Roland naturally didn't believe it.
The black-robed people were good at using long-range weapons, and it wasn't long ago that Mijil was captured by the Assassins' Guild. It had only been a few days since, and then again another group of black-robed people came—anyone would have thought they were Assassins sent by the Assassin's Guild.
However, this black-robed man shouted in a pathetic tone, "We really aren't from the Assassins' Guild."
The sadness of his voice and the helplessness of his expression were moving.
Roland froze for a moment, extinguished the large blue fireball in his hand, and asked, "Then who are you?"
Upon seeing Roland, a slaughterer in their eyes, dispersing his terrifying magical fluctuations, the three black-robed men whose feet were frozen were all relieved. The one who spoke just now continued, "We are from the Guild of Rogues."
Heh, that's how it is.
