The winter wind picked up the already silent snowflakes on the ground, and slapped the fat chef Jason's face with cold temperature. The packhorse, carrying a heavy weight, had trembling legs and was moving forward with difficulty as if it were carrying a mountain on its back.
"A sneeze!"
"This nasty weather!" Jason tightened the cotton clothes on his fat body and murmured and cursed, "If it weren't for, I"
As a resting chef who can hold the stove, and as a fat man who is very afraid of the cold, Jason is absolutely unwilling to go out in such weather. However, in order to improve his cooking skills and make dishes that everyone would praise, this fat man would endure no matter how difficult and difficult it was.
Outside Nanhai Town, a white bear was captured at Ditra Farm. In the Hillsbrad Hills, where brown bears roam, a white bear is an absolute rarity. After hearing the news, the fat chef hurried to the Ditra Farm in a hurry, in order to prevent those clumsy butchers from destroying "his" perfect ingredients with their poor skills.
Although he hasn¡¯t seen the white bear yet, the moment he heard the news, the fat chef had already assigned the ownership of the white bear to himself. It's a very overbearing wishful thinking. For the fat chef, he is just getting back what belongs to him.
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After sneezing more than a dozen times in a row, the fat chef finally arrived at Ditra Farm.
However, what the fat man saw was not the snow-covered house, but the flames that were melting the snow and burning the house. The fire burned fiercely on the wooden houses. At this time, the hard wood of the houses became very resistant to burning fire fuel.
The guard sent by Nanhai Town fell on the road, and the rain falling from the sky could not cover the wounds on his body. The flat wounds showed that they were caused by sharp blade cuts, which could prove that it was not some wild beast that caused such a murder, but those extremely damned undead.
In this land, apart from them, there will never be any other statement that would treat other lives so cruelly. Only the undead, those who have risen from the dead and are full of resentment towards the declaration, would use such cruel and vicious methods to kill other living beings.
The reason why the fat chef can make such a guess is not because of how smart he is, but because of the iron rule he has concluded after the tragedies that happened in residential areas time and time again.
The ingredients in the fat chef¡¯s mind had flown out of the sky in the blink of an eye, and now his heart was filled with regret. I regret that I didn't stay in the hotel and wait for the ingredients to be delivered to my door. I regret that I rejected the two adventer guards who volunteered to save money.
Retreat, retreat quietly. The fat chef likes to cook very much, but he definitely doesn't like to serve himself as a dish to the table of the undead. Because those disgusting Forsaken people love to do nothing more than eat the fresh corpses of the living to heal the wounds they sustained in battle.
The fat chef used his riding skills that were qualified by bribing the instructor to turn around the sitting pack horse with great difficulty. His nostrils twitched slightly, a desperate expression appeared on his face, and he gave up his plan to escape on horseback.
A putrid smell unique to corpses floats in the air, and even the pure white snow covering the ground cannot cover up this smell. The faint four flavors are hard to detect, let alone tell the difference. But Fatty's decades of experience as a chef have trained his nostrils to be more sensitive to smells than that of a creature called a "hound." So he could easily tell that the sources of the four smells were moving slowly, distributed in the four directions of the body's front, back, left and right.
Under the snow, four Forsaken thieves were sneaking around and slowly surrounded the Fat Chef.
The crisis is coming
"Helphelp!" A cry for help in the language of the dead came from the burning house.
Although Fatty is a human being, he lives in this area adjacent to the undead and still has some understanding of the language of the undead. He also understood the words asking for help.
Burning pieces of wood flew around, and a figure rushed out from the burning house. Not just one, there were many behind him. It was an undead warrior wrapped in plate armor, and the shield in his hand glowed with the unique light of high-quality items. But at this moment, he was running away, and the undead warriors behind him were also running away.
The undead thieves who were preparing to surround and kill Fatty turned their attention to the direction in which the soldiers had fled. They were assured of Fatty's strength. Fatty had absolutely no ability to escape.
The same goes for fat people?Curious, what exactly makes these powerful undead warriors run away in fear. So his gaze also shifted in the same direction as those undead thieves, because he knew that he had absolutely no chance of escaping from the siege of the undead.
A figure rushed out on the flames, and even the burning fire made way for him. The ferocity and terror were already displayed before they even got close.
Looking at this figure that was getting clearer and clearer, Fatty thought of a person in his mind. A person who was once treated rudely by Fatty, but whom Fatty admired infinitely. Because he used the ashes of countless undead to achieve his reputation as the "Ashbringer".
The figure in front of me looks like him but is not him. Because this figure only made Fatty feel cold, colder than the snowflakes falling in the sky.
"Mr. Mograine?" The fat man was full of doubts, but he did not have the courage to ask this question to the cold figure in front of him.
The horse, as cold as its master, carried the master's body on its back and galloped behind the undead warrior in the blink of an eye. The strange-shaped two-handed sword was raised high in the pale palms, and the skull embedded on the sword was spitting out green flames.
"Is it him? Not him?" Fatty was still guessing in his heart. Because this strange-shaped sword is too similar to the legendary weapon, the legendary weapon that uses shining holy light to turn all undead souls into ashes, [Ashbringer]. The sword was swung by, and ice crystals flew, dissipating in the air with the wind. The undead warrior has disappeared.
Instant kill! The undead warrior, who was protected by a thick plate armor and even used a shield to block, was easily killed with one sword. Together with the equipment on his body, it was completely destroyed without leaving any traces.
"Is it really him? No!"
The same effect as Ashbringer, the souls who died under the sword will be wiped out. But this strange-shaped sword has no shining holy light, only an endless icy aura. Moreover, this weapon turns the undead into tiny ice crystals, rather than burning the undead into ashes like the Ashbringer.
"Undead, die!" His words were as cold as the breath on his body, and in an instant he had arrived behind another undead. ¡
Now I finally understand why these undead warriors shouted "help" and why they ran away. Unfortunately, the moment this cold figure appeared, the undead here had no chance to escape.
The four undead thieves have given up their plan to surround and kill Fatty, and have entered a state of stealth to try to escape. But it was still as easy and simple as chopping melons and vegetables, turned into ashes by this figure.
The cold figure arrived at Fatty's side, and all the undead souls had turned into tiny ice crystals that passed away in the wind. His eyes scanned the fat man's body, and the coldness in it made the fat man feel that his soul had been frozen.
"Traitor, die!" The sword that looked like the Ashbringer was raised again, but this time the target was the Fatty himself.
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