Kraft mentally quickly weighed the value for money for the door and kitchen, and rushed towards the main entrance.

The knee-deep water slowed him down greatly, and the door, which could have been reached within two breaths, was dragged several times longer.

The shoulder slammed into the closed door, and the expected false door did not move, but Kraft himself was pushed back two steps. A few drops of splashed water fell into the mouth, and it was a fishy and salty taste, and it was actually seawater.

There had never been such a terrible backflow of sea water in the port of Wenden, and if there were, it was mostly confined to the harbor and the salt tide area, and if even the hotel where he stayed had this water level, the salt tide area would not even have half of the roof left.

Upstairs there was the roar of the door shattering and falling, and the diffuse light illuminated the entire corridor on the second floor, and the reflection of the water on the first floor illuminated the entire vestibule, allowing Kraft to see the door in front of him.

Obviously, there was no door bolt on the inside, and he hit it again in disbelief. This time he heard the sound of metal caught in the crash, and the lock bounced off the plank and fell back. The door was actually locked from the outside.

Now I can basically confirm that I have been moved to a similar but different place in my sleep, which is obviously the owner is not in the hotel that is closed.

But knowing this does not serve the current situation in any way. The light at the top of the staircase quickly intensified, and the thing was getting faster and was coming this way, the wet, viscous soft body making a heavy, disgusting sound as it moved.

It abandoned its camouflage and moved forward in the hallway undisguised, its fleshless limbs flapping and stretching, more than one, making overlapping "snapping" wet sticking sounds on the ground.

The hard, angular structure on it bites into the mixed wall of wood and earth and stone every time it is shot, destroying and nailing the objects it touches, and the sound of penetration and impact is endless, piercing the mucous membrane of the bone that should be contained inside, forming a tissue that assists walking and grasping.

All the softness is an illusion, and in order to hide the predatory part of the package, the maliciously distorted side.

It's making its own voice, unabashed.

The hissing was mixed up with countless vocal lines, as if the multiple vocal organs were vibrating, and a bunch of wriggling throats were whispering, back and forth.

Resonate, amplify, and form gloomy songs on several tracks like a choir, containing laws that ordinary people cannot understand, and transmitting sound waves through the air to all beings with hearing.

The song is not in keeping with the human aesthetic of rhythm, always followed by a low or high-pitched rhythm followed by the most unsuitable sequel, lacking a ruler to coordinate the performance of each other, like a divided will, each fragment acquires its own tongue.

An irrepressible sense of irritability arises from the depths of my heart, scratching at my subjective consciousness, wanting to draw my sword on the spot to split and chop the source of the sound, destroying it by all means imaginable, unable to endure even a second of noise.

Kraft covered his head, feeling his obsessive-compulsive disorder relapse in a long time, trying to control himself to realize the non-self thoughts in his mind, to stop the sound.

He pressed his knuckles against the weak points of the skull on both sides, and suppressed this irrational tendency with pain. The mind is filled with anger and noise, and it takes more energy to counter its distractions, and is powerless to think about anything else.

The blasphemous song was approaching, and the light followed, brighter and brighter, to a somewhat glaring degree.

It poured down from the second floor, flowing above and below the water, as if gaining substance, moving in the fluid, spreading along the salty waters, surging towards Kraft.

The shiny liquid, the flowing light, converges in the transparent water into an oily film, reminiscent of grease that is difficult to remove from the surface of the water, marking the deterioration of the water quality, bringing greasy and the ensuing rotten stench.

The previously mild, pure white color is mixed with uneven colors and becomes uneven. The different whites are mixed into a ball, and the gray rolls out from the inside, like a wound with flesh open on the skin, and like a flat fissure under the epidermis with the mouthparts open.

Sensing that its target had no way to escape, it no longer struggled to hide itself, but stretched out as hard as it could, slowly approaching the stairs along the corridor.

The loud and noisy sound still reverberates, conducting along the periosteum and ossicular chain into the skull, with a chaotic vibration of the sensor.

Kraft let go of his head-pressing hand, stood up straight against the table next to him, drew his sword and plunged into the crack in the door, and tried to pry the door open.

At the request of his grandfather, the craftsman who crafted the sword used the best materials and forged and tempered it repeatedly, so that the sharp blade could cut through leather armor, and even beat metal twice regardless of the length of use.

However, it was clearly not designed to include a crowbar, and it was impossible to cut through iron locks in narrow crevices. The weight of Kraft's entire body pressed the blade into a large arc, and it would be close to the limit of elasticity if it went down, but it was still fruitless.

He felt that he could not escape, unless the boss had built a second door somewhere, a suggestion that could be made in the next life. But as the saying goes, "When you face a beast, you have to face it and look at it...... That way you can die a decent death. ”

Although the situation is slightly different now, the truth is still the same.

