Darkness, darkness surrounds me!

The darkness was so dense and thick that it seemed like the only single element in the world that was recognized to exist, completely closing my vision. He seemed so perplexed, as if the infinite expanse of the world was filled with a vast existence, and yet it was like a thin curtain that had been blinded to my eyes, and nothing had been obscured. It was as if I was in the center of a boundless and empty world, squeezed by a darkness that could not be measured by distance; It was as if all that surrounded me was a simple color without any thickness.

Darkness has the power to make you feel far away from the world, and at the same time feel as if you are close at hand.

Of all the legends, poems, and religious texts that have been circulating on the continent of Falvi, death seems to have always been dark. The eternal realm of the dead, which is infinitely awe-inspiring, is the place of an eternal darkness of despair. There is a saying in academia that the soul seems to be an existence that approximates the properties of light---- you know I'm not talking about a physical approximation of wave-particle duality, but some kind of ...... Belch...... Philosophical similarity---- therefore, when the soul loses its life, it is also rejected by all the splendor of the Supreme God, and can only come to this underworld kingdom that has been rejected by the light.

So, in theory, I'm probably dead.

But...... Doesn't that seem right?

I've been through death several times. In my senses, death to me seemed to be just a momentary feeling. It seems to be the only powerful force in the world that can cut off the flow of time, connecting the two points of time of death and resurrection in the consciousness of the deceased, leaving no gap.

And the time spent in the process of death seems to be erased out of thin air, so that you are not even aware of their existence.

So. What's going on now?

I should be dead, but I can realize that I am dead, but death should be unconscious, so is death being realized by my consciousness now that death is real death?

I think this complex series of paradoxes is starting to give my head a headache, but it brings up another series of even more troublesome thoughts: Can a dead person feel a headache? And then there is: can the dead think, can the dead feel a headache? Then there is the dead earth, can the dead think, the dead can think, the dead can feel the headache......

I began to understand why people were so afraid of death: no one could withstand the darkness and silence of despair. It's only been a few minutes. I'm already going mad, and if this situation is going to be an endless eternity, it's the final destination of my soul...... I don't know what I'm going to be crazy about?

Well? Wait a minute! Do dead people go crazy? Will the dead realize that they are going crazy again......

The Supreme God is again, and I must not think about this again. Some people say that when they are alive, they do too much evil, and after they die, they will go down to the oil pot of the knife mountain, and cut out their hearts and lungs with a thousand knives. But God knows, where are you? For the endless torture now, it is simply a luxury suite treatment for diamond VIP customers.

"I ...... Is it really dead? "I can't stand this crushing boredom. I tried my best to mobilize my "life" consciousness and try to find a physiological organ that I called my "mouth" during my life---- which of course I should have discarded on my corpse to make a sound.

In life, we call this action "talking".

Hey? Strangely, I still seem to feel the sound of my own voice with an action called "listening" in my life.

It's simply amazing!

Just when I was amazed at my unexpected discovery, and lamented how wonderful death was, something even more wonderful happened:

A completely unfamiliar voice came:

"Of course you're not dead."

Is it? I? Not dead? I felt the place that I had called my "heart" jerk in my life. Something called "blood" seemed to be flowing rapidly, and I felt a refreshing heat in the area called skin and blood vessels on my original corpse.

But it soon dawned on me that it was just a delusion. No one wants to die, no one accepts his death with pleasure, even if he already knows he is dead. This subconscious in the depths of the soul can sometimes deceive oneself and hallucinate as if someone is talking to oneself. That's probably how schizophrenia came about.

It seems that being dead for a long time can really make people crazy.

However, death is dead, am I still afraid of going crazy?

"Hallucinations. It's all hallucinations. "I tell my soul.

"It's not a hallucination, it's really me talking to you." The illusion said to me unyieldingly.

If I am going to die like this forever, having a hallucination to talk to me would be a good way to send loneliness---- no, it's the only and precious way. Suddenly I woke up and realized that I should not reject this illusion, but should accept him, acknowledge him, guide him, and let this precursor of schizophrenia thrive.

