Colestoro believes that he is about to die.

The pain that seemed to last for eternity suddenly ceased, followed by an unreal peace and nothingness. The molten iron rushing in the soul turned into cotton wool, the toxins that corrode the body turned into warm wind, and at that moment his body seemed to no longer exist. This is probably the moment of death, he stumbled, thinking that this long nightmare has finally come to an end.

Colestoro waited silently, but then he heard voices—muffled human voices, low insects, and the rustling of leaves. The air was filled with the familiar smell of grass and trees, he wrinkled his nose and opened his eyes with difficulty.

Fergil was looking down at him intently.

Crestolo was silent for a few seconds. He raised his hand, slapped the other's head mercilessly a few times, and slapped Vergil's head sideways. The tactile sensation was real, and he was astonished at the fact—Colestoro waited a moment in horror, but the pain didn't come back.

He opened his mouth, his vocal cords, which had been silent for a long time, were as stiff as dry cowhide.

"Duri." Colestoro, still in a period of less sober confusion, struggled to express shock in one word.

"...You're getting fat." He gave a dry greeting with the second short sentence.

Fergil smiled a little reluctantly. Without saying a word, he continued to look at the demon who was still trying to turn his head and look around. The festering pain in the heart of the exorcist was violently torn open, and the deeply embedded fangs were torn off, bringing out the pus, blood and carrion that had accumulated for many years. Fresh blood rushed out along with the eruption of pain, and he knew that after the pain, the wound would eventually scab and heal completely.

The latter frowned and struggled with dissatisfaction. "It's too wet." The demon tried to clear his throat and protested in a low voice.

"Sorry," muttered Vergil, "I can't control it for now."

"What's the matter?" Colestoro's eyes swept over the tumbleweed members standing not far away, and finally stopped in the direction of the silent church - the steeple of the church has long disappeared, the sky Below, only the tops of charred dead trees remain. He frowned and asked Vergil with more urgency.

"Your... uh, the Demon Warlock entrusted us." The rest of the people were not very interested, and Jesse Dylan, the only remaining fruit, spoke leisurely. "In short, you are free."

Clestoro stood up in disbelief, almost lost his footing - he took a weak step out, closed his eyes, and seemed to sense something. Those lavender eyes were full of ecstasy when they opened again, and when his eyes turned to Jesse again, there was a little more curiosity and vigilance in the ecstasy.

"Don't look at me like that," Jessie spread her hands and pouted in Nemo's direction. "I didn't do it."

Colestoro noticed Nemo in the shadow of the tree. That embarrassed black-haired youth has a very weak aura, close to nothing - he can't even tell whether the other party is a real creature or a phantom formed by illusion.

"Thank you." Colestoro couldn't understand the strength of the other party, so he could only thank him politely.

But the other party did not respond to him. The black-haired youth leaned against the tree trunk, held the staff tightly in his arms, and stared at a non-existent point in the air. Obviously, he was in a daze.

Nimo was indeed in a daze, everything in front of him seemed to be separated by a thick film of water. The sounds and colors of the outside world could not really reach his spirit, they barely entered his mind, and then only a vague and unintelligible mass remained. After simply making a plan, Nemo began a long period of self-cooling—

At this moment, his state is closer to organizing his thoughts than to stabilizing his emotions.

The skull fragments in the Church of Silence are just like the ones in the Church of Penitence, which contain some of Ulysses' memory residues. In the battle just now, Nemo did not dare to explore those vague memories. And now he finally has a relatively stable environment that allows him to roughly break them apart and peer into them - it briefly distracts him from the fact that "Oliver's fate is unknown" and reassures him The power to breathe.

But it only brings pain.

Nemo's feet were cold, and although they were scattered pieces, they were heavy enough for him now.

Nemo took off the gold pendant that had been hanging on his chest and held it in his palm. It was saturated with his body heat, with a reassuringly soft warmth. He opened it, and the portrait of the young girl inside was exposed to the sun again. Her smile is also full of sunshine, and at this moment, it seems that the smile is inexplicably familiar.

