Endless Debt.

Chapter 405 The End of the Poet

The poet is dead.

There are no nefarious murders, no regrettable accidents, just the whims of fate.

In the early morning, the poet was about to leave the village to continue his journey, but under the wear and tear of alcohol and years, his life had already come to an end, and the leisurely days these days were just a flashback.

The poet staggered to a big tree with dense branches. He thought he just needed to take a nap, but this time he never woke up again.

The villagers stood not far away, not knowing what to do with this strange stranger, and finally they thought of the stranger.

The stranger had been drinking and having fun with the poet these few days. They felt that the stranger should be a friend of the poet, so they called him over and handed over the poet's funeral affairs to the stranger.

The stranger came under the big tree near noon, and the poet was still sitting under the big tree, his eyes closed tightly, as if he was not dead, but just taking a nap.

Accompanied by the poet's eyes closing, at this moment the stranger realizes the poet's age. After losing those energetic and dazzling pupils, he looks as old as a centenarian.

Maybe the poet is already an old man, but his incredible vitality always makes people misjudge his age.

The poet's collar was open, and his pockets were turned out. Before the stranger came, someone had searched the poet's body, but unfortunately they found nothing on the poet's body except bread crumbs.He was indeed a bum, penniless.

Crowds are like carrion vultures, they get nothing from the poet, they disperse after the stranger arrives, and they don't care what the stranger wants to do with the poet's body, anyway, it has no value up.

The stranger stood in front of the poet's corpse, and after a short moment of astonishment, he was horrified to find that there was no sadness in his heart, but a hint of... secret joy.

"So what if you have freedom and have seen countless beauties?"

The stranger picked up the poet's body, "Didn't you die in the end, in this unknown place, with your poems together."

Faint laughter sounded from behind, the stranger turned around vigilantly, but there was no one around, then he looked at the poet, but he was already dead, his withered face was full of death.

The stranger quickened his pace, and he didn't know what he was thinking. He was overjoyed at the death of the poet. The good things were destroyed, but the despicable him was still alive. This time the stranger won, he won. poet.

He wanted to turn around and leave, letting the wilderness devour the poet's body, but when he wanted to leave, an uncontrollable thought arose in his mind.

He can't leave the poet here, he has to take the poet away!

The stranger resisted with all his body, but his body uncontrollably picked up the poet's body, took it away with him, and returned to his dark hut.

Strangers along the way had a weird feeling that someone was following them, as if some ghost was hiding in their shadows, and every step I took, it was a step closer.

The stranger put the poet's body in a corner of the room, and he sat on a chair with his head lowered, tearing his own face.

He didn't understand what he was doing, raised his head, and the poet's body was hidden in the shadows, soundlessly.

"Ha ha……"

The familiar laughter sounded again, from the shadow.

The stranger raised his head, his pupils were bloodshot.

"Death is the end of everyone, but unlike you, I have seen so many beautiful things before death comes..."

In the darkness, the poet tilted his head and said blankly.

"To shut up!"

The stranger grabbed the hammer and slammed it hard. The poet's body was knocked down and lay sideways on the ground.

"You are already dead!"

The stranger yelled angrily, while affirming his heart, the poet is dead, he shouldn't continue to think about those messy things, he still has a lot of work to do.

Pick up the hammer, swing the hammer down, day after day.

"What is the use of your poems? One day they will be burned by fire and returned to dust!"

The stranger lit the forge, and the scorching heat and splashing sparks filled his heart, and the fatigue of work made him feel peaceful.

"The forged object in my hand is different. It is far tougher than poetry, and it is not afraid of water and fire."

The stranger picked up a red-hot blade, the fiery light reflected in his eyes.

"But I'm still alive, my friend."

A deep voice sounded, as if a ghost was confiding to him.

The stranger turned his head and looked at the darkness in the corner. It was so dark there, as if it had swallowed all the light, and it was connected to another world of endless darkness.

"This is eternal life, my spirit and will, and my poems will echo in your thoughts."

The stranger's heart trembled. Through his thick gloves, he held the red-hot iron sword. A raging fire was still burning on it, illuminating the darkness.

"No, you are dead."

