Vincent propped himself on the ground with one hand, and the scepter of Power fell at his

  feet. His face was pale, the tip of his nose was frosted, and even the air he breathed was a

  white mist.

  The chill in his heart seemed to take all his strength away from him, and he felt his life force

  drain away. He can respond to the blows and magic from the outside world, and use

  reasonable and effective preparation to reduce the possible damage, but this sudden attack

  from his body, the mage in any case is too late to resist.

  The feeling now reminded him of an encounter he had once experienced in the Academy of

  Wizards, when he was not yet mature in his grasp of magic, and tried to summon the creatures

  of heaven, but accidentally brought a sucking demon from the abyss of hell to his side. The

  sexy banshee had an incredible attraction for the young mage. If it wasn't for the quick arrival

  of the strange mage, Vincent would have been sucked out of his life force and turned into a

  "human dry".

  However, now, although the mage will not become a "human dry", but the continuous battle

  consumption and long time without a good rest, he has almost reached the edge of death.

  The red mist must have absorbed a great deal of energy from the Mage's body, which is what

  makes him so weak, and the mist itself has become extremely powerful with the power it has

  taken from him.

  "At last I remembered! The red mist shook and moved slowly toward the mage. As he

  approached, Vincent's temperature dropped further. The red mist said in a very low voice,

  "Master, it's all bloody stuff!"

  "Valentine! What the hell do you want?" Vincent had to prop himself up on his hands. His

  shoulders were shaking and his arms were moving like small trees in the wind. The Master

  could already feel his elbows and wrists rattling -- the massive loss of life force had made

  Vincent extremely fragile.

  "Valentine? And you have the nerve to mention Valentine in front of me!" Red Mist seems to

  be angry, he stirred his body, like boiling water, and said to Vincent angrily: "You masters

  never care about the people around you! Throw a poor child aside! You have imprisoned my

  soul in a body of iron without flesh or blood! You study your own boring, damned magic,

  while your own children face blocks of metal! Mage! That's your name! And this is the creature

  that aspires to be the ruler of the world, the god of the world? Pooh!"

  Vincent finally understands that the red mist is not Valentine, but the spirit of the original

  Golem, the two were originally combined, but now the golem's power exceeds Valentine itself.

  Unexpectedly, the Great Arcane in the past actually used the soul of the living body to create

  the golem, which can greatly reduce or even avoid the cost of the mage itself, so as to quickly

  build a powerful army of combat golem.

  But now is not the time to admire the masterful skills of the mages of the past, or to judge

  whether their actions were right or wrong. The more realistic problem is that if Red Mist

  continues like this, Vincent's life force will definitely be sucked out.

  As a mage, there are many ways to deal with this kind of virtual creature. Although most of

  the spells can't deal actual damage to this kind of monster, there are a series of specially

  developed arcane arts such as "Strike the Dead" that can help. Today, however, Vincent just

  didn't have any of these spells in hand.

  He glanced around. Sokka was standing nearby, looking at the kneeling mage in wonder. The

  red mist was invisible to her, and the little angel could not understand what had made the

  mage so "strange." With the red jewel in her hand, she did not know what to do.

  It occurred to Vincent that the creatures of heaven generally had a strong aversion to the

  undead, and that many of them were born with the ability to drive them away. Although

  Sokka was young, she was born into the most powerful family of angels, the Blazing Sun, and

  was likely to have the same power.

  "Sokka! Can you disperse the undead? Do it once if you can!" Vincent shouted as loudly as

  he could.

  The little angel blinked, put a finger to his mouth, and shyly said, "What is an undead

  creature?" Instead, her eyes widened, and with a smile that seemed to take credit, she

  exclaimed, "Is it a devil? I can drive away evil spirits!"

  Then the little angel clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and murmured. Her golden

  hair seemed to be a flame, dancing with joy, and a white light spread outward from Sokka's

  center.

  The red mist seemed to be splashed with strong acid, and under the impact of the holy light,

  it emitted a burning sound of "hiss." It was forced to retreat, away from the fallen mage, and

  above all, away from the cherub of the light.

