Just being a dark elf in Warhammer - Chapter 848

c787 $638 Zhakan likes you (Mode protagonist)

The black-haired barbarian howled in pain, blood gushing from his nostrils. His face was hit hard by a leathery fist, and it was instantly bloody. The intense pain rolled in his body like a blazing flame, burning his will, and making him almost forget to hit the slave in front of him with the stick in his hand.

However, this brief hesitation was destined to be his last mistake, a mistake that could never be undone.

Habul’s eyes flashed with rage and murderous intent. He suddenly snatched the heavy chain from the slave trader’s numb fingers and threw it out quickly without any hesitation. The chain cut through the air, making a sharp whistle, and accurately cut the opponent’s face. From the brow bone to the cheek, a hideous wound instantly split open, and the dark blue blood flowed slowly like syrup, dripping on the stone street, staining a strange pattern.

“Kill…”

The thug roared hoarsely, his voice full of anger and despair. But before he finished speaking, Habul’s fist slammed into his face again. The blow was as heavy as a hammer, knocking him back and landing heavily on the rough stone slab, making a dull sound that made people’s teeth ache. His head tilted weakly to the side, breathing less and breathing more.

“Who will die first?”

Habul roared, his voice like thunder rolling out of the abyss. He turned his body, and the iron chain drew a sharp arc in his hand, making a crisp sound like a whip. His eyes swept fiercely over the thugs who gathered together and hesitated.

His figure was like a copper wall and iron wall, his muscles were knotted as hard as steel, and the bulging blue veins and scars were intertwined on his hideous skin. His body was covered with tiny bone protrusions, like natural armor, emitting a cold luster in the lead-gray sunlight. The stone slab under his feet trembled slightly with every step he took, as if the whole street was trembling in his anger.

The thugs couldn’t help but take a step back, their eyes full of fear. The Norse barbarian in front of them was like a mad beast, murderous and unstoppable. The iron chain moved as flexibly as a venomous snake, and it seemed that it would burst out a fatal attack again in the next second. The air was filled with fear and blood, suffocating.

The horns on both sides of Habul’s head were like the brand of the devil. His facial features were more hideous than those of wild beasts, and his nose was sharp and flared, like the beak of a bird of prey. His eyes were like burning embers, hidden deep under the shadow of the heavy brow bone, revealing a trembling murderous light. His teeth were sharp and pointed, squeezing his cheeks and lips, making his face more deformed and distorted. The iron shackles on his body, the shackles on his wrists, ankles and neck, had been completely twisted and broken, relying only on the strength of the neck and limbs muscles.

Not far away, a Kurgan wearing huge reptilian leather armor and a worn round helmet spat, and the dirty liquid mixed with mud and blood hit Habul’s feet.

The Kurgan cursed, swung the dirty axe, and rushed towards Habul.

Habul lowered his body slightly and easily avoided the chopping attack. Then, he suddenly exerted force, and the protruding bone spurs on his shoulders slammed into the chest of the thug. With a terrible collision sound, the Kurgan’s leather armor cracked, and his body was blown away by the huge force, hitting the iron prison car like a rag.

The curved railings of the prison car were covered with ugly spikes, and the rusty metal fangs were hung with the rotten remains of people who died in the wasteland. The spikes pierced the Kurgan’s chest and abdomen mercilessly, and his screams were suppressed between iron and blood, painful and short.

Without waiting for the enemy to slip, Habul took a step forward quickly. His rough palms grabbed the Kurgan’s face like a pair of pliers, twisted it hard, and slammed the Kurgan’s head onto the spikes. The spikes penetrated the skull, and the huge force even crushed the shriveled ribs that were originally hanging on the spikes. The Kurgan’s body began to tremble and twitch violently, like a beetle nailed on a needle, and finally drooped weakly.

In the bloody atmosphere, Habul coldly snatched the rusty axe from the dead thug. The moment he held the weapon, he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the steel, as if the axe was an extension of his hand, full of the pleasure of destruction. He let out a low beast-like roar, which was a roar of revenge and the joy of killing.

“Come on, now!” He grinned, revealing sharp teeth, with a twisted fanaticism. His eyes were as cold as ice, sweeping towards the other thugs who were still hesitating, roaring, his voice like thunder, shocking the whole place, “You also go to see the Axe God, and die with this poor creature!”

The streets were filled with noisy roars and harsh laughter. The huge walls of Gorond trapped this area in shadows, like an endless maze. The streets here are narrow and winding, like rat paths, with crisscrossing alleys and passages, forever shrouded in the darkness of the huge walls, with nowhere to escape.

