The little ÷ said ◎ Net], the ♂ little ÷ said ◎ Net],

Lifted up by a strong force around his neck, the blue turban struggled wildly in the air, his face purple from the extreme lack of oxygen. Flash Dance.

What a carelessness! His hands tightened the rope around his neck, giving himself as much time as he could catch his breath, swinging around as he barely hooked one leg to the trunk behind the side.

Time was running out for him to get out of the predicament alive. The blue turban kicked on the trunk behind him and swung himself forward for a short while. The inertia caused his back to quickly sturdy against the bark of the man, and he exerted his arms to free his neck, which was about to be broken, from the noose.

The blue turban monkey, which was already short and thin, twisted his waist in the air like a monkey, and skillfully slid down with a thick branch large enough for two people to embrace.

Only one bullet hit him in the head. Although the attack was swift and treacherous, the opponent's mending knife came a little late.

Stepping on the horizontal branches to adjust the angle he was in, the blue turban coughed violently a few times, and then his face sank.

Soldiers trained on board. He was sure.

If you think about it carefully, the other party's delay in firing just now was mostly due to a lack of ammunition, and after judging the situation, he decided to confidently conserve resources, so he adopted such an environmentally friendly way to ambush him on the premise that he could attack him more effectively. Flash Dance.

Is this looking down on him? The blue turban spat out a mouthful of spit and pulled out a pocket-sized folding knife from his sleeve.

Expertly twisting the blade out, the fingers of the blue turban carved softly over the back of the knife, and whispered a prayer in standard English.

It was a birthday present he received when he was ten years old. Time has left dark spots on the smooth blade that can't be washed away. In order to keep this rough tool made of the assembly line as much as possible, he now uses it as little as possible until the critical moment.

Contrary to his rascal-like appearance, he was raised by devout cultists in a human town as a child. In that small attic, in addition to him, there were twelve other siblings living together. During the day, they chanted old songs with their sometimes stern and sometimes loving "fathers", or they went to the homes of kind donors to do some sweeping and tidying work in return.

Despite the help of well-wishers, there is nothing to eat in the small town in the cracks, so he has been thin and short since he was a child. Fortunately, the older children always seem to suddenly become relatively wealthy after following their "father" out, and occasionally use the pocket money earned from staying up late to work for their younger siblings to bring some dry food from outside to fill their stomachs.

"You'll find out when you're older." Whenever he curiously asked his busy brothers and sisters what kind of jobs they had found, he could only get such prevarications. Flash Dance.

The passing year is not good. Even a kid like him knows. At such a time, why would anyone be willing to take in orphans like him without a father and mother, and even go to great lengths to arrange jobs for them? In such a world where everyone lives hard, what kind people would deliberately leave their jobs to ignorant children like them?

All the questions were finally answered when the folding knife lay quietly in the palm of his hand.

Suddenly a ghostly ballad flowed from the mouth of the "father" singing the hymn, and he was suddenly startled at the sight of the enemies who had just opened their teeth and claws. The brothers and sisters immediately saw the opportunity, and rushed forward one after another, and the folding knives of the same standard were raised high one after another, reflecting the dim moonlight slightly, like stars scattered on the ground.

Little by little, the dark blood spread to his feet. He finally understood that he was God's people in the sun, and in the night, he was God's soldier.

They are the "gifted" who have been recruited, the blade that clears the town of all possible enemies, and the excellent tools that are enough to feed half the town.

Even the most astute enemy can hardly be wary of a group of street children singing hymns in the first place.

Expertly jumping between rooftops, they laughed and talked about the stupidity of being chased away by the neighbor's goose during the day, while they kept their faces pumping shovel bullets into the heads of sleeping couples.

He never considered the good or evil of his actions. All they know is that all they do is to be able to eat tomorrow.

If you can eat, you can live. He picked up the little change distributed by his "father" in his bloody hand, and wondered with joy what long-lost snacks he would buy tomorrow.

Until one day, a couple of guys in finely crafted black uniforms appeared.

"For the bounty of ten bags of rice, he brutally killed a family of six." The leader was a sharp-eyed young man, "Is this a kid from the so-called 'Killer Town'?" What a bunch of trash to discredit our talents. ”

With a cold face, he pointed his gun at them, and the young man looked at them with only disdain and disdain in his eyes: "Finally, let me introduce myself, we are soldiers from the water city. You've killed too many informants in a row who have influenced our exchange of goods with the shore, and the ship has decided to make an exception for us to come forward and deal with your group. ”

The brothers and sisters who had grown up together fell one by one, and the blood hole above their heads was bubbling with warm liquid. He stared blankly at the ceiling covered with spider silk, no fear of death, only infinite doubts.

Is it a mistake to live by your own efforts?

If we don't do these things, will you provide for us at all costs with a high heart of kindness?

If it hadn't touched your interests, would you have traveled thousands of miles to "eliminate harm for the people"?

Also, don't look at me with that disgust.

You're just more sophisticated than we are. Despise us? Are you worthy?

"Check again, let's go back to the ship." The young man stepped between the corpses as if nothing had happened, but then ripped off the only sheet in the room, and wiped the soles of his shoes with his eyebrows twisted.

The seeds of hatred may have been planted in that moment.

But he miraculously survived these men and opened his eyes the next morning coughing.

The sun is still the same sun, but no one will ever sing with him again.

The injured back of his head could no longer grow half a hair. He simply wrapped his turban and relied on his ability to kill people to move among various resistance organizations on the shore.

"You ...... Disgusting guy. Grabbing the rope that extended in front of him, the muscles of the blue turban's forearm tightened, "Why, dignified soldiers, only dare to hide behind and shoot black guns?" What about the strength of the former martial arts? What a coward who deserves to die. ”

After waiting for a little while, he saw a rather young girl, frowning, jumping from between the branches.