Under the campfire, a faceless Inquisitor dragged a body—there was still life in it, limbs bouncing like a low sob. Pen × fun × Pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 But the man in the bronze mask paid no attention to this, and just walked like a clockwork machine, step by step, towards the great creation in the center of Saint-Louis Zeit.

His body had been grabbed by the feet - he had fallen into a deep coma, his internal organs had broken and he was bleeding profusely, his mouth was blistering all the time, and the ground was covered with blood he had vomited. But the dragging made him move reflexively, and more plasma trickled out of his nostrils and mouth.

The body was dragged up the pine steps of the guillotine. The faceless inquisitor dragging him as if performing a standard slaughter procedure, ignoring whether he was alive or dead, silently placing his head in the wooden groove before lifting his body up and placing it on a pine plank behind the groove.

Unable to show impatience, the Faceless Inquisitor lifted him up again, his hands chained to his waist, and another chain was wrapped around his shoulders to his heels. The body was firmly attached to the plank.

The Faceless Inquisitor did not execute immediately, but stood silently to the side, and the rest of the Inquisitors also stood silently in front of the huge bronze door of the Central Inquisition, as if like the people on the ground, life was no longer under those intricate carvings, they were just lasso dolls of the Messenger of Death.

There was no sound in the Place Saint-Louis Zeit in Noda, and the people who fell to their knees forgot to weep, but just watched the whole process blankly, as if it was not their compatriot who was about to be beheaded, but an animal.

Time seemed to stand still, dead silence filling the air.

After about five minutes, the Inquisitor took a step forward and pulled the cable of the knife gate, which slowly lifted and then rapidly descended from a height of two meters. The beveled blade cut off the human head with precision, and the blood flew out like a fountain, fell onto the pine platform, seeped into the carved pattern, and disappeared again.

The head rolled out of the fixed groove and turned around the ground a few times, and the person kneeling in front of it could see a bloody, oval ball, all of which had been submerged in bright red, and in the firelight it looked like it had been painted with a bright layer of paint, and a pungent fishy smell could be smelled.

The body, with its neat incisions, was loosened and thrown under the wooden frame, its hands and feet loose, and its body hung with pieces of cloth dyed red—in fact, it was no different from being naked, and its skin had turned dead gray, and its slightly fat belly was floppy, and it was slumped on the ground, looking no different from that of a dead pig.

Next, another body was dragged up, with the hexagonal Redstone Civic coat of arms still hanging on his chest. A few minutes later, his head and body were split in two and piled under a pine platform.

The execution lasted from midnight until the sun rose, and the morning glow covered the sky as if stained with blood. Then the blood mist dissipated, and the harsh sunlight illuminated the Place Saint-Louis Zeit, the pile of corpses almost above the wooden support of the guillotine.

Some of the corpses were still limp, but most of them were stiff and looked like winter dried hams, stacked on top of each other, and the ground was covered with blood-stained heads, and some of them could be faintly seen.

The faceless inquisitor completed the execution with precision and silence, descending step by step from the pine steps to the jury still standing in front of the bronze gate. The closed door slowly opened, and a heart-rending roar could be heard from within. These machine-like bronze swordsmen walked into the door one by one. The gate was reopened.

People were still kneeling on the ground, they were trembling, they could barely remember how to stand up, the spiritual sea crumbled into ruins, only the knife edge falling, the head falling like a solid process, all the time in front of the eyes of the replay.

Without saying a word, Elio turned around and mechanically moved his steps in the direction of Saint-Louis Zeit, followed by the three Ministers of the Council, their eyes sunken and their faces turned dead grey, looking like dead men.

It wasn't until the summer sun shone down, the ground was hot, and the strong stench of corpses was rising that people gradually left. Some of the frightened fainted halfway, while others seemed to have no sight of what was in front of them and stepped on them.

At this moment, the servant to the Central Inquisition, named Sig, a member of the "wolf pack" in Deep Valley City, went against the flow of people and reached the Royal Theater in hiding.

The theater was extremely extravagant, with a huge suspended auditorium built on top of the 10th floor, overlooking most of the imperial capital.

Sieg stumbled into the air auditorium, only to see two people standing on the scarlet carpet.

One was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, to whom he had sworn allegiance, Evan Hall, and the other was a gray-robed warlock of unknown origin, the King's courtier. Apparently they had been on the rooftop all night, taking in all the things that had happened last night.

Sigur knelt down on one knee, pressed his fist to his chest, and bowed silently.

"Well done, you're a very good nail. Sir Hall did not hesitate to praise him, but did not brush his mustache as usual: "You are admirable." ”

Sieg's eyes were fixed on his toes, and for some reason he didn't feel honored, and a strong sense of sadness came over him—after all, he had seen himself create corpses everywhere.

He looked at his hands as if he had lowered the reins on the guillotine, and the sound of the knife gate falling kept ringing in his ears, in fact, he didn't hear Master Hall.

Then, a very discerning, elegant and cold voice drilled into his head: "My lord, are you reluctant to give the order yourself?"

The voice came from the mouth of the robed warlock, who held up the frost wine and looked at Evan Hale, who was standing with his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth.

"Well, then, I'll speak for you—" The warlock looked at the piles of corpses in the distance, then back at the kneeling servant.

Then, he took three steps sideways, and the servant saw what was behind him, a sack containing a long object.

Sig knew very well that it was a body bag.

The Warlock placed the Frost Wine on the platform, bent over, and pulled the drawstring of the body bag, revealing a straight corpse.

The corpse was dressed in silver soft armor, with an iris sunburst badge on its chest, a black blood mark on its nostrils and a corner of its mouth, and its eyes closed tightly - it was the "Silver Fir " Boer!

Sieg only felt a blackness in front of him, all the blood rushed into his brain, and the strength of his knees and hands could barely support his body. He shook his head vigorously, gritted his teeth, and squeezed a voice out of his throat: "Devil, you killed him." ”

Evan Hall, who was good at words, closed his eyes and was silent.

The warlock, on the other hand, smiled slightly, as if he were looking at something new, looked at the man on his knees, straightened up again, took the frost wine from the ruby glass, and took a sip.

He said: "It was I who suggested that 'Silver Fir 'Bull' commit suicide, and Lord Hall listened to my advice and gave the order. Hello, Mr. Sigger, my name is Odin Diggs, the warlock of the "God Traitor". ”