"Run! Run, run for me, it's okay if my old bones die, you're still young!" the coachman hysterically covered the blood-spurting severed limb and yelled at Al with the only reason he had.

Al had never thought of running away, and neither could he, the ghoul spat out slime poison that corroded violently as soon as it touched the muscle tissue, and Al's arm seemed to turn into a gradually charred piece of wood, emitting wisps of white smoke. Al endured severe pain and tried to shake off the dark green slime, but he didn't expect that the mucus was extremely adhesive, and it was difficult for Al to get out for a while. And the shouts of the coachman's uncle made Al's psychology swell with a sense of powerlessness.

Is it really necessary to enter that state of confusion again? Perhaps only then can we grasp the only glimmer of hope that we have?

"You're forcing me!" The pain that was gnawing at the worms was endlessly stimulating Al's central nervous system, and he knew that he had no other way at the moment, and he put his hand on the shiny armband.

"Even if I die today, I'm going to pull you on the back, you demon, come on, see if your head is hard or my fist is hard!" said the second half of the sentence, Al's voice seemed to be a little crazy, like the demons crawling out of hell roaring from the mouth of the well.

Al's left arm began to become congested, a piercing red like a burning fire, and the slime was strangely absorbed into the arm. As Al's breathing intensified, the temperature of his left arm began to rise like a ball of hot magma, and even the dead grass under Al's feet began to curl slightly due to the churning heat.

As long as Al ripped the armband that sealed the arm to pieces, he was convinced that he had a thousand ways to kill the ghoul. But he himself will definitely lose his mind completely, and become a murderous monster like a ghoul, and maybe even more murderous.

But it's better than food, Al thought. He didn't want to be a hero, if he couldn't save others, then save himself. He didn't want to say goodbye to this world full of unknowns, and now he had to gamble his life on the beast sealed in his arm.

"Rip him up! Break this armband, I'll give you strength!" a twisted voice echoed in Al's mind.

"Shut up!" Al yelled inwardly at the voice.

Al gripped the armband in his hand and began to exert his strength slowly. Uncle Paul, the beating fire, the white room, and the fiery red clouds on the horizon are the things he cherishes the most. No one would be worried about a lonely child even if he died, would he think, because no one knew he had ever been in this world.

Al closed his eyes, ready for the despair of moving from hope of life to death, if Lady Luck didn't want to favor him.

The ghoul swallowed the stump into his stomach without even chewing it, and he seemed to notice the unusual change in Al. Something inside the boy seemed to tear his shell free, and some more powerful aura shook the monster, and his legs began to tremble with instinct. But the prey in front of him was so tempting that he paused briefly, and at last his thirst for flesh and blood prevailed, and with a low roar, he pounced on the coachman.

"Al, run, I promise Paul, keep you safe! Leave me alone! Run!" The coachman knew that he might never see his wife again, but he was not willing to die like this. The coachman put his hand on the old man's warm corpse, and silently bid farewell to the friend who had been with him for many years, tears and blood flowed together.

"You monster! Damn, I'm fighting you!" the old coachman fell into a desperate rage, and he grabbed the fur hat from his head and pressed it against the bloody wound, and stood up through gritted teeth.

In the vast woods, brutal battles are quietly staged in the dark.

"God, have mercy on all beings. The clear sound spread out like water, enveloping them.

In the next second, the dazzling light shattered the night, and a huge cross carved with an ancient oracle smashed down from the treetops, mixed with a strong wind and pointed directly at the ghoul.

There was a loud "boom", and the dead leaves flew between the electric lights and flints, and when the light slowly dissipated, a deep pit in the shape of a "ten" appeared out of thin air in front of the coachman, and the ghoul had turned into a charred skeleton, still in a vacant posture, and he didn't even know how he died.

The sudden change also made Al stop at the moment before crushing the armband, he tiredly held on to an old tree beside him, beads of sweat the size of beans slipped from his sideburns, and his back was already soaked with sweat due to the accelerated circulation of blood, and he just wanted to gasp for breath when he was reborn.

"God, it's God who has come to save us!" the coachman, who had just brushed shoulders with death, fell to his knees, "We are alive, Al, we are not dead!"

"Uncle, are you alright?" asked Elqiang, cheering up.

"A broken hand, the person is fine. Al, what about you? your hands are okay, right?" the coachman uncle was obviously struggling with the pain in his heart.

"You two, are you running here to die?" said a middle-aged man's voice, with a hint of anger.

"Who's where?" Al asked, frowning.

"Save your people. Another young man's voice came from above.

Al looked up at the stars in the sky, and two figures, one high and one low, appeared above them at some point, exuding a holy aura around them, slowly descending.

"Clindor, go and help them with their wounds, there are a few more ghouls to the east, I'll take care of them. "The blue eyes, the short yellow hair hidden in the hood, and the elegance of the boy's gestures, like a round of warm sunshine in the sky.

With the middle-aged man beside him, he dropped a word, and the young man walked deeper into the dense forest without looking back.

The middle-aged man in a white robe nodded, "Young Master, pay attention to safety." ”

"Are you not confident in me? Come back in five minutes. The young man waved his hand and stepped into the moonlight, along with the quaint golden cross on his clothes.

"You two, what are you doing here at night?" the middle-aged man's voice changed sharply.

"Who are you, and why did you save us?" Al asked.

"Holy Church, White Bishop Clindo. As for what to do, it's not for you civilians to ask. The man approached the coachman, "Look, you're in a hurry." ”

"Yes, yes, we are in a hurry, Lord Angel. The coachman looked pious, "Thank God for saving us." ”

"Thank God, yes, but let's be clear, I'm not an angel. Kling stroked the wooden cross in his hand, "Master Max, not even more. ”

The Holy Church? Al thought to himself, he had heard Uncle Paul nagging before, it seemed to be a religious organization that believed in God, and believers and the Holy See were all over the major cities of the empire, how could they appear here.

"Hey, what kind of bishop, I'm grateful that you saved us, but can you help Uncle Coachman heal his wounds first? Al's lips were a little pale.

Al's blood circulation was still a little disordered now, but he could feel the armband suppressing the fury of his left hand a little bit, and the terrifying blood vessels floating on his skin were fading a little, albeit slowly. After a brief adjustment, Al could feel that he was fine, except for a little detachment. The only thing he was worried about was Uncle Coachman's bloody severed hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, the white-robed bishop Clindo glanced at Al, who was leaning against the tree, and then the cross on his hand became clear, diffusing a little light, like a finely carved crystal artifact. He muttered a few words, and the point of light flew into his severed hand as if it were alive under the stunned gaze of the coachman's uncle, and it was fleeting.

The point of light turned emerald green and weaved between the coachman's flesh and blood, mending his severed hand.

"Bleeding too much, but not fatal, the severed hand has been contaminated by ghosts, and there is no way to continue. The man shook his head and tucked the cross into his cuff, as if he had healed a small animal on the side of the road.

"As for you, there's no need," the middle-aged man turned to Al, his face showing a faint disdain, "I can't save my left arm from being poisoned by a corpse." ”