I will be crowned king

"The Old Gods... Even though thousands of years have passed, these ancient evil beliefs are still tormenting the world, tainting the entire world with their unique malice, allowing the most fragile souls to face the most hysterical madness."

"Wissam, an ordinary bankrupt farmer, a porter in a textile factory, a good husband and a less than competent father, in the darkest and most desperate time of his life, encountered a temptation that he simply could not refuse - just Like every miserable degenerate.”

"It's not that they didn't know that it was poisonous candy, they knew very well that they were on a path of no return. Each of them was lucky and thought they would be the lucky ones."

"Because before the moment when you fall to the ground and shatter your bones...falling is a tempting and pleasurable thing..."

Anson remained silent, watching the middle-aged man in front of him lower his head in front of the ruins, talking to himself in a low and dejected voice, and looking up and down with slightly narrowed eyes.

The slightly slender three-cornered hat, the simple metal armor hidden under the leather coat, and the revolver with an exaggerated barrel in the opponent's right hand hanging next to his thigh... In the memory of "former Anson", there is only one specific one. Organizations and groups of people will wear this kind of clothing and use weapons beyond what ordinary people can use.

The Church of Order, the inquisitor of the Inquisition.

The "Second Ordinary Council" in the forty-seventh year of the Saint's Calendar gave up the ordering church's right to interfere with the secular world, but still maintained absolute control over religious beliefs.

The Inquisition is the highest expression of this power.

This is a group of "ones" that even the fanatical believers of the Circle of Order will never like - they are hunters and executioners, and they do anything to eradicate all existences that are not in line with the beliefs of the Circle of Order. They have "independent jurisdiction" ” group of church enforcers.

Well, basically the last group of guys Anson wants to face.

If the Knights are judged by evidence, the priests of the Church of Order must be arrested by law... The judges of the Inquisition only need a word of "doubt".

Anson, who was trying his best to calm his breathing, stood up from the ground and stared vigilantly at the inquisitor who was always talking to himself and seemed not to notice him. He deliberately showed a slightly panicked expression:

"Um, please..."

"five minutes."

The middle-aged man suddenly raised his hand to interrupt Anson. With his free left hand, he took out a pocket watch with a metallic luster from his coat:

"There are still five minutes left before the forty-minute effect of the 'Death Horn' potion ends."

"Before that, Wissam who mutated after taking the potion, and those who were infected due to the potion being spread in the air - including those corpses - could be hurt, but they could not really be killed."

"My companions and guards have sealed off the surrounding area. All that's left is to try to delay the last five minutes; give him the final fatal blow, and...even though I don't know who you are, please try to survive. "

The middle-aged man sighed again, and while slowly looking sideways at Anson, he pointed his right hand behind him: "I'll give you another suggestion: If there is a battle next, you may need this thing."

Following the direction pointed by the other party, Ansen turned his head and looked at the flint hair ax nailed to the wall, with the entire ax blade not piercing the wall. After hesitating for a moment, Ansen reluctantly smiled at the other party and gestured with his right hand. Revolver:

"Thank you, but I'm still more confident in my marksmanship."

Well, mainly because it's a bit inappropriate to say "Can you help me pull it out" at this time...

The middle-aged man nodded slightly, without any insistence, and quietly looked at the pocket watch in his hand and waited.

"boom--!!!!"

While the two were talking, a loud noise suddenly came from the ruins in front of them, and the collapsed ruins instantly collapsed; along with the air waves that exploded around them, a figure appeared in the scattered smoke.

Slowly lowering his raised arm, Anson's wide-eyed expression showed a flash of surprise.

It was obvious that he was already dead and could not be more dead, but he was still alive.

Almost at the first sight of the other party, Anson immediately thought of a certain Imperial knight who wielded a tearing sword and was also thirsty for fresh flesh and blood.

The next second, with his mouth open and blood continuously overflowing, a shrill scream exploded from Wissam's throat.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

Almost as soon as the sound rang out, Anson squatted down decisively without any hesitation and covered his ears with his hands.

Feeling the sharp pain and almost uncontrollable dizziness, Anson clenched his teeth and raised his head desperately; unlike himself near the corner, the middle-aged man standing almost in front of Wissam looked pale and stood there. His figure was shaky as if he was about to fall, and the blood vessels on his forehead burst out one by one.

Amidst the sharp and penetrating wail, the motionless middle-aged man was like a puppet driven by gears. His right hand holding the revolver was lifted up bit by bit, and he pointed the dark gun muzzle at Wei. Sam's chest.

"boom!"

The gun flames spurted out, and the middle-aged man seemed to be thrown away by a huge force, hitting the wall behind him, smashing the old and cheap things into pieces.

Wissam collapsed on the ground and twitched, his bloody body squirming, staring viciously at the middle-aged man stuck in the wall with his only remaining eyeballs, and his blood-spouting mouth was still wailing:

"Why?!"

"Why, why do you have to put me to death?!"

"What did I do wrong?! What did we do wrong?!"

The heart-rending roar sounded like some kind of horn, and the living dead all over the hall rushed toward the middle-aged man nailed to the wall like crazy.

"boom!"

One shot exploded the head of the living dead closest to him. Anson, who drew the bayonet from his sleeve with his left hand, rushed forward.

Although he doesn't know this middle-aged man at all, and he has no good feelings towards the Trial Office, which is likely to catch him dead or alive like the Guards, but at the moment he can't just stand aside, watching this man who may be the only one who knows how to kill him. Wissam's Inquisitor was eaten by the living dead!

