Frick felt as if his body had been hollowed out, and although he tried to move his body, he could only feel the residual pain stretching. The head of the pen and the fun www.biquge.info seemed to have hit something just now, so that the brain was in a trance, and he couldn't even move his hands and feet as he wanted.

The kick he had received before was too heavy, and the unrelieved pain made the air in his body seem to be squeezed dry. His physical strength and magic were leaking out of his body with eager breathing, and now he could only watch the attacker approach step by step and could not do anything.

However, perhaps because he didn't know the information about the scrivener, he was caught off guard, and the other party was inevitably injured several times by the paper he threw when he was fighting with Frick before. The black garment on his body had cracked several times, revealing the wire underneath.

However, the damage that the paper can do is nothing compared to the kick in his chest, and it is not worth mentioning at all. The black dress was sewn with metal as reinforcement at the vital point, and it was also integrated with a technique to increase resistance.

"Pointless. ”

Standing at the doorway of the house, the man looked down at Frick in an emotionless tone and said, "You're probably the toughest of all the scribes I've ever met, but your actions are pointless. If you're honest now, I can consider sparing your life, if not...... I'm going to be embarrassed. ”

It was the first time Frick had heard his voice, but he was soon convinced that it had been magically processed to make it far from its original form. A strangely shaped silver mask covered his face, completely concealing his identity in the darkness.

I don't know if it was because he was so impressed by Flick's desperate resistance during close combat that he chose to pay his respects to him in this way. Although he did not block all the entrances and exits while guarding the main entrance of the warehouse, it was obvious that Everick's current physical strength could not escape.

It has to be said that the condescending attitude displayed by this attacker, although it is unpleasant, does give an option that can be called "goodwill". If Flick chooses to give up resistance now and leave him at his mercy, then it is possible to survive by chance.

So what should I do? The feeling of detachment from the thump had faded, and Frick struggled to keep his still-unclear mind afloat.

Keeping thinking, and giving up thinking, is no different from a dead man - something Frick doesn't remember hearing when or where someone once said. Perhaps the person who said this at the beginning was just an understatement and a casual remark, but it had a great impact on him later.

If you think about it a little more, even if you just doubt everything, will the other party, the assailant who has nothing to do with him, really keep his promise?

Even demonic deals that only exist in the Holy Book are more reliable than these few words of "conditions", and the promises of the other party are not even guaranteed. Frick didn't want to make a rash choice and put himself in a more dangerous situation, and it was better to die than to die.

He glanced at the enemy standing in the doorway, acting as if he needed to think about his proposal, while also observing the surrounding terrain to consider what to do. Unfortunately, although this warehouse is spacious, there are only a few farm tools and wooden boxes, and there are nothing that can be used as props.

And after the troublesome battles that had gone before, Frick was sure that there was no way he could escape from his hands - especially now that his body had almost no strength. I'm afraid that the moment he makes the action of "planning to escape", that guy will aim at him and throw a throwing knife.

And he can't think about the premise that the other side will take it lightly, he has far more combat experience than himself, and he knows how to deal with various situations. Even if he looked defenseless standing outside the door now, it was just an illusion, and he exuded a dangerous aura all over his body.

He didn't move, but he could clearly feel that the box that Sir Leinster had given him before he set out was still in the satchel on his waist. I don't know if I should be lucky or unlucky to not be thrown into a nearby corner during the previous close fight—but there is no doubt that the magic stored on the inside of the inconspicuous box is so powerful that even if it only overflows, it is hard to ignore.

If you make good use of them, you should be able to perform a technique on a much larger scale than usual, even if it is used to turn words that have only been read into phenomena. And the things that can be used as materials for the fantasy book are the paper and ink that have been scattered on the ground around them for a long time.

There is no way to predict the outcome of a choice, but if you can't even make a choice, you will never be able to move forward. If you end up in the end of regretting it, then it is better to find a way to fight here - not to mention that the stage has already been set up.

So a smile appeared on his face, and he said as if he was breathing: "If I am honest and at your mercy now, I can still 'consider' to let me live, it is really a spider silk hanging down the lowest abyss of hell." Indeed good conditions...... I would like to say that, but I beg your pardon for refusing!"

