"It's too long." Nefritta groaned, an excessively slender tongue skimming her lips, close enough that Luo Jia could see the delicate and dense taste buds on it, and a flower-like aroma welled up from the depths of her throat.

"Let me kiss you." Her eyes were so soft that honey could drip from them, "Please, grant the wish of a humble woman." Any mother who has just given birth, when her newborn opens her soft tender mouth and weeps, the bulge of her full breasts that is in desperate need of release is nothing compared to my desire to hug you. ”

Luo Jia looked at the baroness coldly, took a step back, and broke free from her embrace. Nevrita subconsciously stretched out her hand, and the moment she touched Roga's shoulder, she screamed and retracted as if she had touched hot coal.

On Luo Jia's right arm, the black mark appeared again, flickering indefinitely. When the lady saw this scene, she wanted to cry even more.

"Let me bite your mouth now, like a farmer biting into a ripe fruit, like a hungry child begging for food—please!"

Nevrita wept. Even though she had shed so many tears, her eyelids were still not swollen, and her inky black eyelashes were dripping with water at the perfect angle. She knelt in the thorn bushes, her clothes in tatters from spikes.

An extraordinarily long spike was buried deep in her upper arm. But she remained submissive as if she were unaware, letting the blood snaked down her skin.

An extraordinarily red drop of blood deflected off the path of his companion and staggered and fell, seeping into the shadows of the miserable white moonlight.

Victor jerked his hand back. The traces of redness spread continuously, and they were particularly dazzling on the pale skin. The rain slammed down on his face, rinsing the wound clean before it healed, even faster than Astarte's blood clotting.

The Midnight Lord looked up at the ink-stained sky. The sun, moon and stars all hid their faces, wearing a veil of dark clouds, and only occasionally lightning pierced the sky and fell straight on the distant horizon.

Even for Nostramo, it was a bad weather. More bloodshed will make up for Victor's nostalgia even more.

Fogrem looked back. Even if he couldn't see his face behind the rain blind, Victor knew that the other party must be in a bad mood. The soaked clothes, the intermittent signals of Shelley, and the little guy who always got into trouble—although Astarte was just as upset about this, he adjusted his mood a little in a positive direction at the thought of having a sympathetic companion.

"You're bleeding?" Vogrim's voice was as smooth as a snake. Under the dual effect of rain and bad mood, the cold-blooded side is magnified a lot. This made what should have been a concerned inquiry more like a threatening hiss.

Victor hummed nonchalantly.

"You let yourself bleed?" Fogrem lowered his voice, his cold gaze sweeping over Victor's limbs. "Tell me you're not out of the ordinary."

"Of course I don't," replied Victor impatiently, "you can make yourself disgraced and disgraced." Collect the suspicious heart. He picked up a scorched thread of silk from the thorns. Did you just see this? ”

"Nope." Vogrim reached out and took it, touching it to the tip of his nose and sniffing it gently. A familiar breath spread through his nostrils. He lowered his hand with an ugly face: "It's Luo Jia." ”

"He's here?"

"Maybe it was here, it will be here, or it may be here on another level."

"That's a."

Before Phoenix could reply, the silk thread in his hand suddenly burst into flames, turning into a pitch-black fireball, but in an instant, only a handful of ashes remained. Fogreem's face shook off the remnants with an ugly face.

"His power." He said. This new power was immature, and it was not worth the trouble of the purple-clothed phoenix in terms of intensity—if there was anything that really surprised Vogram, it was this surprisingly unstable. And Luo Jia is eager to fiddle with this jerky new ability, but does not leave any meaningful information, and the purpose behind this contradictory behavior is mostly ......

"He doesn't want us to do it." Victor crouched on the ground and muttered, "Little bunny." ”

Fogham stood in the rain, clenched his fists, and slowly released them, repeating this several times before laughing angrily: "He thought we were worried about a hillbilly baron? Even if I tied him up, gaged him and threw him blindfolded in front of that Nefrita, I wouldn't worry about him being hurt in the slightest. ”

"And what are you waiting for here?" Victor broke off an extraordinarily long thorn and removed the stray thorns from it. "If you're bored, come back with me to Count Grasse. There's a lot of great material and audience out there, and you'll love it. ”

Fogrem stamped his foot again. "I'm not going anywhere." "Shelley is still in that house," he said angrily. He was talking of the tower of the House of Trivani, with a Gothic spire perched gloomily on the highest point of the entire city-state.

The Mechanical Priest is as authoritarian as ever. Half an hour ago she had walked alone into the relief gate painted with scenes of hell, and had left the two men in the back garden of the Lady, in the name of splitting up.

Of course, although it was a nominal split action, if she didn't close the door so quickly, Vogrim still had some objections to express

Victor squatted in a different position, continuing to work on his long, straight stick. "When did she need your attention?"

Fogrem turned his head slowly, looking at the Midnight Lord steadily. In the middle of the night, Victor shrugged his shoulders and turned his head to look at the lights in the tower. "Whatever you want."

-----------------

Tick, tick, tears fell to the ground. The lady knelt among the thorns, looking up at the child-like king. For ordinary people, this position is not comfortable, tens of seconds are enough to make the shoulder and back sore, or even sprain. But Nefrita didn't move, her chest heaving slightly, allowing her spikes to slowly penetrate her flesh with her breath.

"O cold young king, have you given so much that you are not even willing to fulfill the last wishes of your loyal family?"

A hint of pity slipped across Roga's face, fleeting, as fast as if it were an illusion.

"You've gotten too much, Nefrita. You suck the blood of the people, the walls are your corrals, and the houses are your plates. The streets of Casas are full of the terrifying fame of the Scarlet Handmaiden. ”

"You're too me." Nevrita clutched her heart. "Young King, the life of the Scarlet Lady can spread to the other side of the desert, and the citizens under my roof will not know about it? Under Trivani's rule, Sandstorm and foreign enemies were expelled from the city gates, and it was a reasonable bargain. Have my lovely daughters, almost all of whom come from famous families and have glorious names, ever been forced to drink my blood? Aren't they all greedy for immortal life and wine-like youth? ”

"Hugh raps, you have allowed the sins of Casas to breed in the streets. This affluent city is full of jaw-dropping crimes. Even the mutants of the Shasheng will lament the depravity of your rule—they do evil out of bad circumstances and foolish nature, and your people regard it as a noble pleasure and privilege. ”

"Sin, sin!" Her dark eyes widened, "Isn't this a proof of human superiority?" Without the impulse to do evil, how can we progress in the backwater ditch of peace and revenge? The cuckoo's young birds will push out their nest eggs and break them, but that is out of instinct, out of survival, how can it compare to the feat of killing one's own kind out of fun? The wisdom of man and the art of cannibalism urge each other to move forward. We were, we are, and we will continue to be. ”

Luo Jia was silent, pinching his knuckles white. After a while, he spoke again: "Incorrigible...... If you are unrepentant, why do you fall on your knees before me and cry out about your innocence? ”