The indifferent male killer was on the other side of the arena.
Randy threw his heavy shield hard, moving much more freely than when they were fighting side by side - Mora should not be with him, he didn't have to worry that her movements couldn't keep up. The tall man strikes very decisively, and Oliver has heard a little about it. Randy never refused to come, no matter how many people attacked at the same time, he never shied away from the battle, and the battle must end in the death of the opponent.
The value of Tall Killers has skyrocketed. There's only one reason why he's still here - he's never taken the initiative, and he's not "qualified" enough.
No one calls anyone else's name here, and it's better to say that some people almost forget their real names. They called each other by what they were worth, the death row inmates first called Randy "10,000 with scars on his face", then "20,000 with scars on his face", and after just a few days, there was no more value and Randy Approaching death row inmates, they directly called him "Fifty Thousand".
It's like they call themselves "300,000" directly.
Randy's actions seem contradictory, but Oliver is able to guess a little of his purpose. Mora is still out of jail, and although he doesn't know the two killers' plans, Randy is definitely stalling for her right now.
The killer stood quietly on top of the blood, and the heavy shield that had claimed countless lives lay beside him, covered with minced meat and brains.
The smell of blood filled Oliver's lungs. There's an unexpected lack of fiery combat in the arena right now—most people are quiet, as if they're on a mundane routine. There were only the whining of the wounded and the sound of weapons colliding. Cursing was rarely heard, and the newcomers would swear a few words at first, and then mostly fell silent or died.
Oliver looked away from Randy. Not far from him, the moist breath of fresh blood rushed to his face, and blood gushed out from the ruptured wound of the death row prisoner. He turned his face quickly, his dry throat tightened, and he couldn't see the liquid flowing down his skin from the bottom of his heart.
After fighting in the past few days, his draw style and fighting skills have also gained some fame. No one wants to spend too much time with that strange knight in a skeleton helmet—his lips are parched and cracked, his face is covered in dust and blood, and he is not alive. They were not even sure whether the other party was a living person or a corpse deliberately manipulated by the gatekeeper.
After all, this is a free battlefield. What Oliver's persistence brought was not stability, but a sense of discordant terror—most of the death row inmates would rather choose other more aggressive opponents.
Although there is no hint of time, there is no outside sky light. But after a few days, Oliver still somewhat grasped the feeling of the passage of time. The long day was coming to an end, and although the night was not expected, he was at least able to sit against the wall and rest for a while.
Usually by this time most people will be exhausted, and the pace of the entire arena fight will slow down. The death row prisoners who were fighting in a ball gradually dispersed, and most of the attackers who hoped to get the attention of the death row army as soon as possible were bruised and bruised, and the evaders were basically exhausted.
But today there is an exception.
A shrinking middle-aged man approached Oliver. His whole body was covered with blood, some gray hair was stuck together with dirt, and he was so thin that only a handful of bones remained. The man was holding a rusted long sword in his right hand, and the blood-stained metal plate was exposed.
There were only two digits left on his metal card.
The man was shaking so badly that he didn't dare to lift his head, looking like he was scared out of his wits. It feels like a dried rabbit carcass.
"Good-hearted man, I'm not your opponent." He muttered, his voice hoarse as if he had swallowed strong acid. "But I know you're kind... I can see it. Can you give me a hundred points? Just a hundred points. You don't lack a hundred points."
His hand holding the sword hung weakly to the ground, without the slightest intention to fight, his arms like firewood were still bleeding. Blood dripped onto the soil along the mottled longsword blade.
"I can't lose anymore... I... My value is taken away again, and I will be sent to the test area. Please, I don't want to go back to the test area, but I can't fight anymore today, please, please, please you… "
The man's voice was choked with sadness.
Oliver braced his sword alertly. He wouldn't be stupid enough to accept all the words of the other party at this time, but the person in front of him was a complete loser no matter how he looked at it. His voice, his looks - this guy has definitely not won in a long time.
But…
He didn't put down his sword and looked at the other side seriously.
"Please, please. Just let me touch your collar, you know." The man kept his head down to his chest, repeating in a broken tone. "I understand your concern, I'll put the sword down now..."
After he finished speaking, he let go of his right hand, and the inconspicuous tattered weapon fell to the ground. Perhaps he was too eager for Oliver's approval to completely ignore the fact—
Others will not miss this excellent opportunity to attack.