Whoosh -

At the moment when he spoke, a leaded knife flew out of the opponent's hand and shot at Flick's eyebrows at a speed that was difficult to detect with the naked eye. He was obviously prepared, and I am afraid that no matter what Flick intends to say, this knife is already ready to be thrown in this direction.

Thankfully, the blow was still within Flick's expectations, and through the use of intelligence gathering, he was able to identify its trajectory the moment the knife was fired. Leaning on the box, he had a hard time dodging, but at this moment he turned sideways and propped up a plank beside him and rushed forward.

Bang Bang Bang!

He heard a few dull thumps from the wooden planks in front of him, and he could feel the sensation of his arm being hit by the light metal. The attacker threw more than one throwing knife, but all of them were blocked by the heavy planks, and none of them were able to cross the defense and hurt his body.

"Excerpt from Sullivan Wakefield's Playwright's Dream Chapter 15, Section 3, and the power of words to be translated into my account only. ”

Sensing that the other party had given up throwing the knife and rushed straight forward, Frick immediately threw it across the plank and spoke in a thirsty voice. As he spoke, he opened the black box that Sir Leinster had entrusted him with, as quickly as he could.

Suddenly, a magic that was so thick that it almost turned solid poured out of the box, crawling like creeping tentacles following Flick's words and crawling up the pieces of paper scattered around. When he boarded, lines of black text appeared on the originally empty piece of paper, as if they had just been written.

Slightly hindered by the flying plank, the black assailant rushed to Frick's side, swinging his dagger and slashing at his shoulder. Originally, he calculated that there was no way for Frick to escape, but he didn't expect his target to dodge with a strange action.

A flash of dark filaments, threads made of magic, Frick attached them around the beams of the zenith to his limbs, turning his body into a marionette. It was precisely because of this that he was able to forcibly hoist himself to dodge the other party's sword as swift as the wind.

"We finally left the waves of the black ocean behind and stepped into the endless mist of the continent ahead, occasionally a cold wind blowing, but all that appeared in front of us was a barren landscape illuminated by the cold moonlight. Enduring the pain in his limbs, Frick recited the story.

This is the story of a playwright who embarks on an incredible journey in search of "inspiration" because of some opportunity, and the words are full of imagination beyond ordinary people. However, perhaps because the protagonist finally ran into a taboo on the way to explore and went crazy, and there are various "unpleasant" descriptions in some plots, many of the surviving versions have been extensively abridged when editing.

But it is undeniable that the language of this book has a certain unique charm, and if interpreted in the form of a fantasy book, it can also exert the power of attention to fight.

"In the unnatural silence, I saw visions. ”

Allowing his body to make movements that would never have been possible under normal circumstances, his tone did not change in the slightest: "The gray sky cracked, and the extremely cold moonlight fell on the white wasteland like a torrential rain. In the gap between heaven and earth, struggling with distorted shadows. ”

His bleak words become words, and words evolve into phenomena—pieces of paper that fall apart in the glimmer of light, and scattered magic weave into complex structures. An icy cold mist covered the surroundings, and then the miserable white moonlight that should not have been there on the night of the crescent moon also filled the surroundings.

Boom!

His ears were filled with a sharp metallic sound that almost pierced his eardrums, and the soft moonlight burst suddenly in front of Frick. A gentle, miserable white light flooded his vision, and the next moment, a tremendous force surging from front of him swept him away.

Another oncoming blow, and it was obviously heavier than a kick in the chest, and he felt as if his body was being torn apart from the head-on blow of "moonshine" without any defense. And he was obviously bleeding, and his body temperature was flowing out of his body little by little with the blood.

Of course, the attacker who was just a few steps in front of him when the "moonlight" burst was not much better, and the white light pierced his body unhindered. Not only was it as simple as being blown away, but the black coat on his body was torn by the moonlight, causing him to suffer several serious injuries to his body that could almost be seen to the bone, and even the hand holding the short sword hung limply as if it had been broken.

"Sierra Leone seniors!"

Hearing a familiar call in the distance, Frick finally smiled slightly—the scales of victory were finally tilting in his favor.