Kingdom’s Bloodline

Chapter 201 encounters

The elf looked at Kaslan's eyes calmly, as if he had countless times in the past, feeling the existence of nothing in the void.

According to experience, she will first read some fragments and pictures mixed in countless impurities, such as the same river water, mud and sand, and turbid.

After zero and a few seconds, 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. Filtered into identifiable consciousness.

In the endless years of the past, she quickly and accurately read the other's thoughts: the strength of the warrior, the weakness of the coward, the calculation of the king, the sinister aristocracy, the greed of the merchant, the fall of the sacrifice.

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

For example, now.

Eda looked at Kaslan in front of him and waved a rifle, frowning slightly.

What she felt was only killing.

Endless, deep killing.

Kaslan’s eyes gathered with an unidentified look. His long guns shook open in the air, and the tip of the gun turned out to be a residual image in an instant.

call!

The gun is in front of you.

There is still a simple killing in the void.

Edda spread his arms like a bird, his knees sinking, his back bent, and his head tilted back incredibly.

The dark gunpoint of the scorpion gun slid open the air and swept over Eda's chin.

In the next second, the elf's silver pupil was slightly shrunk, and the body turned to the side, just right to avoid the gun head, and the whole body bounced back like the long bow.

Her bright white hair was opened in the air, and there was a fascinating beauty. Together with the body and the body, it formed a powerful picture.

Edda turned a side, and the same hand opened a safe enough distance.

Kaslan recovered the rifle and looked at her coldly.

Edda sighed silently in his heart.

Even if the soul has forced her to the edge of life and death several times, Edda received it from beginning to end, it is pure and pure.

There is no trace of the exact consciousness, behavior or attitude of the thoughts.

It is very different from the previous Kaslan.

Even the simplest bird, beast, and snake, should have a clear sense of consciousness and consciousness?

The elf focused his attention on the opponent's gunpoint and decisively cut off a wave of consciousness fragments - she knew that it would only be purely without impurities, no other.

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

Let her abilities be useless.

Edda took out a knife and seriously adjusted his feet.

There is only one condition that can shape such a warrior - Eda looks at the expressionless Kaslan, silently thinking.

battlefield.

It is not a quick battle like sneak attack, assault, chasing, and annihilation.

It is the kind of **** battle and hard shackles that are faintly fascinating.

Endless battlefields, all-time battles, threats everywhere, dangers in all directions, **** waves pass through a wave, the enemy breaks through the ground and there is a layer, this terrible **** that tortures people can grind normal people into only one Beasts who know the battle and survival can cast the most powerful and killing tools after the soldiers have killed their eyes.

In the long years, she has encountered such an opponent before.

Edda gently closed his eyes.

it's time.

Abandon all the excess power and burden, face a primitive battle.

Like her ancestors and predecessors.

As a child, the teachings of the long sister on the training field reappeared in the ear, as clear as ever.

"Eda, you have to remember that as elves, we love beauty and love nature."

Under the dazzling sacred tree, the long sister’s words were very serious, with the majesty of his father—although Edda only felt his father’s consciousness in the 100 years before he was born, he never heard his voice in person. .

"But the elf is never the object of weakness and deception." The long sister, carrying her hand, facing her trembling, faintly said:

"We are the heresy of the ancient elf kingdom, but they are also their most powerful descendant branch."

"We are the best of all the elves in the world, the best and the most war-torn..."

"The Holy Elves."

The long sister looked awkward and turned to let go of a position.

She gave up three captives **** by five flowers.

It was three round-eared, shivering, anxious humans: a hair that was shaved only in the middle, like a cock, a thick oil on one of the hairs, and one with a bald head, all against them. He speaks the language of mankind.

The **** is very ugly, the thick oil is not so ugly, and the bald head grows up - God, let her nausea.

"Eda, according to tradition," Edda still remembers the words of the long sister, remembering the expression of the three human beings, and remembering the smile of the long sister's mouth: "Hold your knife."

"Cut their heads."

"Complete your adulthood."

Edda opened her eyes and the elf's extraordinary memory made her clear every detail in her memories.

Once learned, but after relying on abilities, the gradual unfamiliar combat moves back to her body.

She clenched her machete and rushed to Kaslan.

————

He is very thirsty.

The throat is burning up.

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

He gasped and lay down on the hot sand, sheltered by the sand dunes, the deadly dangers - the sun, the sand, and the enemy.

