Habaron did not disappoint him, displaying an astonishing talent—the talent to die.
Habaron died four hundred times just testing the front gate, and in more than three hundred different ways.
Pierced, electrocuted, swept by unknown magic and turned into steam, teleported hundreds of meters into the air...
After thinking it over, Ning Feng finally decided to take charge himself.
Because the efficiency is just too low...
Habaron has only crossed three blocks so far, and according to his estimation, there are hundreds or even thousands more blocks like this.
He really didn't want to read Habaron's thirteen-line poem to him anymore.
This guy doesn't know many characters. The only thirteen-line poem he can write is one he heard from someone else, but he can never recite it completely and has to improvise to make up the thirteen lines...
That's enough.
"I'll go by myself..."
Although Turs and the others had been preventing Ning Feng, the "Prophet," from taking any risks since last year, no one could stop him if he insisted on acting.
"My lord? Do you have any mission for your loyal Habaron?"
"...No, that's all. You've worked hard."
Habaron looked at the prophet who had been stunned for a moment before smiling and shaking his head, wondering why he had been summoned but not given any tasks.
"Once again, the lord is personally acting as a scout, but why didn't he take me with him?"
"The Prophet must have his own reasons!"
Praise the prophet!
With that in mind, Habaron took out crumpled papers from his bag and began to create.
Write a thirteen-line poem!
Turning back, Ning Feng looked at the figure squatting on the ground writing excitedly, and finally just sighed before turning away.
"Seriously, stop writing."
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