The woman was never his blood relative, and this pendant is not proof that he was born. On the contrary, its meaning may be more icy - it most likely represents deception and exploitation.

This is a thank you gift from Flint Lopez, considering the topic that kept Mr. Lopez chattering - Nemo put his hand on the pendant, and the shadow instantly wrapped Live metal. Within half a minute they squirm away, revealing pendants that look almost brand new, and vividly colored portraits.

The signature after the gift of the pendant has also been restored, and the words "Your Flint" are clear and beautiful.

Yes, if he guessed correctly, this woman should be Oliver's mysterious mother. If Oliver was here, if he had found out about this under other circumstances, he would have shared this information with each other with pride and joy.

How he wished he was really just a "well-meaning wanderer" in Flint's words.

But Nemo remembers it well now that the fragments contained Ulysses before his death. He remembers sending Oliver's father back to the team and the dark battle that followed. He now recognizes the people in those clips, even familiar—the heroes he once admired, the beautiful and splendid lives.

Flint Lopez had proudly mentioned them before him, those who would not leave him behind.

During the previous adventures of the Tin Soldiers Mercenary Corps, he occasionally thought about this slightly negative question-those sparkling people must have a heroic and heroic death. They stood before evil, protected innocent people behind their backs, and died dignifiedly in that tragic war.

But that's not the case.

The truth is harsher and simpler. Their deaths were no different from anyone else's, and Nemo remembered the temperature of the blood spraying on the body, the feel of the claws slicing across the flesh. To make matters worse, the screams of the survivors who lost their friends were also very clear, so clear that they seemed to be carved into his brain.

They were killed by his own hands, and he did not feel anything close to sadness at the time. They screamed and fell to exhaustion, and finally fell silent. Like a candle extinguished in a rainstorm.

Nimo also remembers the final blow that Flint Lopez gave him, the mask of the tin soldier mercenary regiment fell off in the fierce battle, and the brilliance of the circle illuminated his young face.

The ensuing blade slashed the neck, and it was extremely cold, and death came with unprecedented pain. But "Ulysses" still had no anger or sadness at that time, and was terribly calm.

There was a plan, and Nemo held the pendant in his palm. He doesn't believe that someone like Flint Lopez will be stupid enough to part with the team, and he doesn't believe that he will simply send the opponent back to the team "out of good intentions." He personally told Mr. Lopez how to get the skull out—

And at this moment, he successfully stood on the surface.

Nimo clasped his arms, the summer sun was so hot, but he had never been so cold. Sunlight has no weight, but at this moment he is almost completely overwhelmed by it.

At this time, someone came over and stopped in front of him, blocking the warm light from the oblique rays. Nemo raised his head slightly and saw the unique black color of the Ruddite uniform.

Adrian Cross was standing in front of him.

Of course, he thought numbly. This time he didn't know how many flaws he had exposed. Vergil must have explained to them Colestoro's identity, or earlier, Dylan would not necessarily have kept the secrets of the Church of Silent. His "power" is no longer a vague and ambiguous unknown, but a clear comparison object—

He is stronger than O'Lori.

In addition to his performance just now, the former Judge Knight Commander definitely noticed something strange. But not now, Nemo didn't look him in the eye—please, not now.

"If this makes you better." Adrian Cross's voice was as low and calm as ever. "Those sacrifices are all right, Dylan and I have sent them to a safe place."

Nimo looked up in surprise.

"I will discuss with Ms. Savage and try to find someone from Alban to watch the prison to see if Mr. Ramon is among the recently transferred prisoners." Adrian's tone was a little bit. Stiff, "You don't need to carry it alone."

He nodded at him and walked away without asking a single question.

"Smart way, very smart." After Adrian returned to his original position, Jesse whistled softly. "I thought you were going to have a small interrogation - you see, Wright is in such a mess right now that he must not be able to withstand your inquiry."

"He's in pain, and he still hasn't done anything out of the ordinary. Now that I know how strong he is... I shouldn't have forced him at a time like this." Adrian Shaking his head, he instead stared at the flawless face of the blond youth. "I'm more inclined to ask someone who has a clear answer."

