Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Chapter 499 350. My name is Man Baldou

The figure no longer had the time to continue admiring the twin moons that were about to be obscured by the sun as he had just done. He had long been accustomed to the crows hovering in the sky, but this was the first time he felt that the crows were so noisy. He did not hear the crows calling so close to him. There was a hint of comfort in the sound, but he felt something else, something he had never felt before.

The first chill of winter in the old world filled the air, and the figure was no longer in the mood to savor it. Originally, he thought this was his era, and he was the cold winter of mankind. But at this moment, he felt the breath of death. The presence that frightened him was passing through the humble life and trivial filth of human beings. He staggered while running and looked back in horror. He knew that he had gone from hunter to prey, that now he had taken Felix's role, with nothing behind him, but he could feel death approaching him.

The figure ran, staggered over the obstacles in the alley, and then stumbled on the dirty cobblestone ground, supporting his body and crawling. His body suffered huge injuries, and his legs were blown by the wind. His legs began to tremble, and the terrifying energy burned his ankles. He ran, fell again, barely stood up and continued running. After running for a while, he fell again.

However, the figure's efforts did not free him from the restraints. He could clearly feel that the feeling was getting closer and closer to him. The feeling was right behind him, no matter how far he ran, no matter how far he ran, No matter how he ran, no matter how fast he ran, that feeling followed him. He could feel that the feeling was full of ruthlessness and death.

The figure wanted to take off his dark coat, and he cast magic on the coat. This was his most proud work. The coat could turn his body into mist and pass through flowing water. But after being burned, the coat had lost most of its function and turned into rags. The things attached to it made him feel disgusted and frightened. The rags gave off a smell he had never smelled before, a smell that made him sicker than garlic.

What made the figure feel conflicted was that the magic in the coat was still working. He could feel the magic he had given him still pulsing. He knew that the coat in the darkness had turned into a torch in the darkness, but he didn't know that it was. Will he still be able to use his coat later?

"Not yet." The figure opened his chapped lips and murmured to himself. His voice was no longer what it was before, and the whisper seemed to be thick with gravel and sand grains. The scorching energy burned in his chest and squirmed on his skin, as if the terrifying energy was eroding his body and soul. He knew that energy was the embodiment of the Eight Winds of Magic. It was the first time he saw it. This way of using magic is extremely fatal to a being like him.

It was the first time that the figure experienced such horrific pain. He could endure the pain and suffering. He had long forgotten what it was like to be without pain. Pain was the only constant thing in his world. As long as there was pain, he would still be alive. But this pain was something he had never experienced before. It was the first time he knew that pain could be so painful.

A slender figure appeared at the figure's feet, as if a palm was ready to grab his ankle and pull him down. He turned around, leaned against the wall in the alley and kept retreating, looking for terror. but there was nothing behind him. He turned around again, fixed his gaze on the entrance of the alley, and continued running.

The figure can feel that the source of terror is still following him. He knows that he has been locked. He knows that the source of terror comes from Deha energy. This is the first time he has seen such a terrifying Deha. This surpasses him. In his cognition, the only ones who can use such terrifying Deha energy are his family master and the Southern Kingdom, which he has never been to, but these elves... He knows that he is careless, and maybe he shouldn't To touch those beings.

The figure boasts an unusual quality that others do not possess, his ability to recognize his own mistakes and learn from them. This time it was the failure that taught him a painful lesson, and he was determined not to make the same mistake again, provided he could escape.

The dark coat continued to collapse under the burning energy, becoming tattered and entangled in his legs. The coat wrapped around his body and his eyes were exposed to the air, but the energy was still burning him, stinging his eyes and making his vision blurry. He staggered forward, the source of terror moving under his feet. He just wanted to get rid of this damn trouble. Shadows that did not belong to him were tumbling around him, like an invisible hand covering him. Like air waves rising from the ground and then being blown away by the winds of Altdorf.

The shadow tendrils became thicker at the figure's feet. He kept running. He didn't dare to look back, and he didn't need to look back. He knew very well what that shadow was. An indescribable uneasiness lingered in his heart. The claws of darkness kept reaching out to him. The shadow coiled around his feet full of wounds. The shadow reached out from his imagination. Come, he is awakened by his own stupidity.

