situation in the lizardmen's language, where the consonants were the majority.

The man pointed to the river below the mountain and waved his hand, and the werewolf immediately ran down the mountain and disappeared into the night.

An owl perched on a dead branch next to the camp, staring blankly at the flesh and blood with two large eyes, and cooing at the right time.

The man suddenly kicked a small stone away, and with a thud, the owl on the branch was shattered and scattered by the stone like a pile of rotten cotton. The remains of the owl fell, and a black liquid leached out of it, and a strong stench overwhelmed the mountains of blood. The orcs and werewolves let out a strange cry and covered their noses in a hurry. The man looked at the stinking black fragments on the ground, frowned, and finally his stone-like face fluctuated slightly, revealing a slightly worried look.

In the dim room, the cardinal mage reached out and gently touched the crystal ball that had suddenly extinguished, and sighed: "With so many fresh corpses, Sandru must be very distressed when he sees them." ”