Chapter 332 Do You Recognize Angel Dream?

Chapter 332 Angel's Dream·Do you know him?

"...Why is he here too..."

"...Hey, I'm here to give you the key..."

Conrad Curze led Sanguinius through the market. Frightened by the terrifying spirit of the Lord of the Night, no one dared to get close. People all lowered their heads and focused on packing up the water purifiers, earthenware jars, half-woven sun hats, and children who didn't help but make trouble, leaving a wide passage for Conrad Curze.

Sanguinius, wearing a heavy protective suit, explained to Conrad: "I know the prices in Baal and the business system here, but I haven't brought money for a long time...As soon as I arrived at the market, they wanted to give me everything on the stall! I can't put it in my room at all."

"You don't have to explain to me, son of Baal," Conrad Curze's voice was hoarser than Sanguinius remembered, and even colder than Hanchuan. "I won't pay taxes."

"Huh?" The angel was stunned. He didn't expect his brother to be still entangled in the tax issue.

"Besides, even if I pay taxes, the money should flow into the treasury behind your stone gate, not your private bag. Don't think of using my coins as your gold leaves."

"No, Conrad," the angel reached out and patted Conrad Curze on the shoulder, "Are you serious about playing a fur trader?"

Conrad Curze slowed down his pace, and his face showed deep doubts, "What are you talking about, son of Baal? Do you know me?"

Sanguinius reacted quickly. Whether Curze was really immersed in the drama performance or he really didn't remember him, Sanguinius made an appropriate response.

He shook his head inside the helmet, pinched the side of Curze's bright red cloak with his fingers, and felt the touch of the material. Before Curze pulled the corner of his clothes unhappily, he said briskly: "You can say that. You see, the source of your fur is not very legitimate. If I tell the Pureblood Conclave about their raw materials, you will have to pack up your belongings and leave us tomorrow."

Conrad Curze lowered his eyebrows and snorted unhappily, "Then you return my two coins to me first, great angel."

"Well, although I don't know what you and Morse did," the angel regretfully found that he couldn't touch his chin through the helmet, "but I am still the leader of Baal, and-no, I don't have wings, why am I still an angel?"

He sighed deeply, and his smile disappeared under the helmet.

"I don't know when you knew me and Morse, Sanguinius." Conrad Curze uttered these words lightly, seemingly unaware of Sanguinius' mood changes, or perhaps he didn't care. "We can't pay the taxes here in cash now, Morse suggested that you come to do an equal property justice for our... leather products."

"You really don't know me, Conrad?" There was a hidden fluctuation in Sanguinius' voice, and his joking attitude quietly weakened.

"Who doesn't know you?" Conrad sneered.

"Who am I?"

"No one doesn't know who you are, the Guardian of Baal."

Sanguinius lifted the muscles of his cheeks, and in the process, his lower lip was pressed by his upper teeth and felt a slight pain.

He stood in the scorching sun, looking around, feeling the stories carried by this land. Countless sand dunes make up the desert, and each sand hill is the most authentic witness of the years. Sweat slid down Sanguinius's forehead, leaving wet marks along his cheeks, and finally dissipated in the rough protective clothing.

The hot air was occasionally blown by a breeze, bringing a brief coolness from Konrad Curze. The wind passed through the tent cloth of the market, driving the hanging kettle to knock against the iron-clad wooden shell, making a crisp "clicking" sound.

Countless tiny grains of sand made a subtle and hoarse sound, like the whisper of the desert, which continued gently. They were suspended in the air for a short time, and then fell back to the ground quietly, interweaving with their footsteps, becoming the most real accompaniment to this world.

What kind of dream can be so vast and real? How much terrible data is needed, and how huge is the energy supply required for simulation?

Sanguinius suddenly wavered, as if he had returned to the room this morning in an instant, wandering among the huge furniture, seeing everything as a corner of the real world, and worrying about it.

He shuddered slightly, and although he couldn't help feeling happy, he didn't dare to imagine it deeply.

"Well," he said softly, "take me to assess whether your leather products are eligible for tax deduction, Conrad Curze."

"It seems that you really know me," Curze said cryptically, "Don't come any closer to me, angel. No matter how cool it is near me, don't get too close without permission."

"Aquila, I've already touched your wings..." Sanguinius shook his head sadly.

The vehicle parked by Conrad Curze in the middle of the market is very iconic. Not to mention its midnight-like deep blue background and the blue and white zigzag lightning pattern used for decoration, just the series of light pink leather materials hanging on the bracket outside it, no one else would do this.

There is no sign hanging on this vehicle used as a store. Next to the vehicle stands a mortal who is still brave enough to wrap himself in a black robe in the hot weather. His fingers are fiddling with a piece of black cloth scattered on his sleeves, as if calculating something.

Before Curze approached, the man turned his head quickly like a prophet, his eyes swept around Sanguinius, and turned back his black-haired head indifferently, continuing to look straight ahead, looking into the unknown distance. point.

"That's..." the angel lengthened his words to express the question.

"Morse, the fortune teller." Coze showed a clear mockery of Morse's title, "Anyone who looks into the future is either crazy or stupid, or both."

"Does he see my future?" Sanguinius asked.

Had Morse also seen the fragments of him dying alone, seeing his personal death as his final contribution to the war?

In fact, Sanguinius himself never specifically glimpsed the situation at that moment, and Konrad Curze's overly fancy language has no reference value at all.

"Ignore him." Coze knocked on the iron plate of the vehicle. "He said that all three of us would die badly. It's full of nonsense."

"Including himself?" Angel raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, actually it's me." Magnus opened the curtain of the vehicle, stuck his head out, and looked at Sanguinius curiously. "He said I would theoretically be unlucky too. Oh, by the way, you don't know me, right? I'm Magnus, and I'm in the same group as Morse and Curze... who came to Baal to sell furs together. "

No, where did Magnus come from?

"Hello, Magnus." Sanguinius had not yet gotten over the shock of suddenly seeing a pearl-red figure with copper-like hair appearing in front of him. He subconsciously used his friendly smile, Sincere greetings and random pleasantries, "Are you... a magician?"

"How can I be a magician?" Magnus shrank back, as if he was frightened by the word, "I don't look like me!"

"Then you are..."

Before Sanguinius could say "scholar," Curze's cool tone playfully revealed the truth.

"He's here to help us move things," Coates said. "A porter."

Sanguinius heard the gears in his head jam.

"Why?"

Curze nodded in Magnus's direction, "This guy is bigger and stronger than all of us, isn't he?"

He smiled suspiciously and stared at Magnus, who was telling Sanguinius about his life.

"For someone so big," he said sing-song, "it's a shame not to be able to carry heavy things."