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Chapter 585 Fires of War

At the edge of a murky and filthy pool.

An old witch with turbid eyes, yellowed teeth, wrinkled skin, and a hooked nose was squatting by the pool. She wore a gray adept's robe and a gray witch's hat on her head, silently chanting some strange, indiscernible spell.

As light magical fluctuations spread throughout the pungent pool, the surface of the sickly green water started to bubble like boiling water.

Soon, all sorts of creatures had gathered around the old witch: toads covered with warts, inconspicuous gray poison water snakes, muskrats, slow alligator snapping turtles, and all sorts of other strange, unrecognizable swamp creatures.

Judging from their size, the old witch had only summoned smaller swamp creatures.

These swamp creatures would not have come out of their hidden nests if not for the bindings of magic, nor would they be peacefully standing near all these other swamp creatures without fighting each other.

"My little babies. Look at you, all so cute…" Poison Hag Endor smiled as she bent over and caressed the toad that had leaped to the side of her leg.

Those massive warts, that sticky mucus on its body, that ugly appearance and size; it was likely that only a mad old witch like her would call a poisonous toad like this one her cute baby!

"My cute babies, I need you to bring a gift to the big meatheads over at the camp. Won't you make a trip there for me?"

Endor took out a jar as she mumbled to herself. She then carefully dripped its black and viscous liquid contents upon these swamp creatures.

The black liquid rapidly seeped into the swamp creatures the moment it made contact with their skin.

Those small critters carrying the black liquid within them quickly turned and vanished into the pool. They started to move toward the crowded dragonborn camp with their own unique methods. The other critters who had yet to receive a drop of the liquid surged toward Endor, piling up into a bunch as they fought impatiently for the next drop of the black liquid.

The misty Swamp of Sorrows suddenly turned a lot more sinister and horrifying!

The Murloc Camp.

The one-sided slaughter was still going on.

Murlocs were a type of bipedal, amphibious life form that resembled fish and lived by the shore, the lake, or the riverbed. They all possessed round and fat bodies, mouths with large sharp teeth, and bodies covered in slimy liquid.

Murlocs came in many colors, from green to dark gray. You could probably find a murloc in any color. Their average height was between 1.3 meters to 1.5 meters.

Murlocs liked to stay in groups. From a few dozen to a hundred murlocs would get together and form a tiny village.

Their villages were all made of tattered branches and mud and were not at all planned or organized. There were no campfires in murloc villages, nor clean roads or any defensive structures. Murloc huts were crude and natural. They were all small shacks supported by round logs.

The murloc village that the dragonborn requisitioning squad had gone after were swamp murlocs.

Swamp murlocs were the most common and numerous low-grade magical creatures in the Swamp of the Sorrows. In all honesty, they brought shame upon their identity as swamp creatures.

Their unbelievably weak Frostbolts, crude spears shaved from wooden sticks, and fishing nets made of plant fiber were useless against the tall and mighty dragonborn warriors.

The few murloc priests within the village couldn't do much either. Their Frostbolts were surprisingly weak and would only explode into snowflakes when they hit the chests of the towering dragonborn. Don't even talk about freezing the enemy; Those Frostbolts could hardly wound the dragonborn.

The dragonborn that were hit by the Frostbolts would usually laugh and scratch off the layer of ice on their chest before bashing the murloc priest's head into their chests with a light punch.

The dragonborn weren't here to requisite the pathetic animal bones and black jerkies left over from the murlocs' meals. What they wanted were the swamp murlocs themselves.

Swamp murlocs were basically a bunch of fish with limbs. Tossing a couple of murlocs into a pot could make pretty good fish stew!

The dragonborn all had huge appetites. An army of two hundred dragonborn wouldn't have enough to eat even if they wiped out the entire murloc village.

Thus, the dragonborn requisitioning squad that charged into the village didn't even bother with the frantic yelling of the old murloc village head. They immediately got to killing once they arrived. They quickly slaughtered the murlocs and brought their bodies to the center of the village, where they tied them up with vines and prepared to haul them back to the army.

The Frostbolts of the murloc priests could only cool the body temperature of the dragonborn by a little bit, and the spears of their warriors often broke upon the scales of the dragonborn. The nets that they cast couldn't endure the powerful tearing of the dragonborn warriors and the slicing edge of their metal axes.

If it weren't for the dragonborn's size that made their movements slower, not a single survivor would have escaped this village of one hundred and thirty murlocs.

The dragonborn warrior under the fire dragon naturally possessed fire affinity. The more talented ones among them could launch powerful fireballs. On the other hand, the ordinary dragonborn warrior could only channel the flames onto their weapons and enhance them with some fire damage.