Visions continued to swirl in the figure's mind, and he pictured the shadows as demons claiming his soul, and that in a few moments he would be on his way to Isil. The scenes in front of him were constantly changing. He actually saw trees, an oasis, and a wasteland in Altdorf. These scenes were constantly changing in front of his eyes like a mirage. He wanted to get rid of these illusions. He knew that he was being trapped. Disturbed, he staggered forward, his steps dragging under his feet. He tried to imagine the cool trickle flowing in his throat to extinguish the flames burning in his heart, but in exchange But it's pain.

The figure could feel the laughter in the shadows echoing in his ears, full of hysteria, full of mockery of his stupidity, laughing at his clumsy behavior, and laughing at his funny ugliness. He could feel his thoughts drifting in and out. Now, he tried to focus his attention. He continued to stumble forward, but the road ahead was getting further and further away from him.

"This is unreal!" the figure said hoarsely. He knew very well that the source of terror was playing tricks on him in his mind. He continued to walk, and the world tilted in front of his eyes. He heard the crows quacking, but he could see nothing, and he tried his best to understand what was going on.

"This is just the beginning." The figure said heartbreakingly. For him and his kind, conquering is a kind of nature. They were created to conquer, fight and rule. This kind of nature is even better than those of those who were conquered by them. Predatory humans are even more intense. Vlad taught him this, one of the few useful things his creator taught him.

Only the strongest can conquer, and only the cunningest and shrewdest can rule. When Vlad is obsessed with ancient books and dissolute lovers, and when Conrad loses himself due to imaginary enemies, the figure looks into the wider world and finds his goal in it. There are many things that he has not yet learned. He needs to learn the art of operating the wind of Shaxu, the method of controlling humans and those non-human beings. He needs to use his hidden figure to walk in the yellow sand of the South.

Instinct is constantly driving the figure, but he has been able to control his instinct very early. He is different from his so-called brothers. He has always been the most exquisite of his kind. He frowned. Compared to the pain of his body and soul being burned, the pain and foolery caused by this failure made him even more unbearable.

The figure reached into his pocket and took out a piece of rotten skin torn from the corpse. This was what he had found at Altdorf University a few days ago. He examined the symbols on the rotten skin and tried to focus his uncontrollable consciousness. He got up and tore it open. He knew that this piece of rotten skin came from the ancient Southland. It was said to be the place where Vlad was born. He knew that this piece of rotten skin might help him. He tried hard to think about how to activate the skin on it. Nehekhara symbols.

The rotten skin changed. The Nehekhara symbol on the rotten skin lit up, and then the edges of the rotten skin burned. The figure hissed in frustration. He squeezed the rotten skin hard, letting the rotten skin melt under him. The palm of his hand was twisted and broken, and the flames on the rotten skin were burning his palm.

"What are we going to do?" the figure roared. He felt like he was going crazy. If he had read the necromancy grimoire in Vlad's hand, if he had read Nagash's nine volumes, he might be able to find the answer. A restrained approach. But he sadly discovered that he had nothing, and he roared in frustration. He felt that his soul was being torn apart and his spirit was being broken.

The figure heard the crow, but he could not see anything. He could feel that the crow had a magical power, a power he had never been exposed to before. He raised his head and wanted to understand what was going on. , the scene in front of him was constantly torn and changed, he felt like it was dawn? Blood slid down from the sun, dyeing the surrounding area with a touch of scarlet. Darkness covered the shadows, and the disappearing double moons appeared on the horizon again, making the air around him cold. He looked at the pebbles under his feet, stumbling, his steps splashing a pool of water, and he knelt down. He stretched out his hand to scoop up water and put it into his mouth.

The water did not relieve the figure's hunger, and the burning flames could not calm his soul. The flames were devouring him, but he was powerless. The water in his hand disappeared, and he felt the scene in front of him change again. He seemed to have arrived at the oasis in the South from Altdorf in an instant. A black and colorful crow landed on the branch of the oasis. When the crow looked at him, he also raised his head to look at the crow. At first, he thought this clear Dolph was preparing to taste his corpse, but after looking at it for a moment, he realized that the truth did not seem to be what he thought. He saw wisdom in the ever-changing pupils of the crow.

