The wound disappeared, but the pain did not go away immediately. The shocked emotion gradually faded, and the panic engraved in the instinct of the creature surged up, filling the muscles with stiffness and astringency. Oliver knew very well in his heart that after just paying a huge sum of money, this group of people—perhaps the “gatekeepers” in McCain’s mouth—would only use him to kill the chickens and show the monkeys, and would not kill him so easily.
But brushing past death is never a pleasant experience.
The coldness and pain left by the steel needle still throbbed in his internal organs. The constant loss of power makes breathing a tiring task. Oliver took a small sip of air, and the fingertips wrapped in the gauntlet poked into the soil under his feet. It took four or five minutes before he successfully stood up.
He has to look for other opportunities. Oliver mused, taking the negative part of the mind decisively out of the way. Right now, he can only find a way out by himself, and can't let himself be eroded by loss and setbacks. After all, the chance of escaping was already slim, and he would not be concerned about his mood, so he honestly waited for him to be ready.
It's not that he couldn't understand McCa's idea. Oliver raised his head and looked forward with difficulty, but unfortunately the team had already moved forward for a long time, and he could not find the figure of Mika.
They are a "highly priced" dangerous person, and they don't even have any friends. He is not qualified to ask the other party to trust a stranger wholeheartedly. He was just trying to hold on to hope, not wanting to leave the desperate person in front of him alone because of this suspicion.
This time, however, fate was not on his side, and he undoubtedly failed. This was the risk he had to take, and Oliver was well past his idealistic age, of course he understood it.
He understands perfectly, but…
Oliver tried to swallow, and a dry pain rolled through his throat, mixed with an emotion called sadness. He thought he could accept this result relatively calmly, but the grief still gripped his heart.
Leaning on the sword of rest, he struggled to stand up.
The procession moved forward in silence, at the end of what seemed to be two huge carriages. But Oliver didn't smell the familiar livestock smell in the air—Marco didn't have that strange fishy smell. From this angle he couldn't see what was pulling the cart in front of him, but he was pretty sure it wasn't a horse. The sealed carriage was covered with a circle of magic, and only a narrow door was opened.
The prisoners were splitting into two groups and dutifully burrowing into the door openings in the carriages. Although there was only one guard, everything was in order.
Oliver decided to recover his strength first. He staggered along with the team, striving to step away from his feet that suddenly weighed more than a thousand pounds. It's a pity that he still couldn't adapt to this suddenly weak body. Oliver's left foot softened and he slammed into the person next to him, almost bruising his ankle.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, before raising his eyes after a few seconds.
He bumped into a man—a man who was a head taller than Oliver, with short, steel-grey hair standing upright, with a ferocious face, and his face covered with fine scars. The man was extremely sturdy, and the muscles on his arms bulged as hard as iron. He didn't carry any sharps, just an abnormally large metal shield on his back.
The man squinted and looked at Oliver for a moment, but said nothing. When Oliver thought he was about to be beaten, he simply nodded, looked away from Oliver, and looked at the carriage ahead again.
Oliver breathed a sigh of relief and continued to move his limp legs with difficulty.
He and the sturdy man were placed in the same compartment, and the next second Oliver guessed the reason. The people in this compartment are not civilians at first glance, and they obviously have some combat power. Almost all the people who just showed their joy are here. And the thin, numb prisoners didn't even see a shadow.
There were about a hundred people, and most of them stared at the people who came in, with subtle smiles on their faces.
Just as Oliver was about to approach the carriage, the sturdy man suddenly squeezed, pushing him directly into the corner of the carriage. The man blocked his sight unceremoniously and sat down in front of him, leaving him only a little space to move.
The purpose of that person's actions is very obvious, and it is definitely intentional.
Oliver curled his legs and frowned in discomfort, but said nothing. He didn't intend to cause disputes because of unnecessary things at such a time, every bit of strength was very precious, and it was a pity to use it for quarrels.
As the last person entered the compartment, the door of the compartment was forced shut, and then there was a soft sound of chains rubbing outside. The air in the car suddenly became cloudy for a few minutes, and within a few minutes, the floor under their buttocks began to bump slightly. No one said a word, only the heavy breathing of dangerous people in the air.
The sturdy man's eyes were slightly closed, as if he was resting, but Oliver always felt that a line of sight was stabbing at him.
"You..." Oliver sensed that this was not a good phenomenon, he shrank his legs back again, and spoke softly.
But before he could say a word, the man put his index finger to his lips and made a "shh" gesture indifferently.
Oliver swallowed the second half of the sentence and curled up cautiously. He didn't know when the eerie silence ended, so he closed his eyes and began to quietly test his new collar with strength.
Two hours later, he finally knew the reason for the silence.
