Chapter 58 World B: 3 The taste of rust spread in my mouth, E...
The taste of rust spread in his mouth, and Ehtan felt a sweetness in his throat, but he still swallowed the fishy sweetness.
Ehtan could only hear some harsh buzzing sounds. He had just been hit on the head and probably had a concussion. He wondered if it would cause hearing loss.
"Really—" the man grabbing his collar said with a hint of exasperation, "How can you be so stubborn? Look, you're injured now."
Blood trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, turning Ehtan's vision bloodshot. He could only vaguely make out a human figure.
"Heh heh—" Ehtan managed a hoarse sound, his chest heaving violently, still somewhat breathless.
The buzzing was too loud; Ehtan could only faintly hear a few words from the other end: stubborn, injured.
Hatred burned like a tangible fire within him, yet Ehtan suddenly felt like laughing.
This person is still as good at pretending as ever, talking as if all his injuries weren't his fault. His hypocrisy is disgusting.
He really wanted to laugh, so he laughed out loud. But as he laughed, he choked on the blood that rose up in his throat. He didn't know where he was injured or why he was bleeding so much, but he kept laughing.
To be honest, his laughter was really eerie.
His voice was hoarse and unpleasant, giving off an eerie and chilling feeling. As his laughter grew longer, it grew softer and softer until he lost his voice altogether, but he was still laughing, his body trembling with laughter.
The man holding him by the collar watched coldly, laughing for what seemed like an eternity. Ehtan finally stopped laughing, but then suddenly turned hostile, mouthing, "Die!"
A dark purple blade of light shot out from his hand, swiftly slashing towards the man's neck. The distance was too close! It would be difficult for the man to dodge.
Will it succeed? Can we kill him? Is it possible?
In this moment of crisis, Ehtan felt as if time had slowed down countless times. He could even clearly see the air around his light blade distorting, heading straight for the fatal spot.
Unexpectedly, the other person vanished in a flash, releasing Ehtan at the same time, causing Ehtan to fall rapidly.
Ehtan's hearing returned somewhat, and the whistling wind gave him a profound realization—he was descending from high in the sky.
He had very little magic left in his body, which is why he was captured. His companions were also caught in a fierce battle and probably couldn't spare any attention to anything else, especially since he and his opponent had chosen a secluded spot to fight.
After all, even a moment's distraction in battle can give the opponent an opening to strike and kill.
Ehtan's fingers trembled slightly, squeezing out the last bit of magic power, his fingers only able to emit a tiny spark.
Is this how it's going to be? Is he going to die? Ehtan wondered.
It's so frustrating! He held onto this belief for so long, and he still hasn't succeeded... he still hasn't avenged Bertha...
Years have passed, and he still can't kill him.
One by one, our comrades have been killed in battle. We used to have hundreds of comrades, but now there are only about twenty left, and each of them has many wounds.
He was so tired; he just wanted to get a good night's sleep.
After Bertha and Lily died, he was constantly on edge, forcing himself to work harder and become stronger, not daring to relax even for a moment.
Because he wanted to avenge them, because he wanted to kill that person, and because he didn't want what happened to them to happen to anyone else, he needed to work harder than before.
He has already lost too much. Does he really still want to keep fighting until all his comrades are dead?
Is it really necessary? He has already lost too much. Are his comrades truly fighting alongside him willingly? Perhaps they are already thinking of giving up. He has forgotten the most important person in his life—her.
What sustained him? It was the burning hatred that kept him awake day and night, his mind constantly replaying the gruesome sight of their corpses.
It's the missing part in my heart, Selene.
It's truly astonishing that he loved someone so deeply in the first half of his life, to the point that he went to such lengths for her. Even after his memories were erased, he himself couldn't find her anymore, and he was so ruthless to himself.
Ehtan opened his eyes and saw the black dot in the sky gradually shrinking, and the resentment in his heart burned up again.
No, he didn't want to give up. At this point, only one person could survive, and he... he had to kill him.
Ehtan bit his tongue hard, blood spilling from it, and drew the last bit of magic power according to one of the spells he remembered.
Ancient, obscure, dark characters suddenly appeared and coiled around him like nimble snakes.
Just before touching the ground, Ehtan seemed powerless to stop or land safely, and the black dot in the sky finally moved.
The man was rushing downhill at high speed. Ehtan had his eyes half-closed. The two were getting closer and closer. The man reached out a hand to put his arm around Ehtan's shoulder.
Suddenly, his scalp tingled, and his head tilted slightly as something flew past his neck. His downward momentum stopped abruptly, and then he heard a huge explosion behind him.
Ehtan secretly regretted that the attack had failed to slit his throat, leaving only a shallow wound on his neck from which blood gushed out.