The bald man in red armor rushed to their side at some point, and the long axe slashed straight at the defenseless middle-aged man. Oliver's attention shifted instantly, he tried his best to turn around neatly, and the Sword of Rest firmly held the gleaming blade of the axe.
But his opponent's eyes bulged out, and a mocking smile slowly appeared on his face.
"300,000... 300,000." He repeated aftertaste, "It's really exciting."
Oliver reacted for a few seconds before realizing what the other party was talking about.
Exhaustion numbed his pain, and he felt only a tiny tingling, and an unnatural coldness. He still maintained the posture of holding the axe blade, and slowly lowered his head.
There was a piece of blood-red metal on his chest, like the tip of a long sword. The blade pierced through where his heart was, and the edges were bumpy, with obvious rust stains visible in the blood.
It shouldn't be, he thought dazedly. It shouldn't be like this.
Then the point of the sword retracted into his chest under his gaze - its owner drew it back, with a streak of blood.
… is this reality? Oliver was at a loss for a moment.
Then the world in front of him turned pure dark red. Before he realized it, his body had already fallen to the mud on its own. He tried to open his eyes wide, but everything in front of him quickly blurred. Oliver's mind went blank, and all his thoughts seemed to stop working in an instant. He moved his head instinctively and looked at his left wrist.
"Nimo, I..."
But he didn't have time to see anything, and his vision was overwhelmed by darkness.
"Sad instinct." The thin middle-aged man finally raised his head, his eyes were abnormal blood red. The shy look just now disappeared. "What a fool."
Not far away, the death row prisoners withdrew their gazes one after another, and some even breathed a sigh of relief - no one reminded them. The inexplicable "abnormal" person is finally gone, and the days they know are about to return.
Everything will function normally, continuing to exude a cold and rigid sense of reassurance.
The middle-aged man with red eyes was playing with the metal card in his hand, and his voice was abnormally happy: "Three thousand five, how long do you think that three thousand is enough for me to lose?"
The other party just frowned at the metal plate. The middle-aged man raised his eyebrows and held the sign in front of him.
It's still two digits above.
"...There's something wrong, this guy can't be alive," he muttered, glancing at the strange knight who fell to the ground.
Those absent-minded green eyes are still half-open, and the blood flowing out has gathered into a large pool. Even if the heart hadn't been damaged, the blood loss would have been fatal.
The middle-aged man wiped the sign impatiently. But the trembling strokes on the sign were not distorted, stubbornly maintaining a double-digit appearance.
"Oh, it's..."
This is the last word that red eyes leave to the world.
A heavy metal shield flew from a distance and directly shattered his head. Its speed was so fast that after the shield flew past, there was only a section of the neck that was spewing blood on the bony shoulder.
Three thousand five with a long axe in his hand is very aware of current affairs, and he slipped into the dense crowd in the next second. The new killing god of the arena came over, silently retrieved his shield into his hand, then paused for a few seconds in front of the knight in the pool of blood, and let out a very light sigh.
Then he also frowned - the knight's metal plate was almost drowned in blood, but the three hundred thousand on it was worth a little.
"The battle is over." At this moment, the emotionless voice was amplified by magic and resounded above the arena.
The white-robed death row prisoners in the experimental area entered the field in a hurry, some of them put the corpses or corpses in the cart, and the other part was responsible for returning the wounded to the cells. Everything is in order.
It should be.
"You brought back the 300,000 corpses?" the big man who used the meteor hammer complained in a low voice, "This is not in compliance with the regulations."
"He's not dead." McCain shook his head desperately and defended in a low voice. "You... you see, there's still value on his sign. He's not dead, and the gatekeeper can't be wrong."
The cell was also quiet tonight. People stayed in their usual positions, staring indifferently at the lifeless body on the floor.
"Oh, that's right." The sturdy man picked up the meteor hammer. "No matter how special he is, his head should be crushed to death... What do you mean, guinea pig?"
The short, mole-like man didn't sprint back to the darkest corner as before, he half-knelt in front of the body and didn't let go.
"You... you can't," Micah said shudderingly, scratching the stitched wound until it opened again. "If... if he really died. Didn't I get it wrong? I'm right, I'm sure I'm right..."
