Stepping into the dimly lit and narrow corridor, Jot Brown saw a messy pile of miscellaneous items on the side of the walkway.

A dark tarpaulin was covered with the sundries, which Jobbutran casually opened.

At a glance, he recognized the items in the miscellaneous items: calligraphy and paintings, weapons, cultural relics, etc., which must have been the gifts Arthur had mentioned for himself earlier.

These gifts, all of which were finely crafted, were not priceless, but they were also quite valuable, and now they were discarded like garbage in this dark corridor.

These treasures should be stored properly, and they are all carefully crafted by craftsmen.

Whether it is oil painting, cultural toys, or weapons, there are feelings that the craftsman has poured into them wholeheartedly.

Jobuterron shook his head slightly and put the tarpaulin back on.

He shook his head, not because he felt Arthur's extravagance, but because he sighed at the fact that these treasures had been treated like such a pearl of dust and tyranny.

Jot Brown continued to take a step forward, and a slight breeze came from the passage ahead, silently taking away the warmth of his body.

The further down you go, the more the temperature drops.

The walls were already starting to condense with frost, and the walkway beneath them was getting slippery.

If it weren't for his inhuman balance, I'm afraid he would have fallen several times because of the slipping under his feet.

When there was a bright light in front of him, it was a translucent film like the inside of an eggshell.

You can't see the other side of the film from the outside, but you can feel the chill coming from the inside.

Jobuterron stepped into the membrane with his head held high, and there was a hint of trance in the moment he stepped in.

When I came back to my senses, I saw a disturbing picture.

It was an eerie crimson, like Jot Brown's own eyes, and even the ground was this strange color.

There seemed to be a lot of trees on the red hills, but there seemed to be something tied to them.

The ears moved, catching the wail coming from the wind, the cry of pain into the ears.

The sound of the wind alone can catch the moans of men, women and children, the desperate roars, and the helpless begs for mercy.

Jot Brown narrowed his eyes and saw what seemed to be a dwarf figure scurrying among the trees.

Seeing this, Jot Brown walked cautiously in that direction.

I saw some of them with green skin like goblins, but they were uglier than goblins, and even had a hint of fierceness and evil in their appearance.

It was some wooden stakes that had been cut into columns.

The stakes, with their pointed ends pointing downwards, take firm root in the soft soil.

Then the other imps carried the writhing sacks and threw them brutally on the ground.

When Jobuterron saw this, he immediately frowned.

When he saw the imp untie the sack, he guessed what was hidden in the sack.

That's a person.

Men, women, and children, all of them were tightly tied with ropes by the imps, and then tied to wooden posts.

A red-skinned imp took out a bloodied but rusty iron tong and forcibly opened the mouth of the person tied to the wooden post.

The action skillfully clamped, slowly dragged, stretched, and stretched into a strange length.

The tongue that could not stand the pull and broke was discarded on the spot, turning into spring mud and blending into the ground under his feet.

The purgatory-like spectacle spurred Jot Brown's mind as he watched as a man was tongue-plucked out by the imp and then cried helplessly on the wooden pillar, but their cries and begs for mercy turned into low, muffled whimpering as a large amount of blood spilled out of his mouth.

The light and shadow flickered, and in a flash, he was in another area.

The sudden change of scene made Jot Brown feel weightless, but at the same time he had a guess in his mind.

"It's not reality,"

He thought to himself.

At this time, the place was an open field, and there was a row of fences in front of it.

On the fence, heavy chains were tied, and at the ends of the chains were some people whose fingers had been cut off looking at their hands that could no longer make fists.

Their faces were full of remorse, full of grievances, full of pain.

Blood continued to flow from the scissors' wounds, but they were confined by the chains, and could only look at their hands alive to repent of their sins.

The imps who carried out such atrocities, still faithfully sent these sinners in sacks, and then cut off the fingers on their hands one by one with scissors.

The most uncomfortable thing is the sound of the scissors colliding with the bones, the creaking sound that makes the teeth sore.

The severed fingers lay on the ground like white turnips.

And Jobbutran didn't quite understand that he was just a bystander from beginning to end.

The sinners and imps around him don't seem to be aware of their existence.

He is like a transparent person who does not exist, coldly watching the various tragic situations that happen in front of him.

The picture of this place, however, seems to be in constant circulation, and the sinner does not really mean to die, but suffers these pains almost forever.

The screen transitions again.

This time, it was the imps who stuck the sinners in the bladed iron tree and turned them into living lamb skewers.

The flesh and blood of the sinner feeds the iron tree beneath him, and more blades grow on the iron tree, freeing up more space for the next unlucky guy.

There are countless imps busy under the towering iron tree, and the bodies of sinners are like leaves on a tree, but this one tree is bright red.

Wails and screams seem to have become the norm.

The timid people must have been frightened in this environment, and they might even vomit out their stomach pouches, but Jot Brown was still indifferent.

Jot Brown had already confirmed his conjecture and affirmed that the world he saw might be just an illusion.

The familiar sense of weightlessness returned, but this time it was no longer the eerie crimson in front of him.

It was an empty room.

There is nothing frills in the room, just a simple four walls and a three-person mirror in the center of the room.

The material of the mirror does not look ordinary, although it has an obsidian glow, but the mirror has a dizzying shimmer on its own.

If you stand in front of the mirror, you will see your past and present lives, you will see all the mistakes you have made, and you will face all the darkness in your heart.

For some reason, Jobron didn't dare to look at it directly.

There is a strong resistance in his heart, and even an instinctive crisis awareness mechanism is constantly reminding himself not to do this.

But his body was uncontrollable and floated in front of the mirror on his own.

The light on the surface of the mirror shone for a moment, enveloping Chobutron's body.

He saw the picture on the mirror begin to change, and he began to see his childhood past.

He saw himself hiding in the Arkham Welfare Home, secretly lit the lamp, and looked at the detectives left behind by his father.

He read the title of the book, "Detectives".

In the next scene, he saw his adult self and smiled weirdly at himself outside the mirror.

The self in the mirror dissolves into nothingness, escapes into nothingness, becomes nothingness.

He saw the sheer darkness, the center of the universe, the splendid but strange palace.

The picture comes to an abrupt end, and large cracks appear in the mirror.

The mirror image stops as the mirror shatters, and pieces of the mirror begin to fall.

Jot Brown saw that there were still fourteen floors of space behind the mirror, and in the depths of the space on the last floor, there was a book - "The Mud Plow." 》