Mading'er Falls

The vast Great Wasteland never changed from its distinctive red and yellow. After the Elemental Tide passed through the coldest glacier regions, it completely stripped away the precious water elements. Once it entered the Wasteland, it became a tide brimming with fire elements.

As these fire elements continuously gathered, they formed a rain of fire that mercilessly carried away all surface moisture and vegetation.

Night had fallen completely. Without sunlight driving the Elemental Tide, the fire elements gradually quieted down, bringing about extreme cold.

The alternation of day and night, heat and cold, made the Wasteland one of the hardest places for living creatures to survive. Yet precisely because of those harsh conditions, it had become fertile ground for the slave trade.

Deep in the night, this Wasteland, which should have been silent, was filled with a thumping pulse, mixed with a searing heat that did not belong to the darkness.

The ground was covered in mottled traces, with sparks faintly dancing across it.

Flames stretched from the edge of the yellow sand all the way into the distant darkness, lighting the Wasteland bright as lanterns.

This was a catastrophic rain of fire, one that had likely fallen from noon until night.

The high temperatures brought by the fire rain were being quelled by the chill of darkness.

The unique environment woven from heat and cold briefly turned this place into a forbidden realm for living things.

Yet at this moment, a distant procession was traveling onward. Dense hoofbeats shook the Wasteland like drumbeats. Looking closely, one could see the ground ahead hardening at a visible rate. The flames were dying out, and the melted sand rapidly solidified into a compacted road.

A closer look revealed that the mounts in the procession were not crimson horses, but pure four-legged creatures. They resembled white horses, yet had no fur. Their only distinguishing feature was a spiraling horn.

Nor were the riders ordinary people. Their slender ears gave away their identities.

Unicorns!

Elves!

This was a pilgrimage procession.

Grass clung to the unicorns' hooves. Clearly, they had not been gone from the Rhine Grassland for long. They had officially entered the Wasteland and were headed for Despair Forest.

The violent rain of fire was extinguished almost instantly, and the earth hardened at once.

Flame Extraction! Mud Solidification! Freezing Spell!

Three intermediate spells formed in an instant.

Only the Elves, that miraculous magical race, could extinguish flames, melt earth, and solidify it all in a single moment.

The unending procession stretched from the flames into the farthest reaches of darkness. Clearly, this was a pilgrimage group a thousand strong.

But this was not the whole force. It was merely the vanguard of the pilgrimage. The true procession numbered in the tens of thousands, perhaps even over a hundred thousand.

Without question, every one of them was an exceptional Mage.

Thump, thump!

The Hippogriffs in the air beat their wings, and the Elven archers on their backs began to cry out in long whistles.

It was a signal. They had discovered an obstacle on the pilgrimage route: Mading'er Town.

One long whistle after another rang alternately through the Wasteland night. The Elven mages atop the unicorns drew their staffs, condensing enormous fireballs in the air before blasting them toward the town ahead.

There was no spell easier to cast here than a fireball.

The flames screamed as they crashed into the outer walls of the town. With a bang, they burst into countless sparks.

At that moment, a hazy yellow radiance surfaced across the wall.

A magic barrier.

An essential defense for any city-state, especially on the Wasteland. It ensured that the town would not suffer the ravages of fire rain.

But such a barrier lasted only seconds. A massive rain of fireballs blasted through its center and struck the walls like meteors.

In the blink of an eye, the sturdy walls crumbled like mountains collapsing and tiles shattering. The flames melted the steel-forged gates outright.

Such thunderous noise alarmed the Centaurs who controlled Mading'er Town. They gathered in groups, shouting as they defended the town, but the rain-like barrage of magical arrows that followed instantly sobered them up.

From appearing to surrendering, not even a quarter of an hour had passed.

The leader of the Elven vanguard, a Fire Elf with scarlet skin, appeared before the melted gates of Mading'er Town and accepted the Centaur tribe's letter of surrender.

The tide of Elves!

While everyone thought this was a lavish feast, little did they know it was an immense disaster for the Wasteland.

These Elves surged past like rolling rivers, blasting everything into fragments. After they passed, nothing would remain but broken walls and shattered ruins.

"Inspect the slave market. Kill every last one involved in trading Elves!"

The Fire Elf's unquestionable command made hearts tremble. Elven warriors rode their unicorns straight into Mading'er Town.

Within moments, more than a dozen slave traders died in the flames.

They carried the scent of Elves upon them.

That alone was enough to condemn them to death. No interrogation was needed, nor did they have time for one.

They loved peace, but they would never allow a crisis to erupt at their side. Strength was a necessary means of preserving peace.

They understood the rules of survival, and they understood even better the price placed on them in the slave market. But they also knew how to deal with danger placed upon their shoulders.

