Azeroth Trail of Light

Chapter 174 5. The Black Dragon Must Die! ——Add more

Reginald Windsor, this is a legendary name, behind this name, represents a legendary life.

When he was young, Windsor was an ordinary soldier in the Stormwind Kingdom. He would have lived a peaceful life, like his predecessors, who died on the bed without regrets or glory.

But in the year when he was 30 years old, the war broke out, and the orcs came to Azeroth through the portal of darkness, and the human kingdom fought back. On the verge of destroying the country, even King Ryan died in a despicable assassination.

Windsor was also confused, but he finally made up his mind to defend this piece of land he loved so much, so he fought hard and finally became the best group of soldiers under Sir Lothar. The favorite general who valued was even transferred to participate in the plan to raid Karazhan.

After following Sir Lothar to kill Medivh, the initiator of everything, Windsor also had his own adventure in the mage tower that was said to be able to see the future.

In a ray of light, he saw himself who died under the claws of the black dragon.

Since then, Windsor has been very wary of creatures like black dragons. The war ended in 14 years at the Dark Portal, but Sir Lothar also died in the final battle. The world, leading soldiers through the Dark Portal, closed it from the other side.

Windsor returned to Stormwind City, returned to the hometown where he was born and grew up, and became an old marshal with outstanding achievements. Now he is 51 years old, his once strong body has become old, and his never-tired spirit has become Get weak.

The old marshal thought that before he died, he would never dream of himself being killed by the black dragon again, but fate made a big joke with him. Just when he was about to retire, he saw the Red Ridge Mountain from the border of the Stormwind Kingdom. In the battle report back, a black dragon appeared in the Burning Plains!

That nightmare haunted Windsor again, but as a veteran of many battles, he did not back down, but chose to face the difficulties. Windsor asked King Varian to send an elite army to the Burning Plains, but was rejected The king refused, and the Duke of Bolvar, who had become eccentric recently, even had a conflict with Windsor because of this.

In the struggle between the two factions, Windsor was defeated. After all, he was just a soldier. In the end, the old marshal led a militia regiment to the Burning Plains. He had a premonition that here, he would usher in his final... destiny!

"Meow!"

A weak meow disturbed Windsor's memory, his dull eyes regained their brightness, they were a pair of eagle-like eyes, although the eyebrows became pale, but those eyes were still serious, he was indifferent He patrolled the dark prison cell for a week, and several dark iron dwarves who were locked up with him were excitedly looking for the cat that broke into the cell, planning to add a meal.

The old marshal leaned against the damp thatch, not intending to pay attention to all this. Although he was caught and imprisoned, he didn't want to have any contact with these dregs. This was his last dignity.

Until he felt the black cat jump from the window onto his shoulder, felt the shivering body of the kitten, and there was a softness on the cold cheek of the old marshal.

But how could the hungry black iron dwarf prisoners manage so much? Driven by hunger, they finally got rid of the fear of Windsor, who was not easy to mess with at first sight, and took rough stone daggers towards him. The old marshal rushed over.

"Hehe... trash!"

"boom!"

Although he was also starved for several days, Windsor's combat experience in his life as a soldier is comparable to these black iron gangsters. He stood up like a tiger, rushed forward, took a wrong step, and killed him with a whip. The fastest rushing black iron gangster withdrew to the corner, picked up the bone dagger that had slipped from the air, and stabbed another guy in the eye with his backhand.

Without even looking at the short man who fell on the ground and twitched, Wen De Sole roared and threw himself at the last panicked guy, lowered his body, twisted his arms around the neck of the last black-skinned short man, and twitched his hands left and right.

Click!

The sound of dislocation of bones seemed so thrilling in the silent cell.

The old marshal let go of the already limp corpse in his arms, wiped the blood in his hands on the clothes of the black iron bastard, he was panting heavily, after all he was old, this series of actions made him a little Tired, but three kills in an instant, the strong breath of a warrior still made the black cat trembling in the thatch pile, not daring to move.

The old marshal didn't clean up the corpse either, he staggered back to the corner, leaned there, stretched out his hand to tease the little black cat, the residual bloody smell was still on his body, when the old marshal's fingers were about to touch the black cat, The kitten shrank back, and this action made Windsor stunned.

A few seconds later, he withdrew his hand, closed his eyes, and seemed to lose all energy in his body. He curled up like an ordinary old man.

"Meow!"

A few seconds later, Windsor, who had his eyes closed, felt the touch of the little black cat sticking out its tongue and licking his cheek. He opened his eyes, and a smile slowly appeared on the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, naughty little guy!"

