In what age, are you still a traditional witcher?

Chapter 111
The saintess slightly closed her eyes, a little puzzled.

Suddenly, her body froze, as if she had realized something, and then she turned her head slowly, her cold eyes resting on the person behind her.

"What's wrong with you?"

Freya raised her head slightly, her expression was still icy, showing frost.

"Saint Freya."

"You are late today."

The woman in white robe said coldly, and she looked at Freya solemnly and fiercely.

Listen to the accusation of the woman.

Saint Freya remained silent.

He just opened his eyes and looked at her without fear.

"."

Two pieces of ice, one big and one small, looked at each other on the high platform, and their eyes spoke of the stubbornness and malice that no one would give in to the other.

But in the end, it was obvious that the small piece of ice was a little more "frozen", and against her unwavering cheeks and the cold and pure eyes, she looked majestic.

As for the priestess, facing this cold baby face, she was also a little shaken, and finally she had to turn her eyes away and walked away quickly.

"It's not an example."

When the priestess left, she seemed to have suddenly thought of something, turned her back to Freya, and said with a strong sense of warning: "Stay away from that man."

"He's dangerous."

The priestess did not name the names.

But she knew that Freya knew what she meant.

After leaving these words coldly, she left without looking back.

"."

Freya turned her head and looked into the distance.

She also wanted to see the figure of that person.

But in the end, even with the best of her eyesight, it was difficult to find the trace of that figure. After that, she slowly closed her eyes, pursed her thin lips, and after taking a long breath, she turned around and looked down. Momo left the "execution platform" that made her uncomfortable along the side stairs.

"Wilder, did you see that?"

It was the middle-aged man in luxurious clothes who spoke.

He stood up and watched the soldiers around him take off the corpses hanging on the gallows, and then busy moving and transporting them.

"My lord, what should I see?"

Judge Wilder turned his head sideways. He smiled elegantly and looked at Isaac Lynn, the lord of Insel City and his long-time friend.

"My city—it seems that a little mouse has sneaked in."

"squeak--"

The door of the tavern was pushed open by someone.

There used to be a lot of people here, full of laughter and laughter, but since the owner's house had an accident two months ago, the small restaurant is as gloomy and cold as a morgue.

The only kerosene lamp was placed on the long counter, and in the area illuminated by the orange light, there was only one vacant seat in front of the counter.

The owner of the tavern raised his head, his pale face looked like a ghost under the light of the burning lamp. When he looked at the person who walked in from the door, an ugly smile suddenly appeared on his face.

The visitor approached slowly.

Sit down on the only chair.

"Come on something?"

"After watching a good show, you must have some wine to quench your thirst, right?"

Willard approached him, with a cold smile on the corner of his mouth, put his thin hands on the bar, pointed behind him and said, "Although, I don't have any good wine here."

"Beer is fine."

The person who came spoke in a cool voice and said lightly.

"Okay."

Willard picked up a wooden wine glass and took a full glass of beer from the barrel behind him.

"Tuk!"

Tap the table with the bottom of the cup, and the milky white bubbles float up and burst, exuding a faint aroma of bread.

The man raised his glass and took a quick sip.

"Gudong!"

Seeing this, Willard grinned.

"How about it, Mr. Hunter, am I right?"

"That's a bloody and ridiculous farce, I guess, an outsider like you can't figure it out, right?"

"indeed."

The man put down his glass, looked at everything in the dilapidated tavern, and then quickly turned his attention to Willard. He said indifferently: "So you believe that I will come?"

The surroundings are so dilapidated, it is conceivable that the owner of the tavern must be living alone, so in the room like a waste recycling station, there is an empty chair placed in front of the wine table.

Obviously, it was specially packed out for people to sit on.

"A person like you, if he didn't have some purpose, why would he come to this shitty city? You want to know everything about the so-called Witch Trial?"

Willard sneered.

"you are right."

Lane tapped his fingers on the counter.

He admitted his purpose very frankly, his deep eyes rested on the skinny man in front of him, and said: "Besides, I can sense that you know a lot."

"I can share information with you."

Willard was still laughing, unaware of how creepy and ugly his laugh was.

"But you have to answer a question for me, too."

"what?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"What are you hunting for?"

