The meadow opens

From the front The meadow opens. The grass pressed by the wind, moist soil, a land where the smell of the swamp has not yet gone away. "See you again." The dryer speaks low. Goblin got up in between the grass Troll Especially swamp trolls Shaking up the mud. "Whether to welcome it or not...” Naird picks his breath. Even before I was done with that The air splits coldly. Battle begins meadow-swamp mixed battlefield At Naid's fingertips Binggum is formed. the moment you swing it Moisture in the air condenses The ice blades stick out in succession. Ice pike. A column of ice rising from the ground Pierce through the goblin as it is. at the edge of the forest The tree is moving. a seed that glows in its shell a Bark rebender. The dryer immediately opens the streets. Let's fly the blade of the ice After splitting the skin, Before the explosion X-cross. The trajectory of the vision of the cross Cut the seeds in the chest accurately. Shards can't explode It falls to the ground. The ground is wriggling. The dry roots He crawls out, aiming for his ankle. Dryer steps on his feet. The ground gets harder The roots freeze. Rich root is It's going to break as it is It sinks into the soil. The scent spreads. The petals are opening up too much The tentacles shake slowly. Naird turns his head. "Don't look." Instead of He steps forward with his sword in his hand. Fast and short. I'm not swinging it Cut it off. The tentacle magnolia Even before the digestive juices were released It breaks down into petal. on the grass a figure that glides silently. Wolves covered in moss Approaches from both sides at the same time. Dryers don't turn around. X-cross again. The space intersects The trajectory of the moss wolves It gets tangled up with each other. There are no bite marks left. The approach itself fails. then The swamp is moving. The moment you fall down as the ground warms up like water He's trying to attract everyone. Trung Swamp Troll. The niad will go one beat faster It creates waves. The swamp is fixed with water There is a dryer running on it. an ice-cold blade. the legs of a troll be cut to the root Mushrooms open their eyes. just as the spores were about to spread Naird's sword flashes. The spore captor is without time to make eye contact It gets cut off. in the air It sounds like a pinwheel. The spinning wings Aim for proximity. The dryer does not carry a crossbow. X-cross, And the next one ice debris. Stop the rotation The flies break in the air. The ground is ringing. A four-legged root beast Rushing the ground. Terra Spiner He is trying to break through by rolling his body. Naird steps forward. Don't wield your sword too much. Short, in a row. The axis of rotation is cut off stone and root It loses its strength and collapses. The meadow becomes quiet again. Lie down on the grass The swamp is quiet Not yet in the air There is cold water vapor left. Naird picks his breath. “…Even if it's not the ocean It's still a mess." Dried nods. "But here It's a place we know better." And the two of you Beyond the meadow, Look at the next terrain. We're going to go deeper into the woods, Across the swamp, Or I don't know if someone is waiting first