The scene could not be explained by what the clergy knew, so much so that at first they thought it was a visual remnant caused by lightning, or mental fatigue caused some imaginary scene to be mistaken for reality, some kind of illusion that existed only in their own eyes.

Not many people are more familiar with the power of sharp weapons than they are.

It's another thing for a skilled swordsman to easily make a hole in his opponent's body, or even to pierce it in half, to split an uneven object that is supported by bones and cemented by tough tissue.

And to do this smoothly, it takes far more than just strength, but also a weapon that is unimaginably sharp.

Not to mention that there is a set of cuirass, the kind that is forged in one piece.

The rain seeped down the collar and into the lining, and the wet cold crept up the back.

The bleak light hidden in the lightning disappeared for only a moment, barely noticeable, and the tall grass danced and swayed wildly, making it difficult to tell if anything passed through it.

"Over there...... There's something on the front right! Kraft tried to point out his findings to others, trapped in a lack of references to describe the exact location.

As he spoke, he realized the danger of his actions, and immediately lowered his body and lay on the back of his horse. Something sped past with a low-key screech, and disappeared into the night.

In the sound of the rain, compared to the death that attracted everyone and the rolling thunder that followed, these hidden killing machines did not get the attention they deserved.

He threw his lantern in the direction where the light was extinguished, "Over there!" Beware they have arrows! ”

The monks had already reacted, bypassing the possible threat directly in front of the road, and parting in the direction pointed out by the wasted light.

The monk at the end of the line quickly moved closer to Kraft and maintained him in the middle.

However, the target did not want their protection, and instead chose to ride his horse into the tall grass and run in an arc in the direction where the arrow was flying.

No matter what the light had to do with the unknown smooth cut, he didn't want to play with someone who didn't know the details when someone was aiming at him. Stray arrows from the shadows may be more dangerous than alarming anomalies.

In the move, two more things flew by, but not towards him, but towards the target that was still lit up.

The neighing of horses made its way through the rain, and a human body rolled into the grass with a mud-bubbling muffled grunt, hoping that the horse had not broken its leg bones.

The concealment effect on a rainy night is two-way, with lights out temporarily erasing Kraft's direction of action from the opponent's field of view, and the second shot makes the shooter's position more accurate in perception.

He felt like he caught the trills that had been cut by the heavy curtain of water, the slight vibration of the bowstring that had released its energy storage.

Accordingly, the direction was adjusted again, and the calm horses galloped in accordance with the owner's requirements.

With night vision, which is better than nothing, he can vaguely judge what is in the wavy grass in the right direction.

The rider corrected the direction one last time, drew his sword flat on one side and began to accelerate.

The wet wind carried the raindrops and howled, and the ground was muddy and damp, weakening the tracks of one man and one horse to the greatest extent. Only the blades of grass parted and twisted, and the surrounding noise could not be distinguished.

Then there was the sound of muddy water, and the paste was lifted and thrown from the ground.

It wasn't until the sound of the farrier breaking through the puddle came into their attention that they realized that the heavy creature was approaching on all fours, and hesitated to dodge or continue with the half-pulled winding.

But it was too late, and the blade of the sword was obliquely lowered, and the light touch collided densely like raindrops, which were flying and breaking grass tips.

He was met with a little resistance. With the accumulated speed, the blade easily overcame this resistance, and pushed forward inexorably, hitting some hard object and carving a deep defect before deflecting slightly.

Just for a moment, the resistance is gone. There appears to be a sputter of liquid thicker than rain, mistakenly poured into the gas pipes, and the two mix together to create a dense and viscous foam.

No more sounds, no more sounds.

The rider pulled away, turned his horse's head, and without further thought of it, accelerated again, raised his sword flat, and recalled the practice of sprinting back and forth in the courtyard of the castle, where the horse swept over the same spot with the man and the sword.

The guess is right, there is more than one person there.

Another flash of lightning provided a brief look at the other man, who was supposed to be wearing a mask, but was completely wet from the rain and fell to his chin, revealing a blank and pale face that looked like he hadn't seen the sun in a long time.

The electric light faded, and the vision darkened even more thoroughly after the flash. Roughly there was only a slight pause in the hand, the viscous liquid was left behind, and the rain washed away the part that remained on the spine of the sword.

It was only after a dash that Kraft realized what he had done other than repeat two sprints.

It may have been the first time he had faced a real "person" just now, and it was incredibly easy, and he didn't even have any real sense for the time being, and he was constantly turning to the main battlefield.

The only sounds of metal clashes could still be heard over there, indicating that only small melee engagements had taken place, and that they ended quickly. The horse's light point representing the monk moved at high speed, appearing and disappearing, and shimmering dotted lines in the rain.

