Mading'er Falls

The vast Great Wasteland never changed from its distinctive reds and yellows. After the Elemental Tide passed through the coldest region of the Ice Plains, it stripped away every precious Water Element; by the time it entered the Wasteland, it became a tide saturated with Fire Element.

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

The sky had gone completely dark. Without sunlight driving the Elemental Tide, the Fire Elements gradually quieted, bringing an extreme cold.

The alternation of day and night, heat and cold, made the Wasteland one of the hardest regions for living creatures to survive in. Yet precisely because it was so harsh, it became fertile ground for the slave trade.

Late at night, this Wasteland, which should have been silent, was filled with a pulsing thump-thump sound, carrying a scorching heat that did not belong to the night at all.

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

Flames stretched from the edge of the yellow sands far into the distant darkness, illuminating the Wasteland like countless lamps.

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

The heat brought by the rain of fire was now being calmed by the chill of darkness.

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

Yet at this moment, a distant procession was hurrying along. The dense clatter of hooves shook across the Wasteland like drumbeats. Looking closely, one could see the land before them hardening at a visible rate. The flames went 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. They were pure four-legged creatures, like white horses but without any fur, distinguished only by a single spiraling horn.

And the riders atop those strange mounts were no ordinary people. Their long, slender ears gave away their identities.

Unicorns!

Elves!

This was a pilgrimage procession.

Grass clung to the Unicorns' hooves. Clearly, they had not long left the Rhine Grassland and had formally entered the Wasteland, heading toward Despair Forest.

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

Flame Extraction! Mud Solidification! Freezing Spell!

Three intermediate spells were completed in an instant.

Only the Elves, that miraculous race of magic, could extinguish flames, melt the earth, and solidify it in a single breath.

The unbroken procession stretched from the flames all the way to the end of the darkness. This was clearly a pilgrimage group a thousand strong.

But this was not all of them. It was merely the advance legion of the pilgrimage procession; the true force numbered tens of thousands, perhaps even over a hundred thousand.

But without question, all of them were exceptional Mages.

Thump-thump!

The Hippogriffs in the sky beat their wings as the Elven archers on their backs began to emit long cries.

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

Long cries rang out one after another beneath the Wasteland night sky. The Elf Mages on the Unicorns drew their staffs, and enormous fireballs condensed in the air before blasting toward the town ahead.

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

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

At that moment, a hazy yellow glow surfaced across the walls.

A magic barrier.

An essential defense for any city-state, especially in the Wasteland. It could protect a town from the rain of fire.

But such a barrier lasted only a few seconds. A vast rain of fireballs smashed straight through its center and crashed into the walls like meteors.

In the blink of an eye, the sturdy walls crumbled like mountains collapsing and tiles breaking apart, while the flames directly melted the iron-forged gates.

The thunderous commotion alarmed the Centaurs who controlled Mading'er Town. They gathered in groups and shouted as they defended the town, but the rain-like barrage of magical arrows that followed instantly brought them to their senses.

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

The leader of the Elven advance force, a Fire Elf with bright red skin, appeared before Mading'er Town's melted gates 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, rolling onward like mighty rivers, would blast everything into fragments. Once they had passed, nothing but broken walls and shattered ruins would remain.

"Inspect the slave market. Kill everyone involved in Elven trade!"

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

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

They carried the scent of Elves upon them.

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

They loved peace, but they would not allow danger to erupt at their side. Strength was a necessary means of preserving peace.

They knew the rules of survival well, and knew even better the price placed upon them in the slave market. But they knew even more clearly how to confront the danger imposed upon them.

Relying on the unity of their race could effectively prevent their capture, while ruthless methods were enough to make those who coveted them hide in their cellars.

Burning with fire was undoubtedly the finest method. The agonized screams, the figures running through the streets like human torches—enough to make one's scalp explode with terror.

In half an hour, the slave market had been purged once. Large numbers of slave owners were sent to the interrogation platform. Even they themselves had no idea when they had come into contact with Elves before being buried alive in the flames.

There was no helping it. There was no reason here.

In an instant, over a hundred corpses appeared, but this was only the beginning.

The Elves led the native Centaurs through the streets, cleansing them one by one. They claimed it was all for safety, but their hands showed no mercy.

Bang!

The doors of the Windmill were kicked open. Twelve Centaurs crowded around three Fire Elves as they walked inside.

"Everyone, separate to the left and right. Split up and inspect. Owner, come out!"

The abrupt command brought disaster upon the Windmill's basement. Those soaking in the bathhouse and trading dirty jokes were dragged out bodily by the Centaurs.

On the first floor, several drunks who were dead drunk staggered over before the Elves and teased them as they always did. "This little lady has a fine figure."

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

The searing screams, along with the crackling and popping of bubbling grease, sobered everyone completely. Without waiting for the Centaurs' orders, they consciously lined themselves up in two rows.

Seeing the situation, the tavern owner hurried down from the second floor. He too was a Centaur, with a long beard, and he did not seem young.

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

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

But in consideration of the Elf Alliance, one of them still asked in a businesslike manner, "Do you have anyone here who has come into contact with Elves? Those who know what is good for them should come out obediently and save the Elven lords some trouble. If we catch them ourselves, they will end up like those just now."

Before he could finish, the Centaur owner hurriedly cupped his hands toward the crowd. "Everyone, if any of you have had dealings with Elves, come forward quickly. With the lords guaranteeing for you, it should be all right."

Though he said much, no one stepped forward. The Elves were not so patient. One shoved aside the Centaur captain and walked directly into the Mill.

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

In an instant, flames shot from their heads and raced across 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 such a thing.

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

The Mill was the lowest-grade lodging house, and most who sought amusement there were laborers. The Elves knew that as well, but they had no need to be reasonable.

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

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

The Centaur suddenly thought of that couple locked in their thick, sticky state. Everyone upstairs had come down just now, except for that pair on the top floor.

They had paid well and declared that 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 been lying and reward him with a fireball?

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

Just as he was about to speak, some drunkard's jealousy flared up. With a snicker, he said, "There is a little lady up there, soft-skinned and tender-fleshed. Why don't you two go take a look?"

The Centaur owner cursed the idiot inwardly, but he did not dare delay. He hurriedly smiled and said, "Look at this brain of mine. There is a pair of young Humans. They rented a room at noon, and I forgot about them in a moment of carelessness." As he spoke, he quickly turned around and ran, saying, "I'll go get them down right now."

The Elf watched the Centaur's panicked figure flee upstairs, and the fireball she had just gathered in her hand gradually went out.

Bang bang bang!

The knocking startled Li Ziran out of his focused surgical state. Annoyance rose in his heart; he had nearly cut open Nicole's small intestine.

Hadn't he already paid?

What was that Horse Dwarf even good for? He could not handle even such a trivial matter.

"Honored guest, pardon the disturbance. They are inspecting merchants outside who have had 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 see outside through the window. At that moment, two figures burned completely through were running down the street, trailing billowing black smoke. After several dozen steps, they fell stiffly to the ground.