"And who are you? Is it the Grim Reaper? "Realizing that I might forever have to walk lonely to the end of time with this sick voice, I said with trepidation, for fear that I would accidentally become mentally normal. Let the hallucinatory voice be silenced, no more answered, and let me return to the unbearable dead silence.

"It's not ...... "Hooray, the illusion is still there," ...... I am neither dead nor God. ”

Very good. I hallucinated that I was still alive. "And where are you? Far from me? Maybe we can make friends. "If I still have a body. I guess I'm smiling wryly now. Make friends with your own illusions? This is a predicament that I could never have imagined in my life.

"Hmm...... I'm skeptical. Your wry smile doesn't look like you're planning to make friends......" The voice sounded again, as an illusion split deep in my soul. Of course he knew that I was trying to smile bitterly, you see, his next sentence showed a flaw: "...... And I will stand before thy land. ”

"If you're right in front of me. So how could I not see you? I asked rhetorically.

“…… I think if you want to see other people, shouldn't you open your eyes first? ”

After a moment's reflection, I tried to feel the action of opening the two organs called "eyes" before I died---- whether this ---- was "alive" or not seemed debatable, because two strong golden halos erupted from under my eyes. It penetrated deep into the deepest part of my soul and awakened the vitality that had just fallen silent in my heart. After a brief period of vertigo, my eyes, which had been kept closed, finally began to distinguish some of the colors and brilliance. Gradually, those blurred patches of color outlined some clear lines and began to become clear.

Then I saw an old troll with fangs and a fierce face standing in front of me, looking down at me lying on the ground. From time to time, he twitched his somewhat shriveled lips and smiled ugly. It seemed to be staring at my neck with malicious intentions, as if it was studying where it would be easier to bite it off.

"The Troll Witch Doctor Carlson", this is the name of the soul that perseveres above his head.

A blood-red name full of hatred and hostility!

For someone who had just "come back from the dead", this sudden turn of events really took me by surprise. I immediately scrambled to my feet, drew my sword in my hand in a panic, and carefully aimed the already gaped blade at the troll's chest, staring at him with wary eyes.

My violent reaction was captured by the older trolls. He looked at me with a smile and didn't look like he was looking aggressive.

"Hey, don't be so nervous, I'm not hostile......" he said with a wave of his hands, in a voice that the trolls thought were soft and kind, but in fact very hoarse,...... Put down that junk in your hand, it's ...... to me here."

He said as he walked slowly towards me. This move greatly stimulated me, who was already overly nervous, and without thinking much about it, the instinct of fighting the invaders of the last empire for many years tended to me. A "thrust" stabbed forward......

A bright red word "Miss" staggered from the top of the troll witch doctor's head.

“…… It doesn't help. The troll Carlson glanced up playfully, pointing to the mark that had not yet drifted away, and whispered his words.

In battle, although the probability of missing a hit is not high, it is also a common occurrence. I followed it with a "slash" and a "slash", both slashing at the troll's shoulder. It can be seen that the ghost thing has appeared, and I attacked with all my strength three times in a row, but it didn't have any effect. Two more "blunder" markers rose from the troll's body, fluttering as if mocking my futility.

No matter how tenacious and courageous I am, it's hard not to panic at this time. "Slam", "Head Hammer", "Heavy Slash", "Streak", ...... I used all my skills to apply almost all the combat skills I knew to the old troll in front of me. But the harvest is a futile attack mistake again and again.

I even used the "Storm of Blades," which I usually use only when I have more than one enemy, and swung my sword in front of me into a sharp barrier where only faint light and shadow can be seen, and slashed at the enemies in front of me with this extremely fast attack. Eventually, I had given up on the idea of killing the troll in despair, hoping that my attack would hit him once---- even if it was accidental. Can be final. All my attacks have lost their intended effect. Nothing.

This is really evil, this ugly old man with blue skin and fangs is standing less than a step in front of me. Motionless. I could even smell the stench coming out of his mouth as he breathed. But he didn't seem to exist at all, and no matter how fierce and swift my attack was, it could only wipe the corners of his clothes into the void, and not even a piece of oily skin could be rubbed. This obscene old man of a different race, who was only forty-seven, seemed to be the only beloved messenger of Lady Luck in this world, and in all the words I could think of, this incredible luck could only be described as a "miracle".