"I will not die here!" The figure said seriously to the crow. He challenged the crow, challenged the fire in his heart, challenged his hunger, challenged his pain, and challenged everything he wanted in his heart.

However, the figure's actions did not impress the crow. Instead, the crow made a piercing quacking cry. Then the crow swooped down from the branch, pecked his eyes with its sharp beak, and slapped his face with its black wings. But it seemed to him that the crow's action was in vain, and like lightning his hand reached out and caught the crow, his hand clasped around its throat.

But what surprised the figure was that the crow did not put up a desperate resistance in his hands, but looked at him like a fool. He felt that he was like an idiot in the crow's sight, and his anger made him crush the crow's hand. Throat, he savagely twisted the crow's head to one side. He raised the crow's body to his mouth and greedily sucked the crow's flesh and blood.

"It tastes good." A feeling that he had never felt before appeared in the figure's mind, and he murmured in a low voice. This feeling was exactly what his body longed for, but this feeling was not the blood that drove his body, but A power that he couldn't explain. He savored the viscosity that flowed down his throat, the taste coalescing in his shattered consciousness and bringing back memories of similar tastes he had tasted before. He tore the crow hard and spit out the feathers stuck in his mouth. He felt satisfied and the pain caused by the ring's burning disappeared.

The figure tried to stand up, but he still had no strength. The world kept blurring in front of his eyes, and his consciousness drifted away from his mind. When he woke up again, the crow in his hand disappeared, but the blood was still there, the blood had dried into rust, it was blood. Maybe it wasn't a dream. He did kill the crow. He broke the crow's head, sucked the crow's wound greedily, and drank the crow's blood. He enjoyed the taste of the blood.

The moment the figure raised his head, the blood not only did not calm his pain, but intensified it. The pain constantly reminded his body of what it was longing for, as if the moment just now was just an illusion. In his peripheral vision, at the intersection of heaven and earth, a group of black spots approached him. He watched the crows gather into shape. Hundreds of crows seemed abrupt in this environment. He did not move, and he could not move. He could not even move now. I no longer have the strength to lift my head.

"How miraculous fate is." Countless crows landed next to the figure, surrounding him, and surrounding his body into a bloated black ball. He could feel the power contained in the crow, and for a moment, he seemed to understand. He shook his head and sighed.

"I won't end here!" The figure promised to the crow who was looking at him. He watched the crow scream hoarsely. He seemed to feel that the crow seemed to understand his words. He smiled and opened the crow's throat with his fingertips. He raised the crow to his mouth and sucked it greedily. Then he threw the crow's body aside and picked up another one that didn't resist.

The figure is now certain that the blood he drank is not blood, but a kind of power, but it is still blood that can rejuvenate and give him strength. He tore apart one crow after another, sucking greedily, blood dripping down his chin and onto his clothes. He raised his head and let out a primal sound, an animalistic growl, and the crows were not frightened by his fear, and more crows swarmed towards him.

The figure is like enjoying a buffet, feasting happily, squeezing the crow's blood, and eating unscrupulously. He bit the crow's body, tore open the crow's belly, and sucked it hungrily. After a long time, he stopped eating.

The remaining crows were spinning and circling in the sky, as if forming a hysterical chorus full of changes.

"Manfred!" The figure listened. He felt that it seemed like a threat, a promise, and a truth. A voice kept appearing in his mind.

"Manfred!" The crow's words continued to echo in Manfred's mind.

It was as if at this moment, all the crows in the old world were calling his name, yes, his name was Manfred, Manfred von Carstein. The crows not only dispelled his pain, but also brought him salvation. He would not die here, he would not die in the alley of Altdorf. He stood up and wrapped the flame-extinguished coat tightly.

"Please allow me to introduce myself...my name is Manfred von Carstein!" The chorus of crows kept ringing, and Manfred sneered. The crow's blood cheered him up again, and he moved forward. Taking a step, it was time to leave Altdorf and think about it for the long term. He smiled and said with a grin showing the fangs in his mouth.

The condition is not good. Guests are coming tonight. Please prepare less.

Kill him or let him go? _(:з　∠)_