Cong Xi Yi Ren Kai Shi Mang Chuan Zhong Gu

Fort Cappe, Simili's arrival made the originally depressing conference hall active again. Although mourning for their dead colleagues was inevitable, the generals could at least see hope.

Even the Elector of Ostermark changed his previous urgency and haste, and everyone regained their composure.

Simili sat on the edge of the conference hall, quietly listening to the commander's next plan. He never offered any opinions because he had been derailed too much from the outside world in these few days, and his strategic vision could no longer keep up with the situation. changes.

What else is there to analyze? The vampire offensive in Ostermark is certainly terrifying, but their desperate push to the north has also lengthened Sylvania's front in disguise. The surviving Ostermark people will hold on to the fortress and will no longer underestimate The enemy's generals also had the confidence to counterattack.

If there are no other variables, the Sea of ​​the Dead in the Ostermark Territory will eventually be divided into trickles by fortresses, and the counterattacks of the Talabek Territory and the Ostermark Territory will completely swallow up the seemingly turbulent waves.

The current vampire count shouldn't be a short-sighted guy with no strategic mind. Why does he push the front to the border of Kislev at all costs?

No one knew, and the most prudent generals only prepared some backup plans for this.

The hurried footsteps moved from far to near, and finally arrived outside the conference room.

Simili was the first to notice the arrival of the messenger, who was a mage from Amber Academy. It must have been something urgent but not far-reaching enough, otherwise no one would be willing to let the mage serve as the messenger.

The most important letters should be kept by the best and most reliable warriors, not mages. They are like moving barrels of explosives. Leaving a mage under surveillance is a dereliction of duty for the safety of the people of the empire.

Simili glanced at the person standing by the door alertly and held down the scabbard.

He never believed in wizards, and even the Magic Academy endorsed by His Majesty Magnus could not make him relax his vigilance.

The tragedies that happened in the past made him understand that this kind of vigilance was correct.

The young wizard was used to being looked at with hostility. Compared with the ill intentions in people's eyes, what was more intolerable to him was the sense of oppression brought by obsidian products to the mage.

Obsidian's suppression of the wind of magic made him feel uncomfortable all over. He was like a fish that landed on the beach, and even breathing was extremely difficult.

The magical wind in this space is so thin that it cannot gather magic. At least he cannot gather the magical wind in an extreme environment. He is not an accomplished mage in the academy.

He really wanted to say something to make the soldiers put down their hostility. Now he was not as threatening as a strong farmer.

But he didn't dare to speak easily before getting permission. Once some brainless soldiers thought he was going to recite a curse, he wouldn't have to think about how to return to Copebad.

A gentle knock on the door woke up the generals who were arguing to the point of blushing. A pair of scrutinizing eyes were on the mage. Prince Wolfenburg of Oster was the first to speak and gave the mage permission to speak:

What is Master Wolan trying to say through your mouth? I hope that's not bad news.

Dean Wolan didn't know the bad news. The wizard swallowed hard and tried to use the strength to recite the spell, but his voice was still full of timidity.

Dear Count Tassenik, in compliance with the order of the Grand Earl of Stirland, I am here to remind you that just yesterday, the city of Copebad suffered a large-scale attack by beastmen.

The Grand Duke of Tarabek, Count Krieglitz, could not keep his composure on his face, because Copebad was the southernmost town of Tarabek, and it was his territory that was attacked.

Before he could ask, the wizard kept telling the battle situation on the front line:

They are a group of deformed, skinny beastmen with rat-like appearance. Their number is endless. Prince Utbard and the Knights of the Flame Sun are assisting in the defense of Copebad City, but there are too many of them. It is possible that there are already Some of the beastmen penetrated deep into the core area of ​​Talabek Territory.

Yes, the Skaven are just a legend, a story told by adults to deceive children.

In the ghost village that was once again lively, Sherlock looked sarcastically at the back of the mage riding away, as well as a group of relieved and ignorant traders, and couldn't help pinching his forehead.

These Imperials still don't know what kind of disaster has occurred, and even reject the truth.

From time to time, guards would pass by Sherlock jokingly, imitating his warning manner.

Skaven! Rats will threaten the empire. The exaggerated tone was mixed with joking. People who have never seen the planet would think that the earth is flat, and Sherlock can understand them.

There is nothing more to say, they have determined a certain fact, and Sherlock is not qualified to correct their wrong views. That's it, there is no need to add to the conflict.

The evil bells rang intermittently underground. Except for a small number of slave rats and the corresponding clan rat warlords, most of the individuals in the rat tide went around to the back of the human fortress.

No one stipulates that they must conquer human towns and advance their front lines above ground. Their territory has always been underground.

It only takes one tenth, or even one percent, of the rat tide to make the hairless thing think it is the main force of the rat pack. The creatures on the ground have always been stupid, and every rat man who has been on the ground knows this.

Yes, yes, the Great Necromancer asked them to cause disaster in Talabek Territory and disrupt the Imperial rear, but which Skaven would keep their promise?

At the very least, Gray Seer Borriol was not a trustworthy ratman. All the ratmen who could be trusted were dead. There was no need for trust in the underground world.

Necromancers should learn the social etiquette among ratmen. Borrior knows how to cede profits to drive corrupt clans. The skeleton thing actually wants to steal the power of ratmen in one sentence.

This is impossible, rat people always steal other people's things.

Borriol sat next to the death knell, ringing the shrieking knell feebly from time to time. It was a little tired of marching.

How long until we get to Mirkavala? Ten days? Or a month? Or longer?

Maybe they had to set foot on the surface again midway to get supplies from human towns. Borriol was a little hungry.

When he noticed that the slave rats coming underground had many obvious deformities, Tritus Feartail knew that he had arrived at the territory of the Corrupt Clan.

But according to rumors, they should live on the ground. The rat city next to the pit of hell is quite famous in the underground kingdom.

Why are there so many slave rats underground? Shouldn't they be sent to the warlock's experimental table as soon as they are born, and then driven to the above-ground city after the transformation fails?