Kingdom’s Bloodline Chapter 14: Meeting

The elf looked at Kaslan's eyes calmly, feeling the existence of nothing in the sky like countless times before. Lewen Mobile Network

According to experience, she would first read some fragments and pictures mixed in countless impurities, like a river that leaked out, muddy and muddy.

After a few tenths of a second, these irregular fragments will follow a strong and powerful rhythm—depending on the mental state of the person being read—to gather around a clue with obvious intentions and clear logic. , Which is systematically filtered into recognizable consciousness.

In the endless years of the past, she has read each other's thoughts quickly and accurately in this way: the strength of warriors, the weakness of cowards, the calculations of kings, the sinisters of nobles, the greed of merchants, the fall of sacrifices.

Of course, in rare cases, this tried and tested method will fail.

For example now.

Ada frowned as he watched Kaslan wave his spear in front of him.

All she felt was the killing intent.

Boundless and deep killing intent.

Caslan's eyes gathered an unexplainable look, and his spear shook in the air, and the tip of the spear turned into an afterimage in an instant.

Huh!

The gun is in front of you.

The pure killing intent came from the void.

Ada spread her arms like a bird, her knees sink, her back bent, and her head tilted back inconceivably.

The dark tip of the Soul Slaughter Gun cut through the air, sweeping across Edda's chin.

The next second, the silver pupils of the elf shrank slightly, and the body turned to one side, avoiding the gun head just right, and the whole body bounced back to its original shape like a long bow drawn to the extreme.

Her bright white hair is thrown away in the air, and there is a breathtaking beauty. Together with the body that stretches out to the extreme, it forms a picture full of power.

Ada turned sideways and drove a safe distance from his opponent.

Caslan retrieved the spear and looked at her coldly.

Ada sighed silently in her heart.

Even if Soul Slaughter has driven her to the brink of life and death several times, what Edda received, from beginning to end, was pure killing intent.

There isn't a single trace of definite consciousness, behavior, or attitude.

Very different from the previous Caslan.

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

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

This is a guy who can completely control his own consciousness. In the battle, he discards all thoughts and intentions, and completely releases himself to the instinct of fighting.

Let her powers be useless.

Ada slammed a knife seriously and adjusted the distance between his feet.

There is only one condition that can create such a warrior-Edda looked at the expressionless Kaslan and meditated.

The battlefield.

Not those quick battles like sneak attacks, assaults, pursuits, and annihilation.

It's the kind of **** and tough battles accumulated in the dead mountain and blood sea.

The endless battlefield, the fighting all the time, the threats are everywhere, the dangers are everywhere, and the blood goes through one wave after another. The enemy breaks through one layer and another. This terrible **** of torture can bring normal people After being honed into a beast that only knows about fighting and survival, it can cast the most powerful and incomparable killing tool after the soldiers have become red eyes.

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

Ada closed her eyes gently.

It's time.

Abandon all excess abilities and burdens and face a primitive battle.

Like her ancestors and predecessors.

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

"Ada, you must remember that as elves, we love beauty and nature."

Under the bright white and dazzling sacred tree, the eldest sister’s words are extremely serious, with the majesty of her father-although Edda has only felt her father’s consciousness in the 100 years before she was born, she has never heard of it personally. His voice.

"But elves are never weak to be deceived." The eldest sister carried her hands behind her back, facing her trembling, and said indifferently:

"We are heretics of the ancient elven kingdom, but also their most powerful descendant branch."

"We are among the only remaining elven bloodlines in this world, the best and the best beings..."

"Holy spirit."

The eldest sister gave a solemn expression and turned to avert a position.

She surrendered the three prisoners behind her who were **** by the five flowers.

They were three round-eared, trembling, anxious humans: one shaving the hair with only the middle circle, like a rooster, one with thick oil on the hair, and one with a bald head. They all spoke human language to them.

The rooster is ugly, but thick oil is not so ugly. It has a bald head and looks so--oh my god, it makes her sick.

"Ada, according to tradition," Edda still remembers the words of the elder sister, remembers the expressions of the three human beings desperately struggling, and remembers the elder sister's mouth with a cold smile: "Raise your knife."

"Cut off their heads."

"Complete your coming-of-age gift."

Ada opened her eyes, and the elf's extraordinary memory made her know every detail in her memory.

