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墨書 Inktalez
William's pace was swift and steady, like a traveler who had known this hell for countless years, moving without the need to think about direction, naturally avoiding hidden dangers. Lin Zhao Cheng had to quicken his steps just to keep up with him.
Gasping for breath, Lin Zhao Cheng looked at William's back, unable to hold back any longer. "Is there really no one who has succeeded?"
William paused slightly, then shook his head. "No."
Lin Zhao Cheng was taken aback. "So you mean... you've seen others try?"
"Of course," William replied calmly, though his voice carried a hint of hidden pain. "I tried myself twice."
"The first time, I attempted it with my Savior."
"We failed."
Lin Zhao Cheng felt a jolt at those words and instinctively asked, "What happened next?"
William took a deep breath as if trying to suppress memories he did not wish to recall. His voice was low. "Then he was severely injured and unable to escape... In the end, I had no choice but to kill him myself."
The air suddenly grew heavy.
Lin Zhao Cheng's heart sank as he looked at William's gaunt and hollow profile, searching for a trace of pain or struggle. Yet, William's expression remained calm, as if this were an unchangeable fact, a decision that required no further explanation.
"What about the second time?" Lin Zhao Cheng asked in a lowered voice, cautious in his tone.
William let out a soft laugh, but there was no joy in it—only self-mockery and helplessness. "The second time, I went alone."
"But... it also ended in failure."
Lin Zhao Cheng furrowed his brow. "Why?"
William stopped in his tracks, turned around, and looked at him with deep, somber eyes, his tone tinged with a certain helpless bitterness. "Two fists can't fight against four hands... there are too many of them."
"And as we get closer to those Vengeful Spirits, our minds will be affected as well."
A chill ran down Lin Zhao Cheng's spine; he understood the implications of that statement—
It was not just a physical battle but also a struggle of willpower and spirit.
"So... are you sure we can succeed this time?" Lin Zhao Cheng asked uneasily.
William offered a faint smile, but there was an unsettling hint of madness in it. "Who knows? Anyway, if you don't give it a try, you won't be satisfied, right?"
Lin Zhao Cheng took a deep breath, his heart racing, and then gripped the small knife tightly in his hand.
"Damn it, then let's go for it."
The two quickly traversed the eerie Blood Flesh Hell and soon arrived at a clearing that was starkly different from the others.
The ground here was no longer a writhing mass of flesh but an unusually flat expanse of red-black earth, resembling some sort of charred and solidified meat. A strong stench of burning filled the air.
But the most bizarre sight was the "people" standing on this ground.
Countless gaunt figures stood silently here—
Their skin was withered like dry leaves, bones protruding, and their eyes were hollow and lifeless, as if their souls had been drained away, leaving only shells behind.
They made no sound, showed no movement, merely standing there like human-shaped tombstones, waiting for something or perhaps having forgotten everything.
Lin Zhao Cheng stopped in his tracks, gasping in shock, unable to help but ask, "Are these people... still alive?"
William looked at the vacant faces, his tone somber. "No, they died long ago."
"But they don't even know it."
A chill ran down Lin Zhao Cheng's spine, and his throat felt dry. "You mean... they still think they're alive?"
William sighed, a hint of indescribable weariness in his voice. "I once tried to help them, to wake them up... but very few were willing to accept my help."
He slowly lifted his head, his gaze cold as it swept over the gaunt figures. His tone grew heavier. "Most people have lost hope in this world; those whose will is not strong enough simply remain seated in their chairs, never getting up..."
"They have been completely consumed by this world; they just haven't rotted away completely yet."
Lin Zhao Cheng felt a heaviness in his chest, as if something was pressing down on his heart.
"So what should we do now?" he asked softly.
William slightly turned his head, fixing his gaze on him with a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Go ahead, Lin Zhao Cheng."
"End their pitiful lives."
Lin Zhao Cheng's fingertips trembled involuntarily, the knife in his hand feeling unusually heavy.
This was his first kill.
Were these things, once human, truly worthy of his pity?
But regardless, he had no choice now.
Lin Zhao Cheng took a deep breath, his fingers gripping the knife's handle tightly, feeling the rough texture of the grip dampening with a thin layer of sweat.
He had never imagined that one day he would hold a knife, standing behind a person, ready to kill.
Even if that person was no longer considered "human"...
He slowly stepped forward, his movements stiff and awkward, as if with each step he took, the bloody ground beneath him grew heavier, trying to pull him back, preventing him from approaching those Walking Dead.
His heart raced as if it would leap out of his chest, and he could even hear his pulse thundering in his ears.
"Just like in the TV shows or movies... it will be fine..."
He tried to calm himself, attempting to recall the scenes of slaughter he had seen before—stabbed in, pulled out, finished; simple and direct.
But when he truly stood behind "that person," he realized things were far from simple.
He didn't know where to strike—should he stab the heart? Or cut the throat directly? Or plunge the knife into the neck?
He had no idea.
This was not a movie, nor a television show; this was real killing.
His legs trembled, his knees felt weak, and with a slight stumble, he almost lost his balance, nearly toppling forward—
“Damn it!”
He quickly gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength to steady himself, a layer of cold sweat already forming on his forehead.
He raised his head to look at the "person" standing in front of him.
No reaction.
That "person" remained still, head slightly bowed, arms hanging limply at their sides, like a soulless statue.
They had truly lost consciousness.
Lin Zhao Cheng held his breath, his fingertips turning white from the strain as he slowly raised the small knife in his hand.
With this strike, he would truly step into another world.
But he had no choice.
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