The foundation of the street was paved with huge stone slabs, these ancient stones had long been eroded by time and nature. Their surface was full of potholes, as if telling of the violence and evil accumulated over countless centuries. With the arrival of the Chaos Wave, rusty iron stakes and bronze pillars rose abruptly from the cracks in the stone slabs, supporting tattered flags stained with blasphemous symbols of the northern tribes. These flags swayed slowly in the sickly breeze, while beneath them hung the rotting bodies of countless victims, emitting a sickening stench.

Ivory and copper flagpoles were topped with braziers, and the flickering lights in the braziers gave off an eerie orange-red glow. Smoke and a heavy, toxic smell filled the air, enveloping the city in an ominous atmosphere. The streets were stained with an unnatural sheen, as if this was the territory of death and blasphemy, not a place for the living.

Hundreds of huts made of leather and animal skins filled every inch of open space on both sides of the street. These structures were as messy as homeless people eager to find shelter. There were tent bags of the Huns, crude tents of the Kurgans, huts made of planks and animal bones by the Norscans, and even temporary shelters for beastmen and other more savage creatures. Everything seemed chaotic, but there was also a repressive order, as if the entire city was serving the will of chaos.

Above this chaotic hell, the Tower of Prophecy emitted a faint blue light, which was cold and deep, penetrating the poisonous fog and dyeing this dark land with a touch of evil brilliance. It was like a gloomy beacon, guiding the madmen of the northern tribes and warning anyone who dared to resist of the desperate fate. In the reflection of the tower light, the cruelty and darkness of Gorond seemed even deeper, as if the entire city itself had become the embodiment of chaos, a monument to blasphemy and death.

The crowd of onlookers was as diverse as the sheds close to the wall, forming a chaotic and vivid picture. The sallow-faced Huns were betting with each other in high spirits, whispering and competing secretly, as if they regarded this bloody contest as a gamble.

The Norscan predators, who exuded a strong smell of the sea and had just escaped a disaster under the dragon’s breath, roared and cheered for Habur, grinning and cheering for their violent spokesperson. However, their shouts were almost drowned out by the roar of the Kurgan people, and the black-haired Kurgan people fanatically supported the slave owner.

Harbul looked around at the group of mocking spectators in anger, and swore in his heart that when he killed these poor thugs, he would squeeze ransom from the bodies of every one who dared to laugh at him. His anger burned in his body, and every drop of flowing blood urged him to end this ridiculous farce quickly.

At this moment, he glanced at the crowd and was suddenly caught by the gaze of a cold onlooker. That gaze was like a burning flame, piercing his soul. It was a pair of strange and shining eyes like gems, deep and full of mysterious light, and these eyes were embedded in a pale face with twisted tattoos. This face became mean and withered because of being immersed in sin and secret methods, and was deeply engraved with traces of distortion and cunning.

A huge golden ring was pierced on the man’s hooked nose, and a small obsidian was hung, swaying gently with his breathing. The silver nail pierced through the brow bone, flashing between the pale skin and the black tattoo, forming a strange visual effect that made people dizzy and headache. Harbul’s eyes could not help but slide down, noticing the robe he was wearing. Every piece of fabric on the robe was made of feathers from various birds, colorful, as if the entire sky was condensed in it. A feather collar like a vulture’s neck was wrapped around his shoulders, and a belt made of human skin was tied around his waist. The face on the belt wailed silently when it was pulled.

Harbul felt a chill down his spine. He saw that the man, after noticing his gaze, showed a mouthful of blackened teeth and drooling fangs, and a chilling smile on his face. This smile was mixed with contempt and disdain, as well as a disgusting greed, like a person looking at the trophy he was about to take.

He glared back angrily, suppressed the uneasiness in his heart, and then turned to face another thug who dared to approach him.

Blood gushed out of the thug’s broken arm, and the red liquid splashed on the stone floor, reflecting a sticky luster. The bronze sword that was originally tightly held in his hand fell to the ground with a crisp thud. A mongrel hound swiftly rushed out from the crowd, took away the severed arm, and ran into the shadows with the trophy.

Habul’s hand was like a steel clamp, pinching the thug’s neck, his eyes full of coldness and cruelty. He twisted it suddenly, and a crisp bone cracking sound rang out. The thug’s head drooped weakly, and his body twitched, like a hunted beast. Then, he mercilessly threw the body at the other two thugs who tried to approach him. The heavy body smashed at the enemy like a boulder, with a silent laugh, knocking the thugs back.

