Rush forward, retreat, flick the hook, pull the weirdos. Standing at the entrance to the altar, the space is so narrow that any large or agile monster cannot move normally. Too many of them to be used as shields before I deal with them. They don't have much stellar and can't climb up the side of the mountain after leaving the steps. They are likewise unable to fly and cannot use long-range attacks. They have different shapes, some humanoid, some beast form, and some are completely different from the two, and it is impossible to tell what the exact shape is from the human aesthetics, but these superficial appearances do not show the ability to act and intellect to match, they look like beasts.

Even so, if left unchecked, the aggressiveness they display at this time, as well as their physical abilities beyond normal humans, are bound to cause great danger to ordinary people. Not everyone, like me, is as experienced as I am, and not everyone can tolerate the smell, grotesque and horrible appearance that accompanies them, and I have only just arrived at this nightmare, so it is not clear whether the mentally ill people in the residential areas will collapse when they see them, and whether normal people will go crazy when they see them.

Even when I look at them, I can't help but think about them: is there a difference between what I see them and what others see them?

There are so many things I'm not sure about, but what makes me think I have to do it, and what kills these weirdos is what I've observed and what I've guessed based on what I've observed. As well as the expectations of some people around me, including the unwillingness and pain that Old Hawke vaguely expressed before he died, and the first humanoid woman called "Tie" that I saw when I opened my eyes, brought me good feelings. and my concerns about Marceau, who was also selected as a routine patient at the Peninsula Psychiatric Hospital.

Suppose that at this very moment, all the people in Peninsula Hospital who have taken the new drug for the seminar—and I'm almost certain that all the patients who have been treated are test people—will enter this nightmare, then. These ugly and crazy weirdness in front of them will probably appear in front of them. What we see is not too far apart, and we may suffer a certain amount of influence when we act in this nightmare.

Although these influences are subtle, the words left by the old Hawke make people have to be vigilant.

Maybe one day in the future, I can save everyone, and I dream of it. But for now. I am very aware and have accepted that I can only choose some people to help according to my own ideas, rather than treating everyone equally and helping them according to their expectations. On my list, everyone else has an order except for family members such as Marceau, Sakiya, Hakkei, Ishi, Dorothy, and Mae. Rank from highest to lowest.

I distinguish others in my own heart. And I feel ashamed, and I know very well that this is not the work of heroes. But I was willing to endure this shame, this sadness of lost dreams, and to see what others were suffering, and I chose to do so.

I've already admitted it. I'm not a hero anymore.

Even so, I was not proud of myself, but rather depressed, depressed, and angry, which had always been stored in my heart. Only in the face of the fear brought about by the "river" and the "virus" will it dissipate. I think that's why I can get used to that kind of horror. Because, the fear it brings to me is, for me, actually a kind of purification, a kind of liberation.

And now, with every swing of my sword, every time I bind a monster, drag it down, keep it in the way of other monsters, and let them die helplessly, I can clearly feel that those negative feelings are turning into a burning force, surging in these weapons, in this move. On the contrary, with each attack, my heart felt more and more peaceful, as if it was slowly settling in the cold and deep water.

I am not particularly afraid of this phenomenon, because some aggressive behaviors, venting one's anger, sadness, pain, and other negative emotions are the impulses that every ordinary person will have, and morality and human nature have some restraints on such impulses, but they are not, once they have made such behaviors, they are no longer ordinary people, and they must have something wrong with their psychology, on the contrary, such behaviors are actually a very normal commonality.

And the changes I felt in this nightmare, both inside and out, only reflected this commonality.

Therefore, I don't care, I don't feel that such an impulse will arise and make such a subjective, cathartic attack, which is the beginning of some kind of alienation. As an occultist, I know more about alienation than the average person. Whether it is from the "river", from the "virus", or from the "Saya", "White Claudia", "Gray Mist Demon", "Trojan virus", or even the wizard mask of the Doomsday Shinrikyo Religion, etc., the alienation produced has a very obvious commonality, that is, this alienation is not to turn good people into bad people, or to turn good-tempered people into crazy weirdos, but to tear people out of the standard of what defines themselves as "people" in a subtle or relatively crude way, becoming non-human relative to "people".