There are guards outside the door, and there is the Archbishop's own daughter in the attic on the ground floor. No matter how things will turn out next, it is most advantageous to fight side by side with this middle-aged man at the moment.

The roar of the revolver rang out again in the empty newspaper office hall. Anson, who kept pulling the trigger, "named" the living dead approaching the middle-aged man one by one. The living dead who sensed the danger immediately turned around and roared towards the breath gun. Yan's figure left.

"We just want to survive!"

"We just want to live in this city like everyone else!"

"We have nothing left, why don't we even have the right to live?!"

Looking at the hordes of living dead coming towards him, Anson's scalp was numb and Wissam's unwilling wail sounded again in his ears.

His right hand reached for the ammunition pouch behind his waist. Only a round column remained in the empty pouch.

The next second, a black shadow dragging thick white smoke was thrown from Anson's left hand.

"boom--!!!!"

The bursting fire instantly illuminated the entire newspaper hall, and the living dead, engulfed in flames and heat waves, howled miserably and continued to rush toward Anson desperately from the sea of ​​fire.

Just at this moment...

"puff!"

The sound of tearing flesh and bones rang in Anson's ears. The middle-aged man wielding a flintlock ax with one hand stood in front of him at some point, and the cold ax blade split the living dead in two.

"well done!"

The middle-aged man who shouted loudly raised the exaggeratedly large revolver in front of the wailing sea of ​​​​fire, protecting Anson behind him: "There are only two minutes left, leave the rest to me!"

"Keep calm and stick to your heart!"

The hoarse and somewhat dejected voice was shouting the most reassuring words at this moment.

At this second, Anson, who was looking at the opponent's back, suddenly couldn't help but admire him - even though he was absolutely sure to avoid the living dead who had just rushed out of the sea of ​​fire, the opponent could also abandon him and go straight to the target.

But this "admiration" only lasted for a second...

"And... try not to get hurt!"

Um?

This inexplicable reminder made Ansen look stunned; while he was still confused, the middle-aged man directly revealed the answer:

"Magic potions like Death Horn can be spread through body fluids and droplets, and there is a one-tenth chance of causing infection!"

"Once ordinary people who have not taken antibodies in advance are infected, the chance of their bodies mutating is 100%!"

I...shouldn't I be reminded of this kind of thing from the beginning? !

Resisting the urge to shoot someone from behind, Anson, who looked a little dark, immediately shouted:

"I see!"

The middle-aged man who received the answer seemed to have received some kind of signal. He brandished a flintlock ax and rushed into the sea of ​​​​fire. The revolver in his right hand, spitting out gun flames, kept tearing apart the flesh and blood in front of him, and was filled with howls. A path of blood was paved in the sea of ​​​​fire.

"clang!"

There was a dull metal collision, and the falling flintlock ax collided with the trumpet gun in Wissam's left hand; his twisted left arm held the handle of the gun in a posture that was absolutely impossible for humans, and from the socket of his eyes, The outstretched eyeballs stared at the middle-aged man unwillingly:

"Why?!"

The wailing Wissam screamed: "Why do you have to kill me?!"

"Everything I did was just to stay alive! I never killed anyone!"

The indifferent middle-aged man still didn't answer his question, and his left hand holding the ax handle tightly pulled the trigger of the flintlock ax.

"boom!"

Broken projectiles spurted out from the muzzle, mixed with the firelight spurting from the muzzle, and hit the center of Wissam's chest!

The moment the blood splattered, the remaining heart and the remaining flesh were torn apart in the storm of dozens of lead bullets; the battered spine screamed out loud during the impact; the rising blood destroyed Wissam's body. The scream caught in my throat.

With almost no piece of intact flesh and blood left, Wissam fell to the ground again, with only his eyes wrapped in tentacles floating in the air.

"Why……"

The corners of the bloody mouth opened slightly, letting out a low whine.

The next second, the revolver in the middle-aged man's right hand was placed on Wissam's head. His cold gaze hidden between the tricorn hat and collar looked at the eyes floating in the air.

"Let me go, I can tell you a lot of things..." His trembling eyes seemed to suddenly notice something, and he began to plead with the middle-aged man:

"I can tell you the whereabouts of the Black Mage and the place where we often meet; I have seen his true face, I know what other gangs he controls, and I know..."

"Wissam."

The middle-aged man spoke without warning, interrupting the other party's begging for mercy with a lament:

"You are an ordinary bankrupt farmer, a porter in a textile factory, a good husband and an unfit father, and a gang leader who is willing to compromise on life."

"When you were on the verge of despair, you chose a path of no return. You pinned your hopes on the illusory promises of the evil Old God Sect. You became a pawn used by the opponent, and you ended up with a fate that was impossible to avoid from the beginning."

"I, Laurence Bertholdt, by the name of the Inquisition and the authority bestowed upon me by the Circle of Order, hereby declare:"

"Your fall ends here."

After finishing his words, staring into his pleading eyes, the middle-aged man solemnly pulled the trigger.

"boom!"

The hot lead bullet sank into Wissam's skull, and the skull mixed with scalp and minced meat shattered. Milky white blood mixed with blood spurted out in the direction of the gun muzzle.

This time, Wissam, whose body was riddled with holes, did not get up again.

Anson, who was standing behind, silently looked at the back of the middle-aged man, still muttering to himself:

"All your sins have been atoned for."