The last elf fell. He stared at the sky, his body like a log.
In his vision, the beautiful human woman bent down.
The elf's wavy hair was hanging down, with a beautiful and strange fragrance on her body, and there was even a pair of peaks hanging like a bell… Then, he felt a chill in his throat.
Blood surged out, and his life quickly flowed away.
This was already the third group of elves who had been ambushed.
"Elves, don't call me despicable." Cleveland said in a low voice, "This is for the people who died on the Iron Fist Bane, as well as for the countless sacrifices of Goethe. Hateful invaders, may your souls have nowhere to rest."
He looked at the other party's eyes which were filled with regret. Those eyes revealed pain and nostalgia. Perhaps at the moment of death, living beings would truly understand what they were about to lose.
However, all of this had nothing to do with him.