There's a skeleton dungeon connected to my basement.

Chapter 627, Old Jarl

Of course, there's a reason why this place is so lively.

In fact, the central square is already considered the most central place of faith in the entire Land of Hope.

You might be surprised, but that's really the case.

"A land of faith".

Such titles do not appear on the long streets of devout believers where churches and temples are clustered together.

Perhaps in order to demonstrate their wealth and attract believers, many churches tacitly chose to place their temples and churches in the most central area of the City of Hope.

That place was called the Long Street of the Devotees.

It's also around the central square, right across from Lena's office.

Even though it's not far away, I don't know why this central square became that place of faith.

Tall buildings were piled up in the central field.

Overall, as more and more buildings are constructed, the area is becoming increasingly crowded.

It may have strayed from its intended purpose as a square.

This was something that couldn't be helped. In the beginning, even the City of Hope was just a simple city enclosed in the middle of a desolate ruin.

This central square was merely an empty space that Xiao Yang had deliberately cleared out for the convenience of placing the statue of the Goddess of Rest and the Tower of Flesh and Blood.

Who could have imagined that this place would become so lively?

Amidst the throng of people, Old Jarl followed the flow of people in a somewhat disheveled manner.

The people around me are all different.

In the crowded throng, old Jarl's frail body was as passive as a delicate seaweed.

He crashed into a large man with twisted, sharp horns growing from his shoulders.

In other worlds, such mutants would probably be among the first to be burned at the stake.

Throughout the myriad realms and among the various churches, regardless of their doctrines, there is always a tradition that cannot be ignored.

"Cross-shaped roast meat".

But this is a city of hope.

So now, the exceptionally tall, deformed man covered in scars simply extended his hand to Old Jarl with a shy smile.

"Are you OK!"

The pollution of the body, the pollution of the soul, and the uncontrollable witnessing of oneself gradually turning into a monster.

This process often makes each mutant as volatile as a powder keg that has been ignited.

Staying true to oneself is not an easy thing.

Fortunately, there was someone who still had some pity for these poor souls.

That awkward savior who refused to acknowledge himself as a god proactively blocked the players' whispers, his lips twitching with a hint of smug satisfaction as he watched the old ladies from his hometown bestow all sorts of titles upon him.

But there is one thing they will never refuse: those sorrowful cries.

"Confused, bewildered, hesitant, desperate."

These thoughts, which should be rejected the most, are always listened to quietly.

Especially these deformed individuals.

From the oldest, already numb survivors, to the unfortunate souls thrown in like trash from the many lost-home worlds, to the new batch of Salvation Army warriors, mercenaries, and even ordinary farmers corrupted by the evil god.

The narrative told to that awkward hero was effective.

As long as you are unwilling to succumb to the source of the pollution spreading across your body, that hero will silently bear the pollution that gradually spreads along the line of faith.

"it's okay no problem!"

Old Jarl got up from the ground.

Her large, fan-like hands gently patted the dust off his clothes.

"It's okay!"

He smiled sheepishly.

Without a doubt, a man of this stature, once he takes up arms and goes to the battlefield, could easily defeat a hundred men.

Old Jarl got separated from his talkative young transport brother, who, relying on his youth, excitedly forged ahead through the crowd.

A dense crowd of people were all surging toward one place.

Gradually, people slowed down.

Old Jarl slowed down too. Soon, soon they would see it, that thing that could almost be a landmark of the City of Hope.

The people in front gradually left, and suddenly the surrounding space became empty, like sardines that had been crammed into a can and were finally released from prison.

It was a standing figure.

If the owner of this statue were to comment on it again, he might leave with this comment.

"I wasn't this thin back then."

His gaze first fell on the base, and old Jarl dared not raise his head, just as he had once faced that noble lord wielding a whip.

My gaze lingered only on those sharp boots.

At this moment, I feel lost.

He had thought about many things before arriving here, but when he finally got here, he didn't even dare to lift his head.

Time passed by, and the atmosphere here was actually quite strange.

It felt like a somber memorial hall, yet it wasn't so oppressive.

When did such a trend of so many people gathering in a small square begin?

Perhaps Xiao Yang had once again taken out a huge amount of construction funds from his own private savings.

One after another, magical energy factories were set up, producing various weapons for the Salvation Army, offering high salaries that exceeded the income from farming, and were also more stable.

And so the square has always been crowded like this.

Time passed slowly, and the crowds began to surge once again. Old Jarl needed to move forward.

At this point, he finally started to panic.

In fact, his feelings toward that great hero were very complex.

This comes from the grandson who died on the battlefield, and whose body was never recovered.

It's like a pot of colorful, thick soup.

As the moment approached, he finally mustered a bit of courage, raised his head, and looked at the statue.

stunned.

This is a very normal situation.

What will catch your eye?

A guy who was laughing, but his laughter was so stiff.

The smile was so strange; the sculptor's skill was excellent, clearly conveying the slight awkwardness and tension within it.