WITCH KINGDOM

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me, crossed swords, someone's unfamiliar silhouettes flicker. Through the pain in my eyes and in my whole body, with difficulty raising my head, I noticed that a group of militant women mixed up in this medieval swarm: some in

advantage is clearly not on the sid

kinship that originated in the brain, at some subconscious level, triggers the internal mechanism of any owner. "P

ntage of the confusion, jumps behind Sigrid, want

rough my nose and mouth. With my hand, I try to find at least something more or less weighty to launch into that treacherous bitch, already ready for her final blow. Unfortunately, no

eating woman behind him, Sigrid in a hurry, backhand delivers a quick blow, wanting to cut off the head of the insidious bitch with one movement. Alas, the short one-and-a-half only casually touched the hand of

of greatness on the face of my Sigrid, who, having thrown "not finished off", with fury drives her first opponen

The body is dumb. And there was definitely a pile of horses under me. No sterility, judging by the landscapes and outfits, in the Middle Ages.

le's not suffering and no blood. Thoughts about the latter force the cold that has ro

?! - A rough female voice came w

tracted by me - a wounded brother, the robbers, taking the

- the sister made a mistake. She shouldn't have run to

a broken eyebrow and lip, a hematoma on the forehead, from which, soon, there will definitely be a bump. Poor fellow. How much pain did she end

an inappropriate, as it seemed, tear. "I understand, Sigrid... I'm sorry... But you're crying about some

est, the narrow-minded youngest literall

my mouth, and ... My chest burned inside my lungs, and then a flame blazed in my stomach. Twisting bones, tightening damage

ell into my hands. My new world is full of violence and blood. And this means that I can, without restraint, improve the skills acquired in the past. I can become a real perfect

sing me to her chest, “Please don’t cry, my little hero. They won't touch

a few days will pass, and they

boy - the past owner of this vessel. Indeed, in fact, it was precisely such that I never touched and even tried to protect. A victim of cruel routine and harsh reality - that's how he was. The boy did not stand out in life, and, as a rule, was the object of universal ridicule and censure. But, despite this, he found the strength in himself, in the last seconds of his wort

became food for wolves. The memories I received were too crumpled. I am sure that gradually it will be possible

med to me that it was about to jump out of the joints. That Glaud had never spoken to her like that. And this oversight of mine had too strong an effect. A sudden change in behavior was useless. Who kn

in her arms like a weightless princess. The feeling, let's say, is nasty when a girl holds you in her a