Jessie was yawning, she closed her mouth immediately after hearing this, and her tone was ambiguous: "Then how do you repay me?"

But instead of asking, Adrian turned the topic elsewhere. "...and there's another thing to worry about now than Mr. Wright's background."

"What?"

"There was a burst of breath in the center of the battlefield just now...a bit familiar." Adrian subconsciously touched the seam of the fabric on his chest, which was originally the position of the holy emblem of the Rad religion. "Even if the information is slightly lacking, what I can perceive, the other judge knights will definitely be able to perceive—about the strength of Mr. Wright's strength."

"There will definitely be a reaction from the Radis."

Meanwhile.

Oliver was not too surprised at the moment he was convicted. Rather, if he really somehow became a knight of a king or archbishop on the surface, the horror of this matter would only be officially escalated. To be honest, he wasn't going to take the accusation—Oliver couldn't figure out when he'd ever had an affair with a big man.

This may be the other party's means, he thought, trying to make himself look calmer - no matter what the so-called "gatekeeper" wants, the behavior has revealed a clear maliciousness. It now appears that the "gatekeeper" clearly wants him to be convicted, the more serious the better.

But he couldn't imagine the other party's purpose.

If it has anything to do with Lopez's blood, his dear cousin is doing well outside, Oliver doesn't think Godwin Lopez will hype their relationship. If it had anything to do with his powers...he also didn't think being locked in the depths of a prison would be of any great use to a gatekeeper.

"I don't admit it." Oliver said firmly.

"We don't need your testimony." The test inspector shrugged and snapped the roster. "The evidence is enough for now. It's a pity that you really seem to be a filthy knight of silence—to be honest, you almost lied to me... You have a lot to say."

"The Silent Knight can't pass the previous test." Oliver made it clear, "You know I have no ill intentions."

"There are many ways to hide your maliciousness, who knows if you temporarily blocked some memories?" The quill tip quickly wiped the parchment, and the test inspector muttered. "Okay, Mr. Ramon, get ready to go back to your hometown in two days—for Albans, a felon like you is well worth being locked up for ten days and a half months before being slowly burned in the square."

Oliver clenched his fists.

Don't panic, wait for them to let their guard down - you still have a chance. Oliver stressed to himself repeatedly. His only advantage is his awareness of his own strength, and he can't reveal that right now.

The soldiers who were tightly wrapped in iron sheets grabbed Oliver's arms from left to right, and the chains made a harsh rubbing sound. Oliver didn't struggle, he was honestly dragged all the way down the stairs and eventually thrown into the foul-smelling cell.

It was dark and damp, there were no beds, and the straw in the corners smelled suffocating and musty. The floor was covered with dark, sticky stains that made sticky noises when stepped on, adding the stench of rotting blood and excrement to the air every moment. But there was no smell of spoiled food left in it, Oliver sniffed—it didn't look like a prisoner's environment for a long time. It was supposed to be a place where death row prisoners were temporarily held, where prisoners waited desperately before being transported back to their countries to be executed.

Oliver quickly surveyed his surroundings, trying to find any omissions he could exploit. It's a pity that the omission has not been found yet, so he saw the old acquaintance first—

Micah was crammed into a small room not far away, banging her head against the wall in desperation. Oliver tried to greet him twice, but before the words could be said, the suffocating pain on his neck first strangled his throat.

It seems that he is temporarily unable to communicate with others, Oliver silently made a note in his heart. He subconsciously put his hand on his waist. To his surprise, they didn't take away his sword—even though he couldn't do anything with it right now.

But this gave him an inexplicable foreboding, and all the details revealed madness and anomalies.

Like everyone knew what could happen and he was alone in the dark, he really didn't like the feeling. He had to get away as soon as possible, better gather strength and be caught off guard when they were about to divert him—

However, Oliver did not expect the transfer to come so quickly. And it seems that the destination waiting for him is not Alban.

The visitor wrapped his face tightly with a large white cloth, and his facial features were tightly covered. He stood indifferently in front of Oliver's cell and pointed to Oliver casually.

"We want it," said the strange stranger, his voice hoarse. "Now, let Alban make a price."

(m..=)