The elf looked calmly into Kaslan's eyes, feeling the presence of the void as he had done countless times before. Pen Fun Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 info Nature.2

As a rule of thumb, she would first read fragments and images mixed with countless impurities, like a river that was flowing out, muddy and muddy.

After a few tenths and a few seconds, these irregular fragments will converge in a powerful rhythm—depending on the mental state of the person being read—around a thread of obvious intent and clear logic, and be methodically filtered into a recognizable consciousness.

For the past endless years, she had read each other's thoughts with such speed and precision: the strength of a warrior, the weakness of a coward, the calculation of a king, the sinister of a nobleman, the greed of a merchant, and the depravity of sacrifice.

Of course, in rare cases, this tried-and-true approach fails.

Like now.

Eda frowned slightly as she watched Kaslan swing her spear in front of her.

All she felt was killing intent.

Boundless, deep killing intent.

Kaslan's eyes gathered with an inexplicable look, and his spear shook in the air, the tip of which turned into an afterimage in an instant.

Call!

Gun in sight.

There was still pure killing intent coming from the void.

Edda spread her arms like a bird, her knees sank, her back bent, her head thrown back in impossity.

The pitch-black tip of the Soul Killer sliced through the air, grazing Edda's jaw.

In the next second, the elf's silver pupils shrank slightly, and his body turned to one side, avoiding the spear head just right, and his whole body bounced back to its original state like a longbow drawn to the extreme.

Her bright white head is thrown away in the air, and there is a kind of stunning beauty, together with the body that is bent and stretched to the extreme, forming a picture full of power,

Eda rolled on his side, opening up a safe enough distance from his opponent.

Kaslan retrieved his spear and looked at her coldly.

Eda sighed silently in her heart.

Even if the Soul Killing had driven her to the brink of life and death several times, what Eda had received, from beginning to end, was the purest killing intent.

There is not the slightest fragment of the exact consciousness, behavior, or attitude of the mind.

It's very different from the previous Kaslan.

Even the simplest birds, beasts, insects, and snakes should have a clear consciousness and awareness, right?

The elf focused her gaze on the tip of her opponent's spear, decisively cutting off the wave of consciousness fragments that came in - she knew that there would only be pure killing intent without impurities, and nothing else.

This is a guy who can completely control his own consciousness, get rid of all thoughts and intentions in battle, completely let go of himself, and give himself to the instinct of fighting.

Make her abilities useless.

Eda sternly threw out a knife flower and adjusted the distance between her feet.

There is only one condition that can create such a warrior - Eda thought silently as she looked at the expressionless Kaslan.

Battlefield.

It's not those sneak attacks, assaults, pursuits, annihilations and the like.

It's the kind of bloody battle and tough battle that accumulates in the dark, the mountain of corpses and the sea of blood.

Boundless battlefields, battles all the time, threats everywhere, dangers in all directions, bloody waves after waves, enemies break through layer after layer, this kind of torturous and terrible hell can sharpen normal people into beasts that only know how to fight and survive, and can forge the most powerful and incomparable killing tools after the soldiers have killed the red eyes.

In the long years, she had met such opponents before.

Edda closed her eyes gently.

It's time.

Throw away all superfluous abilities and burdens and face a most primitive battle.

Like her ancestors and predecessors.

When I was a child, my eldest sister's teachings on the training ground reappeared in my ears and were as clear as before.

"Ida, you have to remember that as elves, we love beauty as well as nature. ”

Under the bright white and dazzling sacred tree, the eldest sister's words were extremely serious, with the majesty of her father—although Edda had only felt his father's consciousness in the hundred years before she was born, she had never heard his voice with her own ears.

"But elves are never weak and to be bullied. The eldest sister put her hands behind her back, faced her tremblingly, and said lightly:

"We are heretics of the Old Elven Kingdom, but we are also their most powerful descendants. ”

"We are the most warlike and warlike beings among all the remaining elven bloodlines in this world......

"Holy elves. ”

The eldest sister looked solemn and turned around to get out of the way.

She let go of the three captives who had been tied up in her back.

It was three round-eared, trembling, anxious humans: one with a shaved head like a rooster, one with a thick grease on his head, and one with a bald head, all babbling in human language.

That was ugly, and thick oil wasn't so ugly, and bald, and looked like — oh my God, it made her sick.

"Ada, according to tradition," Eda remembered the eldest sister's words, remembered the expressions of the three humans struggling to the death, and remembered the cold smile on the eldest sister's lips: "Raise your sword." ”

"Cut off their heads. ”

"Complete your rite of passage. ”

Eda opened her eyes, and the elf's constant memory made her clear every detail of her memories.

Once proficient, but after relying on abilities, the gradually unfamiliar combat moves returned to her body.

She clenched the scimitar in her hand and rushed towards Kaslan.

————

He was thirsty.