  Once the ghost was away, Vincent felt a little strength return to his whole body. He was still

  very weak, but he could barely move. He picked up the staff from the ground and rolled to

  Sokka's side. Now Vincent had no problem with his image, and despite his embarrassment,

  he insisted on building a wall of strength around himself and the angel.

  Ghosts can penetrate all entities, but they cannot penetrate the walls of force created by

  magic. Vincent breathed a sigh of relief when he was protected by this invisible barrier.

  Sokka tried to pull the mage off the ground, but her strength was too weak, and Vincent's

  golden arms were too heavy for an outsider. Although Sokka's face was red from the exertion,

  she could not pull the mage off the ground.

  "Brother Black Robe, are you wounded or ill? You are cold!" Sokka touched Vincent's cheek.

  The cold chill made her hold back. "I'll see if I can cure you."

  There was a blue light in the angel's palm. She put her hand on Vincent's chest, and a warm

  stream flowed into the master's limbs. But Sokka, who was too young, could not hold on for

  a moment until he sneezed from the cold and his spell was broken.

  "I'm sorry, Brother Wizard of the Black Robe... Achoo!" Little Sokka said sheepishly, rubbing

  his nose.

  Vincent is glad to have little Sokka with him today. He must be blessed by the goddess of

  luck. If it is not an angel, his own life will surely account for here. He sat up and patted the

  little angel on the face. "Thank you, that's enough."

  The red mist had fled some distance, and now it was back again. He tried to penetrate the

  invisibility field before him, but again and again he tried in vain.

  Vincent stands up and says to the red mist, "Valentine, or whatever your name is! Listen up!

  All those great Arcane masters you speak of are dead. I am not the mage you are looking

  for."

  "You're a mage, and that deserves to die!" The red mist took on the shape of the silver golem:

  "I tell you, I am not just a golem, I am the souls of innocent people who have been forcibly

  impaled into iron by your sorcerers! All mages must die! I can't break your spells, but you

  can't stop our fists!"

  "Valentine, wake up! You can't live without metal! The only thing that will happen to you if

  you kill me is that you will never leave this tower, and you will live as a prisoner forever. Give

  up your hatred and calm down!" The mage took out a scroll and waved it in front of the red

  mist: "Also, don't think I can't deal with you! Take Valentine out of your mind and stop

  controlling him!"

  "Control him? No! Mage, I think you've got it all wrong, you've shown your own stupidity

  once again! I am him! He is me! From now on, we are together forever, and just as he

  promised before he died, we will never be apart again!"

  "I didn't expect the devil he trusted to have such a face!"

  "Mages, you are mistaken again, and you are becoming more and more idiotic. It is precisely

  because Valentine hates magic, it is precisely because he hates his sorcerer parents deep

  down, that I protect him. And now I do, too. I will wipe out every mage in the world, not one

  left! You cancer, you scourge, you will be wiped out of the world."

  The red mist rushed forward again, but was mercilessly blocked by the wall of force. He looked

  at the frail mage: "Now I can't break through your defense, but that doesn't mean I can't take

  you!" You mages can't stay awake forever, I will be lying in wait for you when you sleep, when

  you meditate, and even when you yawn and rest. One by one, I will suck the life out of you

  and turn you into worthless scum, into dust! Ha, ha, ha! This is the end for you guys."

  "Sokka, can you still dispel the evil spirits?" Vincent touched the angel's soft, puffy blond hair.

  'Try this time with all your might!'

  "Oomph! We shall meet again! ' Red smoke heard the mage's words and quickly retreated.

  He caught a glimpse of the staff of prophecy, which lay aside and was made of ironwood.

  There were fewer of them, but the immense power of the artifact was a perfect vehicle for the

  red mist to possess. The changed Valentine laughed a few times and suddenly burrow into

  the scepter. As the wand of prophecy floated in the air, a red mist came and left the mage's

  last words: "The next time we meet, I won't be like this! You magi crawlers, wash your necks

  and wait to die! Hah! Ha ha!"

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The Rod of Prophecy flew swiftly away from the Blackcrystal, away from the city of Prudence,

  and into the complex passageway world of the Underdark.

