The relief of the skeleton is carved in the quaint hall, and the fresco of death surrounds the two people in the corner.

Ji Samurai fell to the ground, bleeding and laughing hoarsely. The boy huddled tightly in her arms, looking ahead in horror. The samurai chief galloped, holding a sharp bronze sword diagonally. Numerous Great Shield Warriors spread out a path, and then followed closely.

"Bottard, save them!"

The king shouted, and the samurai captain slowed down, turning the blade of the bronze sword to the heavy side.

"Hahaha! Mexicans, leave your doubts forever!"

Ji Samurai laughed frantically, and with his intact right hand, pulled out the long dagger from his waist. Then, she lowered her head and gently kissed the boy's forehead.

The boy raised his head and stared blankly at the most trusted person in his life in this temple full of death. He looked at the tears in Ji Samurai's eyes, and also felt the soft kiss on his forehead.

"White snake...sister?"

Hearing the boy's name, Samurai Ji had a smile that he had never had before. She hugged the boy tenderly, and gently placed the dagger in her hand on the other's neck.

"Little water snake, you can go in peace, with the glory of the water snake family and the hatred you will never forget! And your warrior Ji will be with you~"

After speaking, she gritted her teeth, clenched the long dagger in her hand, and slashed down.

"Ah!...uh..."

In an instant, the boy's eyes widened and he twitched in pain. He felt the warmth and vitality leave, and begged for the last whispers.

"White snake... I hurt... uh!..."

"Little water snake, don't be afraid, I'll accompany you!"

Saying that, Ji Warrior raised his long dagger, and without hesitation, aimed it at his heart.

Bertard had come before the two. He stopped, lowered his bronze sword, watched the scene of the samurai's death, and sighed softly.

"...Samurai Ji, who is good at shooting, do you have a poem about your death that you want to spread in the world?"

"Haha! Poetry? Spread?..."

With full of hatred, Ji warrior gave the king a deep look and said the last prophecy.

"He will die... Even the **** of death, who is in charge of death, will close his eyes and die... But death is not the end of him... What awaits him will be eternal loneliness!"

Hearing this, Shirot shuddered and his pupils contracted suddenly. He stretched out his hand suddenly and shouted sharply.

"stop!..."

"Pfft! Ugh!"

Ji Samurai suddenly exerted his strength. The sharp obsidian dagger pierced her heart fiercely, causing her to curl up in pain. Then, blood spurted out of his chest, fell on the boy's body, and blended with the pool of blood on the ground. Then, her body slanted softly and fell on top of the boy, hugging her to death.

Shirot stared at the bright red in front of him and lowered his eyes slowly. At this moment, thousands of memories flashed through his mind. The gods of the Tlaxcalans hang their heads, the warriors who died in battle, the slaughtered militiamen and the captured women and children, as well as the priests who were killed in front of them, the samurai who committed suicide, and the fallen boy...

After a while, the king sighed faintly and asked a question that no one could understand.

"Qin Mie Zhao, is that so?"

"Ah? Your Highness?"

Naxiu blinked, her face blank.

"Instruct the warriors to search inside and outside the temple for the corpses and relics of the priests of death!"

"Yes! Then, what to do with these two corpses?"

"... Near the temple, choose a beautiful place and bury them together!... Don't erect a monument."

"Yes! Your Highness!"

Bertard saluted respectfully and went to make arrangements immediately.

In the hall, it is still quaint and desolate, and has long been used to seeing death. Shirot took a few steps and came to the black wolf statue of the **** of death.

In front of the statue is a bluestone altar, which seems to be in the style of the Toltec ancestors and is estimated to be at least hundreds of years old. On the altar, a black death skull was enshrined in a black pottery ritual vessel. The skull was almost completely weathered, with strange black and gray marks, and was engraved with the wolf-shaped emblem of the **** of death.

"Ah! Could it be?... The fetish in the Tlaxcala Temple of Death, the head of the blood-tongue black wolf in the myth, the death skull with divine power?!"

Bertard was excited, staring at the distant skull in front of him, as if he saw an ancient divine right.

"Hmm!...whatever it was before."

Shirot stroked the strange skull, felt the smooth jade touch, and announced calmly.

"From today on, it's the Tlaxcala Death Skull and the Mexica Death Skull!"

Afterwards, the king thought for a while and gave the king command.

"Bottard, when we return to the camp, we will hold a sacred sacrifice ceremony! Celebrate the Lord God and the God of Death, the gods bestowed upon me together! Let the captives and descendants of all the tribes of Tlaxcala send representatives to participate in the sacred ceremony. !"

"As ordered! Your Highness is wise!"

The samurai bent down deeply, saluted the supreme king, and bowed his head to the ethereal divinity.

"Naxiu..."

Shirot turned his head again and looked at the close intelligence officer.

"Take my experience of climbing the sacred mountain, visiting the temple, and obtaining prophecies and fetishes... organize it well... Then, spread the word among the South Route Army and the occupied towns!"

"Follow your will, Your Highness!"

Na Xiu Yingying bowed and was prepared. The so-called sorting is naturally like an epic and a myth, endowed with awe-inspiring divinity and circulating among the peoples. In fact, this is the most important purpose of the king's climb to Yanfeng Divine Mountain this time!

In this savage and barbarous era, in this world that worships the gods, the ethereal divinity is an extremely powerful force!

If you want to conquer all the tribes in the world, you must conquer the hearts of all ethnic groups. And subduing the hearts of all ethnic groups is not something that can be done by pure force. It requires word-of-mouth legends, incredible fetishes, and shocking wonders. The tribes of the world are not long since ancient times, the concept of the state has not yet been formed, and the cognition of the nation is far from cohesive. At this time, where the people of the world are, half of them are customs and traditions, and half of them are gods and gods. And the blood feud between the various tribes, only the supreme divinity can be unified and resolved!

"Well. That's it!"

Shuluo nodded, clenched the black jade-like "Death Skull", and turned away. When he returns to the camp, he will use the divine object in his hand to make a new divine scepter.

Soon, there were only bloodstains that gradually solidified in the hall, the frescoes stained with bright red, and the death **** of the red tongue and black wolf. A gust of cold wind blew, and the infiltrating tooth bells sounded faintly, telling the stories that happened in the wind of death~

The volcano is majestic~lightnovelpub.net~ The glacier shines and has not changed for tens of thousands of years. Shilot stood on the icy mountain, found a cold red rock, and sat down cross-legged. This is the remnant of the volcanic eruption, and it also hides the power deep underground.

After a while, the samurai captain came hurriedly with regret on his face.

"His Royal Highness, the body of the priest of the **** of death has been found."

Shulot nodded slightly and followed the footsteps of the warrior chief to the pine forest near the temple.

The soft earth had been dug up, revealing a shriveled corpse, and an old skinny skull. The owner of the corpse had only been dead for two days, but his appearance was already indistinguishable. Perhaps, his appearance, that is, is death.

"Hoo!... The Prophecy of the Priest of Death... The God of Death Shulotel..."

Shirot watched silently for a moment. An inexplicable word suddenly struck his mind, making him unforgettable for a long time.

"...Even if the guidance is broken, please be... the king of the world!"