“Kill him! I want this beast to die!” The slave owner wiped the blood from his face and roared, his voice hoarse and full of anger.

However, his order did not inspire his thugs.

The slave hunters, caught between the boiling anger of the slave owner and Habul’s violent killing intent, soon realized that the threat of the master was insignificant compared to the barbarian wielding a battle axe in front of them. The shadow of fear shrouded their faces, their steps were hesitant, their eyes flickered, and sweat slid down their arms holding their weapons tightly.

“Waste!”

The slave owner became even more angry when he saw this scene. He kicked the thug closest to him, and the thug lost his balance and staggered into Habul’s attack range. With a scream, Habul’s battle axe chopped the thug’s chest accurately like chopping wood, and blood splattered on the surrounding ground.

“Kill him! Otherwise I will send all of you to the auction table!” The slave owner roared like crazy, and the anger in his eyes almost burst out.

The threat finally cheered up the remaining thugs. Like a pack of wolves smelling blood, they cautiously surrounded Habur and launched tentative attacks on Habur’s left and right sides from time to time. The barbed spears swung in the air, flashing cold light, trying to overwhelm the Norscan barbarians in front of them with the advantage of numbers.

But Habur’s eyes were like those of a predatory beast, sharp and full of murderous intent. He was not deceived by the enemy’s feint. When a Kurgan warrior suddenly stabbed with a spear from the flank, he suddenly turned around and slashed the enemy on the other side with a sharp wind sound. The sound of the axe blade embedded in the collarbone was dull and terrifying, and the man’s body collapsed to the ground like a broken straw.

The slave owner watched his men being slaughtered one after another, and the anger in his eyes became more and more intense. His trouble was not the death of these thugs, but the cost of replacing them. He might be able to sell these bodies to the beastmen or some Hun tribes in the city to at least make up for some of the losses, but this thought only made him more anxious. It was not easy to find these experienced and skilled slave hunters, not to mention that the current situation would make him notorious, and novices would not dare to join him easily.

The damn Norscan barbarians are bankrupting him!

First, the slaves were strangled to death by Habul in the cage because they shared an extra portion of water.

Then his idiot brother-in-law, who was killed by Habul when he got too close to admire him.

Now, this dirty barbarian is sending his most experienced slave hunters to hell one by one, and each life means a terrible loss of money.

He can almost feel this huge loss pressing on him like a physical entity!

Damn Habul, and his monster ancestors who came out of hell!

The slave owner cursed in his heart, but his anger did not dispel the uneasiness deep in his chest. A chill climbed up his spine, and he stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing why he came here. Is it the will of this city that is attracting him, or some more powerful force? He subconsciously reached out to touch the Path Changer amulet hanging around his neck, and his fingertips stroked the cold runes. He tried to dispel the chaotic thoughts in his mind, but the doubts in his heart lingered.

“It’s a pity that you can’t capture him alive.”

Hearing the hoarse voice, the slave owner turned around abruptly, and when his eyes fell on the figure of the speaker, his movements froze. The speaker was wearing a robe woven from feathers, and what frightened him even more was that the speaker’s face was covered with intricate and strange tattoos, like some kind of living thing, wriggling in a mysterious way.

He suppressed his anger, and there was a faint awe in his eyes. He knew very well that such attire and tattoos belonged only to the servants of the Eagle God, those fanatics who were immersed in the strange magic of the Path Changer and full of mysterious power, were both fanatical and dangerous, and more like the embodiment of the Eagle God’s will than human beings.

When his eyes shifted to the bleached skull hanging around the waist of the fanatic, the chill came again. A strange light was burning deep in the eye sockets of the skull, and the flames were jumping between the bones. The falling sparks fell on the ground, making a slight crackling sound, and then quickly twisted and burned, leaving a charred mark.

“He’s just a mad dog, he will be slaughtered and sold for meat!” The slave owner sneered, trying to cover up the fear in his heart, and then he angrily hit back, his words were sharp, trying to use anger to dispel the fear of the fanatic.

The error-free version is reading! 6=9+Book_Bar first published this novel.

“It’s a pity, I thought he could be sold for a good price… especially after such a street performance.” The fanatic shook his head, with a sigh in his voice.

The slave owner’s face was twisted with anger, and he pointed in the direction of the battle.