By relying on the unity of their people, they could effectively avoid being captured. Their brutal methods were enough to drive anyone harboring greedy designs into their cellars.

Burning by fire was undoubtedly the best method. The miserable, agonized screams, the figures running through the streets like human torches, were enough to make scalps explode with terror.

In half an hour, the slave market had been swept clean. A great number of slave traders were sent to the interrogation platform. Even they themselves did not know when they had come into contact with Elves before being buried alive in the flames.

There was no helping it. There was no reason to be found here.

Over a hundred corpses appeared in an instant, yet this was only the beginning.

The Elves led the native Centaurs in clearing the streets one by one. They proclaimed that everything was for safety, but showed absolutely no mercy when they acted.

Bang!

The gates of the Windmill were kicked open. Twelve Centaurs surrounded three Fire Elves as they entered.

"Everyone, stand to the sides. Split up and inspect the place. Bring out the owner!"

The command came so suddenly that those in the mill's basement were the first to suffer. Those soaking in the bathhouse, trading dirty jokes, were dragged out bodily by the Centaurs.

On the first floor, several drunks who were blind drunk staggered up to the Elves and flirted as they always did. "That little chick has quite the figure."

By rights, it was not much of an offense. Yet that one sentence earned them a blazing red fireball.

The piercing screams, accompanied by the crackling pop of bubbling fat, sobered everyone completely. Without needing orders from the Centaurs, they obediently formed two lines.

Seeing the situation, the tavern owner hurried down from the second floor. He too was a Centaur, with a long beard and clearly no small number of years behind him.

"Captain, honored guests, what are your orders?" the Centaur owner asked respectfully.

The accompanying Centaurs naturally knew the background of these mill owners. Nearly all the Windmills in Mading'er Town were run by elderly Centaurs.

But for the sake of the Elf Alliance, they still asked methodically, "Has anyone here come into contact with Elves? Those who know what is good for them should step forward obediently and save the Elven ladies the trouble. If you are caught, you will end up like those men just now."

Before he could finish, the Centaur owner hastily cupped his hands toward the crowd. "Everyone, if you have had contact with Elves, come out quickly. With the ladies guaranteeing for you, it should be all right."

Though he said much, no one stepped forward. The Elves did not have such good tempers. Pushing aside the Centaur captain, they walked directly into the Windmill.

She did not fix her gaze on anyone in particular. She simply walked from the entrance to the far end without acting. When she turned back again, a fireball suddenly flared at her fingertips. After flying out, it split into three, landing directly atop two Yakfolk and one Mighty Turtle.

In an instant, flames shot from their heads over their bodies. In the blink of an eye, amid screams, they became three charred sticks.

Selling Elves?

Everyone knew the three of them could not possibly have done that.

They were merely laborers from the slave market. How could they possess such ability? Unfortunately, their luck was not good enough. At some unknown time, they must have brushed shoulders with an Elf.

The Windmill was the lowest-class inn. Most who came here for entertainment were laborers. The Elves knew this as well, but they had no need to be reasonable.

After the inspection turned up no more creatures carrying the scent of Elves, they turned to leave.

When they reached the entrance, one suddenly glanced overhead. "What is upstairs?"

The Centaur suddenly remembered the pair of lovers entangled in thick, sticky passion. Everyone upstairs had come down, except for that pair on the top floor.

They had paid well and specifically said they were not to be disturbed for three days. He had not wanted to ruin their mood, so he had forgotten them.

But if he said there were people upstairs now, would these two Elves think he had lied and reward him with a fireball?

Why not conceal it? They were only two humans, after all. They might not necessarily have anything to do with Elves.

He had just opened his mouth when some drunk, seized by jealousy, chuckled. "There's a little lady up there, all soft skin and tender flesh. Why don't you two go take a look?"

The Centaur owner cursed the idiot inwardly, but he did not dare delay. He quickly smiled. "Look at this memory of mine. There is a young human couple. They rented a room at noon, and in my carelessness, I forgot about them." As he spoke, he turned and ran upstairs. "I'll go have them come down right away."

The Elves watched the Centaur's panicked figure rush upstairs, and the fireball that had just formed in her hand gradually went out.

Bang, bang, bang!

The knocking jolted Li Ziran out of his focused state of surgery. Irritation rose in him; he had nearly cut Nicole's small intestine.

Hadn't he already paid?

What was that Horse Dwarf good for if he could not handle such a small matter?

"Honored guest, pardon the disturbance. They are checking outside for merchants who have come into contact with Elves. Would it be convenient for you to come out and cooperate?"

An inspection?

What was going on?

Li Ziran stood up and happened to look out the window. At that moment, two figures burned completely through were running wildly along the street, trailing billowing black smoke. After several dozen steps, they fell stiffly to the ground.