He couldn't help but tighten the handle on his right hand: even his home-grown sabre was covered with dust and blood.

So tired, it hurts.

He had a swollen, sour wrist and felt the burning pain in his shoulders. He insisted on sticking his teeth.

Damn, the gray hybrid hammer has a barb.

Of course, compared with his Wanda captain who is above the super-level, he is already very lucky - part of the captain's brain is probably still on the hammerhead.

It was only pitiful that the captain of Wanda, who was still waiting for him in the wing of Fort Worth, heard that the captain had desperately rescued her from the bandits.

Pity.

He sighed in his heart.

The pain hits again.

He loosened the hot armor that was roasted and loosened, and pulled the sweaty and bloody, sticky collar.

No matter how good, you have to deal with the wounds - he thought so.

A kettle flew out of the air, fell in the sand on his side, and pulled out a depression.

He turned his head in confusion.

"With this, I don't even drink the inferior Chaka, which I don't drink, I bribed from the quartermaster," a bandage wrapped around the left eye, casually leaning against the sand dunes, using the hand without a bandage. Strenuously pull out the Flintstone and skillfully ignite the homemade cigarette biting in his mouth: "As long as you don't drink it in your mouth, it is good to use it to pour the wound."

"Thank you." He turned his body in a blank space, panting and grabbing the jug, and twisting it hard.

The veteran finally lit the thick cigarette in his mouth, and he did not hesitate to throw away the flint in his hand.

As a burst of smoke drifted out, the veteran took a deep breath, licking a cheerful cockroach, then sticking out the **** hand, slap the cigarette but pinch it off, oozing into the sand and burying it - for the eyes than the vulture In terms of poisonous scouts, even small smoke can attract attention.

"Let's say this from time to time." The veteran buried his face in the sand and squirted a single cigarette.

He gritted his teeth and looked at the Chaka wine in the kettle reflecting the sun. He grinded the cracked corner of his mouth and resisted the urge to sip. He looked up and said, "What?"

"We don't say ‘thank you’,” the veteran turned over and patted the elbow on his side, who took up some of his position, and turned to his head and said, “It’s too nauseating.”

He looked at the kettle in his hand and looked at the shoulder and looked at the wound that was unsightly. He hesitated and sighed.

It will soon pass.

Forbearance.

"Well," he opened his mouth and bit the kettle lid into his mouth, breathing three deep breaths, whispering softly: "That - I owe you."

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

The pain in the shoulders is like an endless flame, coming together with the burning heat.

He trembled and heard his low embarrassment, feeling the kettle lid in his mouth began to slowly deform.

Finally, the pain has passed.

He spit out the lid of the sweaty sweat, twitching his hand to tear the clothes, learning how the captain taught him, and bandaging himself.

The veterans who watched all of this sneered.

"Hah, you can die with a big nobleman," the veteran said in a mocking tone: "I didn't expect that I could have this kind of luck."

He ignored the words of the veterans.

From the time he arrived in the Western Wilderness, the first day of reaching the Blades Camp, he had to endure such intentional or unintentional, deliberate or malicious ridicule and ridicule.

got used to.

"Yes." He faintly said, tightening the last one.

"It's no wonder that you will be able to get such a good guard," the veteran moved his hand and sighed: "After a year or two, maybe you can be a commander - at least a captain."

He snorted.

"Unfortunately, you are not lucky, recruits." The veteran shook his head.

He felt annoyed, although he was very grateful to the veteran for his help.

"Our luck is not good," he decided to end the topic, so he looked up and looked at the dozens of soldiers who were resting under the sand dunes. Most of them were scarred and looked awkward. They frowned: "These are our lives. Are you down?"

"Of course not," the veteran's face was a bit unsightly: "There are some captured, and the end is worse than death - I heard that the hybrids are short of food, and the wilds are very short of men."

food.

He remembered the human skulls that were inserted in the abandoned camp and were strung together in a whole strip. They resisted the nausea of ​​nausea: "The lack of men?"

"The tribes of the wild are very short of people, but don't get me wrong," the veteran sneered. "They will give you a medicine, so that the words below are hard until they run out, or you die." Normally, you die before they run out."

He looked at the veteran with a useful look and sighed and stopped thinking about it.

"Why can't you think?" The veteran's voice came again from the ear: "From the comfortable manor and the castle, stupidly come here to die?"

God.

Really annoying.

He thought irritably.