  Vincent threw down the scroll, and the yellowish parchment fell to the floor and unfolded,

  without a word on it. He watched the rod of prophecy leave with his penetrating eyes until

  he was out of sight.

  Sokka breathed into his cold palm until the blue light gathered again. She is so excited that

  she runs to Vincent. "Black Robe brother! Look! Look! I can treat you again!"

  ..........................................

  In the sewers of Prudence City, the Hardy party is moving cautiously forward. Mark and

  Stonelegs lead the way, torches in their hands, the leaping flames casting twisted shadows on

  the meandering sewer walls. Behind them came a group of men, the entire Adventure team

  and two beautiful human women.

  Both women, veiled at Hardy's request, walked reluctantly through the filthy passageway,

  occasionally crying out over the smudges on their clothes. But at Hardy's stern warning, they

  obediently shut their mouths and carried the corners of their skirts through the black, stinking

  mud.

  William the Halfling Wanderer hides in the shadows as if he were born out of darkness,

  blending in so perfectly with the underworld setting that even his teammates can't find him.

  Just around a corner, he sprang out of the shadows with a quick gesture to notify everyone

  that the enemy had been spotted ahead.

  "There is only one enemy, but he walks so lightly that he can hardly be seen!" William

  whispered in front of them all.

  Hardy and the Barbarian draw their weapons, Stoneleg and Mark the dwarf both grab

  crossbows, while the few remaining combatants erect shields in front of the apparently

  defenseless woman.

  The two torches are knocked down into the dirt and extinguished, and Dero is fitted with the

  night vision eyes Vincent had given him. Orcs and dwarves are born with dark vis ion, and

  darkness is no stranger to them. Only William the Halfling swears. Without dark vision or

  equipment, he melts into the shadows, unable to see his enemies, but neither can they see

  him.

  From around the corner came the light of the torch, and he came nearer and nearer. On the

  wall, not far in front of Hardy's party, was cast the shadow of a man in robes. All of them

  clenched their weapons, but they did not worry much. There was only one man on the other

  side, and even Vincent, as strong as he was, could not escape from so many men.

  The light of the torches came nearer and nearer, and at last appeared before the eyes of the

  people. One man, holding the eternal flame, stopped and surveyed the procession before

  him.

  Unbeknownst to Hardy and his men, the human in front of them was the current Master of

  the First Family: Regula. He smiled, and by the light of his torch watched Hardy, the mighty

  warrior, and the iron-brawn orc.

  "We have no intention of standing in your way. We are not hostile," he said. 'said Stonelegs,

  the dwarf, in his familiar subterranean tongue, and then again in Dark Elvish.

  'Yes, I think so too,' said Stone. Regula, his husky voice echoing through the underground

  pipe, chuckled as he said, "But I've been going through a rough patch lately, and I'm looking

  for some bad luck to get out of my way. You've come at the right time."

  Despite his claims of no hostility, Stonelegs had no intention of releasing the human in the

  first place, and his secret hideout must not be known to any outsiders. Even as Regula spoke,

  the crossbow in his hand shot a silent arrow. The crossbow, which he had adapted himself to

  fire, made no sound at all, perfect for a surprise attack.

  However, the crossbow still causes the air to vibrate in flight, and the master of martial arts

  immediately senses something is wrong, and the reflexive side of his head avoids the

  oncoming crossbow.

  Hardy waited for the signal to attack and lunged first, followed by Mapp, the orc next to him.

  Regula smiled and flung the fireball against the wall. The underground pipe, which had been

  left unrepaired, must have become soft by now, and the torch was suddenly inserted in it and

  continued to light.

  Mark reacts immediately. He releases the string of his crossbow and a row of arrows is flying

  towards the master.

  Regula exclaimed, "That's a great crossbow! It can fire so many at once!" As he spoke, his

  hands were not idle. As he backed away, they moved quickly in front of him like a barrier, so

  fast that he could barely see his shadow. By the time his hands stopped moving, he had

  confiscated all the bolts the dwarf had fired at him.