I once learned proficiency, but after relying on abilities, gradually rusty combat moves returned to her body.

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

————

He is thirsty.

The throat is about to burn.

The same dry tongue rubbed on the teeth, giving him a strange friction, like a coarse cloth rubbed on a log.

He panted and lay down on the hot sand, hiding from the big sand dunes, avoiding the deadly dangers-the sun, the wild sand, and the enemies,

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

So tired, so painful.

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

Damn, the gray bastard's chain hammer still has barbs on it.

Of course, compared to his super-strength Captain Wanda, he is already very lucky—part of the captain's brain is probably still on the chain hammer.

It's just that I feel sorry for Captain Wanda's sweetheart who is still waiting for him in Wingbu. I heard that the captain had rescued her desperately from the bandits.

It's a pity.

He sighed inwardly.

The pain hits again.

He slightly loosened the hot armor on his body, and pulled back the slimy collar covered with sweat and blood.

It's okay no matter what, the wound has to be dealt with—he thought so.

A water bottle flew up from the sky and fell into the sand beside him, smashing a depression.

He turned his head questioningly.

"Use this, the inferior chaka that even hyenas do not drink. I bribed it from the quartermaster." A bandage wrapped around the left eye of the veteran, leaning casually on the sand dune, using an unbandaged That hand, laboriously took out the flint, and skillfully lit the homemade cigarette in the mouth: "As long as you don't drink it into your mouth, it is good to use it to pour the wound."

"Thank you." With his brain blank, he rolled over, panting, grabbing the flask and twisting it away with difficulty.

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

As a puff of smoke floated out, the veteran took a deep breath, groaned and moaned joyfully, then stretched out his **** hand, slapped the cigarette **** off with a slap, and soaked it into the sand to bury it-for the eyes As far as the vulture is still poisonous, even the smallest smoke can attract attention.

"We talk about this out of fashion here." The veteran buried his face in the sand and let out his only puff comfortably.

He gritted his teeth and looked at the chaka in the jug shining in the sun. He rubbed the corners of his mouth dry and cracked, resisting the urge to sip, and raised his head and asked: "What?"

"We don't say'thank you'," the veteran turned over, unceremoniously slapped the elbow on his side that took up some of his position, then turned his head and said to him: "It's too numb."

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

Soon passed.

Be patient.

"Okay," he opened his mouth, bit the lid of the canteen into his mouth, took three deep breaths, and muttered vaguely: "Then-I owe you."

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

The pain in the shoulder is like an endless flame, surging with the searing heat.

He was shaking, he heard a low figure, and he felt the lid of the water bottle in his mouth start to deform.

Finally, the pain passed.

He spit out the lid of the pot sweating profusely, and tremblingly stretched out his hands to tear the clothes, and dressed himself as the captain taught him.

The veteran who watched all this sneered.

"Ha, I can die with a great noble young master," the veteran said with a mocking tone: "I didn't expect that I could have this kind of luck."

He ignored what the veteran said.

From the first day he arrived in the Western Wilderness and the Bladeya Camp, he had to endure such deliberate or unintentional, deliberate or malicious ridicule and sarcasm.

Get used to it.

"Really." He said flatly, tightening one last time.

"No wonder you can get such a good guard when you come," the veteran moved his hand and sighed: "In one or two years, maybe you will be a commander—at least a captain. ."

He snorted softly.

"Unfortunately, your bad luck, recruit." The veteran shook his head.

He found it annoying, although he was very grateful for the help the veteran had just given him.

"We are not lucky," he decided to end the topic, so he raised his head and looked at the dozen or so soldiers who were resting under this sand dune. Most of them were scarred and sad, and frowned: "These Are we the ones who survived?"

"Of course not," the veteran's face was a bit ugly: "There are still some captured, and they end up worse than dead-I heard that the **** are short of food, and the wild ones are short of men."

Food.

He thought of the human skulls that were inserted into the abandoned camp and strung into a whole, and resisted the nausea: "Lack of men?"

"The tribe of the wild species is very short of people, but don't get me wrong," the veteran sneered: "They will give you a medicine to keep your words hard until they run out or you die. So far-usually, before they run out, you die."

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

"Why can't you think about it?" The voice of the veteran came from his ear again: "From the comfortable manor and castle, come here to die in a foolish way?"

Oh my god.

