Diamantre City, the capital of the Duke of Ogborn is not far from the coast. You can reach the civilian areas and commercial districts of the city by walking up the steps of the coastal dock. The level council that manages the city is located between the temple district and the high-level manor district, facing the direction of the Duke ’s castle.

The upper floors of Diamantri are bustling and crowded, with arched gables, tall minarets, bell towers of various churches and various platforms. The crowds are surging, and the main street here seems to be obscured by people coming and going.

Below the upper level of the city is the bottom community that is always bathed in torches and oil lamps, while those smoking torches and oil lamps mark the main streets, and the dense, narrow and curved streets that lead to the market.

However, in the city, there are still thousands of lanes so narrow that it is difficult for even two-wheeled carriages to get in and out. These lanes are always shaded in the shadows, unless occasionally a citizen with a torch walks by, or Shined by the light of the city patrol.

During the day, the upper floors of the city are under the sun, always bright and hot. The clothesline of each household in the civilian area is clustered together, and the clothes above are floating in the sea breeze blowing from the coast. And at night, the moon and stars lit up the entire night sky, and those clotheslines cast shadows of chaos.

Under the second inner wall of the coast, the market around Spice Avenue is as crazy as ever. The high temperature, which constantly exudes the sour taste of the sea, spreads all over the messy alleys, surrounded by the surrounding city walls, and is about to reach the apex of the day.

Those sweaty, tired and hot merchants are competing for customers, cursing and degrading their opponents. Every now and then there will be an outbreak of fighting. The shirtless businessman, like a vulgar mercenary in a tavern, finally speaks with his fists. It's a pity that the endless crowds on Spice Avenue will pull the two sides of the fight away before the grumpy city guards arrive.

On this night, the two figures were swaying in the alley and shuttled in the dark. Above the head, the sickle moon split the thin cloud, like a short machete in the deity's hand. The headed figure wore a long gray hood with a hood and a mask on his face, leaving only the slits in his eyes.

This backpack with sharkskin on its back contains various steel pliers, tweezers, iron shears, carving knives, double mirrors, prisms, various reagent bottles and so on.

The figure behind him also wore a grey robe. The torso and limbs under the robe were covered with tights all over the stain. The face was also covered with a mask. Even the position of the eyes was covered. The one hidden above the stain was carefully painted Alchemy circle on the hood.

This companion who can't even hear his breath is tied with criss-cross leather straps on his chest, with delicate runes and alchemy creations. It seemed to worry that something would come out of the body wrapped in clothing.

At the far end of the street, a few Northlanders crouched on the straw mats, and praised their excellent horse meat with their nasal voice, like a singing voice that fluctuated and faltered. The gray robe knew that it was just local donkey meat.

At another intersection, a group of herdsmen stood among the sheep of captive goats, and the screams were annihilated by the successive sheep. Others pushed the trolley with cheese and a pot of fermented milk.

Local fishermen carried wooden spears filled with smoked fish, and flocks of flies buzzed above their heads. The textile workers were sitting behind the brightly dyed cloths piled high at the waist; the peasants stood behind their carts full of instant fruits and sweet potatoes, and their children held the pillars in front of the cart handles tightly. Like a monkey.

The gray robe walked on the market street with ease and joy. His arm seemed to swing casually and somewhat artificially. However, such a movement has a deeper meaning. He needs to keep the flexible use of the fingers of his hands from time to time. As a talented alchemist, God is particularly fair to him-he does not have the dexterous fingers as those natural wizards, which makes him not accounted for when casting spells. Advantage.

But as an alchemist who longed for power, his perennial practice gave him what he wanted. It's just that on weekdays, let the coins dance among the fingers and get some food — fruits, desserts, most of them — it seems that he sharpens his casting skills just to satisfy the desire of the tongue.

In fact, all this is just because practice has become a subconscious habit.

As he walked, the chaotic dance of his arms made the apples fly out of the basket, the pastry jumped out of the tray, the cream-covered cherries popped out of the pan, everything moved so quickly, and pedestrians on the road I did not see it.

Several large or small pockets were sewn into the sleeve of his wide coat, and everything that flew into his hand disappeared into the sleeve, stuffed into a bag of the right size. He strode forward, and there was a sense of satisfaction in becoming a food connoisseur. This feeling came into being, and he climbed up to his somewhat delicate face.

ァ 新 ヤ ~ ⑧ ~ 1 ~ 中文 网 ωωω.χ ~ ⒏ ~ 1zщ.còм

Finally, after walking a long and roundabout route, the gray robe brought his companions to Wuyue Tavern. He stopped not far from the tavern, and the companion behind him followed his movements. He took a smooth sugar ball from his sleeve, leaned against the wall, and took a bite of the dessert in his hand.

The gray robe leaned against the old, mottled exterior wall of a building, threw sugar **** into it, and folded his arms to look at a chunky man half a street away. Standing on the steps in front of the Moonless Tavern, the man seemed to be verifying the identity of the drinkers entering the Tavern. However, the gray robe did not find any familiar jargon gestures indicating the spellcaster's identity.

The conversation between them is very simple, usually greeting each other. However, in any case, he still intends to enter the pub, which has the news and helpers he needs.

The gray robe stood straight and walked across the road with silent companions, approaching Wuyue Tavern. He walked to the front of the steps, and the people standing on the steps noticed him.

"Although many people here like to hide their heads and show their tails," the chunky man said with a smile. "But here only entertain regular customers, I hope you did not intend to go in."

The gray robe took off his mask and revealed his face. Taking a step back, he looked around the street, and the nearest pedestrians were outside the street, advancing on their own.

He raised his hands and showed a finger movement that was a miracle to the chunky man, allowing him to witness his own superb and skilled skills like elegant dance. Not for the man to show his skills, but for the hints behind the skill.

If the chunky man is not as stupid as a pig ~ lightnovelpub.net ~ The gray robe believes he will understand.

"Oh? If your tongue is as smart as your fingers, maybe I will let you in." The man said leaning on the railing. "Let's go to the alley over there with me. I will be gentle with you. Otherwise, it will be very bad, so there is nothing fun ..."

The gray robe's right hand quickly retracted and randomly extended again. This time he held a scepter inlaid with a piece of sixty-six pieces of water crystals in the right hand, and the jewelry was the size of a goose egg. Each crystal is engraved with exquisite magic circles and runes, and the junction is made of gold as a binder and decorated with broken diamonds.

The lower end of the scepter was as sharp and sharp as a bayonet sword. The sharp sword tip flashed past the block of the man's long dagger pulled from his waist and penetrated the man's right eye. The gray robe man exerted force again, causing the blade to sink into his brain.

The chunky man fell back suddenly, and fell with a "bang" on the steps. The gray robe walked in front of him, took out his cane, and gently flicked the blood and brain from the spiked part. Then rubbed the blood-stained part on the body with the cleanest clothes on the body.

However, the gray robe still feels very confused. Anyone who is familiar with the caster will show that he is a dangerous person after he shows his skills. He shook his head, and with a puzzled understanding of the dead man, he pulled in the half-open cloak and adjusted his belt.

He glanced at the street again, confirming that no one noticed the dim corner. He stepped up the steps, carefully avoided the part contaminated by blood, pushed the door open, and entered the pub.

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