The sound of magic guns being fired was deafening with the roar of the building collapsing. Pen × fun × Pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 ｉｎｆｏ

Mage Laurent walked down the deserted street, his left hand propped up on a stone wall, struggling to move. The pain of torn wounds on his broken arms and thighs, and the high fever caused by the infection of the wounds, were consuming his vitality bit by bit. Even if he was in a hurry, he couldn't go any faster.

The houses and businesses that once lived here have long since moved to the south of the city, and the war-torn northern city of Santan looks like an abandoned city, with dilapidated buildings and dusty buildings. The early morning sun casts shadows on the crumbling walls of the streets, shaped like the fangs of a giant beast. The remnants of the broken walls, dyed golden by the morning light, not only symbolize disaster and destruction, but also reveal a hint of hope and rebirth.

In such a picture of light and death, the end and the new life, the white-haired mage Laurent turned the corner and walked into the shadow of the city wall.

The chaotic battle scene swept across the street in front of me, and a group of defenders armed with magic guns pursued the wandering knights. Someone shouted in the distance: "The city is here, the city is dead, the people are dead...... and the same oath spread in all directions, and the shouts were crazy and decisive, almost all over the northern city.

Laurent didn't know how many enemy knights had broken into the city this time, but he could vaguely feel that Santan City couldn't hold it. As soon as the thought came to him, his steps sprang up, almost jogging towards the place where the scuffle had taken place.

The old magician squeezed the last of his strength, running, chasing the farther warbands, he had no energy left to think about whether he could help, the only thought left in his mind was to go to the children of the Academy, to the children who knew they could not do anything, but still fought with their lives, to the children who made him proud and felt that his life's teaching career had become meaningful because of them.

He swung his left arm back and forth, limped on his feet, his gray mage robe in tatters, his mouth snorting and panting, and he looked like the hilarious Don Quixote of the enduring comedy of the Grand Theater of Coennas.

However, there was no audience in front of him, no one laughed, and no one wiped tears after laughing. There were only corpses lying in the streets, still body temperatures, and the incessant sound of magic gunfire in the distance.

Suddenly, Laurent heard a young, frail voice on the corner shouting, "Lord Dean......"

He ran towards the voice, and saw a young man with a familiar face but no name, lying on the ground, with his back against a broken wall. The young man had a beautiful face, and he looked no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, which was the best age.

Laurent approached the boy and saw that his hands on his abdomen were soaked in blood.

"Press firmly against the wound to stop the bleeding. The old magician sat down and stretched out his left arm to squeeze the boy's hands.

"No more...... I can't stop ......" The young man's eyes were full of tears, but a smile appeared on his face, but the smile was not good. He let go of his hands slightly, revealing the terrifying wound of red flesh, and a piece of intestines was held in his hand and stuffed back.

Master Laurent suddenly came to her grief, and stroked the young man's head, and for a moment burst into tears.

"Lord Dean...... I deserve ...... Do you deserve it?" the boy looked up at Laurent: "No, no, no, northerner...... Shame on you?"

"Deserved! y, all deserved!" said Laurent, tentatively.

When the boy heard this, as if he had received the most important promise, he laughed happily, and in the middle of the laugh he coughed violently, and then vomited blood uncontrollably.

Seeing the boy leaning feebly against the corner, his limbs drooping, and his eyes gradually losing their light, Master Laurent cried out in mourning, and then, as if he had suddenly gained strength, he got up and ran madly in the direction of the gunfire.

......

Eliot stood on a section of the city wall in order to enjoy the play.

He had been studying a bloodstained magic gun for a while, but he still couldn't figure out how such a simple iron rod could be turned into a strange weapon that could kill knights in the hands of a group of magical apprentices who had no combat power to speak of.

In order to ensure that there were no accidental casualties, he drew twelve seventh-level knights from his own barracks to sweep the small city. That kind of weird magic iron rod can't easily hurt these people.

It would take at least three days for the mercenary coalition to get from Gonta to Coennath, and Elliot was less than two days away from the capital of Middle-earth, so he didn't mind spending some time slaughtering an entire city of Middle-earth to boost morale that was a little low.

Besides, he wanted to have some fun himself.

Soon, Elliot discovered something interesting. An old man in a gray mage robe was running slowly after the warband. However, the knight closest to him, as if he was deliberately playing tricks on the old man, circled around him, and brought hundreds of magic apprentices around.

Elliot looked at the panting old man and leaned back with a smile. He seemed to think that such a funny thing should be shared with his subordinates, so he turned his head and shouted to the pro-military camp outside the city, "Come and see! There's an old guy running after the warband?!"

In a few moments, the remnants of the city wall were filled with people, all laughing and watching the old man chasing the warband.

"This old dog is too old to catch up with the rabbit......"

"He's chasing a lion...... Catch up and send ...... to death"

"I've never seen anyone so desperate to find death...... Oh, he fell again, and I guess he'll get up again, look!

"Jeremy Knight is back in the game...... Ay...... Don't ......"

The old man in the field of vision collided head-on with the warband, and was slashed to the ground by the knight who swam in the middle, and this time he finally couldn't move. The crowd watching the play on the city wall roared and let out a cry of disappointment.

......

Mage Laurent lay in a pool of blood, figures swaying in front of him, and the sound of gunfire was as dense as raindrops falling on the tin roof.

Someone was shouting, "Lord Dean," but no one came up. That's right, it's important to kill the enemy.

Lord Duke...... I think I've done my best, and if you can see these children, you'll be proud of them......

Laurent felt a little sorry when he thought that all these teenagers would become history along with the whole city of Santan, and that no one could know what they had done to defend their homeland.

But it doesn't matter anymore, he's done everything he can with a clear conscience.

The harsh sunlight slowly dimmed, like a blood-red mist.

In this red, which obscured her vision, Laurent seemed to see a flash of blue light, like an azure ribbon, fluttering and falling from heaven......