  Parson Joe uttered a spell, trying to cast a blessing on his companion. When Regula saw this,

  he threw his own bolt at the priest. The arrows were not as powerful as Mark's, but the priest

  had to raise his shield to fend them off. With Tinky Winky's knock, Joe was unharmed, but his

  spell was interrupted.

  Dero's double-headed sword struck Regula's head with a thunderous blast, and his mouth

  drank at the same time to increase his momentum: "Die! You warrior monk!"

  Instead of retreating, Regula took half a step in the direction of the orcs. Hardy deflected his

  blade, still aiming at the enemy's head.

  The monk reached up and crossed his wrists to grab Hardy's hand in a backhand. A sudden

  turn, combined with the force of his wrist rotation, changed the direction of the doubleheaded sword.

  At that moment, the orc's broadsword also fell, but it hit Hardy's sword. The two hercules had

  the equivalent of a fight, each wrist numb with the force of the other. The two men clenched

  their teeth and tried not to let go of their weapons.

  But the monk was ready. His hands went to each weapon, and he tried to disarm the swords

  of the two heroes. Seeing this, Hardy quickly twisted his waist and used the power of rotating

  in place to move his arms around, keeping the two-headed sword moving when he could not

  use his hands, and acting as a barrier in front of the monk's hands.

  Regula smiled and withdrew one hand. The Orc, however, did not have Hardy's reflexes. He

  only wanted to defend the sword with brute force, and yet he managed to disarm Regula

  with a wonderful touch.

  The monk would have added another blow to the Orc at once, but suddenly he felt a noise

  behind him. Turning round, a halfling was lunging at him with a dagger burning with what

  must have been a specially crafted weapon of high magic.

  Even when caught by surprise, the monk reacts in a flash, swerving sideways so that the

  dagger is not aimed at the vital point of the attack. William the Wanderer leapt forward and

  stabbed, leaving a gash in the monk's waist that instantly turned Rekula's gray robe red.

  The Master did not dodge the ambush, but avoided the greatest damage, lifting the fleshy

  palm he had just pulled from Hardy's weapon and striking the halfling on the forehead.

  William flew backwards and landed in the mud. He did not die, but was knocked unconscious

  by the monk's shock, and was the first to retire from the fight.

  The second bolt from Stoneleg came, and the warlord, already on guard, flicked it away with

  the curved-bladed broadsword he had dropped from the Orc's hands. Gunra, the unprepared

  Dwarven warrior, was unable to defend himself in time and was struck by the stray bullet. The

  poison had an immediate effect, and had it not been for the Dwarves' innate resistance to

  poison, he would have died, instead of being paralysed and left standing.

  Hardy gradually regained control of his wrist as he spun, and he continued his assault on

  Regula. The monk easily circled behind the Orc, using Maip's large size as a temporary barrier

  against Hardy's double-headed sword.

  But half an orc is not easy to bully. With a roar, his eyes turned blood red, his veins bulging,

  and his muscles bulging like balloons, he pulled a spare curved sword from behind his back

  and slashed at the monk with his head covered. All he could think now was, "Attack, attack!"

  "Ouch! There are weapons!" The warrior monk, in spite of his relaxed mouth and facial

  expression, was now afraid of this kind of orc play. The savage who had gone into the fury

  had become completely disorganized in his sword, with no discernible pattern at all, and

  struck by instinct. This made it difficult for the warrior monk to defend himself. He had to

  concentrate on every Orc strike, and his attention was completely limited and absorbed.

  Hardy's spinning blade pushed him up too, giving the monk less room to maneuver. He can

  only use his dexterity now, hiding behind the orcs and using Mapp's body to slow the warriors

  down.

  Mark finally strung his crossbow again, raised it, and aimed at the leaping monk. He was

  always looking for an opportunity, and if Hardy and Mapp could clear a little space, he would

  strike.

  Hardy gradually took the initiative into his own hands, having mastered the monk's fight

  rhythm, and with just a few more moments he felt confident he could push the monk under

  Mapp's blade.

  But there was no sign of panic on the monk's face. Instead, there was a smile of victory.

  "Watch your back! 'Stonelegs shouted in panic, pointing to the underground tunnel.