The doors of the carriages opened again and people were driven off the carriages. Oliver moved his aching lower limbs and looked around. But there was nothing in front of him except the sparsely wooded woodland. It seemed to be just an ordinary forest—except for the slender black poles not far away, which stood silently, soaring into the clouds.
"I think you know what's going to happen," said the man with his face wrapped in white cloth, and the crowd burst into commotion. "Congratulations. You have been given a chance to say goodbye to death."
"Fight, I'll watch. You have to prove your worth, it's time to gain status and glory through strength." He brushed the dust off his clothes, as if his eyes could see through a white cloth. "Three hours, start now."
"By the way, remember not to cross the border—don't forget what's around your neck."
The man shook the whip in his hand. After the crisp sound of the whip breaking through the air, a rushing white arc ignited between the black poles instantly, enclosing the small woodland into an airtight cage.
No, he didn't know what to expect. Oliver stayed in place for a while, and several hostile and murderous sights had already been cast over. His body instinctively forced him to draw the sword, and the collar around his neck stopped the seemingly never-ending force-sucking, freeing him temporarily.
But he was still dazed, unable to squeeze out the slightest hostility.
At this moment, a hand slammed into the back collar of his armor, and then Oliver could only feel the gust of wind passing by his ears, and finally it was not a violent impact-he flew quite far, breaking through countless branches, and was embarrassed. fell to the ground in a bush.
The sturdy man followed. His steps were fast and steady, and his momentum was like a galloping chariot. And a few hundred meters behind him, people have already begun to fight excitedly - the smell of blood spreads from the air, stimulating everyone's sense of smell. Oliver raised his sword subconsciously, posing as a sub-block.
"You have no hostility to that mole, you want to save him." The man's tone was very certain, he stretched out a hand and his face was tense. "You still don't want to kill. Coincidentally, so do I—we can work together."
Oliver glanced at the rough big hand, did not put down the sword immediately, but just cast a questioning look back.
"I can tell." The man's voice was low and hoarse. "Randy." He pointed to himself.
"you are… "
"Killer." Randy replied nonchalantly. Under the fine scars on his face, the corners of the man's mouth drooped slightly, and his lips were pressed tightly, making him always look like he was in a bad mood. "I'll never mistake hostility and murder."
"..." Oliver's mouth twitched, and he decided to give himself a few more seconds to think.
"Also, a simple question." The man who claimed to be the killer was silent for a moment, then dropped the giant shield on the ground at will, and the heavy shield edge instantly smashed into the soft soil. "What's your relationship with Godwin Lopez? A piece of advice, you'd better hide this face sooner."
"Don't let them notice or you'll die ugly."
Willard territory.
The coordinates given by Vergil were very accurate, and Nemo saw the symbolic signboard of the Mercenary Guild within a few steps. The quest to find Ulysses' skull should still be there, and the thought came to him inexplicably in his chaotic mind.
How wonderful and ironic, he touched his head.
It's just that at the moment he has no interest in the guild and quests. Nemo simply glanced at the logo and began to look for the nearest teleportation transfer station - the transfer station will have a distinctive red spire, and it is not difficult to find.
Not long ago, almost all of the Tumbleweed members stepped into the branch. Ann said that she wanted to confirm the situation in Alban Prison, and by the way, she tried to get the news of the isolated island court through her contacts. And Adrian Cross didn't say anything and stepped directly into the branch. Jesse clings to him like a candy bar and follows him closely.
Now Nimobar doesn't need any more alone time, and he's more than happy to stay outside and watch over the goats.
How long has it been since the companions stepped into the building? An hour, or two? Nemo clenched the leash of the Fuller goat in his hand, and the grey parrot was shivering indiscriminately on his shoulder.
Nemo couldn't help but turn his head to look at Bagelmore. The grey parrot was now devoid of those gorgeous and dazzling magical decorations, and it shrank its head to avoid Nemo's sight.
This is probably the closest member of the team to him in essence, and Nemo gave a wry smile. Bagelmoru was probably aware of something.
He stretched out his fingers and poked the feathers on the parrot's chest lightly. It was warm to the touch, but the grey parrot shrank even tighter.
Nemo sighed softly.
He couldn't face his comrade directly for a while, and the guilt for concealing the truth snowballed and eventually turned into a cold guilt. Worry, confusion, and confusion came together in a heavy pile that nearly weighed him down. Nemo wanted a confession—at least once, to find an outlet for his impending doom.
"Baggarmoru," he whispered, turning his eyes away to gaze at the red spire of the transfer station.
"...I can give you your power back."
The grey parrot stopped trembling for a moment—its claws loosened and slid down from Nemo's shoulders, slamming hard against the stone brick.
,Wonderful!
(m.. = )