Orc Tyrant

He is still dreaming

He couldn't feel the blood flowing in the veins, and he was unaware of the sharp blade spinning in the skull, the brain exposed to the cold air, and the thorns that were probing inside the body.

There is only the short passing time in his mind, and those images have been haunted by an indescribable sense of fear.

The world in front of him became narrower in the bumps. Every time the right foot that lost his boots came into contact with the rough ground, more skin and flesh would be worn away. He staggered, and the expensive fur coat became soaked with blood. It was heavy, like a real corpse hanging on his shoulders, but he couldn't tell whether the blood on it came from him or someone else.

There were many corpses crawling on the long gravel road. Their cold faces solidified their expressions at the moment before death. Large chunks of red blood marked any place on their bodies. There were so many that they made him feel his own. My tongue and gums are tingling, and maybe there are more in the dim grass on both sides of the road.

The toppled carriages burned the last bit of embers, daily necessities, weapons, books, and clothing were scattered everywhere, some of which were covered by their owners.

Many familiar faces passed his sight. Dassault, who was lying on the dustpan, was a tailor. He had a wife and two sons. They were a pair of lovely brothers. Sharif, who was still holding a gun in his hand, There is a decent job at the post office, and a fiancee; Trichel leaning against the wheel with his chest cut open, a policeman, holding his beloved pistol to his death...

The scream of the dying person sounded in his ears again, like countless ghosts following him, telling and crying to him, his throat choked, but there was no sound.

The cold gaze swept across the back of his neck, and the hallucinations like sharp claws across the cerebral cortex made him wake up immediately.

I never got rid of it before, and the nightmare has not subsided.

He struggled over the trenches on the side of the road, broke free from the only light, and tried to escape into the darkness to cover himself.

The jagged weeds cut blood marks on his right foot, but he was numb to the pain. The only thought in his mind was to leave quickly. No matter where he went, as long as he could get rid of the demon, the real Murderer.

He crossed the wasteland and entered the woods, but the fear behind him still lingered.

Kaimon's holy name was chanted in his heart, hoping to be blessed and inspired, he stretched his right hand into his arms to hold the warm mahogany gun handle.

"Ah ah ah ah ah!"

He turned around abruptly, let out a hysterical roar, and squeezed the trigger crazily towards the darkness. The flame from the muzzle illuminates his hideous face, as well as the eyes behind the glasses that were driven to madness by fear.

The bullet was quickly finished, darkness fell again, and a faint smoke rose in front of him.

I don't know if he hit the target, but the strong sense of persecution disappeared, and he seemed safe no matter what.

He exhaled with a trembling lung, released the pressure in his heart, and then turned around.

Oncoming, it was a fist wrapped in black gloves.

"what!!"

He screamed and fell to the ground on his back, blood mixed with fragments of spectacles spilling around.

In the blurred vision, a shadow fell over him, and the big iron-like hands grabbed his collar and lifted his upper body.

"Wilson Wallace, member of the Empire, there are two oil mills and a silver mine under the family name..."

The figure uttered standard Kenya, with a strong Eastern accent, low and magnetic, and a little joking.

"...The empire has given you enough respect and status, why?"

He wiped his eyes with a hand, but he could only see a pair of cruel light spots like wolf eyes, and the other party seemed to hide his entire face in the shadows.

But he will not forget this voice. On their way to the new camp, it was this voice that gave the order to kill. What was the identity of the owner of this voice before? Seems to be a chef? Or a pastor? Or is it a teacher who once brushed shoulders with him?

He wasn't sure when the opponent began to mix into their team, and he didn't realize that the opponent was already ready to lead them to the end when the black dogs descended from the sky and began to kill wantonly.

Only, let go of myself.

The bitter hatred ignited from his chest, not only because of the dead compatriots, but also because of the understatement of the other side, like military boots stepping on their homeland.

"Respect? Your tyrant's evil dog also knows what respect is!"

He gritted his teeth and roared, letting the blood splash from his mouth, the group just loosened his entire row of teeth.

"We will not succumb! Father Kaimon and St. Vinus protect this land! The kingdom of Madame Jera will not always succumb to the heresy of you and witchcraft! Never!"

The figure chuckled loudly, then let him go, straightened up and took out something from his pocket.

Snapped!

As the lighter lit up a cluster of flames, a face shrouded in shadow appeared in front of Wilson's eyes. This was an indifferent man with a knife-like face, a disgusting black uniform and a symbol of violence and dictatorship. Marker—The secret guard from the Purple Palace.

In the sneer, the secret guard lit up the things in his hands, and Wilson's eyes immediately swelled like blood.

"You wild dogs!"

He stretched out his hand madly, trying to throw him down, but a mud-stained boot slammed his head back to the ground.

The secret guard leaned down and placed something in front of him. Those were two photos, both of which were slightly blurred black and white images. One of them was a mature lady who was about 30 years old, and the other was 13 or 4 years old. Young girls, but their expressions are full of fear, and they are naked.

"Mr. Wallace, I sincerely hope that you can let go of your prejudices about the empire. Your Majesty has never treated you harshly. Are you really for those mud legs and miners? You are a decent person with a status, despite the unpleasantness that happened. Things, but the empire still hopes to be able to cooperate with you, as long as...you hand over the list of those rebellious."

But in response to him, there was only a curse.

"I don't want things to develop to a situation that no one wants to see. For example...your wife and daughter appeared in the cheapest brothel in Vinus City (the capital of Retino Ricum Province). I believe you have a lot of it. Old friends, I will definitely be willing to join in."

Such threats made Wilson unable to speak again, but he did not respond to the opponent either, just gritted his teeth, letting tears roll into the dirt.

His tenacity even exceeded the secret guard's expectations.

"It seems that only by letting you see all of this in person can we continue to talk about it."

The secret guard put away the photo, handcuffed Wilson's hands with handcuffs, and was about to take him away, but a figure stood in front of him.

"Holy Father, stop your evil deeds."

A white robe covered with scriptures, a flaming black pointed hat, a bright silver breastplate engraved with sacred prayers, a steel hand armor on the cross sword at the waist, two pistols neatly hung on both sides of the belt, Under the hood is a solemn and determined face, a weather-beaten middle-aged man who is still vigorous.

At the same time, he is also a judge.

"Diego the Immortal, Diego the Immortal, Diago the First Blade of the Secret Guard...or should I call you the Black Dog Van Helsing? Or the Shadow Prince Van Helsing?"

The judge who walked out of the shadows looked at the indifferent secret guard with a scrutiny gaze, and threw out a series of his identities.

Diego looked at each other, slowly pressing his hand on the turquoise grip of the thin blade at his waist.

"The Palmprinter Grid, this is the territory of the empire, you have crossed the border."

"A devout and kind-hearted believer is being persecuted, and no behavior can be regarded as transgressing."

Hearing these words, Diego laughed contemptuously.

"Kindness? Thousands of soldiers died because of him, only because of the rebellion they set off."

"I have vowed to bring him back to his relatives."

"not my business."

The judge's gaze was like a torch, and his tone did not compromise or waver at all.

"Then we have reached a deadlock."

"It seems so."