In O'Brid's dream, the near-crumbling Desert Elf mercenary leader was desperate to move forward. He noticed the majestic mountains and deep ravines around him, but they looked so unfamiliar.

Taking a step forward, Auberd tried to figure out where he was. As he went, an uncomfortable "rattle" sounded.

Obold looked down and found himself wrapped in metal armor, and wherever he looked at his body, he could only see maroon metal plate armor. And in the gap of the plate armor, every now and then, a disgusting worm will poke out......

Whew, taking a sharp breath of air, the desert elf suddenly woke up from its sleep. Experiencing such nightmares has become a regular occurrence in his life, except that the dream scenario occasionally varies.

Aside from the horror of the worm plate armor, the nightmare that Oberd experienced the most was actually the nightmare that occurred that day near the holy land of Voshugu, with the smell of tuk incense and the whistling of scimitars.

That time, he almost couldn't wake up again.

Perhaps it was a moment of prayer to everything that worked before he died, and the next day, Abbard was dragged out of the sand pit where his body was buried.

"Weak mortal ......"

The Desert Elf Mercenary Leader still remembered the first words he heard after regaining consciousness, and although he thought he was brave and resolute, he couldn't help but cry bitterly.

"My lord will bless you," said the second sentence of the seamstress, who was so beautiful and had a heart like a femme fatale, "and if someone takes away your weapon, your master will give you a suit of armor, and you must know how to cherish the opportunity." ”

Since then, O'Bridder has been wearing the "worm plate armor" that often wakes him up in his sleep.

At first, he wanted to take off his plate armor out of fear. But then he discovered that this armor was like the "Elven Golden Sword", which could provide a powerful arm to the wielder.

And compared to the golden sword, the arm assistance that the plate armor can provide is even more powerful. In fact, it is impossible for a strange thing made by mortals to be comparable to the creation of a demon lord.

It is no exaggeration to say that after putting on the "Worm Plate Armor", and then eliminating the interference of the sound and speech spells, if he encounters the desert spirit Braci who has killed him once, Orbed can also fight head-on without falling behind.

"It's a pity," every time he woke up from his sleep, Aubard would always fantasize about becoming the co-master of the desert elves and killing the enemy for a while, but in the end, it would always turn into a helpless sigh, "There is still the work assigned by the master, which must be completed as soon as possible." ”

With his feet down from the hammock and out of the cabin, which swayed slightly with the waves, Oberd climbed onto the top deck. His shoes are a little tight, but they allow his feet to sense the ground and help him maintain balance.

Compared to the Desert Elves, the crew is much looser-dressed. Very few crew members wear shoes on wet seas, and even when sailing, some simply don't wear a thread.

A crew member on duty, carrying an empty wine bottle, slipped down from the "crow's nest", where the lookout hand waits at the top of the mast, rubbing the mast barefoot, and slipped out in three or two strokes. Greeting another crew member under the mast who was on his shift, the man was about to burrow into the cabin to find a place to squint for a while.

"Are you almost at the port of Beit?" Obold stopped the lookout who had just finished his shift, and took out a wine bag from his burqa and handed it over, "I and my fellows have been waiting a little anxious to come here from Usan. ”

"Hey, look at what you said. ”

The crew grinned and made an exaggerated expression, but he still took the wine from the desert elves, after all, this was the captain's patron, and the other party's men were only hard ideas, he really needed to maintain some necessary respect.

"If it weren't for the Siroco wind, which has been blowing from the south for the past two days, the 'Jackdaw' would have arrived at the port of Beit long ago. But you don't have to worry, you should be able to arrive at noon today at the latest, the Sirocos wind has stopped, and we are now in a good wind. ”

Thanks to the crew member's patient explanation, Aubard whispered the phrase "Shunfeng" – in the native language of the Desert Elves, "Shunfeng" is equivalent to "Shunfeng".

"I hope all goes well," said Oberd, pacing to the bow of the ship, gazing at the sparkling sea as the rising sun on the horizon, Oberd wished himself, "just a batch of fossils brought from Usa, just to be sold for a profit, haha." ”

Laughing dryly, as if sensing something was wrong, the desert elf tightened the silk scarf around his neck, not wanting to show the terrible wound that circled his neck and seemed to have been stitched up by a crappy tailor.

......

"I don't understand, Sir," Lellett leaned forward, his hands propped up on the table, and if anyone looked closely, they would see a lot of skin debris falling from the palm of his hand, "why should we make an alliance with that guy? There is no reason to ......

At great expense, the black-robed mage who had been hit by a steampunk half-lich and had been crafted into a half-finished "mummy" to prevent him from escaping, was able to escape the dragon Pasha's captivity.

Since then, Lillett has become the laughing stock of the Obsidian Council.

Not only that, but the sequelae of the semi-finished "mummy" - intermittent skin peeling due to dryness continued to torment his body and mind.

Even if he repeatedly used spells such as "repair damage" and "remove the curse" to heal himself, how could Lillett's attainments compare to the legendary half-lich who personally concocted him.

Feeling the crumbs falling on his skin, the black-robed mage from the great nobles of Medici was extremely ashamed, he could not have imagined that His Excellency the Speaker would convene a council overnight, and the topic would be "how to form an alliance with the dragon Pasha".

"I strongly disagree," Lillett said, looking around, hoping to find supporters, but received little feedback, "In fact, by consulting the tome, I have found many spells that are targeted at restraining the dragon. Just ......"

“...... As long as you can do it on your own," Kunini, who was sitting at the top of the long table, lost patience and bluntly interrupted Lyllit's words, "I know you want revenge, you want to use the secrets of the Floating Behemoth that the dragon Pasha has mastered, the monopoly of the air transport industry, and the manufacturing process of the fanatic armor...... and so on, to seek an alliance. ”

Scanning the parliamentarians present, from their expressions, the Devil Count saw that "tacitly", "but it is also an alliance, why can't the Council directly ally with the dragon Pasha? With this covenant, it is also possible for everyone to share those tempting interests." ”

"I ......"

"You're for yourself," Lillett's sallow face began to turn a little blue, but Kunini ignored it, standing up and circling around the council's long table, "The purpose of the Obsidian Council is to defend the common interests of all noble-born mages, not for the personal interests of any one individual. Please keep this in mind. ”

In terms of manipulation of power and manipulation of people's minds, even if Lillett lived for another 10,000 years, it is estimated that it will be difficult to match Kunini, an honor student who graduated first in Bato's most famous college.

In fact, if he dared to sabotage his plans, Kunini probably wouldn't let him survive tonight.

"Wise as you, we obey. Lillett bowed and sat back in his seat.

Like an old monk, in the next meeting, the black-robed mage did not say a word.