For this reason, the price of magic scrolls in the Dark Territory has always remained high.
Herbert’s outing this ti wasn’t a reckless venture; he heeded the suggestion of the Ashen Bishop and made quite a few preparations.
Besides the most basic supplies, for insurance, he also spent a fortune on several scrolls capable of short-distance teleportation, which he entrusted to Eliza to use to escape with him at critical monts.
But now, they’re of no use.
The giant dragon’s entrance seed arrogant, but in reality, it was deliberately using exaggerated moves to attract others’ attention while secretly performing so shenanigans.
To prevent the undead mage from escaping, the giant dragon actually used a legendary magic item with a space anchor-like ability to seal off the entire area, prohibiting any teleportation magic.
To make such grand gestures, it surely ca prepared, not allowing anyone to easily escape.
Even rely running away on foot is unrealistic, as the surroundings, including above and below, are blocked by impenetrable barriers.
"Can’t escape?"
"Mm."
"In that case..."
After a brief thought, Herbert made a decisive decision: "Since we can’t escape, we can only join the battlefield."
There were only two choices ahead.
Either just watch, see the clam and the snipe battle each other, attempting to be the fisherman who reaps the benefits.
But this choice carries not insignificant risks.
In terms of power, the two of them are the weaker party.
If they just watched and waited for the outco, there’s a high probability of being harvested later by the eventual easy winner.
Herbert didn’t want to passively wait for the other side to decide his fate.
He wanted to take the initiative!
Join the battlefield!
Initially, Eliza intended to lay low with Herbert, avoiding the spotlight until the other’s battle concluded, then seizing a chance to escape.
But at that mont, upon hearing Herbert’s confident words, she paused and asked, "So who do we help now?"
Help that undead mage?
But isn’t he our adversary?
Even if helping the enemy’s enemy, it should be helping that giant dragon.
"Help who?"
Herbert didn’t need to analyze the situation on the field, imdiately proclaiming: "Of course, help whoever is about to lose!"
If the dog-headed dragon is strong, help the undead mage; if the undead mage is strong, help the dog-headed dragon.
Having them both suffer is the best choice!
If they could perish together, that would be the perfect script!
So people help "whoever wins!".
Herbert is different, he helps "whoever cannot win!".
As a person, he is kind-hearted.
These two choices an joining the battlefield, stirring the waters.
Being a fair and just difficulty adjuster (battlefield shit-stirrer), balancing the strength of both sides, making the ga more interesting.
It’s best if the two of you smash each other’s brains out!
So when Herbert quickly conveyed his "battlefield conductor" philosophy to Eliza, the situation on the other side also changed.
"Roar!!!"
Thirty seconds had passed, and the dragon’s breath was still being spewed recklessly.
Under such scorching dragon breath, even a legend would have to fully activate their defenses.
In its surprise attack with zero-fra start-up, it believed Douglas would surely beco extrely embarrassed even if he could endure it.
Carlo did not let his guard down, and only after spitting out all the dragon breath from his body did he close his mouth.
The dragon breath spanned tens of ters, directly lting the surrounding streets, leaving a charred ground—and a huge blackened atball.
Crack, crack...
Amidst the burnt stench of cursed flesh, the atball suddenly burst open, transforming into decayed corpse fragnts, revealing the undead mage hidden within.
"Carlo!!!"
Like a chilling roar of skeletal collision, it overwheld the surrounding heat, making those who heard it feel a chill down their spine.
At this mont, Douglas had entirely turned into another appearance.
He was half-kneeling on the charred stone slabs, the edges of his torn cloak smoldering, curling like a charred snake skin, exposing his neck’s bluish-gray skin—if it could still be called skin.
Beneath the rotten subcutaneous tissue, which appeared eaten away by maggots, several cracks exposed the skeletal bones, with dark red muscles entwined like rusted chains.
Half of the skin on his face was gone, revealing the hollow eye sockets beneath, inside which flickered a green soul fire.
Beneath Douglas’s skin disguise lay a fully half-undead transford, ghastly body.
He glared at Carlo, roaring: "Do you think you can kill !?"
"You dog-headed mongrel, do you think you can kill !?"
In the midst of Douglas’s rabid shrieking, the scorched earth behind the dog-headed dragon suddenly shattered, and from it erged a skeleton giant dragon assembled from countless bones, lunging fiercely towards its back.
"Ha! Skeleton giant dragon? Just a crude imitation of noble bloodlines!" Carlo knew Douglas’s strength and understood he wouldn’t die so easily, not even casting a glance at the skeleton giant dragon behind.
Fully prepared for the next attack, he suddenly turned back, eyeing the approaching skeleton giant dragon.
"What!?"
From the fabricated creation on its body, amidst the chaotic remains, Carlo sensed a wave of familiar auras.
That was the aura of its kin—and remarkably its own bloodline descendant!
"How dare you desecrate my kin!"
At that mont, Carlo recalled being imprisoned by Stella, during those initial hundreds of years, the earth dragon species he had conquered and enjoyed...
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