It's not too much to say that a beauty is a little bit stronger

When he looked at Lu Yuan, he took a deep breath. He didn't know if he could go to heaven after dying at the hands of a priest.

However, just when he was about to give up everything, the church door suddenly made a dull sound and was pushed open from the outside.

The cold wind swept in, bringing a hint of life that did not belong to this land of death.

Zhao Yihe was stunned, and his tired eyes looked towards the door through the gaps in the paper man.

The person who came was Xiao Huai.

The familiar figure stood there against the light, "Sorry, I'm late."

His voice was calm and somewhat casual, yet it undoubtedly penetrated the oppressive atmosphere.

This gentle sentence reached Zhao Yihe's ears, causing the despair in Zhao Yihe's eyes to instantly disappear, replaced by a look of astonishment and disbelief.

At that moment, Xiao Huai's appearance was like a meteor shower suddenly blooming under the night sky, breaking through the endless darkness.

This rekindled a tiny but extremely precious glimmer of hope in the dim world in Zhao Yihe's heart.

At this moment, all the eyes on the wall turned to Xiao Huai. Lu Yuanshi also stopped and watched him coming, but did not continue to swing the sickle in his hand.

The threat that was originally pressing on Zhao Yihe retreated slightly with the appearance of Xiao Huai.

Xiao Huai walked step by step to Zhao Yihe, with a cold light flashing in his red eyes. He looked up and looked directly into those focused eyes, his tone calm as if he was telling the most everyday request.

"Can I confess first?"

Let the punishment of Zhao Yihe be delayed.

He spoke lightly, his voice being exceptionally clear in the quiet church.

There was a moment of silence, and the flow of time slowed down.

Those eyes seemed to be lost in some deep thought, staring at Xiao Huai, their gaze filled with scrutiny and doubt.

Finally, the system's voice sounded coldly and mechanically, breaking the silence in the church.

Approved

"Novelists, please start repenting."

The red light of the eyes on the wall turned back to its original color.

Zhao Yihe breathed softly, looking at Xiao Huai in embarrassment and disbelief.

At that moment, in his sight, Xiao Huai's figure seemed to be shrouded in a halo, appearing extremely firm and unshakable.

He brought an inexplicable sense of trust and security, which made Zhao Yihe's heartbeat slowly calm down.

Xiao Huai spoke slowly, his tone revealing a calmness.

"I am guilty..." At this moment, a faint smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, "Oh, I was wrong, the novelist is guilty."

He slowly picked up a medical record.

It says - extreme mania, hallucinations...

The patient's photo was completely blacked out, like all the portraits in the studio.

Geniuses are always lonely, and at the same time, geniuses are also crazy.

Why not go back to the beginning? Back to the origins of the game, back to the painter's death.

Why did the painter die? Why did he commit suicide? Because of whom?

There were corpses in everyone's room except Xiao Huai's, where there was nothing.

He understands what this means.

The main quest requires every player to go to the church to confess every day.

But I'm afraid Xiao Huai is the only one who really wants to repent.

Xiao Huai took out the pen that Loki had given him at the beginning.

A pen symbolizes a novelist, but also a madman, a patient, a doctor who wants to save himself, a collector with perverted desires, and a pathological arsonist.

A novelist can be anyone, and in his pen he can write about any fact.

Once he writes it down, he believes it and it is the truth.

He can unscrupulously deceive himself, deceive everyone, and deceive every player who comes to the dungeon.

"The novelist is a murderer." Xiao Huai said. He killed someone, and this was an indisputable fact.

In yesterday's confession, this statement was true, but what others said was not true.

Zhao Yihe said he was a doctor, but that was also false, he was not a doctor.

Who is that doctor?

"He created many people, many bad people, a selfish doctor, a hysterical patient, a collector who longed to own the world's greatest treasures, and an unforgivable arsonist."

But all these people, these identities, actually do not exist.

It was all just his imagination.

He kills people, imagine.

It's just to give myself a righteous excuse, a reason.

The Last Supper, perhaps, was the painter's last night.

Perhaps, the painter is also a part of the novelist's inner self.

It's just this part, buried in the deepest...deepest part.

He was not murdered, but committed suicide, which is more dramatic and, at the same time, more tragic.

The painter devoured the Bible, and not just because of his faith.

He ripped open his own abdomen, what was he doing with such determination?

He is using death to remind the people who come here.

A reminder that this is the Bible, but it is also a book.

Books, Authors, and Novelists…

God does not exist, the Jesus in the painting does not exist, and Judas does not exist.

And betrayal is everywhere.

Everyone could be Judas, the betrayer.

He is afraid, he is afraid.

Is there a possibility that before his death, the painter prayed over and over again for the protection of a non-existent god, and stroked the cross in his hand again and again until the cross was worn out and lost its original outline.

But the miracle never happened, and he was always trapped in that endless vicious circle.

His suicide may have been another way of expressing his desire for redemption.

Those blackened figures in the studio and those words carved in paint are a process of substitution.

The painter tried his best to prevent the darkness from seeping into his heart, but it was all in vain, and the memory could not be erased.

Once the heart is stained with black ink, no matter how much clean water you use, it can never be washed away.

"He abandoned his beliefs, and what did he become... a wandering ghost? Or perhaps, just a walking corpse filled with hatred? Oh, there is another possibility, maybe he is a—"

"clown."

He paused for a moment and smiled lazily:

"Confession? Ridiculous. In this lifetime, you will never even see the novelist confess. This is the burial place of the past. How could he possibly come back to confess?"

The moment Xiao Huai finished speaking, all eyes seemed to be furious, red enough to almost bleed.

Zhao Yihe hid behind Xiao Huai and muttered softly: "Hey, what did you say? Why do I feel like these eyes are angry?"

Xiao Huai raised his head nonchalantly, "Well... let's say you were murdered, and your resentment was so deep that you turned into a vengeful ghost. You longed for the person who killed you to apologize to you. But I scoff at their expectations."

Zhao Yihe: “…”

Why didn't you discuss such a big thing with me?

I want to laugh too!

A smile spread across Zhao Yihe's lips. "I find you to be quite special. However, are all these nonsense you said true?"

Xiao Huai did not answer. In the game, everything is true and false, false and true.

Suddenly, a distant laugh came from outside the door, accompanied by the sound of applause.