Willard leaned forward, and his protruding eyeballs appeared strangely large.

"Hunting witches, and—there may be behind them."

Without thinking, he said lightly.

"Hunting the witch, good!"

Willard laughed loudly with his throat pulled, but in his laughter, there was a strong sense of sadness for no reason, making it hard to figure out whether he was satisfied with Ryan's answer or not.

"In that case, I'll talk to you and tell you what you want to know."

Ryan hesitated for a moment.

"When did the witch or those monsters appear? Since when did the witch trial start, and it will be held every few days."

His questions were very purposeful, and he was quite straightforward when speaking in human terms, without being sloppy at all, which was quite in line with Ryan's personality.

"Two months ago, every midnight, there would be a thick black fog in the city. No one knew why, but from that day on, monsters began to eat people in the city."

Willard replied coldly: "At first everyone thought that there was a murderer in the city, but until two or three days after the murders continued, the city lord gathered everyone together and asked the saint to point out the witch."

"That's the first witch trial."

"In the beginning, it was very frequent, almost once a day, but recently, it has slowed down a lot, to about once a week."

Willard is definitely a good answerer, clean and neat, without saying a word of nonsense.

Hearing this, Ryan frowned.

two or three months
"In the first trial, did those people pointed out by the saint not resist? What's the attitude of the residents in the city?"

"They resisted, but they felt innocent, so they showed confidence."

"As for the attitude—"

Willard sneered and said, "Mr. Hunter, if it were you, there was a murder case in the city, but the city lord not only didn't speed up to solve the case, but even asked a fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl to point out that the witch was so absurd, how would you react?"

His voice was full of sarcasm.

"This attitude lasted for a long time, right?"

Ryan laughed too.

He smiled indifferently, raised his glass and took a sip of beer, and then said: "I think they are also happy that such absurd things happened in front of them, huh. Crazy."

Willard was silent at first.

After a while, he shook his head and said: "The first time I was angry, the second time I was horrified, and the third time I questioned, but when the girl pointed out the monster again and again, everyone had to believe it."

"Human nature."

Ryan said lightly.

"But Mr. Willard seems unusual."

He stared at Willard.

"Oh me."

The tavernkeeper grinned maliciously and ugly.

"It's just a living dead."

At this time, Ryan frowned. He thought of the medicine that the silver armor sergeant injected into those women.

"Are you there for the first witch trial? What are those injections, did they appear in the first trial?"

There was a deep meaning behind his question.

If during the first trial of the witch, those sergeants took out injections for people to inject, how could they block the mouths of Yoyo?Moreover, it is obvious that they have known for a long time that humans will transform into monsters, and they are so well prepared that it is difficult for people to be suspicious.

Hearing this, Willard smiled.

This time he smiled a little more cheerfully.

"Of course I'm here, but I've disappointed you. Those injections are not medicines that can turn people into monsters. Otherwise, the person talking to you now is no longer a person, but a monster with teeth and claws."

"Have you had an injection?"

Ryan was a little surprised.

"of course."

Willard said with a smile: "Not only did I have the injection, but in order to rule out the possible influence of gender, I also secretly injected a woman."

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

This guy is ruthless enough.

"What is the effect of the injection?"

"—"

Willard looked at him and jokingly said, "Sedative."

"A tube of sedatives that make you as sleepy as a monster."

"So, those people injected potions into the witches just to execute them smoothly?"

"The first trial of the witch, if there is this thing, there will be no more deaths, 23 people will die."

Willard had deep thoughts, he and Ryan looked at each other, then looked away, opened a bottle of wine for himself, then proudly raised his head, and took a sip directly from the mouth of the bottle.

"."

Ryan was silent for a moment.

He looked at the man who swallowed the wine heartily, regardless of the fact that the wine had leaked from the corner of his mouth, and wet his body. From Willard's body, he noticed a sense of despair hidden in deep hatred but powerless.

In short, it's a great story.

"Why do you want to do this step?"

Lane was referring, of course, to the injections he had given himself and others.

Hearing this, Willard stopped the hands that were about to get himself drunk, only to see that his face, which was as pale as a dead body, turned reddish like "returning light".

There was mania in his eyes looking at Ryan, and hysterical madness was outlined at the corner of his mouth that was about to crack to the ear.