"What nonsense." The big man gave him a kick, and specially picked the less deadly parts. I watched the white figure fall to the side. "go away."
Mika whimpered and shrank in place, without insisting any longer. He turned his back to the two of them resolutely, clasping his head tightly in his hands. The death row prisoner who used the meteor hammer picked up the heavy metal and hesitated for a few seconds - but he gritted his teeth hard and finally smashed it down.
However, there was no sound of flesh and bones breaking in the darkness, just a flash of fire.
The metal immediately evaporated a second before it touched the "corpse", and even the melting step simply jumped over. When the big man pulled up the chain again, there was only a hissing and smoking section at the other end of the chain, and the thorny iron ball completely disappeared into the air.
He gasped and took a few steps back. He twitched his lips, made a few meaningless noises, and finally succeeded in asking everyone in the cell's heart: "What the hell is this?"
The stubborn knight lay quietly on the stone brick, the wound no longer bleeding. The edges of the black armor flickered with faint sparks, like coals that were about to go out. It is light and dark like breathing, with a strange beauty that does not belong to this hell.
Underground arena.
"What's going on with this value?" the test area manager of Hongpao roared, "His strength is about to exceed the limit of the collar! Della, you said he can't die—"
"I'm just guessing, didn't I sleep in a daze?" The middle-aged man who was still stuck in the stack of books yawned.
The reaction was indeed unexpected, the demon thought fairly.
Della Reinen picked up a book and put it on her face as if evading, so as to distance herself from the hustle and bustle of the surrounding researchers.
He hadn't slept all night, and finally found a reasonable explanation for Oliver Ramon's situation - more than 20 years ago, an unusually strong foreign force enveloped Ramon's heart and caused Trent blight disease. The curse pressed firmly inside the heart, while forcing the paralyzed heart to keep beating.
This is the only solution that I can think of, and looking at the current situation, this conjecture is 80% correct. but…
Della Lenien secretly cast her gaze from the edge of the book, aiming at Oliver Ramon's constantly changing body data.
He never thought that the curse from the abyss would completely surrender. It didn't make sense at all, the demon pouted under the page. The power that suppressed the spread of the curse definitely originated from the surface, and it was impossible to live in harmony with the power of the curse. After that sword shattered Ramon's heart, the balance was broken, and the two forces—no, maybe with the magic of the hapless young man himself—the three forces were supposed to fight each other within Ramon's body until a new balance was reached.
Only the physical changes brought about by that process are worth seeing. Ramon may turn into a monster, or he may not be able to withstand the struggle of power and blow up. But in any case, it shouldn't be the situation like she's sleeping peacefully right now - Della Lenien felt a little aggrieved. The current situation is tantamount to a shocking bomb. The lead of the bomb burned out, and then quietly misfired.
Not right.
It is obviously an abyss curse that has been entrenched for many years, how can it be like a blood scab that has been completely killed, and it will disappear after a touch. If you want to use an analogy - it's like a brutal murderer who has pried on the door for more than 20 years, finally sneaked into the dream mansion, and then simply knelt down and committed suicide when he entered the door.
And the foreign power that had suppressed it for a long time was completely free, and it was being transformed into Oliver Ramon's own magic without any hindrance.
It doesn't make sense, the curse of Trent blight isn't going to go away so neatly. There was definitely a force he didn't know was involved in this process, and that force must have come from the abyss.
Unknown fourth force. contract? The flesh and blood of superior demons? or something else...
What the hell did that kid Ramon do? Della Lenien pressed his temples in dissatisfaction. Currently he only knows of one situation that would have this effect, and that situation itself is based on pure conjecture—
Regardless of the spell, keep quiet when returning to the source.
But that is impossible. Ramon has never even used abyss spells. How could it be related to the origin of abyss spells? As for the nature of magic... that's a problem that even I haven't understood yet.
Forget it. Dellalienne sighed and took the book from her face.
The female human had been watching him from the corner for too long, and he had to fix the problem first. The demon stretched out, stood up with the book, and thumped his waist.
"Mr. Keeper." Della Lainen smiled and looked at the prison guard with a white cloth on his face in front of him - rather, at the petite woman whose face was pale with nervousness after disguise. "Do you have anything to do with me?"
,Wonderful!
(m.. = )