At this time, a thug knelt on the ground, trembling all over, and desperately stuffed the slippery intestines back into his ruptured abdomen with both hands, while on the other side, the Norscan barbarian grabbed the neck of another thug with one hand and lifted him high, like a weightless trophy. The thug struggled, kicking his legs in the air, but he couldn’t make any sound until his bones made a horrifying sound of breaking under the huge force.

“It’s hard enough for my people to kill him, let alone catch him back. When this farce is over, I’ll be lucky if I can keep half of my people.” The slave owner growled with gritted teeth.

“I can make it easy… as long as the price is right.” The fanatic spoke, his voice low but full of strange rhythm. An uncomfortable smile appeared on his face, and his mouth was full of blackened teeth eroded by some corrupt magic.

“Why… why are you…” The slave owner stared at the feathered fanatic beside him with a new suspicious look.

“There are not so many whys.” The fanatic’s tone was contemptuous, his eyes half-squinted, as if he was mocking the slave owner’s stupidity, “As for how to do it, if I explain it to you, your brain will probably turn into a pot of porridge. Besides, we are not in a closed magic circle now, and even I don’t feel too safe.”

The slave owner turned back again and looked at the chaotic battle scene in the distance. He saw Habul thrust the axe deep into the sternum of a thug, with a horrible sound of bone cracking, and blood and flesh splattered like a fountain. Then, Habul pulled the axe out violently, with broken ribs and torn tissue, leaving a shocking pool of blood on the ground.

“Okay.”

He compromised, he sighed, reached out to his sturdy arm and began to break off a few slender silver armbands. The silver armbands were intricately decorated and valuable. He showed a trace of regret and handed the broken armbands to the fanatic.

The fanatic was stunned for a moment, and the smile on his face froze. His hand did not reach out to the armbands, but stopped in mid-air.

“You misunderstood.”

“What?” The slave owner looked at the fanatic in astonishment, completely confused about the situation.

The fanatic did not explain any more, but just reached his hand to his waist and patted the strange belt made of human skin. A mouth on the belt suddenly cracked and slowly spit out a few silver coins. The silver coins fell into his hand, making a wet snapping sound, as if they had just been taken out of a rotten abyss.

He handed the silver coins to the slave owner, and the wet silver coins glowed with a strange luster in the sun.

The slave owner’s eyes widened. He recovered from his previous shock. He did not ask any questions. He knew what the fanatic was doing. He did not hesitate or bargain. Now he just wanted to deal with the trouble in the distance immediately.

“Deal!”

He grabbed the wet silver coin in the fanatic’s hand. The slippery touch of the silver coin made his stomach churn, but he could not care about it.

The fanatic nodded with satisfaction and took off the skull hanging on his waist. He raised the dry head and looked directly at the eye sockets dripping with liquid.

The slave owner vaguely heard the fanatic muttering something in his mouth, and every syllable seemed to leave a stain in his ears. He knew that this was the holy language of the Chaos God. He was secretly glad that the fanatic did not reveal the secret of magic to him. Although he was also a believer of the Path Changer, he was just a slave trader.

Deha began to hover around the skull, pouring out of its mouth, and turned into a mist emitting light. On the other side of the street, a similar mist began to gather around the two-horned head of the Norscan barbarian.

Harbur roared, trying to dispel the evil magic with his battle axe. He glared at the fanatic through the crowd of enemies, roared in anger, broke through the siege of the thugs, and rushed straight to the fanatic.

Seeing the terrifying barbarian rushing over, the slave owner’s face turned pale, but the gloomy fanatic just continued to chant to the skull.

When Harbur almost pounced on the feathered fanatic, a loud bang echoed in the street like thunder. The mist surrounding him suddenly poured into his body, like water seeping into a sponge. He was only three steps away from the fanatic, but he didn’t throw the axe with his battle axe raised high. Instead, he let out a last roar, fainted, and fell at the fanatic’s feet.

“He’s not dead, otherwise I wouldn’t give you so many silver coins.” When the slave owner poked Habul’s body with his foot, the fanatic’s black teeth reappeared, and a smile accumulated on his face.

“I find it easier to sell him now.” The slave owner shrugged and sighed, but he was just sighing. The deal had been reached. Of course, more important than this, he didn’t dare to do anything to the fanatic.

“When he gets to where I want to send him, he will wish he was dead!” The fanatic said lightly to the slave owner, and squatted down. He looked at Habul carefully with a satisfied look. When he found that Habul opened his eyes, the smile on his face accumulated more and more.

“Zakan likes you.” (End of this chapter)