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He had met these two paladins in a gravel wasteland on the edge of the Noisy Desert - and they were dressed in shiny armor and riding tall horses ready to traverse the Noisy Desert!

So, for the sake of their seemingly good strength, Frestiy yì walked with him.

There are never too many good warriors to travel through the hustle and bustle of the desert, even if they are fledgling rookie paladins, and their prowess was fully demonstrated a few days ago in a battle with a group of desert lizardmen - literally double the number of mercenaries, and it doesn't cost anything.

"I sensed greed, indifference, and calculation in these people. ”

Milia took off her helmet, revealing a manly face.

"Why travel with these people, we're not mercenaries!" she was slightly dissatisfied, "They don't need our help, and they're arms dealers—"

"But we need their help. ”

Jossen tightened the curtain of the small tent and looked around to see if there was any looseness. Even when he sat cross-legged, he was almost up to the top of the canopy, and the flying sand had begun to crack on it.

"Without these caravans that walk in the hustle and bustle of the desert all year round, we would not be able to move forward on our own. Qiao Sen stroked the tent with his hand and felt the feeling of the sand hitting it: "The trade route of the noisy desert is something that the Northland Chamber of Commerce has spent countless years of effort and sacrifice to explore...... If we want to cross the desert to the south, we must follow them, and only then can we fulfill the Order's mission......"

Suddenly, Milia raised her head vigilantly, and her hand rested on the two-handed sword beside her.

"What's wrong?" Jossen asked vigilantly when he saw Miria's expression.

Milia listened carefully for a moment,

"I don't know......" She stroked the cold blade of the sword, and as her fingers moved, a white light flowed on the big sword, and it was hard to imagine that she could swing this thing with her slender arm: "I suddenly felt the evil aura just now......"

"Huh?" Josson lifted the tent a small slit and looked out, and under the sandstorm cloud, it was gray outside, and it was almost impossible to see the other tents.

"I don't feel any evil creatures nearby...... "Jossen said suspiciously, "Do you want me to go out and have a look?"

"No, no, maybe I'm too nervous. Milia closed her eyes: "I beg your pardon, I still can't get used to the desert and this caravan ......"

Jossen sighed.

Milia, you are a natural knight of the gods...... Leading us to justice in the light of God is what you should do...... Maybe it's a bit wronged to be entangled with these worldly people.

Pure evil often has nothing to do with feelings.

Forty-seven landed in a circle, almost losing his way again.

Forty-seven, though, seemed to remember where the camp in the wind and sand was. Every step he took was laborious, for the sand on the ground also flowed and changed under the influence of the wind, sinking his whole foot into it from time to time - fortunately he did not get tired from it.

Stepping onto a high sand dune, Forty-Seven was relieved to see the makeshift camp in the distance in the leeward quarter.

The sandstorm clouds finally showed signs of dissipating, and against the setting of the twin suns, which had already set in the west, they could even create a magnificent sunset - the smaller one of the twin suns was almost invisible, and the larger ones were still raging on the horizon with the last of their heat, and forty-seven knew from the observations of these days that the sunset in the desert was particularly long, and the little sun would rise again, giving the desert one last bit of light and heat, and then there would be a short but extremely cold night.

The entire camp was almost covered with a layer of fine sand - but it was still roughly recognizable.

A dozen wagons were parked in the middle, surrounded by a circle of tents, and something larger than the wagons crawled between them—Forty-Seven adjusted his visual patterns, as if to refresh the picture, and some reddish outlines appeared in the gray field of black and white, and the big things that were crawling looked like some kind of creature, for they were a large patch of mottled red compared to the red figures in the tents. There are also a few people crawling around the perimeter of the camp, and it seems that they are in charge of guarding, and if they hadn't taken a look at the new features, I'm afraid they might have been missed.

Forty-seven tightened his cloak and climbed over the dunes towards the nearest sentry.

He took a moment to remind himself that this was not a bloody battlefield - so he shouldn't have fired first and asked questions later.

But others don't seem to think so.

An arrow sank into the sand forty-seven feet in front of it, and its tail feathers trembled slightly.

In the sand on the distant slope stood a cloaked warrior, snapping a second feathered arrow to the string.

To be able to shoot an arrow so accurately from such a distance in a wind mixed with grains of sand - only a very good archer can do it, but this is not appreciated by Forty-Seven. With one foot, he broke the exposed half of the arrow and walked forward.

"Stop!" shouted the archer, with his bow full.

According to his eyes, the tall man was nine feet, maybe even taller—and he was alone, what kind of fellow could travel alone in the hustle and bustle of the desert?

More of the sentries shook off the sand and stood up, and they gathered together in a semicircle, keeping watch around to see if the guy had any accomplices, and blowing their whistles to inform the people in the camp.

Another arrow flew over Forty-Seven's head, and the archers warned again.

As if the sandstorm was about to show its last remnants, a gust of wind whirled in his face. Wrapped in dense grains of sand, even wearing goggles inlaid with hedrons, the sentries were blinded - after the wind and sand, the archer looked up, but was shocked to find that the other party was already standing in front of him, within reach, and the canvas wrapped around his body as a cloak had just subsided from drumming, and at that moment, the archer's keen eyes saw that the other party seemed to be wearing a black armor, as if it were growing on his body......

The archer tried to distance himself and draw his short sword at his waist to ward off the enemy, but the other man's hand was already holding his neck—the hand felt so hot that it was as hot as air flowing through his throat and turning into hot sand, filling the lobes of his lungs and chest.

"Rain City...... Where? Argus ...... Where?"

He hadn't spoken in lingua franca for a long time, and Forty-Seven's tone was already a little sluggish and weird, if his ever-sonorous voice was normal.

"Let him go!" With a shout of rebuke, several arrows simultaneously sank into Forty-Seven's cloak, and it was clear that the sentinels believed that force was easier to obey than words-

But this move only made Forty-Seven more impatient. He was not very sociable, and the days in the abyss had made him almost completely forget how to deal peacefully with others.

Forty-Seven threw away the archer in his hand and let him fly far away, leaving a long trail on the sand like a gourd.

The sentinels fired another volley, using not ordinary feathered arrows, but magic arrows with armor-piercing, penetration, fire, and cold effects, and although they hadn't been able to break through the defensive armor on Forty-Seven's body, it was enough to make him take a little damage and feel uncomfortable.

"There was no one...... Answer the question?"

A heat wave mixed with blood and ** accompanied the leaping figure of Forty-Seven emerged, and even blew away a large amount of sand and gravel in his path, causing a small storm. A mercenary who was caught in front of Forty-Seven and was directly swept into this shocking aura of despair and terror threw down his bow and arrow, and his pale face staggered back a few steps before he sat down, completely losing the strength to resist, and the other contaminated people also felt as if they had touched the most filthy thing, and chased and wrapped around them as if they were alive, it seemed to be a pool of boiling flesh, and countless creatures in it were constantly fighting- Fear and consternation poured out from the deepest part of my heart, like an instinctive desire to vomit after being punched in the abdomen, and only the most tenacious willpower could face this strange viciousness......

Forty-seven stood in front of the mercenary who could no longer control himself, the air around him was slightly distorted with a faint death-like black and red, and he burst out angrily: "I'll ask one last time...... Rain City ...... Argus...... Where?"

Apparently the mercenary, whose face was distorted by the great terror and pain, could not give him an answer—but Forty-Seven did not notice this. He drew his two-handed sword and raised it above his head: "Don't answer...... Then die!".