The man who entered the tavern was tall and strikingly handsome, with a back ramrod straight and the bearing of a soldier. He looked to be in his thirties or forties, with faint wrinkles on his forehead and slight bags beneath his eyes. His gray-white hair, deathly pale face, and pair of dark gray pupils gave off an intensely unpleasant feeling.
It was the sort of discomfort that came from nowhere, an inexplicable sense of wrongness. The drinkers in the tavern all stopped at once. Not one of them dared take another step toward him, as if getting even slightly closer would put their lives in danger.
Smiling brilliantly, the white-haired man who had just entered gave everyone a mild bow. "I am Dragon, a poet traveling alone. Ah, unlucky me—I wanted to search the forest for traces of the legendary elves, but this blizzard nearly trapped me to death in the woods. Fortunately, I made it out. I hope I can find a place to stay for a while in this beautiful little town!"
Lin Qi watched this self-proclaimed traveling poet with great interest. Dragon? On the Western Continent, anyone who used the lone word "Dragon" as a name was obviously using a false name. Especially given this man's bearing and manner—if someone said he was a general of some nation, no one would doubt it. He simply had nothing whatsoever to do with a poet.
Moreover, he was steeped in an inhuman aura. Without even using the power of his divine soul, Lin Qi could tell that this man was an undead—and an undead of extremely high rank, possessing astonishing strength.
Kurkulun the Death Bones let out a harsh, snickering laugh. He slowly turned around and gave a leisurely nod. "Everyone knows that elves only appear on the