The indifferent male killer is on the other side of the arena.

Randy threw his heavy shield hard, and his movements were much more free than when they were fighting side by side - Mora should not be with him, he didn't have to worry that her movements could not 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 avoided 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 here will call others by their first names, it is better to say that some people almost forget their real names. They called each other by how much 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." After just a few days, there was no value with Randy anymore. Approaching death row inmates, they directly called him "Fifty Thousand".

Like they called themselves "300,000".

Randy's behavior may seem contradictory, but Oliver can 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 silently on the blood, and the heavy shield that took countless lives was placed 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 rare, and the newcomers would scold 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 become famous. 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.

This is a free battlefield after all. 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 indication of the 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 tired and the rhythm 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.

With one exception today.

A timid 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.

Only two digits remain on his metal plate.

The man was shaking so badly that he didn't dare to lift his head up, looking like he was scared out of his wits. It feels like a dried rabbit carcass.

"Good-hearted man, I am 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."

Blood dripped onto the soil along the mottled longsword blade.

"I can't lose any more...I...my value is taken away again and I'm going to be sent to the test area. Please, I don't want to go back to the test area, but I can't anymore today. Fight, please, please..."

The man's voice was full of grief and choking.

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 lowered his head to his chest, repeating in a broken tone. "I understand your concern, I'll put the sword down now..."

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 great 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 he was talking about.

Exhaustion numbed his pain, he only felt a tiny tingling and an unnatural chill. 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 like this, he thought groggyly. It shouldn't be like this.

Then the tip of the sword retracted into his chest under his gaze - its owner drew it back, bringing a trail 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."

The death row prisoners not far away 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 work as usual, continuing to exude a cold and rigid 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 this three hundred 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.

"...Something's wrong, this guy can't be alive." He muttered, glancing at the strange knight who fell to the ground.

The absent 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.

"Alas, count..."

This is the last word the red eye left 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 hand is very aware of current affairs, and he slipped into the dense crowd in the next second. The new killing **** 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 300,000 on it was worth a bit.

"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 test 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 does not meet the rules."

"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 little man like a mole didn't sprint back to the darkest corner like before, he half-kneeled in front of the body and didn't let go.

"You...you can't." Micah shivered, scratching the stitched wound until it opened again. "If...if he really died. Didn't I get it wrong in the first place? I'm right, I'm sure I'm right..."

"What are you talking about?" The big man gave him a kick, and he 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. He turned his back to the two of them resolutely, clasping his head tightly in his hands. The death row inmate using 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 broken flesh in the darkness, just a flash of fire.

The metal evaporated a second before touching 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 **** 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.

The arena underground.

"What's the matter 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 guessing, didn't I sleep?" The middle-aged man still stuck in the stack of books yawned.

The reaction was indeed unexpected, the demon thought fairly.

Dara Lennion picked up a book and put it on her face as if evading, in order to distance herself from the hustle and bustle of the researchers around her.

He didn't sleep all night, and finally found a reasonable explanation for Oliver Ramon's situation - more than 20 years ago, there was an unusually strong foreign force that enveloped Ramon's heart , firmly suppressing the curse of Trent blight within the heart, while forcing the paralyzed heart to keep beating.

This is the only solution I can think of, and looking at the current situation, this conjecture is 80% correct. but…

Dara Lennion 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 be completely surrendered. 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, perhaps with the magic of the hapless young man himself—the three forces should fight each other within Ramon's body until a new balance was reached.

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.

Something is wrong.

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 won't go away so nicely. There was definitely a force he didn't know was involved in this process, and that force must have come from the abyss.

The Unknown Fourth Force. contract? The flesh and blood of superior demons? or something else...

What the **** 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—

No matter what the spell, it will remain silent when returning to its source.

But that is impossible, Ramon has never even used abyss magic, how could it be related to the origin of abyss magic? Regarding the nature of magic... that's a problem that even I don't understand yet.

Never mind. Dellalienne sighed and took the book from her face.

The female human has been staring at him from the corner for too long, and he has to solve the problem at hand. The demon stretched out, stood up with the book, and thumped his waist.

"Mr. custodian." Della Lanen smiled and looked at the prison guard in front of him with a white cloth on his face - rather, at the petite who was so nervous that his face was pale after disguise female. "Do you have anything to do with me?"

(m..=)