My throat is burning.

The same dry tongue rubbed against his teeth, giving him a strange friction sensation, like a coarse cloth grinding against a log.

He lay wheezing and lying on the scorching sand, sheltered by the great sand dunes, hiding from the deadly dangers—the sun, the wild sand, and the enemy,

He couldn't help but tighten the hilt of his right hand: even his family heirloom sword was covered in dust and blood.

It's so tired, so painful.

He moved his swollen and sore wrist, felt the burning pain in his shoulder, and gritted his teeth to persevere.

Damn, that grey bastard still has barbs on it.

Of course, compared to his captain Wanda who was above the ranks, he was already lucky - some of the captain's brain was probably still on the hammer head.

It's just that he feels sorry for Captain Wanda, who is still waiting for him in Wing Fort, and hears that the captain has been desperate to save her from the bandits.

It's a pity.

He sighed in his heart.

The pain struck again.

He loosened his burnt armor a little, and pulled open the sticky collar that was stained with sweat and blood.

Either way, we have to deal with the wounds—he thought.

A jug flew through the air and fell in the sand beside him, smashing a dent.

He turned his head in confusion.

"With this, inferior chakas that even hyenas don't drink, I bribed from the quartermaster," the veteran with a bandage wrapped around his left eye, casually leaning against the dune, with his unbandaged hand, laboriously pulled out a flint and steel, and skillfully lit a homemade cigarette that was bitten in his mouth: "As long as you don't drink it in your mouth, it's good to use it to water your wounds." ”

"Thank you. With his mind blank, he rolled over, gasped and grabbed the flask, struggling to twist it open.

The veteran finally lit the thick cigarette in his mouth, and he threw the flint in his hand without hesitation.

As a puff of smoke wafted out, the veteran took a deep breath, grunted a merry moan, and then stretched out his bloody hand and slapped the cigarette butt off, seeping into the sand and burying it - even the smallest smoke could attract attention to a scout with eyes more poisonous than a vulture.

"We talk about this from time to time. The veteran buried his face in the sand and comfortably exhaled his only puff of smoke.

He gritted his teeth, looked at the chaca wine in the kettle reflecting the sun, polished the corners of his mouth that were dry and cracked, resisted the urge to sip, looked up and asked, "What?"

"We don't say 'thank you,'" the veteran rolled over, slapped the elbow that had taken some of his position at his side, and turned to him, "It's so numb." ”

He looked at the kettle in his hand, then at the hideous wound on his shoulder, and sighed hesitantly.

It was not long in coming.

Bear with me.

"Alright," he said, opening his mouth and taking the lid of the kettle into his mouth, taking three deep breaths, muttering softly, "then—count me against you." ”

The next second, he closed his eyes tightly, and the wine in the kettle poured down.

The sharp pain in his shoulder was like an endless flame, surging along with the scorching heat.

He shuddered, heard his own low figure, and felt the lid of the kettle in his mouth slowly begin to deform.

Finally, the pain passed.

He sweated profusely and spat out the lid of the pot, reached out and tore at his clothes, and bandaged himself the way the captain had taught him.

The veteran who watched all this from the sidelines sneered.

"Ha, I can die with a big noble young master," the veteran said in a mocking tone, "I didn't expect me to be so lucky." ”

He ignored the old soldier's words.

From the first day he arrived in the Western Wilderness and arrived at the Blade Fang camp, he had to endure such ridicule and ridicule, whether intentional or unintentional, deliberate or maliciously.

Get used to it.

"Yes. He said lightly, squeezing one last time.

"No wonder you were assigned such a good guard as soon as you came," the veteran sighed, moving his hand, "in a year or two, maybe you will be a commander—at least a captain." ”

He snorted.

"Unfortunately, you're out of luck, recruit. The veteran shook his head.

He felt a little annoyed, though he was grateful for the help the veteran had just given him.

"We're all unlucky," he decided to end the conversation, so he raised his head and looked at the dozen or so soldiers resting under the sand dunes, most of them scarred and worried, and frowned, "Are these the people we survived?"

"Of course not," said the veteran's face was a little unpleasant, "and some of them have been captured, and the end is worse than death—I heard that the mongrels are very short of food, and the desolate are very short of men." ”

Grain.

He thought of the human skulls stuck in the abandoned camp, strung together, and resisted the nausea: "Lack of men?"

"The Wasteland tribe is short of people, but don't get me wrong," the veteran sneered, "they'll give you a medicine to keep your words hard until they run out, or you die—usually, before they run out, you're dead." ”

He looked at the veteran's ulterior motives, sighed, and stopped thinking about the question.

"Why can't you think about it?" the veteran's voice came from his ears again: "From the comfort of manors and castles, stupidly come here to die?"

Oh, my God.

It's annoying.

He thought irritably.

But the other party just gave him the pot of wine.

