Chapter 231 First, No Bloodshed

He hurriedly ran through the dark streets carrying the goods his master needed. A long animal skin coat wrapped his partially shed skin and helped him protect the goods in his hands. He did not wonder what the contents of the goods obtained from the church were, but simply muttered that he could not lose it.

No, the Master would let those who displeased him die as they were not worthy enough, he had seen many times, those wretched creatures weakly decayed without worth, and would not be paid to be dispersed from the depths of Gomor The Price of Resurrection in the Bloody Conclave.

He couldn't be stupid enough to let himself suffer that fate, not to mention that he had a message to deliver - a fresh, wet message, not popular enough, but enough to prove that he was his master's best and most trusted servant. He must return to the mansion before any other servant to deliver the big news into the hands of his master.

Thinking of the meaning behind this news made him feel uneasy in his guts. This was a daring challenge, the beginning and declaration of war of an absurd game of change, but there was a real threat of the city's fragile peace collapsing due to this.

He even thought about running away, because maybe it was too late, and then he felt deeply proud that he made the right choice to try his best to rush back. If the master is willing to believe that he is a good servant who dares to face the consequences, he may even get a reward that is enough to support him to continue to live happily in this meaningless and boring life.

He jumped down from the ramp lightly, passed through the floral decorations composed of stone, metal and glass, and ran on the beautifully carved black and green stone steps, hoping that the two interested nightmares on the roadside did not really notice him.

The wastewater on the roadside was filled with hallucinogenic gases composed of pure and fragrant medicines and waste chemicals. If he had not had to protect the goods in his hands, he would have been willing to temporarily immerse himself in it and find a moment on the edge of numbness that was enough to forget all the words. crazy.

He was approaching the corridor of flesh and blood and the luxurious hall where his master was. This is the territory of the Wyatt family. His master has lived here for several generations, experienced many duels between famous families, survived orgies and murders, and informal non-contractual love affairs. So proud of this.

When he approached the green stone door of the hall and the gleaming morbid border, he suddenly heard a scream, high enough to penetrate the protective shield that blurred the mansion. He licked his lips, wanting to know what new trick his master was playing that was enough to break through the stimulation threshold.

He waited at the door for the samurai to allow him to return to the mansion. After ten minutes of ineffective waiting and seeing the reflection of a Talos engine's sharp knife on the street corner, he finally pushed the door open and entered on his own initiative. It made him feel uncomfortable, like being hung on a nail from the roof by his master and ignored: he weighed the situation himself, which was the wrong kind of arrogance.

He walked through the dark front hall as quietly as possible, moving quietly among the bodies with their necks broken, wondering why the owner had played so cleanly this time. He smelled so little pain in the dead, these rare and precious elements of life being sadly wasted, that somehow he felt a deep uneasiness.

boom. The door was knocked against the wall by the wind. The valve leaked due to being left unattended, and he angrily mentally scolded his colleagues who had neglected their duties, cursing them for losing the favor of their master.

In the darkness without light, he followed the footsteps of his memory until his footsteps were blocked by a strange distortion. This made him almost drop the goods in his arms to the ground.

He hurriedly hugged the object that was more important than his soul, groping to confirm the current shape of the twisted corridor - it was like a ruin pushed away by some kind of impact wave, or a drop was enough to change the remains and be with him from now on. The debauched and dissolute life in the past made other surgical solvents fall into the dilute emulsion, and the entire reality was tampered with and deformed by unknown forces.

He climbed over the collapsed porch, the illusion of his master fading like mist. He was wary of traps, hoping that the debris blocking the stairs wouldn't trip him up. He skirted around the sloping pillars and crept under the sagging roofs until he came close to the silver ring carved with rosettes and crescent barbs that hung from the cellar door.

At this moment, he hesitated whether he should enter. But there came a strange voice, with an intolerable accent and a most ugly and strange accent.

Unfortunately, however, the roughness and brutality in the voice captured him, causing him to instantly fall into the pain that this moment brought him.

"Come in, Eldar," said the voice, worth more than the finest narcotic flowers.

He carefully pressed a rosette next to the silver ring, knowing that anyone who touched the silver ring itself would be instantly pierced seven times by long arrows. The master likes Yin Huan very much, and his agreement guarantees that he can be resurrected from the palace of flesh and blood at any time, but a servant does not have such enviable conditions.

Metal, crystal, and polished bone make up the incredibly delicate structures in the cellar; simple pagoda-like cages made of gold-plated bars are contrasted with giant wire spheres, leaded glass cubes, and intertwined ossuaries; brought down Thorned blades and lighted candlesticks squeezed against each other, forming bridges as dizzying as jagged and darting as the skyline of Gomo.

In the middle of these complex structures, he saw an unimaginable giant sitting on the ground against the flattest wall in the room.

The giant may have just stood up from the operating slab and left. Many parts of the skin still hang down from the normal position. However, under the cut and torn skin, there are no tendons, no exposed pale bones, and even no sweet blood.

He can smell a familiar smell, that is the breath of his master. In every precious approach, rare reward and punishment that needs to be remembered, he can smell the fragrant and rotten smell. Now, this smell is coming from a pool of flesh and blood crushed by some unknown reality distortion force.

The giant's broken face is illuminated by candlelight, and there is no pain on it, and it seems that there is no real perception. Under the missing cheek is a pure shadow of nothingness, and the golden steel structure hidden in the shadow. This sets off a unique charm beyond the art of flesh and blood.

The syringes or tubes that injected the anesthetic and neurotoxin solutions had just been removed one by one, and each priceless injection was mercilessly broken and discarded, but for some reason, more than a dozen frosted black tubes were left on the scalp.

A pile of various erotic books, murder manuals, dark tortures, and a few cultural readings that the owner had collected were scattered at the giant's feet, just after being flipped through at high speed. Somehow, he guessed that the giant had temporarily learned their noble and ancient language from these books.

After he walked to the giant's feet, the giant finally gave up on attaching a severed finger back to his palm. He temporarily placed the finger on his knees, and the dark golden metal that replaced his finger bones at the broken finger flickered in the candlelight.

The giant stared at him, tearing off a piece of skin on his cheek that was about to fall off, and then pulling off a piece of neck flesh hanging on the shoulder. More steel and metal were exposed.

"Where is this place, Eldar?" he asked. "And what year is it now?"