"The dawn of a dark time, the dawn of nightmares, or the mercy of a saint?"

This phrase was familiar to Draenor, but he realized that he had never known who it came from. But when he stood on the brink of death, Draenor knew at least one thing: this was exactly what he felt from the heart.

"The year 1718 was the year of the Holy Miracle, and I don't know what year or month. I, Delaenor, could feel it in every inch of skin and every hair: death, was devouring me mercilessly. ”

Draenor couldn't tell if he was a whole person, or if his brain was still imprisoned by that pathetic soul.

But he pondered the same question over and over again, "If the good go to heaven and enjoy happiness, and the wicked go to hell and suffer." So where do I go from here......"

"Stella! Tell me how he's doing! ”

"He still has a pulse, but it's faint......"

What was that voice, and who was speaking in his ear?

"Oh, he's dying......" A voice continued in a hurried tone with the jumble of churning utensils,

"Even if Styx doesn't reach his neck, I'll save him! Now, make the mandala powder, quick! ”

Draenor heard a series of footsteps hurrying close to his ears, and the steps made a swift, chaotic sound of water as if they were wading through water.

"Hey, can you understand me? What's your name Outlander? Where are you from? ”

A slender voice spoke in a strange accent and asked him one after another in a variety of languages, and Draenor could vaguely discern that it was a woman's voice, no, a girl's voice.

He wanted to open his mouth to answer, but he didn't have the strength to control the opening and closing of his lip muscles, and even his tongue was like a dead snake in his mouth.

To make matters worse, when he opened his eyes, he found his body floating in the air like a down.

A strong hurricane blew out of nowhere, and Draenor's body churned and flew into the air. He couldn't control his body, and his limbs seemed to be stirred with the air.

The sky shimmered with a dazzling white light, and Draenor squinted at the source of the light—a huge full moon.

The light from the celestial bodies seemed to burn his brain through his eyes, and his memories became more and more blurred in his mind, and even the marquee of life that had been gradually emerging was only the colors and lines that he could barely remember.

The only thing he could clearly feel now was the weightlessness of the nightmare.

"Oh no...... No, no, no, he doesn't have a heartbeat! The girl paced eagerly, rummaging through the medicine table and utensils and could not find any reins that would save a life.

"Miss, the mandala powder is ready."

A soft, quiet voice said, and she handed the girl a vial of green potion, but the girl didn't even turn to look at her and said:

"Save it for when you have a heart attack someday, Stella! Don't you think he slept enough! ”

"But Miss, you just ......"

"Yes, yes! I said it, but how can he use anesthetics now that he has to choke his breath?! ”

The girl covered her face and said, she was staring at Draenor's body about to lose its temperature, and inspiration suddenly came to the depths of her eyes.

"Stella, bring me that Poems of Fire!"

The girl gave a sudden order to the woman, and then she opened the safe hidden behind the tapestry, pulled out a bottle containing white glass shards, and used a copper syringe to draw half a tube of dark red liquid from her arm, and finally walked to a long table with a huge animal skin to prepare some strange potion.

"Miss, poetry collection ......"

"Open chapter four, page 466, and put it next to the bed!"

The girl turned back to Draenor's bedside, clutching a flask of a silvery glow.

"God, forgive this mournful life, and let him wander between life and death."

The girl held the bottle in prayer, then uncorked it and splashed a liquid glowing white onto Draenor's body.

"When the nightmare finally comes to an end, bathed in the fire of white refining, the rotten wood sprouts new branches!" The girl sang in a strange language according to the hymn.

"In the Name of Compassion......

Suddenly, as the last line of the poem echoed, Draenor felt his wandering body gain gravity again, followed by a violent fall and continuous acceleration, like a meteorite that pierced the atmosphere and slammed wildly towards the ground, he felt the air around his body continue to heat up due to the high-speed fall, and finally ignited a white fire.

It was as if the burning sensation was not only tormenting his nerves, but reaching deep into his brain, incinerating his soul.

The light gradually blurred his eyes, and suddenly all the scenes of life began to regress and gradually become transparent, and with the fall of broken bones, he finally opened his eyes:

Everything gradually returned to color, and the sun gave off a strange halo, as if it were the same as when he was born.

"Wake up!" The girl dressed in white silk stretched out her arms and walked towards him, and at that moment, Draenor was sure from the bottom of his heart that it was the saint who brought the light of mercy in the darkness standing before him.