Thankfully this battle has a time limit.
After more than ten minutes of fighting, Oliver's opponent finally gave up the fight due to efficiency considerations. He twisted his body in the middle of attacking Oliver and neatly cut off the skull of the prisoner next to him. The originally scattered death row prisoners seemed to have found carrion crows, and quickly gathered in the strong bloody atmosphere.
People fought in a ball, like beasts biting each other. Blood spurted out, and stumps flew. The black and red minced meat covered the ground that was continuously bombarded by the magic circle. Oliver suppressed the tumbling stomach acid, his face became almost as pale as the skeleton helmet, and the hand that clenched the hilt of the sword did not let go. He stood back and defended, struggling to pull himself out of that frenzied death vortex.
With Oliver's occasional attention, Randy's defenses were impeccable. That heavy shield is like a moving fortress wall, and few people are willing to waste more than five minutes to challenge it.
On the way to retreat, Oliver almost stepped on a mutilated body. And the owner of that body was falling on his back, full of horror and unwillingness, his eyes were full of bloodshot eyes, and there were lumps of powdered blood and vague mourning in his throat.
"God, I'm not going to die," the man yelled vaguely, "I'm not going to die in this shit..."
"Kill him, Ramon," Randy said softly. "He wouldn't have lived long."
Oliver shook his head slightly, and Randy sighed and said nothing.
As if a lifetime had passed, the announcement of the end finally sounded. The death row prisoners put away their weapons and gathered together again, almost all of them with sticky dark red blood on their faces. And the clean Oliver and Randy seemed out of place in the meantime.
The number fell by nearly two-thirds.
The man with the white cloth covering his face didn't say anything similar to "congratulations". As if he could see through the white cloth, he turned his face half a circle, as if he wanted to see the death row prisoners in front of him one by one. Perhaps it was his own delusion, Oliver held his breath—the man's face stayed in their direction for extra long.
Then he lost consciousness.
Oliver's last memory was of falling to the ground—not so much falling, as the earth slapped the side of his head. He focused too much on the masked man, unprepared for the sudden onset of pain and paralysis.
When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was the pain on the side of his face.
The sword of rest was tightly grasped in his hand. And underneath him was the familiar bump, and the hot and sour air lingered on the tip of his nose. Everything just now seemed like a nightmare. It's a pity that the mud on Oliver's chin is still mixed with minced meat and blood, and the uncomfortable wet touch bites his skin, always reminding him of the real reality.
He went back to the original carriage, and the crowded people were gone, leaving only one—or two—companion in the same carriage. Randy didn't squeeze Oliver into the corner this time, and the sturdy killer sat upright in the other corner, his shield firmly in his hand.
Oliver straightened the skeleton helmet on his head. Thankfully, the Binding Charm didn't fail.
"You... are you all right?" He struggled to pull out a smile.
And Randy's eyes swept across his face quickly, his eyes were complicated, and he didn't answer his question.
"Where did the others go?" Oliver swallowed nervously and added carefully.
"Mobile barracks," Randy replied slowly, "...It seems you really don't know anything."
Oliver was a little embarrassed. He laughed dryly and subconsciously wanted to scratch his head, but only scratched the hard bone helmet.
"They train death row prisoners there - when the training is honest, they are sent to death row corps and sold to various countries. I think you should have heard a little about death row inmates in various countries. They are 'finished products', living weapons." The killer sneered. Mouth, "The taste is terrible, but it is said that the evaluations in various countries are very good."
It didn't sound like a good place, and Oliver grabbed the edge of the cloak nervously with one hand. His temples were still throbbing with pain, like he had just woken up from a hangover. The collar on his neck began to suck his strength again, making his muscles sore and weak, and the Sword of Rest in his hand seemed to be several times heavier. But now he was even getting used to the feeling of stomach acid surging along with the pain.
"What about us?" Oliver asked more carefully.
"Blight Castle." Randy looked at him for a moment, with a hint of pity in his eyes—not mocking pity, but genuine pity. That look made Oliver's back grow furious. "…I think we're almost there."
"Is there anything I need to pay attention to?" Oliver continued to ask bravely with that gaze. Randy seemed reluctant to talk to him, contrary to his previous normal. Oliver felt he had done nothing wrong, which was not a good sign.
"No." Randy sighed. "Ramon, I know you're nervous... useless."
Oliver blinked, trying to fill his eyes with polite inquiry.
"I've always seen people very accurately." This time Randy didn't respond to his gaze, instead staring intently at a blood stain on the shield. "You're not from 'our side'. To be honest, I don't want to have any more interaction with you - otherwise, when you disappear completely, our mood will be worse."
"Disappeared completely?" Oliver clenched the hilt of the sword, feeling a little cold on his back.
"Do you know where upright people suffer?" Randy pulled the shield, and the edge of the metal shield scratched across the floor of the car, making a harsh squeak. "Your thoughts are too good to guess. There are only a few. You have to know that the harder things are, the more thoroughly they will shatter." He muttered, his tone a little cold.
