To this day, when I think about this unanswered question again, the bullied serfs are still in a mood swing.

Fortunately, at this moment, the focus of the crowd was not the fake soldier who suppressed his head and hid his restless emotions deep in his armor, while struggling to persuade himself to quickly adjust back to the mentality of "watching the excitement and opening his eyes", but the baron who strode into the "Celestial Territory" with a gloomy face after tearing off the "fig leaf".

Quentin and his party rushed in, and Al naturally followed, and before that, the kind of question that could not be answered was finally accompanied by bursts of nausea, disgust and anger were pressed back to the bottom of his heart again, after all, it is not easy to use a bright red and hot heart to store such a filthy and filthy thing.

In fact, what the "gods" say is not all lies, such as "...... The "bloody" in the scene is extremely bloody...... is real, and the air in this enclosed space does smell of rust, but this kind of picture cannot have anything to do with blood in the slightest.

The room, which was larger than the outer room, was filled with all sorts of strange-looking interrogation equipment, and there were indeed quite a few prisoners tied to the equipment, about thirteen or fourteen, but they were all disheveled women, and the mixed armor scattered on the floor completely revealed their identities.

Some of the gagged mercenaries were hung from the beams with their hands tied, one of the legs was suspended, and the other hung helplessly and naturally, their toes just touching the ground, the wide open portals outlined by the seductive curves of their tight shirts, and the absolute darkness of the recesses did not know whether it was the shadow created by the lack of access to the fire, or the fragrant nectar that seemed to send some mysterious summoning to the person who watched.

Others lay on two stakes fixed in mid-air, about the height of an adult's crotch, one across a woman's back and the other across a slender waist, and the hands of the person lying on them were spread out and tied to the former, and the ropes connected between the arms climbed at the foot of the two peaks, binding the waves that should have spread out slightly into a towering appearance.

And because the legs are hung apart, the slightly drooping buttocks also take on a posture that looks like they want to cater to something passionately.

Others knelt on the ground with their heads down, their hands hung on the beams, and a piece of wood was hung horizontally on their knees, lower abdomen, and waist, and these three pieces of wood pinned the female prisoner into a hip stilt, curvy and sultry posture, because of this posture, the shirt that was lifted off slipped off and piled up under the neck, and the inverted stalactites were snow-white and dazzling, and rose and fell as if they were about to fall with their breathing.

The smell of blood in the air certainly did not come from these women who were still whining and struggling, but who lowered their heads in shame and anger and did not dare to look at people, because their clothes were messy or lifted, but there was not the slightest tear, and some, only strange hands that had stopped wandering.

The owners of the strange hands were a dozen or so soldiers who were merely dressed in linen liners and had almost their entire tents attached to the prisoners, and they stood on the bloodstained brick floor, their faces full of astonishment, and they suddenly let go of the delicacy in shock, and looked at the group of people who broke through the door, and they all forgot to do [the most basic thing that must be done when facing someone who is more noble than themselves].