I was horrified by this strange fact, and my back was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, and the coolness of despair seemed to be able to penetrate my heart.

Throughout. The troll Carlson was all smiling. He didn't seem to feel that his life was threatened---- which was the case---- but instead enjoyed the game with great interest, as if he were enjoying a tricky clown show.

"What? Are you finally tired......" Seeing me drop my sword and stop making futile attempts, Troll Carlson shrugged, "...... So. I hope you can sit down quietly and have a good talk with me. It's important for us---- you and me----. ”

He pointed to a flat rock by the wall, motioned for me to sit down, and said, "First of all, I have to welcome you here--- old Carlson's house. You know, you're my first guest, and I think you and I should be honored to do that. ”

I took a look around me. It seemed to be in some enclosed room of the castle, surrounded by cracked crevices in the masonry, and clumps of weeds grew between the cracks of a few masonry. There were no windows, and I couldn't see the view outside, so I couldn't deduce which part of the gravel fortress it belonged to. The strangest thing is that there is no door here, and I don't know how I got here.

There are no windows. There are no doors, but they are very bright. I tried to find a light source to illuminate the chamber, but found nothing. There was nothing in the room that gave off light, and the bright elements seemed to float in the air, illuminating everything around them for no apparent reason.

"So, I'm being captured?" I calmed my mind a little, looked down and thought about it, and came to a conclusion that should be correct no matter how I look at it.

"Captive?" The troll Carlsen Sr. seemed stunned in surprise, and then burst into a hoarse laugh. He waved his hands again and again: "No, no, no, my friend." Believe me, you are not a captive. Things are not as you might think. You see, in this place, I'm just an old troll, not a soldier of the post-apocalyptic Empire, and I have nothing to do with Darrendir. So, I hope you don't think of yourself as a righteous fighter against aggression. I am me, you are you, we are just two independent beings, a very simple relationship. In fact. The reason why I brought you here is because I found that you and I ...... Well...... It's very similar! ”

It was the worst humiliation I've ever experienced! I am such a handsome, tall and strong young warrior---- hey, please don't look at me with that kind of contempt, I said that I am more handsome than a dwarf, more handsome than an orc, taller than a dwarf, and stronger than an elf, do you still have any doubts---- where is there any resemblance to this blue piro pot ugly ghost with a bony face?

At this moment, I really wanted to break down the door at once, and leave this idiot who was completely unaware of his own appearance alone---- if I could find it.

"Forget it. You're not my dad. I said angrily.

"What?" Finally. Troll Carlson put away his confident smile and looked at me in amazement---- to me. It's more like a kind of annoyance and anger that has been exposed.

"If you want to say that you left a half-breed widow on the mainland in your early years, who happened to be the same age as me, and found some father-son recognition memorial on me, and then wanted to rebel against me and make me betray the continental alliance, please don't continue this bloody plot. I'll be honest with you, I robbed all these things on me, and your cheap son must have been slaughtered by me. If you want to avenge your son, please hurry up, I know I can't do anything to you anyway. If you're not in the mood to kill me, let me go, knowing that there's a world out there waiting for me to save. I glared at him with squinted eyes and annoyance, trying to "dig my gaze deep into his heart" like the wise heroes of the legends.

The troll Carlson was stunned for a moment, then looked up to the sky and laughed again. His voice was hoarse and dry---- I guess there were some physiological reasons for the troll race, but it was largely a dry smile that wanted to hide the failure of his plan. At this point, I had made up my mind: I wouldn't hear anything you might say, no matter what. Although I don't know what he wanted to do or why he chose me, I seem to smell some kind of conspiracy from all the strange and mysterious events happening around me. If I can be convinced that everything he says is unrealistic and false, then no amount of tricks he uses will work for me.

However, I still miscalculated.

The troll witch doctor, who had finally stopped laughing, spoke only softly. But this is such a sentence, but I can't refuse, I can't resist, I can't help but listen to him, accept him, value him, and believe in him!

He asked me:

"When did you become conscious, Primitive?"

(This story is still thirty miles away.) ）