It looks like they're still looking for the culprit who killed their companion, but there's really nothing to look for in the tall grass on a rainy day.

Kraft rushed over there. He saw the light again, the light that was so empty and bleak. Take an excerpt from a celestial body and graft it to a place that doesn't belong to it.

The nearest horselight point fell sharply and sank into the waves of tall grass.

This time, as expected, some of the more secretive auras were detected. The neat surface of the paper was forcibly torn open by some force, a narrow crack was torn apart, and things were separated.

Whether it was a mane, a bone, or a piece of iron armor that could withstand a crossbow, it didn't make the slightest difference to it—it was just a picture on paper.

Like a scar cut on a living organism, it didn't last long, but enough time for an entire team to pass through, it gradually healed, erased, and obscured another layer behind it that was similar but not completely overlapping.

"Lights out!"

It's not a sword and an arrow, it doesn't follow ordinary logic, it doesn't have a trajectory to come from. Keeping the light source is just setting a target for the other side.

And two reminders have finally come to the fore, which is not a good thing.

The gap between the upper path and the present world had not yet been fully bridged, and Kraft clearly felt a glimmer of unabated malice blooming in front of him, accompanied by an unbearable cry of pain, as if the wound had acted on the initiator himself before tearing the canvas.

Perhaps the direction of the sound exposure was too accurate, and this time the sense of crisis was unprecedentedly close, to the point where there was no way to avoid it.

Kraft subconsciously tried to rein in the precipice, and almost at the same time realized that it was useless, that the galloping horse could not stop at once, and that the fate of the two precedents was still vivid.

"Damn it!"

He let go of the reins and made a standard offence and flipped sideways to the side.

The curled body left the saddle, the straw mat cushioned some of the damage, and the tumbling made the unloading process longer, but the rest of the force still made people feel that there was no place inside and outside the body that did not hurt.

Abrasions and scratches burn the exposed skin, the impact converberates in the chest and abdomen, and the ligaments tug at the organs.

However, the still well-protected mind was still clear, and ordered the body to regain control as soon as possible, tearing off the heavy and wet cloak.

Not far away was the sound of horses unbalanced and falling to the ground, the rain added to the spray of warm liquid, and the high pressure created by the strong heart pumped into the air from the stump of the severed great vessel.

"I don't think the Xiguo family will accept the return in batches."

Staggering to his feet in the muddy water with his sword on hand, his clothes getting extra heavy, Kraft was sure he should look like he had just been scooped out of a curry pot.

He could still discern the direction in which the light had last appeared, clenched the hilt of his sword, and leaned closer.

The strange light and sound were noticed by some of the monks, who turned off their lanterns, and the chaotic sound of treading water approached. Everyone was groping in the darkness and chaos, and the situation was chaotic.

In the distance, there was still the sound of metal trills with intertwined weapons, and the attackers were quite numerous.

But the rest is just insurance to make up for when something is missing, and there is always only one that plays a key role, and the threat of almost burying the entire team is not far away.

The guy wasn't very professional, and Kraft heard a wandering gasp of pain as he slowly approached, and there were signs of movement from more than one person, close to each other.

"Here!" One of the monks discovered something first, called out to his companions, and then fell silent.

The light flickered and disappeared, much smaller than before. A costly guide. Kraft seized the opportunity he offered and chased after the goal.

When he was close enough to hear his breath, he suddenly rushed forward with a force, and then stopped between two or three steps.

Sure enough, the bleak and misty light lit up ahead. This time Kraft saw how it appeared.

It was a dull, almost colorless stone specimen that had been stripped from a complete geometry and was passively stimulated by some means, briefly "igniting" the light that illuminated another world.

The way the light is radiated, as if it were a contraction response to electrical stimulation on a dissecting table that destroys the spinal cord and peels off a clean toad limb.

The "electrode" connected to it is a thin, rugged palm, so slender and white that it causes discomfort with half a truncated finger than ordinary people, and a contrasting dark vasculature under the skin.

[There should really be someone to teach them, fighting is not a brawl]

The early slowdown gave Kraft room to dodge, and he leaned around the invisible blade, slammed into the close-quarters, elbowed his opponent's upper abdomen, and grabbed the wrist of the hand and twisted it hard beyond the angle of movement.

If you can, it's best to catch this guy.

It turned out that the opponent had a good tolerance for pain, and in this case he was able to try to fight back with his remaining hand.

He grabbed the waving arm by feeling, then released and retreated like an electric shock.

A whiplash-like attack slashes through you.

Just a second ago, he felt the movement of bones and joints that did not belong to normal bones, and it was indescribably flexible.