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墨書 Inktalez
When Palladio stepped out of the military tent, his view was occupied by the bustling military camp, with soldiers shuttling back and forth. Their eyes were filled with anxiety and anticipation, but for Palladio, all of this was just a prelude to the war. He savored the scent of gunpowder, blood, and sweat in the air, a unique fragrance to him, a prelude to death and victory.
As Palladio walked through the camp, his gaze penetrated the soldiers' surface determination, reaching deep into their souls. He could feel the fear and courage in each person's heart, emotions that, to him, were nothing more than necessary elements in the grand script of war. He was fascinated by this chaotic beauty and was full of anticipation for the life-and-death struggle that the soldiers were about to embark on.
Palladio has a twisted and distorted inner world. He not only sees war as an art, but also views the sacrifices of soldiers as necessary pigments for this art. In his eyes, every drop of blood and every scream are indispensable parts of this artistic creation, a praise of the limits of life. He longs to see more blood spilled and more lives extinguished under his command, as in those moments, he feels an unprecedented sense of control and existence.
In Palladio's mind, war is not just a pursuit of victory, but also an extreme display of disregard for life. He enjoys the absolute control over the lives of soldiers in this life-and-death environment. When soldiers march to their deaths under his command, he feels a sick sense of satisfaction. Behind this war, Palladio's psyche has been thoroughly distorted, turning him into a crazed commander who revels in watching life fade away.
Palladio's eyes shimmered with an unusual light, and at that moment, he felt an unprecedented excitement. For him, the beginning of each battle was a rebirth, and the end of each war was a magnificent curtain call. He longed to see soldiers throw themselves into battle without hesitation, and to witness the enemy tremble and crumble before their mighty power.
His obsession with war had reached almost a fanatical level, but Palladio never shied away from it; instead, he saw it as his pride. In his heart, war was the ultimate judge, the sole standard for determining life and death, honor and disgrace. And he, Palladio, placed himself in the vortex of this endless war, savoring every thrilling moment it brought.
When Palladio stands in the military camp, the soldiers in front of him are nervously and orderly preparing for the upcoming battle, but his heart is filled with an indescribable excitement. For him, war is not only a symbol of power and conquest, but also a feast of blood and fire. Every drop of blood, every death, awakens his most primitive and fervent desires deep within his heart.
Facing the impending battle, he can almost foresee the tragic fate of those goats, imagining the ravaged bodies of creatures after the war. In his heart surges not only a desire for victory, but also a kind of morbid excitement. This emotion makes him feel both crazy and painful, and he longs to find a way to release this suppressed emotion.
So he turned around, his gaze falling on his left hand, which was covered in old scars. His right hand tightly gripped a military knife, its blade shimmering with a cold light in the dim lamplight. A hint of madness flashed in Palladio's eyes as he lightly caressed his arm, seemingly searching for a suitable point of entry. Then, without hesitation, he drew the blade across his skin, a shallow cut that was enough to make the blood slowly seep out.
This painful and faint sensation seemed to provide a peculiar comfort for Palladio, offering him a brief relief from his emotions. He watched the blood seeping from his arm, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. For him, this was not only a form of self-punishment, but also a ritual for the impending war, a fervent hymn to blood and death.
At this moment, deep within Palladio's soul, that twisted and perverse pleasure is awakened once again. He anticipates everything that war will bring, looking forward to the bodies of goats and soldiers becoming sacrifices on his path to victory. In his eyes, all of this is the inevitable result of war, a part of being a general that he must face and enjoy.
As the blood slowly flows down Palladio's arm, he can almost feel the pain and release brought by every drop of blood. This sensation plunges him into a morbid ecstasy. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and the smell of iron rust and salty dampness mixed with blood fills his senses, causing his body to tremble involuntarily. The pain from this self-harm has somehow triggered a twisted sense of satisfaction within him.
At that moment, a hurried footsteps sound came from not far away, interrupting Palladio's immersion in his own world. He quickly returned to reality, realizing that he couldn't show any weakness at this time. He immediately pulled down his sleeve to cover the wound on his arm, then turned around, facing the source of the sound with an expressionless face.
The footsteps grew closer, and a mixture of disdain and confidence reappeared on Palladio's face, as if nothing had happened just now. He stood tall, exuding the dignity typical of a leader, waiting for the arrival of the person who had disturbed his solitary moment.
When the soldier appeared in his sight, Palladio raised his eyebrows in surprise, but his heart was still immersed in the abnormal pleasure brought by pain and the smell of blood, which filled him with a perverse anticipation for the upcoming battle. In his view, war was not just a competition for victory, but also a deep emotional release that penetrated to the marrow.
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