A group of people walked in an orderly fashion through the village and the vast grassland, surrounded by medieval-style buildings. When the play did not require fighting scenes, the actors' interactions were filled with boredom and peace.

They soon entered an area they had never seen before, which was not recorded on the map given by Bamke, or perhaps it was simply because his drawing was too ugly. He Yu glanced at the prisoners a few times and indicated that he needed to find someone to ask about the situation. Of course, 659 had no reason to stop them; it was waiting for its meal.

So he slowed down and patted a prisoner whistling next to him on the shoulder as a greeting. They hadn't spoken a word since the beginning, but now they finally had some connection.

He Yu extended his hand to him: "What's your name?"

“Kexman.” The other person paused for a moment, but still grasped his hand: “Your name is He Yu? That’s strange. You’re wearing a badge on your chest. You’re really unlucky to have drawn the identity of a sacrifice this time.”

"Yes, this is the first time I've been selected. Do you know the details?"

“Well… I’m not so sure.” Kesman thought for a moment. He glanced at a soldier next to him. This man could definitely hear their conversation, but it was just a script. No one would stop the unfortunate ones from having a chat before they died: “The people playing the soldiers are always serving in the castle. Beelzebub will order them to go into the city to capture people, the more the better. If they can’t capture anyone, they’ll use their own people instead.”

"A substitute for sacrifice?"

"Yes, a sacrifice is held every day; that's the rule of the play."

"Don't fucking mention it. This is the third time I've drawn the sacrificial role. I was the one riding that horse before," another prisoner suddenly interjected, complaining.

"Be content. Those who died on the altar had no chance to refute anything."

"Stop talking nonsense. I'd rather go to church and listen to that idiot priest recite prayers. I'm going to die anyway, so I'd rather be stabbed open than be slowly tortured to death."

The group started talking all at once. Their legs were about to give out from walking all this way. They talked about how many sacrifices had died, how gruesome their deaths were, and how long it took for them to finally breathe their last. These were the only things worth talking about when the actors in the play got together.

Later, the guys playing the soldiers started chatting. After all, the journey had been incredibly boring, and the atmosphere was gloomy. One of them told me about a very clever man among the previous batch of sacrifices. He described how he escaped from the dungeon, led a group of prisoners to try and kill Beelzebub, and was then nailed to the city gate, where vultures would visit his body every day.

According to this person, most of what happens is actually scripted. Of course, there are also naive people who want to actually do something, but they all fail. However, there will still be stubborn idiots who continue to play that role.

Theatrical performances are never short of characters who can bring surprises, and their deaths are the best cheers.

"So, we're going to be in a castle soon?" He Yu imagined it. There would definitely be a lot of people there, not just prisoners, but also those playing the role of soldiers, and maybe even some high-ranking officials. That's great, at least 659 can have a big meal. The 200 souls Yu Yu gave him earlier were not enough to satisfy his hunger.

“Yes, a fucking huge palace.” One prisoner sighed and explained, “They keep repeating the same thing over and over again. We are Beelzebub’s slaves. If we’re lucky and aren’t chosen for this round of sacrifice, some of us will have to stay in the dungeon for the rest of our lives until that so-called fucking punishment of the living is chosen.”

"Punishment of living beings?" He Yu thought to himself, yet another new term. The person who created this play must have some sadistic tendencies.

659 became increasingly excited, shouting that it wanted to wash its hands with that piece of trash's brains, and then use the skull as a plate for serving snacks.

“You don’t want to know what it is… I promise.” The man gave him a deep look, as if the mere memory would plunge him into immense fear.

Fifteen minutes later, they saw the castle. It was indeed enormous, looming over the top of their line of sight like a dark cloud, as if this was the end of all cycles of reincarnation, leaving no way out.

After they came in, the man in charge—who called himself Shi Sen, a name that sounded like garbage—tethered his horse to the hay shed and ran off.

He Yu was a little annoyed. That guy was so arrogant, and he had long considered him as the first person he wanted to kill.

The prisoners and soldiers walked through the corridor, which was extremely spacious enough to easily accommodate several groups fighting. Torches lined both sides, their bases adorned with exquisite skull ornaments. The firelight cast an eerie and oppressive atmosphere, making it hard to breathe.

Soon, the soldiers led them to the underground hall, where many captured prisoners were already imprisoned. The wooden poles were covered with dense bloodstains, and the walls were filled with all kinds of torture instruments. The air was thick with the smell of decay and blood.

He Yu was pushed into one of the dungeons, and he asked a soldier, "When will the sacrifice begin?"

He had been waiting for quite a while. As the lead actor in a brilliant play, he should know when it was appropriate to make his entrance.

"Soon, you'll see just how devastating things are." The man sighed, locked the cell door, and turned to leave.

"Don't ask any more questions. You'll know everything when the time comes."

He Yu turned to look at the person who spoke. He was leaning against the corner of the cell, with several shocking scars on his face, which looked like they had been left some time ago. He had an air of frivolous confidence about him, as if he were standing in some kind of high-class party. That arrogance could not be covered up by the bloodshed.

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