It's annoying.

He thought irritably.

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

Feeling a much better shoulder, he also looked dimly: Yes, why can't I think about it?

At that moment, he suddenly missed his home in Wallaling.

That old castle full of forbidden doors and locks and keys.

That lifeless manor.

For those two, he could not wait for one hand, and directly rounded up the long-winded sister who had been thrown away, and the old man with a stale face.

He gave a wry smile.

"At least," he sighed and leaned the back of his head against the hot sand: "Here I am free to choose my own way of death."

The veteran looked at him quietly, and suddenly laughed.

"You should stay in those comfortable manor houses," the veteran shook his head: "Everything here is too unfair to you-my son."

An unconvinced resentment came from him.

He turned his head and sighed: "Unfair, what about you? Why did you come to the Western Wilds? Come to this hell?"

The veteran was slightly startled.

"Me? Huh," the veteran squinted his eyes, as if thinking of the distant past, his voice was tired and vicissitudes: "For someone like me who should have died long ago, exchange life with the gray bastards... "

"There is nothing fairer than this."

He listened to the veteran and didn't speak.

It took a long time before he sighed.

"Hey, recruit," the veteran looked at the sky and said quietly: "Remember."

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

"Honor does not belong to chess pieces," he saw the old soldier's eyes showing nostalgia, and listened to the old soldier muttering:

"Only for chess players."

He tightened the saber in his hand.

That is the glory of Karabyan.

At least it was once glorious.

Three points have passed.

But the reinforcements have not come yet.

So...

"When is the next wave of pursuit?" He looked at the sky, and despair surged in his heart.

"Almost," the veteran said dismissively: "The heat can't stop those gray bastards."

"We will all 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 he was very familiar with, and threw it out angrily.

And he watched the chain hammer fly towards his head and saw the captain's brain still on it.

His skull is about to be smashed.

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

Severe pain came from the right arm.

"Enemy," he gasped, and cried out inconsistently: "Enemy attack!"

"Orcs!"

Cohen Karabyan roared and sat up in the darkness and severe pain, and subconsciously yelled, "Gray **** are here!"

This time, in response to his no harsh curses and nasty curses.

Only the sound of cold iron chains rubbing, and my own echo.

There is also endless pain in the right arm.

Cohen, who was awakened from the nightmare, heard the thick smell of lamp oil in his nose instead of the dry smell unique to the desert.

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

The guard shook his heavy head desperately, took a few breaths, and pulled his consciousness back.

"Wake up, Cohen, be careful with your right arm..."

This is Miranda's voice, which sounds weak.

Forcibly enduring the severe pain, Cohen, who was covered in cold sweat, was surprised to find that his upper body was tightly surrounded by a ring of chains, and even his fingers were tied to death.

I can't move.

"Where are we?"

Cohen turned his head and, not surprisingly, saw Miranda, who was also locked up in the dark cell opposite, and he exclaimed: "Where's Caslan!"

"I don't know." The female swordsman showed a haggard half of her face: "It seems to be very close to the Palace of Valor."

"Shut up, imperial man," outside the cell, a patrol-like soldier would turn his head and coldly open his mouth to Cohen: "Say a word, I will take off your jaw together."

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

Only in the cell, there are at least six people guarding it.

The guard moved his ankle, which was also locked, and concluded that he had no chance.

Cohen sighed and fell back to the ground.

Just then, a thick iron door was opened in the distance.

Light leaked in from the open door.

Cohen raised his head and squinted his eyes to adapt to the sudden light: Another group of soldiers walked into the cell with two small figures.

"Be optimistic about them~IndoMTL.com~ is headed by a tall armored knight. He coldly told the soldiers in the cell: "This is one of the most important prisoners of the Grand Duke. "

Cohen frowned.

The most important prisoner?

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

"You, are you?"

The kid who was suspected of the sword of disaster, under Cohen's surprised eyes, struggled desperately to the prison door, and lost his voice with excitement and pain to the two little figures who were equally astonished:

"His Royal Highness Thales?"

In Cohen’s almost sluggish gaze, the second prince of the Star Kingdom, Thales Canxing, who he had met in the Hall of Stars, was being held back with his hands tied back, and was taken into this with a little girl. cell.

I saw that the prince looked up at the person who made the noise, full of embarrassment and surprise:

"Huaiya?"