To better hunt their 'rations,' many of the dragonborn had sheathed their metal weapons. They were using their bare hands to crush or smash these harmless murlocs.

They scattered throughout the village, chasing after the terrified and screaming murlocs. They would smash a murloc to the ground whenever they caught one before going on to grab the next one.

It was like an eagle descending upon a flock of chicks. The entire murloc village descended into ear-piercing screams. The dragonborn captain even started a fire around the town to cut off all paths of escape available to the murlocs.

This desolate scene of utter chaos and tragedy was what appeared before Deserra and Dana when they arrived at the edge of the battlefield with the magical machines in tow.

Twelve dragonborn warriors had split up. They were chasing after the groups of murlocs and busy trying to hunt them down.

Only the dragonborn captain had gathered with two of his subordinates. They sealed off the most significant exit of the village and were gleefully slaughtering the unfortunate murlocs that ran into them.

"What's the plan?" Medusa Dana shook her slender waist and propped up her body on her long snake's tail. She took a serious and careful look at the battlefield.

She might be smart and capable, but she was still born as a magical creature. She lacked the sly and sinister nature of the humans when it came to tricks and techniques. That was why she was willing to listen to Deserra's opinion, even though she was more powerful than the human adept.

As expected, Deserra's suggestion was truly sinister.

"We can't go in all at once!" Deserra was a wind adept. Spells like Levitate and Fly were par for the course for him. He hovered three meters above the ground and looked at the battlefield from a distance. He laughed sinisterly as he gave his suggestion, "The geography here is wide and unobstructed. We don't have the power to stop all the dragonborn if they are bent on running.


"We should hide the magical machines for the moment. The two of us and the two snakefiends you brought with you should go and ambush the dragonborn captain first."

Dana tilted her head and thought for a moment. She still didn't quite understand.

Shouldn't one always charge forward with all the force they had in combat? Whoever had the most numbers and the largest fist would be the one to obtain the final victory. Could they win this battle by leaving half of their forces outside?

Deserra seemed to have seen through Dana's doubts and explained in a little, self-satisfied manner, "Lady Mary didn't send us here just to beat these dragonborn. She wants us to capture or kill every last one of them. As such, it's not difficult to win this battle. It's difficult to keep them all within this battlefield."

"We can take down all the dragonborn if we leave the magical machines behind?"

"We will only appear as four people at first. Moreover, we will be striking at their captain. The dragonborn will assume themselves to have the numerical advantage and won't think of running anymore. Have them stay on the battlefield, slowly grind away their strength and have the magical machines form a perimeter on the outside and prepare to enter the battle at any time. This way, we have a far greater chance to take down all the dragonborn!"

"I have no problem fighting with the dragonborn, but my subordinates…" Medusa Dana wasn't a cold-blooded individual, after all. She took great care of the younger generation of her species.

The two subordinates she had brought with her were excellent individuals amongst the younger generation of the tribe. They had already grown four arms and could simultaneously command multiple weapons. When paired with their fast, wind-like movements, they rained down a storm of blades when they fought with knives.

They could easily bully those unequipped low to mid-grade magical creatures with such strength. However, it was insufficient against powerful beings like the dragonborn.

Four-armed snakefiends were still too weak regarding Strength. Cutting through the thick metal armor and fine scales of the dragonborn was nearly impossible. An awkward situation of being unable to harm the enemy would happen if they were to actually engage in the fight.

That was why Dana was already worried about them before the battle had even started.

Deserra was already muddle-headed when he heard Dana's soft voice and request.

Deserra had been extremely strict with himself ever since he had been an apprentice, all for the sake of his future as an adept. Though it wasn't quite at the level of completely abstaining from women, Deserra was honestly far more disciplined compared to his peers.

He might have acted upon his desires sometimes after becoming an adept, but he was still a resolute and matured individual compared to adepts of the same grade.

Yet, for some reason, Deserra found himself infatuated with Dana after they started to interact more with each other.

That delicate and perfect face and that hot and explosive figure. Though the hair of snakes and Dana's Eyes of Petrification were a little harsh to deal with, didn't that make it all the more exotic?

It was rare that the beauty would ask something of him, so it was natural that he would try and accommodate her.

"Then we will bring along another two Loggers! They will be much safer with two of those meat shields at the front."

A sweet smile immediately appeared on Dana's face. The snakes on her head all started to let out weird hissings as well.

"Well, prepare yourself. We will be going now!"

A simple shout, and the two Crimson adepts, the two snakefiends, and the two rumbling Loggers descended like a whistling whirlwind, swiftly and fiercely lunging towards the dragonborn captain.

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