Orc Tyrant

17 10th 6:10:51

The sky in the east turned into a bruised blue-purple.

Captain Locke asked the company to camp and wait for notification. Their schedule was postponed, but this did not mean that the soldier Ren was able to leave the camp to see his wife.

"The above said that on standby, there are no exceptions."

He said so, and then his attitude was slightly more Microsoftized.

"Sorry, Ren, I know your original plan."

Renn sat down and leaned against a pallet. He gradually believed that he could only see Sergeant Locke's face in the next two years of his life, and would never see Evelyn again.

This is completely contrary to the facts.

"Is that singing?"

Little Kafka asked, and he stood up.

"That's singing,"

Locke replied.

Ren also heard that two hundred meters away, the camp at the other end of a fence belonged to a unit that had arrived with the 7th Garrison Division. It was said that it was the 3rd Infantry Regiment of the First Task Division, but they seemed It was like a group of ragged mobs, exactly the kind of unemployed vagrants from a certain remote country who followed closely behind the officers they didn't know at all.

When they appeared, they were criticized by Locke's guns, which involved dressing, formation, equipment maintenance, and queue discipline.

"Oh, it's shameful."

Locke said, he lit a cigarette and watched the people pouring out of the barracks.

"They look like a bunch of homeless people, like a farce made by a pig-headed primitive man in the corner of the horn, a corrupt criminal who should be shot!"

Those foreign soldiers did not look very good. They were ragged and had a savage atmosphere on their bodies, as if they had been lacking something important for a long time. They had pale skin and thin physique, just like plants growing in dim caves.

"Or maybe that's exactly what we need..."

Locke added.

"...Perfect bullet shield."

They were singing, chanting, it was not a sound that made people comfortable or joyful, it had no rhythm.

It's actually pretty ugly.

"This must stop."

Locke said, he stamped out the cigarette **** with his heel.

He was going across the camp to talk to the opposing commander. The singing made him very upset, but a heavy rain interrupted his plan.

17 10, 6:14

Raindrops fell through the dry air like exploding bullets.

Silas drove a black car on the Essinai Highway, and those black glass beads of rain fell on the hatch of his car.

Everything is gray—dry ground, dust-covered metal, and dust clouds from the engine of a vehicle.

The flat area was pale and gray, and the sky became strangely gloomy. Nutans, sitting in the passenger seat, could see the green outline of the hills in the distance.

A heavy rain is sweeping from the south.

Nutans believes that there will soon be a mess here, the light is weird, the sky is weird, but the ground is very bright, raindrops look like glass, like teardrops.

The raindrops hit the dry ground, and all the objects on the avenues and road shoulders were smeared with black water marks, leaving millions of small black wounds, small black craters, and small white dust. cloud.

In the distance, meandering silver lightning wandered through the low-hanging clouds, like a bright vein buried in coal.

This is a four-seater vehicle. Its speed and stability are far better than that of a carriage. Nutans specially applied for it as a means of transportation today-he and the guys around him are secret guards cursed by countless people.

And Silas driving it was like a neurosis.

He maintained a near-limit horizontal speed, leaving a cloud of white smoke on the flat and straight avenue behind them. The rain tried to moisten the heavy dust, but to no avail.

A road map is hung on the driver's left, and the steering wheel is protected by leather to avoid wear and tear.

The dark line is the highway, the pattern at the bottom of the map is the southern station of Cuconar, and at the top is a triangle sign.

"Slower."

Nutans turned his head and whispered.

"too fast?"

Silas replied, his voice full of eager joy.

Nutans didn't even lower his head, he tapped the glass on the right.

Silas glanced, saw something, and immediately slowed down.

They caught up with the tail of a assembled team, and as they slowed down gradually, they rushed into the dust cloud raised by the rumbling motorcade.

Silas turned to the side, crossed the middle of the highway, and started overtaking.

The carriages and wagons that were rolling forward were full of loads. Those vehicles with military logos passed by them and fell behind. Each one was in this weird light, in the air full of dry dust and wet rain. There was a flash in it.

The soldiers of the Imperial Army sitting in a truck cheered and waved at them.

Silas made a sound, like a grunt.

He was shocked by something.

He slowed down again.

This is a group of wizards, they take the same means of transportation as themselves, driving along the highway to the city.

The weird sunlight hit their cockpit, and there was a light, cold light in their eyes. These wizards hid their faces under their hoods, and Silas could not see anything.

Nutans couldn't help but look around, watching them pass by, he was also shocked, forty-seven cars, when did the Three Wizards have such a handwriting?

Silas, who was in a hurry, had already avoided the convoy. Now the roadside was crowded with carriages on standby, so he circumvented even further, crossed the sideline of the road, drove into the field outside the road, and started accelerating again. , Raising a gray dust cloud tail.

The engines roared heavily, and they moved parallel to the road.

Nutans turned his head and looked back.

Are the wizards in these cars really? What is under their hood?

Where are they going in such a hurry?

17 10th 6:21:40

Creedfoster has a knife, but it's not very practical now. He chooses to use his gun. Those guys must die cleanly, and there is no time to mess with the knife.

Outside the house, the officer he appointed was leading everyone to sing, and the chanting sounded all around. They brought piano, drums, flutes, horns and bells, which should look like a celebration.

On the eve of the war, the honorable allies, the upcoming glory, and other similar nonsense, it's best to sound cheerful.

It is true, but Creed Foster heard the ritual melody in the noisy singing. He could hear it because he knew that the melody concealed its ancient words, which were very old before humans learned to speak. Words, great words, you can match them with any rhythm, even the majestic military song of the imperial army.

The singing was very loud, it was spectacular enough, there were 6,000 people in the corner of this assembly area alone, and the sound was enough to cover his gunshots.

He pulled the trigger.

The dark gray pistol roared, trembling in his hand, and knocked a bullet into the head where it was clinging tightly. Blood splashed and sprinkled on the front of his coat, and the man who was kneeling on the ground fell down, as if It was the pierced heavy head that dragged him down.

There was a smell of diesel and the smell of burnt flesh and blood in the air.

Creed Foster looked down at the man he had just executed, and prayed in a low voice, as if to bid farewell to a traveler who was about to embark on a long and difficult journey.

This time the relief he bestowed was almost too late. The person's eyes had already melted. He was a wizard, a dangerous person who could transmit information through his mind.

Creedfoster nodded, and the two adjutants stepped forward to drag the corpse away. As a result, the corpses of seven wizards were already lying on the ground next to them.

Everything is going according to plan.