Overlord: Start from the Goblin Lair.

"Oh?" The smile on Louis Pold's face suddenly faded, turning into a strange half-smile. "It seems that I need to remind you that being unwilling to fight and being unable to fight are two completely different concepts. Blind arrogance may make you pay a heavy price."

"If you were really as strong as you claim, I wouldn't have the chance to say this," Ron watched him gradually get surrounded by his companions. Although working overtime late at night was annoying, it would be worth it if he could gain something. "You look like a mid- to high-level staff member, a corpse collector?"

"Ah, you know them?" Although he found himself surrounded, the funeral bishop did not seem to have a prisoner-like mentality. He looked at Ron calmly from a distance, "Although I don't know how you got this information, but they and I are not in the same system - or it should be said that the corpse collectors are not in our system."

"As for me, you may consider me a bishop."

"You are just a heretic, yet you dare to call yourself a bishop? Do you think being a lich gives you the confidence you need?" Victoria snorted coldly, "Just surrender, and then we can at least prepare a guillotine for you instead of a gallows or a stake."

"You should at least show some respect to the gods, a follower of Helm," Luibold's face darkened. He knew the god he believed in after seeing the emblem on the other person's body. "This is the most basic respect among the followers of the gods—"

"The premise is that you really believe in a god," the pale-faced vampire interrupted the funeral bishop's chatter impatiently, "If you don't want to stay by yourself, we will have to use force!"

"Mana nullification barrier!"

As a glass bead emitted a glimmering barrier, the magic around Sylvia seemed to be suppressed and solidified. This spell has its own upper limit. No matter how it is upgraded, it can only curb the casting of lower-level spells, but even so, it is still the best choice to fight against spellcasters.

The rest can just be handed over to your companions.

A terrifying war cry that was particularly hoarse due to hangover and sleepiness sounded behind Louis Pod. Compared with the indomitable momentum, what made the bishop feel suffocated was the tower shield that was crushing down like a landslide. In its shadow, several hidden auras were approaching rapidly, and their sharpness was definitely not for friendly exchanges.

"You are going too far!" Louis Pod's robe sleeves swelled up due to the surge of magic power, fluttering in the night wind. Immediately, phantoms of warriors appeared around the bishop and launched a bloodthirsty counterattack against the besiegers.

It seems that the previous sacrifice ritual was not as useless to him as he said. While keeping himself awake, he poured his bloodthirsty power into other places. In comparison, the impact on the drow was more like a low-level use.

Every pore of Sarona's body beside her was wide open with fear and shock. Zhuo Er raised his short sword and prepared to face the pressure coming from all directions. However, what surprised her was that the opponent seemed to completely ignore her existence, and rushed directly towards the funeral bishop with a blue-red glow. The tower shield and heavy armor with at least two or three sets of enchanted runes did not cast any power in this direction...

When Sarona felt that the pressure on her had been reduced to a level that was not worth mentioning, there was only a dark-skinned male elf left in front of her. He had the same red eyes as her, holding a scimitar, and looking at Sarona with a complicated expression.

"Change place?" The male drow looked into Sarona's eyes. If this was underground, in a city governed by her family, he would be whipped for this rude transgression, but this was the surface, and... "Seymour," Sarona pursed her lips, "Okay."

Seymour was naturally summoned by Ron urgently. Before arriving, he never thought that he would run into an "acquaintance" here again. After all, theoretically speaking, his targets should be the cultists of the so-called "Grey Ruins Dragon Society" rather than his former compatriots.

But now the main force here is obviously the drow. This extremely rare race on the surface obviously would not appear here by coincidence or misunderstanding. Therefore, everyone intentionally or unintentionally handed over Sarlonna to Seymour to deal with.

Carlos in black and Andre holding a short spear did not join the battle immediately, but just watched from the side. Their strength did not allow them to go all out after being suppressed by the magic-invalidating barrier. They would easily become a burden if they did so. However, they could provide some help if Seymour got into a tough fight.

However, the meeting between the two drow did not seem to lead to a fight immediately. After leaving the core battlefield for a distance, Sarona stopped and said, "Long time no see."

"How's life on the surface?"

Seymour also stopped. He looked up at the night sky through the tree canopy above his head. The moonlight was like water. "It's better than down there."

"This is night," the drow, who was called "bad omen" by his tribe and other underground races, shook his head. "What about another time? The evil sun will burn our eyes, and facing the rising sun will blind us."

What Sarona said was not false. The drow lived underground for various reasons, and even when they came to the surface, they mostly chose to come out at night. This kind of life made them more sensitive to sunlight, which led them to deliberately avoid places where the sunlight could reach. Over time, not only had they lost the ability to walk in the sun, but even their equipment, weapons and other magic props also showed similar characteristics.

In the darkness, they possess powerful and strange powers, allowing their holders to gain an advantage against surface races and even underground creatures, but if exposed to sunlight for a long time, even the clothes on their bodies will turn pale and rot, eventually turning to ash.

Sarlona knew this very well. The drow had a cultural tradition that had been passed down for thousands of years: all members of the tribe would go on a raid to the surface as a rite of passage when they approached adulthood. After the killing and revelry, the young dark elves would get a chance to face the rising sun, and if nothing unexpected happened, that would be their only chance.

The pain of having one's eyes burned or even the brain seemingly melted is a memory that accompanies most drow throughout their lives.

However, in response to the questions from her fellow tribesmen, Seymour only responded with silence and a shake of his head.

"It's all over," he said, repeating his previous answer, "It's better here than down there now." (End of this chapter)