The Astarte of the B

Lane sighed inwardly, barely perceptibly. He could only comfort himself mentally: come on, a magical medieval era is still the Middle Ages.,Lane's originally relaxed expression tightened abruptly, returning to the cold indifference of ice. His body, along with the aged steed, froze solid.,The boy's cat eyes glanced at the dumbfounded farmer, while his left hand subtly made a gesture.。