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

Feeling a lot of shoulders, he also blew his eyes: Yes, why can't I open?

At that moment, he suddenly missed the home of Wola.

The castle is full of forbidden doors and lock keys.

That dead manor.

The two of them couldn’t wait for one hand, and they smashed the sly sister who had thrown it away, and the old-fashioned old man.

He smiled bitterly.

"At least," he sighed, leaning his head back on the hot sand: "I can freely choose my own way of death here."

The veteran looked at him quietly and suddenly burst into laughter.

"You should stay in those comfortable manors," the veteran shook his head. "All the things here are too unfair to you - the son of the son."

A resentful resentment came from his heart.

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

The veteran gave a slight glimpse.

"I? Ha," the veteran squinted, seemingly thinking of the distant past, with exhaustion and vicissitudes in his voice: "For me, the dying person, with the gray hybrids to change their lives..."

"There is nothing more fair than this."

He listened to the words of the veterans and did not speak.

After a long time, he sighed.

"Hey, the recruits," the veteran looked at the sky, faintly said: "Remember."

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

"Honor is not a pawn," he saw the veteran's eyes revealing, listening to the veteran murmur:

"Only belong to the chess player."

He tightened his sword in his hand.

That is the glory of Karabyan.

At least it was once glorious.

It has passed three points.

But the reinforcements have not come yet.

and so……

"When is the next wave of chasing, is it?" He looked at the sky and couldn't help but feel despair.

"Come on," the veteran did not care. "The heat is not able to stop the gray hybrids."

"We will all die here."

The next moment, a black shadow appeared on the distant horizon.

It was a huge figure wearing a ugly armor, carrying a hammer that he was very familiar with.

Chain hammer.

The handle hammer.

It also carries the captain's brain.

There was a horror in his heart: the captain of Wanda had only half of his head left, and he seemed to smile at him.

The horrible huge figure rushed to them with heavy but swift steps.

boom! boom! boom!

Every step has shaken countless sands.

Its hammer is swung out.

He subconsciously earned a gold star in front of him.

There was a sharp pain in the right arm.

He instinctively spoke.

"The enemy," he took a breath of air and shouted incoherently: "The enemy!"

"Orc!" Cohen Karabyan screamed in the darkness and pain, and subconsciously screamed: "The grays are coming!"

But this time, there was no rough scream and unpleasant curse in response to him.

Only the cold chain friction, as well as your own echo.

There is also a constant pain in the right arm.

The alert officer panted indefinitely, and the heart couldn’t beat in the chest.

There is no desert.

There is no hot sun.

No gray hybrids.

No... those fighting.

Cohen, who was awakened from a nightmare, suddenly noticed that he smelled a thick smell of oil in his nose, not the dryness of the desert.

He realized that he was not at the front of the dangerous West.

The police officer swayed his heavy head and gasped for two breaths, pulling the consciousness back to his body.

God.

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

This is the voice of Miranda, which sounds weak.

Strongly enduring severe pain, Cohen, who was sweating coldly, was surprised to find that his upper body was surrounded by a chain of chains and his fingers were tied.

Do not move.

"Where are we?"

Cohen turned his head and did not accidentally see Miranda, who was also locked in the dim cell, opposite, and he exclaimed: "Casslan!"

"I don't know," the female swordsman showed half of her face: "It seems to be very close to the Palace of the Spirit."

"Shut up, imperial," outside the cell, a patrol-like soldier turned back and said to Cohen coldly: "A second word, I will remove your chin together."

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

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

The alert officer took a look at the ankle that 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 from the open door.

Cohen looked up and narrowed his eyes to adapt to the sudden change of light: another group of soldiers, carrying two small figures into the cell.

"Look at them," headed by a tall armored knight, who coldly told the soldiers in his cell: "This is one of the most important prisoners of Dagong."

Cohen frowned.

The most important prisoner?

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

"You, are you?"

The boy who was suspected of the scourge of the disaster, under Cohen’s amazed gaze, struggled to the door of the prison, and lost the excitement and pain to the two equally horrified figures:

"His Royal Highness?"

In Cohen's almost dull gaze, he once met the second prince of the Star Kingdom in the Hall of Stars, and the comet of Tyres, was being tied back with his hands and was taken into the cell with a little girl.

I saw the prince with a full of wolverines and surprises, looked up and looked at the voice:

"Wai Ya?"

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(End of this chapter)