And this non-human standard is not immutable, when people change the standard of being a human being, those alienations from the "mysterious" will still transform the individual or group into a relative non-human relative to this changed standard.

The most obvious of these is Saya, who always puts people in a state of "distorted senses", and what is always shown in front of the infected person is the "false, evil and ugly" of his own judgment standards, and the form of foreign objects in observation is always the attitude that the infected person himself dislikes, and it will not be regarded as "truth, goodness and beauty" because the infected person is accustomed to these "false, evil and ugly" - because, when the judgment criteria of the infected person themselves change, Saya's standards will also change.

This is the scariest thing about Saya.

Compared to these terrible alienations, the power that welled up from me at this time, even if it came from my negative catharsis, was still the realm of human beings. On ordinary people, if these negative feelings are not vented, it is indeed possible for people to do things that violate normal moral concepts. But for me, that kind of change is long gone.

Even if I felt my own purification and peace in the process of killing these weirdos, I wouldn't deliberately target them just to get such feelings. From the beginning. I knew exactly what I was fighting them for.

Defeating them is just an unavoidable scenery on the way to the goal.

Thinking like this, I used a very templated, repetitive and uninspired way to sweep away the weirdos blocking the steps.

It's easy, though. The feeling of the battle itself has made me understand what the abilities I used in this nightmare, and the appearance I displayed, was really all about. Theoretically, there is no need to mention it, although there are differences on the surface. But roughly, and I used to be in other nightmares. The forces used, in essence, do not differ much.

After all, even if the scenery, atmosphere, and exterior are unique, it's just a nightmare.

I unsheathed my long knife and sprinted down the path it had come. I was already on the altar, overlooking the surroundings. Once the destination is confirmed, there is no need to hesitate about the correct route, and the chain decision also allows me not to worry about most of the weird ambushes. The gray mist that spreads around, and the posture of the monsters when they die, plus the reaction of the magic pattern. All of them allow me to draw on my past experience in dealing with "demons". This qiē is all too familiar. Old Hawk wasn't right about one thing, even in this nightmare, I wasn't a "novice" in the true sense of the word, but a skilled "old hunter". Even if there are other occult experts here, I have no hesitation in saying that I am the more experienced one.

I'm running on a mountain road, and my ability to sweep is curtailed, but it's also faster and more agile than normal running, how fast is it? I have never seriously calculated, in the world of consciousness, in such a mystical world, to compare the real and concrete values, although it is not useless, but it is not as important and absolute as the meaning of the number itself seems. In the past, I have not seen many cases where mysterious experts who are too entangled in the number of people and claim to be rational have suffered in sudden changes.

Whether it is consciousness or "mystery", they all have activities beyond cognition, and their changes are too rich, and in such an environment, most of the more reliable ones are their own intuition.

Feel the enemy intuitively, feel yourself, feel the complex changes in combat and non-combat environments, and get a vague outline, a general result. Even if this outline and result are not completely correct or absolute, they still have a better tolerance for error, which is enough for people to make mistakes without even having the opportunity to revise and start over.

I backhanded, turned, circled through the woods, dodged one strange sneak attack after another, and scrambled to snipe at me, even though I hadn't seen them when I was climbing. This change in qiē, I suspect, may have been caused by my entry into the altar. But, on the other hand, I can't be sure that they won't appear if I don't enter the altar.

Without these weirdness, Old Hawke would not have a reason and an opponent to fight. And this area is just a mysterious and charming mountainous area.