The educational environment of the otherworldly soul formed his attitude of not being afraid of ghosts and gods, and he firmly believed that no matter what was alive, it would eventually die. Unless it's a whale, he doesn't know what creatures can survive a single sword.

And the descendants of the long-trained Kai Scoop Master are not necessarily as familiar with the sword as the pen and ink, with the bloody nature of the third generation of the family that has not faded away.

He gave up thinking about running away and focused his last energy on making a more reasonable choice.

The annoyance aroused by the annoying noise, the courage transformed by the fear of the unknown to the extreme, combined with a little bit of broken conviction and conviction of the only choice.

Kraft straightened up and inhaled deeply, cold, moist air pouring into his lungs, cooling both body and mind.

The sword blade, which had lost pressure, rebounded and reset, snapping between the cracks in the door, emitting a buzzing of metal.

"It's not for wood."

He gripped the hilt of his sword, calmed the slightly itchy trembling sensation in his palm, and pulled the long sword out of the crack in the door with his backhand, the familiar center of gravity made him feel reassured.

The Kraft of this world had imagined what his first real battle would be like countless times, and he happily slashed with his training sword for more than ten years, hoping to achieve a glory on the battlefield that would be worthy of posterity.

He remembered that it was fourteen years old, and that his long body was finally fit to wield a standard weapon, and Old Wood handed him the purpose-built sword without a smile on his face, a gaze that puzzled him.

["I didn't want to give it to you ......"]

At that time, Kraft was so immersed in the joy of receiving the coveted gift that he wanted to go outside immediately to try his sword, and his doubts about his grandfather's words and deeds were quickly forgotten.

From then on, he used the sword day after day, carefully maintaining it until he knew it better than his own.

And at this moment, he inexplicably recalled this memory, understood the contradictory look, and the second half of the sentence hidden behind the gray beard was no longer ambiguous.

【…… But I'm afraid you'll use it one day.]

Well, now is the day to use it, the only regret is that the enemy never talks to you about step-by-step, nor about the martial virtues of knightly duels.

He also thought that he could start by riding a horse and charging the infantry with full armor, but he didn't expect that it would be such a difficult operation for the first time in his life, and he had to fight against unknown creatures lightly in a harsh form with no retinue and no plate armor.

However, it is not bad, optimists believe that the physical strength advantage of the game is far superior to their own, especially the kind that will die with and without armor after a slap, and staying flexible is not necessarily inferior to plate armor.

The credibility of this statement is questionable, only half a grade higher than that of the Shovel Tiger, but what he needs now is not credibility, but just a little psychological comfort for him to face the light source on the stairs.

For the first time tonight, he didn't retreat, but approached the being.

Under the life-and-death crisis, the spirit is unprecedentedly concentrated, muscle memory is transformed into standard, powerful movements, and the sword is held in both hands and steadily advanced in the water.

His consciousness was mobilized, and he memorized the positions of the tables and chairs around him with a frantic hiss, and the light that sprinkled it was just right for him to observe. The entire vestibule is reconstructed in the mind, forming a three-dimensional, usable structure.

I don't know if it's a delusion or not, but when his reason causes consciousness to be restored, his body becomes more powerful, and his physical strength encourages the growth of the will to resist.

Kraft stared at the staircase, forcing his spirit to adjust to the feeling, and he had to have the ability to face it.

The filthy white light spread further, the distorted and overlapping sounds progressed, and the malevolent being crept up the stairs, its flexible body stretching downward, an indescribably unnatural thing.

After hearing, Kraft's vision suffered greatly, and the mere sight of it made him extremely uncomfortable.

It was a brachiopod structure born from a large body, without suction cups, and the uneven pale epidermis was covered with crowded grooves, and the glowing tumors were randomly distributed and clustered in clusters.

It hung stiffly, its tips twitching and curling.

In contrast, the epidermis is a dense hair-like branch that dances wildly, and is very active in contrast to the main trunk. Struggling, self-conscious reaching out, grasping at anything that could be clinged to.

The roar reached a new climax as the limb appeared, the sound of an insect-eaten cavity in the thicker tentacle branches, spewing white glowing slime along with airstreams like alien flutes.

And they're not the most unacceptably bad of them all.

Many branches squeezed out the yellowish bone that looked sharp and abnormal, and the longitudinally distributed fissure mouthparts were stuffed with such things, and in the swaying, they mercilessly bit the surrounding tissues, rolled into the sac cavity and chewed, leaving only a piece and half of the same kind around them.

On the stumps of the broken branches, new white granulations grow at a visible rate, filling the gaps and sustaining the incomprehensible feast.

Even in the deepest nightmares of mankind, we have never seen such a disorderly and terrible thing.