Ehtan landed lightly, looked up and met the gaze of the man in the air who was thoughtfully looking at him with his thumb dabbing some blood from his wound.
"What a surprise, you've fooled me again." The man's voice was light and cheerful. "Looks like tonight is almost here."
The distant horizon gradually turned a pale white, signaling to the people who had been fighting at night that dawn was breaking.
"Let's end it here for tonight~" The man dodged another of Ehtan's attacks, mouthing his name one last time: "Bye-bye—"
The man left.
Ehtan clenched his fists in anger, but there was nothing he could do.
It's happening again...
Morrison felt like he couldn't breathe.
The rhythmic tapping of fingers on the table filled the air, unhurried yet suffocating for everyone present.
The meeting room was dark, with the doors and windows closed and heavy curtains drawn. The room was dim and hard to see clearly, but you could still make out outlines with the little light you could see.
They had just finished a battle, and their leader had been wounded by the opposing leader. He had been touching the wound and tapping his fingers on the table ever since.
It was so oppressive. Even the lady who was close to the leader kept her head down, pursed her lips, and looked uneasy, her fingers unconsciously digging into the table.
Morrison glanced cautiously at his companions on his left; one or two of them were pale-faced, looking like ghosts in the already dimly lit room.
They glanced cautiously to the right, and the reaction was even stronger. Some people broke out in a cold sweat and pinched themselves so hard that they bled.
Morrison wasn't usually a coward, but unfortunately, he was their leader, a notorious tyrant.
Ordinary people turn pale at the mere mention of his name. Like locusts swarming across the land, if someone mentions his name, the place will be deserted within seconds.
His name is a taboo subject, even though it sounds a bit like a snake-faced man. Most people don't dare to call him by his name and only dare to call him "that person".
No one even mentioned his name, let alone dared to see his face. They only knew his general features, and were told that he was very good-looking.
The knocking stopped abruptly, causing everyone's hearts to tighten, followed by a soft sigh.
"You're putting me in a difficult position," the voice said softly and casually. "How come you can't even locate the enemy's base?"
Morrison's breath caught in his throat; panic overwhelmed his thoughts. He even saw his companion trembling uncontrollably, his face pale and on the verge of fainting.
When that person expressed his dissatisfaction last time, he replaced half of the people present. Only the woman, him, and a few others survived; everyone else died at his hands.
Although they were his subordinates, their fear of him was no less than that of outsiders, and perhaps even more severe.
Seeing that smiling face, I feared that he might have some terrible plan in mind.
Seeing that person's expressionless face, I was afraid that I had done something to anger him.
Seeing that person's obviously unhappy expression, some people had already drafted their wills in their minds, if they had the time to write them down.
The current situation clearly expresses dissatisfaction because they haven't been able to find the address of the new base of the group they just fought with.
I don't know what's wrong with that guy. He doesn't usually try to kill his opponents, just occasionally fight them. He fights fiercely with the opposing leader, but he always saves his opponent at the most crucial moment.
It's like a cat playing with mice, watching them try to escape but all in vain, easily catching them, treating them only as objects that bring him pleasure.
But is that really the case?
So many years have passed, and that person seems to have never gotten tired of it. He clearly has the ability to kill, and when they fight, it's as if he wants the other person to be under his control, but in the end, he never goes all out.
Morrison dared not think too much about it; trying to guess what that person was thinking was a major taboo, and guessing wrong would mean a 100% death rate.
"You must find them within three days." The cold-blooded man gave the final order to everyone, his tone as casual as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner: "If you can't do it, you can all die. If you have family members of marriageable age, they can take your place. If not, you can die with them. After all, I don't want to see you separated from your beloved families."
Cold sweat dripped from Morrison's forehead, and he felt utterly chilled.
This is terrible, this is really going to kill me. It would be one thing if I died, but now I'm dragging my family down with me.
Morrison thought of his twin sister at home and gritted his teeth.
No matter the cost, they must find the location of the enemy's base this time, or they will all die, and their entire families will die too.
The chair made a screeching sound as it was dragged, followed by footsteps. Then the door slammed shut, and all sound ceased. Only then did everyone dare to look up at each other.
Everyone looked terrible; each one looked like a drowning person just pulled from the water—pale, covered in sweat, breathing rapidly, and utterly disheveled.
Everyone looked at each other, their hearts filled with sorrow, and some even couldn't help but shed tears, wondering if they could really find the other side's base.
We have to give it a try, don't we? Before that, let's write our will.
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Author's Note: Bertha = Bertha
Lily = 莉莉
Selene
The next chapter will have both Ethans meet together (≧▽≦) I feel like my writing skills have returned a bit after doing fanfiction these past few days.
This world, B, has been packed with information from the first chapter to this one [thumbs up], but why is the plot already at this point after only a few chapters? It feels like it can't be the longest world yet! σ＾σ
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