The stranger looked at the poet's corpse. At this moment, the poet's corpse had begun to rot, and large and large corpse spots appeared. The disgusting smell was endless, and maggots were crawling in the corpse.

The burning sword pierced the poet's chest easily, and the stranger was ruthless, listening to the sound of the flame burning flesh and blood.

"Why? What are you afraid of, my friend?"

The poet looked at him with a smile, not caring about the burning sword in his chest, suddenly he stretched out his hand, grabbed the stranger's head, and forced him to look at himself.

"Oh, I see, you're afraid of change, aren't you? You've been at ease for so long that you don't want to think about what's beyond the mountains...or even hate what's behind the mountains.

You have sunk into ease, and every time you think of the mountains, you have to find a way to contain the restlessness in your heart, so as not to break the life you are familiar with. "

When the poet discovered the truth, he opened his mouth and laughed, his throat was full of twisted and weird maggots, they rubbed against each other and rustled.

"To shut up!"

The stranger scolded, the fiery sword in his hand pierced deeper, even nailing the ground.

"That's why you are so eager to destroy me. I am like a fire, igniting the desire in your heart. You must try to extinguish it, but all of this...it is too late."

The poet looked like he had succeeded in his conspiracy, and he sang loudly.

"The fire is burning!"

Growling, the stranger drew out his flame-extinguished blade, and slashed at the poet's body until it was chopped to pieces.

When the stranger regained his senses, he was kneeling and sitting in front of the blood on the ground. The poet's pale face was on one side, his pupils were dilated and cloudy, his abdomen was bloody, his bones were shattered into slag, and his bloody intestines were spilled. The blood flowed slowly and soaked under the stranger's body.

Without the words of the ghost, nor any abnormal actions, the poet died a long time ago, and everything just seemed to be an illusion.

The stranger stumbled to his feet, eyes full of fear, he couldn't figure out what happened, the stranger picked up a fire and threw it on the corpse.

The fire ignited in an instant, burning the poet's body, and the bright light illuminated all the darkness.

The firelight brought warmth and tranquility, and the restless heart of the stranger finally calmed down. He sat on the chair and took a deep breath.

Fireworks will reduce everything to ashes and quench the desire to rise again.

The stranger laughed selfishly, but his laughter soon froze. Not far from the raging fire, a book of poems lay quietly on the ground.

The stranger walked over slowly, his breathing was oppressed, and his heart beat faster. He hadn't felt this way for many years, the emotion coexisted with excitement and fear.

Thinking back carefully, the last time he had such a mood was many years ago.

Ah, the stranger still remembers that day, the day when he took up the hammer and was about to inherit the family business, but he didn't show up at the blacksmith shop that day, but prepared his luggage, and before dawn, he quietly left home.

The stranger had had enough of his father's discipline. He didn't want to spend a mediocre life in front of the forge. The stranger went to see beyond the mountains.

It was not a good day to set off. The stranger met a giant bear in the mountains. At that moment, he didn't panic too much. He thought it would be good to die on the way of pursuit, but a person who shouldn't appear here appeared .

My father knew strangers so well that when he left home, my father followed him far behind.

"Why did you come, do you still want to stop me?"

While escaping, the stranger couldn't help but raged at his father. What he wanted to climb was not only the mountains, but also the high wall called his father. He thought he had escaped, but he still chased after him.

"No... not really."

His father shook his head. He, who was always tough, unexpectedly softened his attitude at this moment. It is not clear whether this is because death is approaching.

"I have always known that I can't change your mind. You will leave me sooner or later, but I just think that you are not ready yet."

The stranger froze.

"Today is a good day. I wanted to watch you leave."

The father stopped suddenly as he said that, he was already old, he was out of breath after running for a few short steps, and the bloodthirsty roar behind him was getting closer and closer.

"but……"

The father didn't continue talking, he just looked at the stranger with a smile, waved to him, and then the dark shadow engulfed the father.

The stranger couldn't remember how he left, he just kept running, even if his legs were exhausted and numb, he never stopped until he returned to the familiar village.

After that the Stranger thought no more of what happened after the mountains.

The stranger looked at the poem in front of him, and he wanted to throw it into the fire, but suddenly a breeze blew by, flickering the fire, and blowing the pages of the book, and all the magnificent things were displayed in front of the stranger.

