Monica's eyes flicked over to Anna and Enzo.
The sharpness in the elf girl's eyes after the battle had not yet faded, but her treatment of the captives did not reveal any clear preference.
The dwarf used a small hammer to hit the mithril breastplate, making a dull clanging sound. With a look of disdain as a winner on his face, he also looked at Mark.
The canons and rules of many churches in the Holy Light Continent clearly state the commandment that "prisoners shall not be tortured or killed."
Monica's question was just a silent reminder to Mark.
In other words, he was testing what exactly was the difference between him, a "priest", and ordinary priests.
If the mysterious being behind Mark has a profound influence on him, perhaps we can also learn something about His identity from the way He treats the captives.
Anna was silent for a moment, put the longbow back behind her, and said in a clear voice: "I'll listen to you, Mark."
Enzo grinned and spat, "Bah! A bunch of scum! But you're the boss, you do what I say! I'll just smash it!"
The pressure was on Mark.
He glanced in the direction of Wulong Lake. Time was running out, but there was still nearly a day until the midnight agreed upon by the Enlightenment Meeting.
Although he didn't realize the deeper meaning of Monica's question.
But as a time traveler, he is not someone who can really decide to take someone's life without any reason.
Come to think of it, he really felt that he had never killed anyone in a sense since he traveled through time!
Killing these captives in front of us may be a psychological burden, but not killing them may be a hidden danger.
Perhaps we can take this opportunity to do a little experiment.
Mark's eyes calmed down, he reached into his arms and took out the heavy [Forbidden Scripture] with a pattern of stars surrounding wings on the cover.
When it was exposed to the dim light of the Rotten Dragon Swamp, the holy light flowing on the cover seemed to be a little more intense.
It suppressed the smell of decay that permeated the surroundings, yet it also carried a special, obscure and undetectable aura.
"Kneel down and hold your head."
Mark's voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable pressure, his eyes fixed on the healing mage and the stalker.
The two men were already frightened out of their wits. Upon hearing this, they immediately fell to their knees, holding the back of their heads tightly with their hands, their bodies shaking like sieves.
The chain hammer brute and the dual-blade thief also curled up as much as possible in the vines, not daring to look directly at the sacred book.
In their view, the priests of the Holy Light Church were going to first publicize their sins, and then...
Well, it seems they are just thieves, and no one knows what they have done anyway.
It is also impossible to see their memories.
As long as thieves are not caught by the Kingdom Guard, the people of the Holy Light Church seem to only whip them.
At this moment, several people actually felt a little relieved.
Mark ignored their humble begging attitude and the emotional changes in their eyes.
He walked to Colin's still warm body and dipped his fingertips into the sticky dark red blood on his heart that had not yet completely solidified.
Then, he did the same thing, taking a drop from each of Barton, the seriously injured and groaning chain hammer man, the dual-blade thief, the kneeling healing mage, and the stealth warrior, and finally took blood from the motionless shield warrior Aka through the vine.
Seven blood beads from different thieves, like seven heavy drops of evidence, gathered at his fingertips.
He took a deep breath, and the smell of the Rotten Dragon Swamp, a mixture of rotten flesh and despair, rushed into his lungs.
Mark closed his eyes and smeared the dirty blood on the cover of the [Forbidden Scripture] with his fingertips.
""Starlight in Dreams"..."
A low chanting like the echo of the abyss sounded, and more than a quarter of the magic power in Mark's body was instantly greedily extracted by the Holy Scripture!
The distorted star pattern on the book cover suddenly lit up, and the dim starlight, under the protection of the holy light, penetrated the gloomy green miasma, reflecting the swaying light and shadow of the swamp, and a ghostly aura.
A cold, sticky mental force field with a rusty and bloody smell suddenly spread out!
Mark's consciousness was forcibly dragged along the seven invisible threads formed by dirty blood, and suddenly plunged into the depths of the thieves' souls soaked in fear.
There are no clear and orderly memories there, but a broken and chaotic spiritual quagmire immersed in a thick vortex of malice and madness!
In Bloodclaw Barton's memory fragments.
Countless corpses were piled up, the old man's hunched neck was broken by the knife, the child's tender arms hung limply, and the blood-stained gold coins rolled on the mud with a sharp crisp sound.
In the dark secret room, one after another, the struggling figures, stripped of their skin and stuffed into sacks, were roughly handed over to the men in black robes.
The other party's pale, withered hands stretched out from under the hood to take the "goods". The purse thrown to him was heavy and cold, and the twisted eye printed on it reflected Patton's hideous laughter.
In Colin's memory fragments.
Under the candlelight in the hotel room, there was the cold bow arm of the iron frame and a bottle of dark green poison.
Colin's calloused fingers trembled convulsively as he poured the poison bit by bit into a layered water bag. The arc at the corner of his mouth was cold and greedy.
He hid deep in the cellar, the bright light of the gold coins reflected on his face which was distorted by excessive excitement.
At the same time, the desperate howls of Team Beta as they were surrounded by a swarm of mutated bone leeches and their flesh and bones were torn to pieces rang in their ears like hallucinations. The "crackling" sound of broken bones and the "clattering" sound of gold coins falling into their bags intertwined to form a wonderful symphony.
The depths of the healing mage's soul.
Deep in the dungeon, he was wearing a neat grey robe, and his movements had an almost weird "sacredness".
A sturdy mercenary, stripped of his shirt and nailed to a special iron frame, roared in despair, his throat already hoarse and torn.
The healing mage chanted strange prayers, and the scalpel engraved with blasphemous runes in his hand slowly and accurately cut across the mercenary's sternum.
It is not for killing, but to allow the soul to maintain a certain special "activity" in extreme pain and fear.
The wound was not big, but blood gushed out, watering a turbid crystal the size of a human head below.
On the surface of the crystal, the mercenary's face, completely distorted by unimaginable pain, his burst eyeballs, and his jaw silently opened to the limit were clearly frozen.
It was the core of his soul being forcibly pulled out of his body inch by inch by an invisible force, like peeling off a cocoon!
The air was filled with the stench of blood, bile, fear, and the silent "scream" of a soul being torn apart. The scream seemed to be able to penetrate reality and reach every nerve of Mark's consciousness!
Similar scenes are constantly repeated and superimposed in this spiritual fragment!
In the memory fragments of the stalker.
The cold dagger slid across the delicate skin of the young female adventurer's carotid artery, and the slippery and sticky feeling of warm blood splattering on her face was so real.
The victim's final look changed from shock to confusion, and then to a lifeless silence.
He is keen on collecting these frozen glances, like a hunter collecting trophies.
In the memory fragment of the dual-blade thief.
The cold blade gleamed in the moonlight, and the sticky and slippery feeling of peeling off the human skin from the still warm corpse was extremely clear.
The "sizzling" sound of the skin being peeled off and rolled up seemed to echo in my ears.
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