Overlord: Start from the Goblin Lair

"Oh?" The smile on Louis Bode's face suddenly withdrew, turning into a strange half-smile, "It seems that I need to remind you that unwillingness to fight and inability to fight are two completely different concepts. Blind arrogance may make you pay a heavy price."

"If you are really as strong as you claim, I should not have the opportunity to say this," Ron watched the other party gradually fall into the encirclement of his companions. Although overtime in the middle of the night is annoying, it is worth it if you can gain something. "You look like you should be considered a middle-level or senior staff, a corpse collector?"

"Ah, you know them?" Although he found himself surrounded, the funeral bishop did not seem to have a prisoner-like mentality. He looked at Ron calmly from a distance, "Although I don't know how you got this information, they and I are not in the same system - or the corpse collectors are not in our system That's right."

"As for me, you can think of me as a bishop."

"You are just a cultist, and you dare to call yourself a bishop. Do you think a lich gives you the confidence?" Victoria snorted coldly, "Just surrender, so that we can at least prepare a guillotine for you instead of a gallows or a stake."

"You should at least have the minimum respect for the gods, a believer of Heim," Luibold's face sank. He knew the god he believed in after seeing the emblem on the other party's body. "This is the minimum between the followers of the gods-"

"The premise is that you really believe in a god," the pale-faced vampire interrupted the funeral bishop's chatter impatiently, "If you don't want to stay by yourself, we can only take action by force!"

"Nullifying magic barrier!"

As a glass bead emitted a glimmering barrier, the magic around Sylvia seemed to be suppressed and solidified. This kind of spell has its own upper limit. No matter how it is upgraded, it can only curb the casting of lower-level spells. But even so, it is still the best choice to fight against spellcasters.

The rest can only be left to companions.

The hoarse and terrifying war cry sounded behind Louis Bode because of hangover and sleepiness. Compared with the unstoppable momentum, what suffocated the bishop was the tower shield that overwhelmed him like a landslide. In its shadow, there were several hidden auras approaching quickly, and the sharpness was definitely not for friendly communication.

"You are bullying too much!" Louis Bode's robe sleeves swelled up due to the excitement of mana, fluttering in the night wind. The bishop immediately transformed into a series of warriors around him, launching a bloodthirsty counterattack against the besiegers.

It seems that the previous sacrifice ceremony was not as useless to him as he said. While keeping himself awake, he poured the bloodthirsty power into other places. In comparison, the impact on the drow is more like a low-level use.

Every pore of Sarona's body was dilated with fear and shock. The drow raised his short sword and prepared to meet the pressure coming from all directions. However, what surprised her was that the opponent seemed to completely ignore her existence. The raging waves with blue-red light rushed directly towards the funeral bishop. The tower shield and heavy armor with at least two or three sets of enchanted runes did not cast any power here either...

When Sarona felt that the pressure on her body had been reduced to insignificant, there was only a dark-skinned male elf in front of her. He had red eyes like her, holding a scimitar, and looking at Sarona with a complicated expression.

"Change place?" The male drow looked into Sarona's eyes. If this was underground, in the city governed by her family, he would be whipped for this rude transgression, but this is the surface, and...

"Seymour," Sarona pursed her lips, "Okay."

Seymour was naturally summoned by Ron urgently. Before he came, he never thought that he would meet "acquaintances" here again. After all, in theory, his combat targets should be the cultists of the so-called "Gray Ruins Dragon Society" rather than his former compatriots.

But now the main force here is obviously the drow. This extremely rare race on the surface obviously did not appear here because of coincidence or misunderstanding. Therefore, everyone intentionally or unintentionally handed Sarona over to Seymour to deal with.

Carlos, dressed in black, and Andre, holding a short spear, did not join the battle immediately, but just watched from the sidelines. Their strength did not allow them to go all out after being suppressed by the magic invalid barrier. They would easily become a burden, but if Seymour was in a difficult battle, they could provide some help.

However, the meeting of the two drow did not seem to lead to a fight immediately. After leaving the core battlefield for a distance, Saurona stopped: "Long time no see."

"How is life on the ground?"

Seymour also stopped. He looked up at the night sky through the tree canopy above his head. The moonlight was like water: "It's better than down there."

"This is night," the drow, who was called a "bad omen" by his respected and feared tribesmen and other underground races, shook his head, "What about another time? The sinful sun will burn our eyes, and facing the rising sun will blind people."

What Sarona said was not false. The drow lived underground for various reasons. Even when they came to the surface, they mostly chose the night time. This kind of life made them more sensitive to sunlight, which led to their intentional avoidance of sunlight. Over time, not only did they lose the ability to walk in the sun, but even their equipment, weapons and other magic props also showed similar characteristics.

In the dark, they have a strong and strange power, which allows the holders to have an advantage when fighting against the surface races and even the underground creatures, but once they are exposed to sunlight for a long time, even their clothes will turn pale and rot, and eventually turn into ashes.

Sarona knows this very well. The drow have a cultural tradition that has been passed down for thousands of years: all tribesmen will welcome a plundering trip to the surface as a rite of passage when they are close to adulthood. After the killing and revelry are over, those young dark elves will get a chance to face the sun, and if nothing unexpected happens, that will be their only chance.

The pain of having their eyes burned and even their brains melted is a memory that accompanies most drow throughout their lives.

However, facing the question of his fellow tribesmen, Seymour only responded with a moment of silence and a shake of his head.

"It's all over," he said, repeating his previous answer, "It's better here than down there now." (End of this chapter)