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墨書 Inktalez
Is this kind of pain something one can let go of? Not crying or making a fuss does not mean he doesn't care, nor does it mean he has adapted; rather, his heart is broken.
There is a limit to what a person can endure.
The heart is no different.
If one exceeds the limit of endurance, the mind will collapse, and the heart will shatter.
At that time, Joan was just like this.
Choosing to die in her parents' embrace was not a sign of enlightenment but of despair.
We often compare fathers to the sky and mothers to the earth.
When parents die, it's as if the sky has collapsed and the earth has sunk; what else could it be but the end of the world?
Even if you could fly or escape, what difference would it make when the entire world consists of just you? Even if you were indestructible, so what?
Would you be happy? Would you feel joy?
No, you wouldn't.
You would suffer, falling into an abyss of despair from which you cannot escape.
Little Joan had originally chosen death, to be with her parents, to be with everyone, but she unexpectedly survived.
When she was taken from her parents' arms by the police, she was already on the brink of death, so thin that she seemed like a skeleton. Even her heartbeat was faint; if one did not look closely, they might truly mistake her for a corpse.
But, whether it was fate's arrangement or something else, he survived.
The Old Police Officer, who later became his Adoptive Father, saved him and raised him, providing for his education and showering him with love, even more than a biological son.
The Old Police Officer knew what he had gone through, understood the pain he experienced, and recognized the sorrow in his heart.
Every day, seeing a half-grown child with vacant eyes staring out the window, looking despondent and lifeless, how could it not break his heart?
To bring happiness to this child, he exhausted all his strength and devoted all his thoughts.
However, heaven is often cruel.
Just as Xiao Qiao An slowly began to accept his situation and chose to live anew, his Adoptive Father died.
That Adoptive Father, who loved him as if he were his own son, was gone. The sky that had finally been mended collapsed once again.
This collapse left countless wounds that could never be healed.
The Old Police Officer was a warm-hearted man, friendly to others with many friends; everyone respected him greatly.
When he passed away, hundreds of people came to pay their respects. The mayor personally presided over the ceremony, and news stations reported on it.
Everyone mourned and wished him a good journey; the scene was grand indeed.
Everyone cried, but there was one person who smiled.
Xiao Qiao An, who had always been gloomy and melancholic, after that moment wore a bright smile on his face as if he were very happy. His personality changed; he was no longer depressed or gloomy but became playful and silly.
Later, everyone said he was too stimulated and had gone mad. They even took him to see a psychologist and sent him to a mental hospital.
However, after a series of examinations, the doctor's conclusion was that he was very healthy and had no psychological disorders!
From that point on, everyone began to despise him and bully him.
The elders looked at him coldly, calling him an ingrate, while his peers often bullied him due to the influence of adults. Later on, some even said he was a disaster, that it was because of him, the Old Police Officer, that people died, and anyone who got close to him would not have a good ending.
Joan was isolated once again.
Yet his face still wore a smile, but no one saw the hint of sadness hidden beneath that smile. No one noticed the tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes.
In such an environment, Joan grew up.
At first glance, he seemed no different from ordinary people; he appeared cheerful and never looked sad or distressed.
But was this really true?
No, for all these years, his heart had been riddled with holes and was utterly shattered.
His upbringing was distorted, and his mind remained twisted.
Though he seemed fine on the surface, he was filled with a thirst for revenge, a desire for retribution, and even a perverse wish to destroy everything and erase all life.
But what healthy mindset could you expect from a child raised in such an environment?
The flames burned fiercely.
The Demon Slaves had been completely consumed by fire, turning into a sea of brilliance, essentially becoming Essence.
Though their souls were scattered, they no longer had to suffer the torment of enslavement.
On the ground, all the enemies were enveloped in Golden Flame, wailing and struggling.
They wanted to die, but could not; they wanted to live, yet could not.
Suddenly, one member of the Ghostly Execution Hall, who was the first to be consumed by the flames, slowly dissipated, transforming into Essence.
It was only now that people began to truly die, ending their suffering.
The others had already lost their senses to the flames and could no longer see, but their instincts told them that someone had escaped the torment.
In an instant, everyone began to struggle even harder, mumbling incoherently as they begged for mercy.
They could no longer bear this pain and no longer wished to live.
The flames burned their bodies, akin to the Crimson Lotus Hell.
This torment of burning from within was far more terrifying than tortures like dismemberment or beheading.
The battle did not last long; the order of death among them was not spaced out by much time.
After the first person was consumed or turned into Essence, the remaining ones began to dissipate in pairs or small groups, transforming into Essence.
Their bodies left not even a trace behind.
Though they were dead, there seemed to be a sense of relief. It was as if they sighed in relief, finally free from torment and escaping the sea of suffering.
Watching them slowly fade away, Joan's expression was very calm; no one knew what he was thinking.
Standing there in a daze, he let out a soft sigh, and a tear slipped from the corner of his right eye.
He sighed for these doomed individuals, but it was not sadness for their deaths. Rather, he lamented why they died so quickly and why it was so easy for them to perish.
He had not yet made them suffer the corresponding pain.
If his thoughts were known to those people, they might be terrified and grateful that they had died early.
And that tear was not shed for the deceased relatives; it was also shed for them.
It was not sympathy; it was crocodile tears.
In this battle, he killed nearly a hundred people, all of whom deserved to die. Each one had countless sins on their hands. Each one had shattered countless families and caused immense grief to many.
Their deaths were well-deserved.
However, although many had died, these people were not the entirety of the Ghostly Execution Hall.
Their strength depended on the quantity and quality of the Demon Slaves controlled by the Spirit Controlling Banner. Moreover, creating a Spirit Controlling Banner was not difficult; as long as one was ruthless enough, they could easily produce a master in a short time.
Among the four major halls of the Black Witch Cult, aside from the Asura Hall, none of the other halls were lacking in personnel. Furthermore, the Ghostly Execution Hall could certainly achieve that.
(To be continued.)
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