The old marshal picked up the little black cat with both hands, placed it on the edge of the window, patted its head,

"Come on, go back to your master, she must be a good girl who loves you, look at this pendant, how beautiful it is, how... wait, this is..."

The old marshal's eyes narrowed. When he observed carefully, he found that the pendant hanging on the kitten's neck was obviously too big. Windsor's years of military career made him immediately alert. He looked left and right Look, your fingers inadvertently swept across the back of the emerald pendant, and then touched a small disc attached to the back of the pendant.

Seeing that the old marshal had taken the disk away, the kitten gave another "meow", licked Windsor's finger, then turned around and jumped out of the window, disappearing in a flash.

Windsor lay on the thatched pile as if nothing had happened. This prison was closely guarded, but very rigid. The guards patrolled at the same time. This was discovered by Windsor the next day. The patrol still had 3 hours, enough time for him to explore the secrets of the disc.

It was an exquisite small disc, which looked like an ornament, and its style was like that of the high elves. When Wen Desol was in exile in Lordaeron when he was young, he also came into contact with the high elves. He closed his eyes slightly, He stroked the edge of the disc with his fingers, and when he touched those characters, his heart skipped a beat.

"Grazieperil Cibo!"

The old marshal read these characters softly. The next moment, several things wrapped in kraft paper jumped into his hands. The disc also lost its luster and broke into two halves. Wen De Sole took the disc Throwing it into the mouse hole in the corner, then picked up the paper bag and smelled it, a satisfied smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

Two packs of beef, two packs of bread, and one pack of dried fruit. The best thing is a palm-sized hip flask and a sharp dagger.

The old marshal put the dagger close to his body, put several other packages of food beside him, and tore open the package of beef. His throat moved. He was obviously very hungry, but he still ate small bites with the same frequency. Let the body absorb these nutrients as quickly as possible.

He spread out the note that he picked out along with the food in his palm, and there was only one sentence on it.

"At 1 o'clock in the middle of the night, take advantage of the chaos and escape. There is something you need under the seat No. 24 in the third row of the Colosseum! Black Iron Bar, dwarf, password: Black Dragon must die!"

The old marshal's eyes narrowed. He licked his lips, stuffed the note into the beef in his palm, put it in his mouth, chewed it up and swallowed it.

After eating everything in one go, Windsor immediately felt the strength in his whole body return.

However, he didn't make any extra movements. He lay down in the thatch pile for another 2 hours, thinking that the time was almost up, he reached out and picked up the bony dagger that the black iron bastard had left on the ground, wiped it clean, and gesticulated on his body. , and then adjusted the two parts, stabbed the dagger in without changing his face, blood spurted out, and the old marshal's face turned paler.

Five minutes later, Windsor was sent out of the cell, and the big slave owners placed a heavy bet on the former human marshal. These guards would not let Windsor die before entering the Colosseum.

But it is a pity that at 1 o'clock that night, there was a sudden exclamation from the meditation room of the Twilight Cultists stationed in the cell area, and then those lunatics who disgusted the Black Iron Guards really went crazy. Crazy, they screamed crazily, attacked everything around them, and finally set fire to the house where the guards lived.

As if they were possessed by some kind of evil thing, they crazily killed each other. When the Black Iron Defense Commander General Angerfor, who received the news, came with the Black Iron Dragon Knights after hearing the news, the ten Several Twilight Cultists had been killed by the enraged soldiers.

The most terrible thing is that more than a dozen prisoners who were treated here were also burned to death in that house. The iconic old military uniform of the former Marshal Windsor of the Stormwind Kingdom, which was more than half burned, proved his authenticity. Identity, the old man who was about to enter the Colosseum to die, died in this place.

Although the big slave owners are very angry, there is no way to pursue this kind of thing. No one in the entire Darkforge City knows that those Twilight Cultists are the new favorites of Emperor Thaurissan. Light lunatic, so this matter will be over.

However, those wounded Black Iron soldiers still received proper treatment, and the soldiers who survived the riots were given extra holidays. For the well-regulated Black Iron dwarves, I don’t know if it is a good thing or a bad thing. .

Early the next morning, a black iron soldier with a slight abdominal injury walked into the black iron bar with a look of displeasure. The bar was somewhat empty. The dwarf boss was standing on a chair, carefully wiping the precious crystal cup, Then the dwarf sat carelessly by the bar, with a strange look in his hawk-like eyes, and he whispered to the equally curious Pragg,

"I don't know who planned this, but I like the crispness of that guy!"

"Who are you?"

"Oh, black dragon, you must die!"

The black iron dwarf drank the large glass of ale in front of him in one gulp, touched his mouth rudely, "Another word, I like this code very much!"