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墨書 Inktalez
Alan stood in front of the body of Attis, pierced by a long spear, gazing at the scene without the expected satisfaction or joy. His gaze slowly shifted to Attis, the man who had once used false justice to exploit the bodies of slaves, a villain who had profited from baseless business, finally receiving the retribution he deserved. However, Alan knew that this was just a small episode on his long road of revenge. The real battle was far from over.
Turning his head, his gaze fell on the scattered bodies of slaves around him. These innocent lives, like him, had suffered or were suffering unfair treatment and torment. He knew he needed to do more than seek revenge, he also needed to do something for these voiceless people.
Alan looked around and quickly found a can of kerosene and a few bundles of dry hay in a nearby corner. He walked over, tore open the seal of the kerosene can, and then carefully sprinkled the kerosene on each body. After that, he evenly distributed the dry hay everywhere, including the wooden boxes storing the bodies and the old machinery.
"You can rest now," Alan said softly, as if speaking to the souls of the deceased.
He walked to the side and took a small box of matches from the nearby table. Opening the matchbox, he took one out and struck it, igniting a faint glow in his eyes. He took a deep breath, filled with complex emotions—anger, sadness, and determination.
Then, he threw the match onto the ground covered with kerosene and dry grass.
In an instant, the flames leaped violently, illuminating the entire dark space. What started as small flames quickly turned into a raging inferno, devouring everything. Wooden crates, machinery, and even the tools used for skinning all turned to ashes in the flames. The towering flames seemed like a fleeting monument, commemorating the souls that had lost their lives but finally found a moment of dignity.
Alan took a few steps back, standing on the edge of the firelight, watching everything intently. The fire flickered in his resolute and sorrowful eyes, much like the unquenchable fire of vengeance deep within his heart.
Finally, with the last roar, the entire skin peeler's corpse factory was completely engulfed by flames, turning into ashes. Alan knew that this was just the beginning; he still had more hatred to release and more injustice to correct. But at least in this moment, he had won a little dignity and peace for these souls.
"This is your freedom," he whispered, "and it's a new beginning for me as well."
Alan, before leaving, casually picked up a slave's coat and put it on. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the corpse factory that was being engulfed by a raging fire. His gaze pierced through the pale sky and landed on the distant city buildings. From his days of enslavement, he vaguely remembered this place as a remote corner of the city of Oreston.
He needed to find a place to stay first before he could begin plotting his revenge. Although anger gave him strength, it couldn't fill his stomach or provide shelter from the elements.
He shuttled through the narrow streets and alleys, with the detestable face of Morgan constantly replaying in his mind. Soon, his gaze was drawn to a slightly old tavern. Despite the afternoon hour, the tavern was already full of people, with noisy voices and the smell of alcohol wafting out from the doorway.
He pushed open the wooden door of the tavern, and the atmosphere inside was completely different from outside. Warm yellow light shone on the wooden tables, chairs, and floor, while the flames in the fireplace crackled. However, none of this mattered to Alan; his mind was still fixated on the lives and dreams that had been taken away.
He walked up to the bar and ordered a cheap beer, then found a seat in a corner. He knew that this might be where he could find allies, or at least some useful information.
As he pondered his next move, a woman in a long robe walked in. Her eyes scanned the tavern and eventually landed on Alan.
At that moment, Alan felt a strange energy, as if this woman was not ordinary. Would she be an important figure on his path to revenge? This thought flashed through his mind in an instant.
Alan casually picked up the beer glass on the table and took a sip. He noticed the woman in the long robe. She was sitting at a nearby table, her eyes occasionally scanning the area. Alan felt her gaze like frozen ice, making him slightly uneasy. Although he had been resurrected from death and possessed the power bestowed by the god of anger, he still had to be cautious. In the upcoming war, the enemy could be anywhere.
He chose to pretend not to notice the woman's gaze, quietly turning his face towards the direction of the window. He wasn't sure if the woman was a friend or foe; perhaps she was just a curious traveler, or maybe she was a spy sent by the enemy. Regardless, what he needed most now was a concealed and safe place, a base from which he could plan his revenge.
Alan picked up his beer glass again and took a deep sip. His heart was filled with doubt and unease, but more so with an uncontrollable anger. No matter what difficulties and dangers lay ahead, he had to keep moving forward, until he overturned those nobles and priests, until he avenged his family and friends.
He placed the beer mug heavily back on the table and stood up. He decided to leave the tavern and find a more suitable hiding place for himself. But just then, he felt the gaze of the woman again, even stronger and sharper.
He stopped in his tracks, took a deep breath, and then turned around. If this was a game, he was going to participate and see who this mysterious woman really was.
"You are observing me," Alan asked directly.
The woman smiled, and in that moment, Alan felt an inexplicable energy flowing in the air. Perhaps this was the first turning point on his path to revenge, perhaps this woman would become his ally, or perhaps... his enemy. Regardless of the outcome, he was prepared to face it all.
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