Feeling a lot better on his shoulders, he also lowered his eyes: yes, why can't I think about it?

At that moment, he suddenly missed his home in Volaling so much.

The castle full of forbidden doors and keys.

That lifeless manor.

He couldn't wait for the two to be one in each hand, and directly rounded the long-winded sister who threw it away, as well as the old man with an old-fashioned face.

He smiled wryly.

"At least," he sighed, leaning the back of his head against the hot sand, "here I am free to choose how I want to die." ”

The veteran looked at him silently and suddenly sneered.

"You should stay in those comfortable manors," the veteran shook his head, "everything here is too unfair to you—Son." ”

An unconvinced indignation arose spontaneously from his heart.

He turned his head and sighed, "It's not fair, what about you? Why did you come to the Western Wilderness?

The veteran was slightly stunned.

"I?," the veteran narrowed his eyes, as if remembering the distant past, and his voice was full of exhaustion and vicissitudes, "for someone like me who should have died a long time ago, and the gray bastards exchanged their lives for their lives......"

"It doesn't get any fairer than that. ”

He listened to the old soldier and did not speak.

It was a long time before he sighed.

"Hey, recruit," the veteran said faintly, looking at the sky, "Remember." ”

"There is no glory on the battlefield," the veteran exhaled slowly, "there is only life and death." ”

"Honor does not belong to the pawn," he saw the remembrance in the veteran's eyes, and listened to the veteran mutter:

"It's just for the chess players. ”

He tightened the sword in his hand.

That is the glory that belongs to Kalabyan.

At least the glory of the past.

Three o'clock has passed.

But reinforcements have not yet arrived.

So......

"When is the next wave of pursuit?" he looked at the sky, and his heart couldn't help but feel desperate.

"Come on," said the veteran disapprehantly, "the heat can't stop those grey bastards." ”

"We're all going to die here. ”

The next moment, a dark shadow appeared on the horizon in the distance.

It was a huge figure in ugly armor, carrying a chain hammer that he knew so well, and flung out in a rage.

And he watched as the hammer flew towards his head, and saw that the captain's brain was still on it.

It was about to smash his skull.

He subconsciously struggled, with a gold star in front of him, and instinctively spoke.

Sharp pain in the right arm.

"Enemy," he gasped and shouted incoherently, "Enemy attack!"

"Orcs!"

Cohen Karabiyan sat up roaring in the darkness and pain, and subconsciously struggled to shout, "The grey mongrels are here!"

But this time, there were no rough shouts and ugly curses in response.

There was only the sound of cold chains grinding against each other, and their own echoes.

And the incessant pain in the right arm.

Cohen woke up from a nightmare and smelled a thick smell of lamp oil, not the dry smell of desert.

Only then did he realize that he was not on the front line of the dangerous Western Wilderness.

The vigilant officer shook his heavy head desperately, gasped twice, and pulled his consciousness back to his body.

"Wake up, Cohen, watch out for your right arm......"

It was Miranda's voice, and it sounded weak.

Cohen, who was enduring the severe pain and covered in cold sweat, was shocked to see that his upper body was surrounded by a circle of iron chains, and even his fingers were tied to death.

Immobile.

"Where are we?"

Cohen turned his head and, unsurprisingly, saw Miranda in the dimly lit cell opposite, also locked up, and exclaimed, "Where's Caslan!"

"I don't know," the female swordsman showed a haggard and embarrassed half of her face, "It seems to be very close to Valhalla." ”

"Shut up, Imperial," a patrol-looking soldier would turn his head outside the cell and say coldly to Cohen, "Say one more word, and I'll take your jaw off all along." ”

Cohen and Miranda looked at each other, and the latter shook his head at him slightly.

In the cell alone, there are at least six people guarding it.

The vigilante moved his ankle, which was also locked, and concluded that he didn't have a chance.

Cohen sighed and fell back to the ground.

At this moment, a thick iron door was opened in the distance.

Light leaked in through the open door.

Cohen looked up, squinting at the sudden light: another group of soldiers, escorting two small figures into the cell.

"Watch over them," said a tall armored knight, who coldly instructed the soldiers in his cell, "This is one of the most important captives of the Grand Duke." ”

Cohen frowned.

The most important captive?

At this moment, a young voice came from the cell next to Cohen.

"You, is that you?"

The boy who suspected to be the Sword of Calamity, under Cohen's astonished gaze, struggled desperately to the side of the cell door, and said with excitement and pain to the two equally stunned little figures:

"His Highness Tyers?"

In Cohen's almost dull gaze, the second prince of the Kingdom of Stars, Tails Bright Star, whom he had met in the Hall of the Stars, was being put into this cell with his hands tied behind his back, along with a little girl.

I saw that the prince, full of embarrassment and surprise, raised his head and looked at the person who spoke up:

"Wya?"