He picked up the poems in a strange way, and stared at all kinds of them. The stranger had never read a book and could not read, but he could see the scribbled pictures clearly. The poet used simple lines to outline one beautiful picture after another. picture scroll.

The poems are magical, making it difficult for strangers to look away. They can only stare at the content. His breathing gradually began to pant, and big drops of sweat trickled down his forehead.

The stranger walked in front of the blazing fire. The fire burned the poet's body and warmed the stranger's body. The light illuminated the darkness and illuminated the pictures and words.

At this moment, the outside world broke through the barriers of the mountains and appeared before the eyes of strangers.

"A poet should not be chained."

In the dazzling firelight, the voice of the poet sounded again, and he stood in the ashes.

As if the stranger didn't hear his words, he continued to flip through the pages of the book, and then a blank page appeared in front of his eyes. He continued to turn a few pages, and the rest were still blank.

The stranger seemed to understand something, and raised his head to meet the poet's gaze.

The poet's voice was full of laughter, "You should understand now, right?"

The stranger nodded in understanding.

"As long as there are people who can read this book, you are not really dead, and when I write my story on it, I will also gain eternal life just like you.

I will die, but I will also live, living in the hearts of every reader, and they will take me to the distant future. "

The face in the fireworks showed a hateful smile, and he affirmed everything about the stranger, speaking like an aria.

"Unrestrained, passed down forever."

The stranger responded, speaking like a child's dream.

"Endless poetry."

The blazing fire was released from the poet's body, scorching the earth, and climbed up to the roof. The hot fireworks instantly engulfed everything in the room, dragged the whole house into the flames, and turned it into a torch that soared to the sky, illuminating Villages and mountains.

"Now you're a poet too."

The figure in the fireworks collapsed and annihilated, turning into ashes with embers.

The poet dropped the hammer, hugged the poem tightly, and ran to the mountains without looking back, never returning for the rest of his life.

……

The picture began to blur and dissipate, and Bologo returned to this noisy world.

The overlap between ghost and Bologo is just a moment, but this moment is indescribably long for Bologo. He seems to have truly experienced the life of a stranger, and then bid farewell to him.

Bologo was in a trance, with a splitting headache, all kinds of thoughts were rampant in his mind, and his self-cognition began to deviate. For a short time, he even thought he was a stranger.

Fortunately, this didn't affect Bologo for too long. You must know that Bologo is a ruthless character who has spent a long time in a black prison. His will is unimaginably firm. It took less than a minute. Then he completely separated himself from the mixed memory.

"Lost..."

Burrog said softly, Bailey's warning to him was becoming reality one by one.

The ghosts flying around the storm seem to be individual "hearts", which contain the memories of their lives. The "spirits" are frozen on the ground, and when the storm comes, they are destroyed into snow and dust, which belongs to the storm. In the blazing core, as for the "body", it is abandoned in the world and returns to dust.

This may be death.

Bologo has no time to think about the "endless poems" in his mind, his "heart" is being pulled towards the core of the storm, and the "spirit" on the ground is still frozen, standing upright under the ravages of the storm.

This should be Bologo's gift, the Axis of Time Tracing. His "body" in the mortal world has not yet died, and his "spirit" is still firmly locked, so the frozen ice sculpture is not destroyed by the storm, but Burrog's "heart" was heading back towards the storm.

Hell, how did a promotion ceremony develop into this appearance!

Bologo screamed in his heart, he was powerless to resist all this, and when he was about to be drawn into the blazing core, a pulling force emerged.

Like a fully stretched bowstring being released in an instant, Bologo's picture began to distort, pulling into flooded lines.

Bologo fell to the ground uncontrollably, slammed into the frozen sculpture, and merged with his "spirit" again.

The frost on his body collapsed one by one, and before Bologo understood the situation, a melodious voice came from afar, and Bologo turned his head, and the familiar scene happened again.

The rusty anchor broke through the raging storm and crashed into Burrogo's eyes, chains taut, plowing clouds of smoke across the ground.

Borrog didn't hesitate, he rushed forward with all his strength, grabbed the corner of the huge anchor, and was dragged into the endless darkness.

　Check the information, write the outline, store the manuscript, and temporarily update it.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)