"Mr. Hunter."

"Do you know? Insel people never stay up late or stay up all night. Every night before eleven o'clock, they must close their eyes and fall asleep. This habit seems to be engraved in their genes. It has been recorded since 500 years ago."

Willard answered some questions.

But Ryan still listened quietly. His hand holding the wooden cup moved slightly when he heard the last, brought the mouth of the cup to his lips, but put it down again.

Because, after he finished listening, his brows were already frowned.

A strange look appeared on his face.

Must fall asleep late at night?

That also means that if the witch really pretends to be a human being and sleeps with someone's pillow, they will be able to move out in the dead of night.

No one can testify against it?
No wonder, no wonder when the Holy Maiden initiated the trial, no one retorted with "she was by my side last night and didn't go anywhere", because they didn't even know!
"It seems that you already understand what I mean."

Willard watched his slightly changed face, his skinny hands clenched the glass bottle tightly, and there was malice hidden in his smile.

"However, two months ago, there was an extra person in this city who couldn't sleep anymore."

As Willard spoke, he slowly lifted a corner of his clothes.

Dense scars, uniform in depth and length, these scars, which seemed to be carved by knives, were densely covered on Willard's lower abdomen, side waist, and even chest.

"Facts have proved that if the spirit is stimulated by self-harm, no matter how sleepy a person is, he can regain his clarity."

"As time goes on, I can't sleep anymore."

"."

Ryan said softly: "Tell me, what did you see during your sleepless nights."

"Ah!"

Willard smiled sarcastically: "Except for the first day, except for the night when I came home too late, was too tired, and almost drowned in a hot bath, I didn't see anything the rest of the night."

"What did you see that day?"

Ryan asked.

"I saw my wife, I saw her lying quietly on the bed, I saw her frowning and mumbling her lips, I saw her patting her belly, smiling happily in her sleep, I couldn't sleep all night, I Watching her until the dawn like this, while thinking about the life that will bring her happiness in the future, while following her with a silly smile."

Willard actually laughed as he spoke.

But his face changed very quickly, twisted and out of shape, eyebrows, nose, mouth all wrinkled, dead gray eyes staring like copper bells, and a few drops of crystal seemed to drip from the corners of his eyes.

But after he scratched randomly with his trembling, pale hands, there was nothing left except blood-red scratches, and the man's tears had already flowed away.

Willard lowered his head and stared at the wine bottle on the table in silence for a while.

Then slowly raised his head, his hoarse voice revealed a wave of hysterical madness.

"You know what happened next, right?"

"."

Ryan slowly stretched out his hand, raised the wooden cup, and reached into the air in front of Willard's wine bottle, looking at him coldly without speaking.

"boom!"

Willard lifted the bottle, tilted it, and touched the wooden cup.

Both of them drank the wine in one gulp.

Lane wiped his lips with his thumb.

For a person who has experienced the pain of bereavement, it is cruel to unravel the scars in such a cold way.

What happened next is obvious.

Willard's wife died.

She was absurdly identified as a witch, and then hanged to death like this!
"It's ridiculous—"

Willard pursed his lips.

"The night before, I watched my wife fall asleep peacefully, still thinking about the beautiful life in the future."

"The next day, that woman who talks in her sleep and frowns sadly when she falls asleep without holding my hand, is in front of me!"

"Turned into a hideous ghost!!"

"They, all of them swear that she was the one who attacked the Kulin family last night, killing four people!!"

"The saint pointed at her, just pointing at her expressionlessly!"

"She was pulled to the gallows, hanging by the neck!! With the hand that turned into a monster, it pierced into her own lower abdomen, and after eating that little life, she was pierced by a spear in the head!!"

"that's it"

"Just right in front of my face."

"In front of everyone!!"

Willard broke the wine bottle, and his bony fingers became paler and paler. What flowed from between the fingers was not blood, but the sad past of this man.

"."

Lane was silent.

Facing this man's experience, he just needs to listen.

". Is everything that happened here a false and fabricated memory, or the reality that happened before, reproduced by some means by the black hands behind the scenes?"

Ryan held the wine glass with a solemn expression.

Reason told him that the probability of the former was relatively high.

But his intuition is inclined to the second explanation!

(End of this chapter)