The gloomy sky, the cumulus clouds flowing violently in the winds that blow from time to time, the rain growing heavier, rustling among the leaves, was the main theme, and the sound of the cuts, the collisions, and the roars of the strange ones I slew were like a strange accompaniment. I stepped back, leaning against the branches of the tree, to block a strange vomit of unknown name, which seemed to be sick to its stomach, vomiting incessantly, and even if it did not squirt out, it still flowed onto its body and the ground. The way it looks and moves, as soon as you see it, makes it uncomfortable, and there is a kind of sympathetic pain.

Even ordinary people will subconsciously have a gaging reaction when they see violent gagging, but in such a weird body, this empathy is even more intense and crazy, and ordinary people's words will go blank in an instant, and their bodies will collapse, let alone fight. This is a condition in which the sight is negatively affected, and it is not uncommon in all the nightmares that are formed because of "mystery".

I think consciousness walkers are the ones who are most likely to experience this kind of thing. They can walk freely in the consciousness of others, and naturally they are inevitably disturbed by the malice of other people's consciousness.

However, the erosion of this Cheng dù. For me, it's almost dismissible.

Without hesitation, I used the hook rope as a whip, rolled it up, and smashed it into another weird lunge that was coming this way. The two collided without accident and rolled to the ground. Solved by me with a hand crossbow. There are constantly corpses disintegrating into ashes, and the magic patterns have no time to absorb them, most of them are scattered in the air and turn into gray mist, and these gray mist, after a period of time, will re-breed these weirdness.

I also used to think about using magic patterns to absorb the gray mist directly, but. Obviously, the gray mist can't be absorbed like that. As in the past, it doesn't really have a specific source. And the power transformed by absorbing these things is constantly replenishing my body, healing my injuries, and strengthening my physique and fighting ability, just as it has done in the past. It's like a panacea-making machine. As long as there is a certain material "gray mist", or something like that. So that my combat resources will not be scarce.

It's dangerous, but it's also a battlefield perfect for the Marker.

The only thing that annoys people is the pointless fighting. I'm always running, and I don't dodge it, but I don't go out of my way to find weirdos to kill, only when they're trying to get in the way. will become the target of slaughter, and I will get rid of such a battlefield in a short time. When I stepped into the fork in the road where the cemetery was located, I had already swept away the strangeness of the approach. They are conceived again. It takes a lot of time to get to the residential area from this road.

I wiped the rain from my face and threw it on a stone beside me. At this time, the waterline falling from the sky can no longer be called rain. The water in the low-lying areas is constantly rippling, but the grass and trees have not become more vibrant because of the rain. Yiqiē is still lifeless, gloomy and full of malice.

On one side of the sky, I don't know if it was the moon or the sun, a pale star, slowly setting towards the horizon. At this point in time, it seems that it is about to enter the evening, and I feel that it is unlikely that I will see a beautiful scenery such as "burning clouds".

The deepest night I have learned does not refer to tonight, but to a certain change from the existing "past" of this nightmare, from which it is very long, but from my point of view, it is possible that it will come to an end in the first night of my own experience.

In a nightmare, the so-called history, past and future are not too real in meaning, but more of a concept and meaning. When you approach it and understand it, you are actually "falling into a nightmare".

I returned to the residential area, the buildings were separated by cross-shaped roads, but the area was not large, there were only about twenty buildings, most of them were lit, a few seemed to be completely decayed, and the gloomy and dark interior seemed to hide some kind of malice and ominousness. In the center of the intersection is a small square with a man-made fountain, the color of the floor tiles is mottled and dull, but the pattern is also ritualistic. There was a street lamp that jumped out of the blue arc in the rain, making a sizzling noise that seemed to burn out at any moment, but it was always on. I think it's symbolic, so it's only extinguished in exceptional circumstances.