"I can probably guess what you're thinking. You're thinking that no matter where the wither castle is, you can always find one or two less bad people to inquire about, and then work together - after all, you're not bad, you can definitely make a mess Catch a loophole and get lucky and escape from there."
"You believe that no matter how bad people are, there will always be residual goodwill in their hearts. You believe that you can arouse their will and hope for survival. You believe that goodwill will always outlast evil."
Oliver opened his mouth, but failed to make a sound. He could feel his heart sinking slightly—Randy's tone was gradually turning cold.
"You believe that good is rewarded for good and evil is rewarded for evil. All despair will end, and there will always be a solution."
"This fucking place will make you give up on these ideas, and you will regret your decision today - it's a lot easier to kill someone by comparison."
The carriage suddenly jolted violently, and Oliver's body leaned forward for a few seconds. The carriage seemed to stop.
"We had a great time working together, Ramon." Randy finally raised his head and looked into his eyes again, his tense face showing no emotion. "goodbye."
almost in the same second. The door of the carriage was slammed open, and a strong light penetrated the dark carriage.
Oliver was the first to get out of the car. He resisted the soreness of his legs and forced himself to look up at the building in front of him—
It's hard to tell if this is a mountain or a castle. The castle in front of it seems to be carved from the whole mountain, and the architectural style is unexpectedly atmospheric, which does not match the slightly slender name of "Withering Castle". Countless man-made buildings surround this bizarre mountain-shaped castle, and Oliver doesn't see the boundaries here - if you count the surrounding small stone castles, its size is even close to a medium-sized city. A dark and cold mountain city.
The masked man didn't give him much time to observe the terrain.
The man and Oliver's memory were not quite the same. He had lost a lot of weight, and the clothes of the right size were now one size larger, making the man with the white cloth covering his face look a little skinny.
Oliver knew why.
The man quivered a few times oddly, then split apart. It seems that the body is made of colored mud balls - and what makes people uncomfortable is that the part of the masked man that was missing due to the split did not grow back on his own, but remained missing. Not only does he look horribly thin now, he doesn't even have a decent human form anymore.
The "person" who split off was also masked with a white cloth, and he led Randy to the other direction. Oliver desperately turned his head to look, but Randy didn't respond at all.
Oliver rubbed the live collar that was slowly wriggling around his neck, sighed, and finally withdrew his gaze.
The masked geek didn't lead him through a door, but headed straight for a wall. Oliver tried to distance himself, but the inhumane thing seemed to have an invisible leash tied to its hands—and if he got too far, the sudden pain was sure to bring him to his knees. Originally, his physical strength was running out by the collar, so Oliver decided to suspend his resistance first. Find the time to…
Like Randy said.
No, not right. Oliver shook his head violently, trying to shake the cold words out of his ears. He'll make it, Nemo's still waiting for him, they've only just met - and Nemo's going crazy right now.
Yes, his lover was waiting for him, and must be looking for himself with his companions. Their journey has not been smooth sailing, and it is not that they have not seen cruel scenes. Oliver beat himself up desperately, it was just another puzzle, and the answer must be hiding somewhere.
However, when he actually stepped into the Wither Castle, he suddenly understood what Randy meant.
Passing through the fantasy-like walls and across the cold and dry corridor, the first thing they passed was a huge square iron cage. The cage was densely packed with people, men and women next to each other, motionless, except for the faint ups and downs of their chests. They were wearing thin cloth robes of the same pattern, stained with dirt to make it impossible to see their original color. The space only allows them to stand, unable to do anything other than breathe.
They have uniform metal rings nailed to their collarbones, the cold metal piercing the flesh, and the end of the metal plate is half the size of a slap. No one spoke, except for the occasional low groan, and the only thing left was the turbid and suppressed breathing. The cage was higher than the ground, with a complete set of purification arrays engraved under it, with a complete drainage system. But even so, the faint stench continued to drift everywhere.
Like a trapped livestock.
Hearing the voice, the crowd in the cage swept their eyes. There was no emotion in the eyes, blank and numb, like the eyes of a dead animal that were about to collapse. No thinking, no pain, not even despair. Oliver couldn't think of any other word to describe that state than those who were still "alive."
They stared at him with empty eyes, not expecting or pleading, more like a subconscious reaction to a moving object - the first time Oliver had seen a human being.
It scared him for the first time.
Oliver bit the corner of his mouth fiercely, and after a numb pain, the smell of blood made him awake for a while. His throat was so dry that he couldn't even spit, and the collar sucked just enough to keep him on his feet. Exhaustion had completely exhausted his spirit, and the stomach bag that had not received food for a long time began to twitch. He tried to force himself to continue thinking, but thinking was like a rusted cog, producing only meaningless clutter.
He hadn't felt so helpless in a long time since the night he killed his father.
But this time, he didn't have that warm support by his side.
Can't despair, Oliver yelled at himself sternly in his heart. Not at all.
,Wonderful!
(m.. = )