Everyone in the group ran, following the escaping light source through the stone gates.

After a short chase, Kraft realized the problem with this behavior - they were in an unfamiliar environment, completely led by each other, and had no time to pay attention to their surroundings.

Even if you don't encounter any preset traps, not checking them for a while can cause the stragglers to get lost.

He believed that Green knew better about the dangers, but they couldn't stop, and the consequences of letting the other side warn might be worse. The best thing to do is to catch the guy as soon as possible and end this potentially risky chase.

They climbed over the coffins that lay across the road, jumped up and down the steps, and their knees ached with the continuous sudden stops and changes of direction.

The tortuous distance is more difficult to pull in than imagined, and the two sides seem not to be far away, but they are always separated and cannot catch the back.

The pursuer retains the advantage by his familiarity with the route, leaving behind only the rapidly fading dusk light and the longing shadows cast on the walls, stumbling through the holes and corners.

The hardest part of the chase was the apprentice, who often needed three steps to beat the others, but her physical advantage kept her from falling behind.

This further diluted Kraft's energy, and he had to take on the responsibility of keeping an eye on the beginning and the end, watching for any sudden lack of people in the team.

There was a shout from the front, and there were cascading echoes in the complex interconnected stone chamber space, indicating that the other party felt that they had reached a distance where they could be heard by their companions.

The shouting interrupted the sentry's running rhythm, and Green pulled in with an explosive acceleration to stab him in the left leg.

The heretic stumbled to the ground, falling down the stone steps in front of him, tumbling and crashing into the side of the coffin in the center of the field, letting out a low wail. Green approached and wrenched over his shoulder, seeing a face that lacked character, dominated by fanaticism.

The latter contorted his facial muscles to reveal extreme excitement that even briefly allowed him to overcome physical pain and fear of the blade around his neck.

"What is this place?"

A laugh so intense that his lips spasmed squirted from the other man's throat onto the priest's face, and he coughed and twitched with laughter, even as if his skin was scratched, as if the question had triggered the only remaining black humor in the eroded brain, causing some unusual extreme mental pattern to dominate the body like a devil.

"Where?" The pagan repeated the question, the smile fixed motionlessly on his face, exaggerated and stiff like a mask of skin.

Whispering, with the same stiff mouth, he spat out a word, not seemingly caring about anyone getting anything in. Kraft read the lip shape:

【Door】

"What door?"

The other party laughed exaggeratedly again, this time he choked on something, and after coughing, he spit out half of his broken stump tooth carelessly, "Heaven. The gates of the kingdom of heaven. ”

The priest understood this as a provocation and responded with a blade that continued to be pressed, but with little success.

There was some normal pain and fear on that face, but it was quickly drowned out by a solidified smile, "You're a little late, it's already picked them up, cough. But it doesn't matter, everyone has a chance. ”

The consciousness in the body passed at a speed far beyond the expression of the injury, and after only a few words that did not match the preamble, the abnormal excitement quickly weakened, leaving only a dark and frozen expression mask and a sense of relief.

Paranoia at a certain conviction of a beautiful picture anesthetized him, squeezing the last bit of spirit out of his shell.

It's over for now, but it's pointless. The warning was answered, and I could feel footsteps coming from different directions and distances, making it difficult to determine the exact location.

They had expected such a moment, but it was still nerve-wracking to provoke an all-out defensive response. The teams lit torches and moved closer to each other to get ready for battle.

Frantic light and shadow danced in the cramped and tortuous space, surging in all directions, one doorway after another, reaching in front of him, wielding deadly weapons and malice without discipline or reservation.

The first to arrive was an axe, rusted with a jagged blade and a new handle.

The sword stabbed the attacker in the body before it reached its top, the pain not stopping him completely, and the shape-shifting motion still struggled to move the weapon toward its target.

The monk narrowly avoided a blow that might have taken off his shoulder, drew his sword and stepped back, retracting into the range of his teammates, allowing others to help make up for the blow that completely incapacitated his opponent.

With a stereotyped exaggerated smile that came out of a mold, he collapsed in front of everyone.

This level of fanaticism causes far more psychological damage than a brushing shoulders with the blade of an axe, not finding a normal attachment to life, but carrying an inexplicable sense of relief.

More enemies poured in from all directions, and the surrounding space quickly became noisy and lively.

The infidels' fearless attacks caused quite a bit of chaos at one point, and the Inquisition rarely encountered such an opponent in gangs or paganisms seeking wealth, most of the enemies would cower and collapse after being wounded, but this time the same fear was not seen in the enemy.

Intense emotions are aroused to the point of sickness, and with a near-blind consciousness and body, they attack the fully armed professional forces in front of them.

Even though their equipment is extremely poor and rudimentary, the danger is quite high, and even Kraft felt a little uncomfortable in his first encounter, which was completely different from the previous attacks.

These people who rushed to the formation of the team didn't care about the benefits, didn't mind trading their lives for the slightest injury of their opponents, and didn't even care if it had an effect.

It seems that they are the heads of the tide, the pioneers of the dark sea, who are agitated to beat the embankment again and again.

But limited space is not a disadvantage for disciplined personnel, and the monks have enough courage and good leaders to effectively stabilize the front.

The cooperating Inquisition team quickly adapted to the situation after the initial onslaught, using the terrain to block the opponent in the narrow passage, limiting the area of engagement, and taking advantage of the length of the long sword stab.

Green and Kraft wandered from place to place, appearing where they were needed most, maintaining a delicate balance.

Perhaps brute bravery can cause suppression at a low level, but in the eyes of those who have reached a considerable level of skill, it only provides more opportunities.

More chances to put it to death.

Luckily, there are also one or two fish that slip through the net, and they will bump into the trainees who are unable to participate because of their short hands.

After a long journey through the sewers and labyrinths, Kraft felt extraordinarily awake and light, like a mudfish that had been dormant in the dry season and breathed the moisture of the rainy season again.

The once-granted, self-summarized ideas are presented just right when needed, and are channeled into the correct musculoskeletal system by the nervous system under the guidance of an excellent sense of space, and the weak bioelectric signal is transformed into an action that efficiently terminates the operation of another living system.

Efficiency, precision, and a condescending indifference to the point that consciousness produces a slight horror.

[A little problem]

He had failed to trace the source of his feelings, and in the time of his awakening, the waves that had surged from all directions of the labyrinth of the mausoleum had mostly fallen at his feet.

The monks, who had received effective support, did not collapse under the pressure, and the battle line was stabilized.

They didn't have time to rejoice, they only felt that the surrounding area was quiet too quickly, as if the moments when the balance of the situation tilted to their side, the voices in the corridor dispersed as birds and beasts.

The ownerless torch burned silently on the ground, and the tide seemed to recede.

No, it's just the head of the tide, and the real cold snap is calm when it rises, and it is calm and gloomy and irresistible from the sea level.

After the noise faded away, and before anyone noticed, strange sounds blended into the background of heavy breathing.

It was the sound of some rather concentrated metal rubbing, the sound of an army trotting through the swamp and gradually sinking, the unsheathed sharp weapon coming into contact with the armor and shield, the piercing scraping sound bubbling in the mud.

But it was too dense, dense as if it had all of them together, pouring into this small space in a paste form, crawling and moving.

Green pulled out a small iron kettle and shook it vigorously in his ears, the sound coming from it was dull and sticky.