I walked all the way, and unlike when I left, this time, I carefully observed the exterior and interior of each building, listening to the sounds floating in the air. The whispering voice, as if chanting a prayer, the crazy laughter and the mournful hoarse singing, all seemed so crazy and oppressive. One has to think that the people who make these voices are mentally ill – and of course, I'm not surprised by the assumption of a Peninsula psychiatric hospital.

For me, strangeness is familiar, madness is calm, and in the reality of the hospital, I have long been accustomed to this atmosphere. Although, in reality, the patients living in this open environment are not as manic as here, and are often inactive patients. However, I have not seen patients who are more crazy than what these cries say, and in the reality of the hospital, those patients with worsening doomsday syndrome are definitely not more weird, crazy and dangerous than those who appear here.

The only thing I wonder is, what is the location of this place relative to the Peninsula Psychiatric Hospital? Obviously, definitely not a wooden house area. The geography of this area, when viewed from the altar, does not feel too familiar.

In such an environment, even I subconsciously slowed down, kept silent, and tried not to speak too loudly even - it was not the danger and weirdness that prompted me to do this, but a subconscious precautionary psychology in such an atmosphere. I know very well that if I make too much movement, it is possible to cause some abnormal changes - after all, this is a nightmare of consciousness, and the inhabitants of this place are a group of mentally unstable patients, and any unnecessary movement may irritate them.

I looked up and chose a figure that didn't make much noise, but the light and the windows swayed, suggesting that someone was in the house.

I knocked on the door, and there was silence inside, as if the people inside were holding their breath for a moment.

I tapped again, and according to psychology, used a relatively soothing rhythm that was enough to express kindness and reason. I have always believed that the rhythm of sound can make people subconsciously understand the meaning.

"Who?" After knocking on the door three times, someone inside finally asked.

"I'm the hunter who took over Old Hawke." It's a line I've been thinking about for a long time.

Both the humanoid "line" and the old Hawke's expression make me feel that the old Hawke has a different meaning to these patients, whether it is hating him, fearing him, or grateful to him, it means that he is a person with a fixed status, a small closed environment, and a distinct position. I implied that these people, I inherited these, so that I, an "outsider", could more easily integrate into the environment here, and get more information or help from these people.

I don't think that what old Hawke has done will make him completely unpopular here. Perhaps, he may have hurt some people, but definitely not all people, after all, doing things from a good starting point and being hated by everyone in the end is actually quite rare.

"Old Hawke? Ah, the man. The voice inside was like that of a gentle young woman, who didn't seem to know much about old Hawke, and didn't care much, but asked him about him anyway, and there was a feeling that she spoke out of politeness and boredom: "I know him, I'm interested in the things he does, I thought he's going to turn into an interesting guy and tell me interesting stories, but he's not coming here lately, what's going on?" ”

"He's dead." I'll say it succinctly and bluntly.

The woman inside did not hesitate, hesitate, distrust, etc., and naturally followed my words: "That's a pity. However, he seems to have an heir to his liking...... Young people, will you be an interesting person and tell me those interesting stories? I'm interested in what you're doing. ”

"No, I'm just here to let you know." I replied.

The woman inside still did not have the slightest ups and downs, there was no disappointment in her tone, and there was no hope, she replied so plainly and politely: "May God bless you." ”

I really don't know what kind of woman lives in it, her voice and answers, I don't feel any rational or emotional taste, compared to the humanoid "system" in the chapel, I feel that the woman in the room is more like a doll.

I didn't push the door open recklessly, I wasn't in a hurry to confirm what was living inside. Instead, in the dark room next door, the lights suddenly turned on, and a man lowered his voice, but asked clearly enough, "Hey, you...... The heir to that old Hawke. I turned my head, and he seemed to be able to see me from inside, and continued, "Is it true? Is Old Hawke really dead? ”

"Yes." I replied calmly.

"Oh my gosh, what an unfortunate one." The man sighed in a pompous voice, and said to me hurriedly, "Tell me, how did he die?" ”

"He dug himself a grave and jumped in." I replied. (To be continued......)