Slaying God: I, the insane and witty god

Wu Hen rubbed his throbbing temples and spat out the unlit fake cigarette from his mouth: "Old Lin, that Odin statue just now made my throat taste salty."

"Are we really not going to try and get any information about the dungeons from Bragill?"

"That idiot is at least a local deity, isn't that better than us wandering around aimlessly?"

Lin Qiye stared at the silhouette shrouded in black gauze in front of him, his eyes cold and hard: "You can't ask."

"Braki's mental state is currently hanging on by the thought that 'Eden is still alive'."

"Once the sensitive word 'dungeon' is involved, his already unstable cognition will collapse instantly."

“Once he goes insane in the hospital, Asgard will immediately detect the mental fluctuations, and our whereabouts will be completely exposed.”

"Alright, you're the dean, you're in charge."

Wu Hen shrugged, then suddenly frowned, crouched down, and pointed to the side.

"Hey, look at that little raccoon, what's it sneaking around rummaging through there for?"

Following Wu Hen's pointing finger, Lin Qiye saw the end of the hospital corridor.

A raccoon dressed in a custom-made caregiver uniform is struggling to carry a wooden stool.

Stepping on it, two short, chubby paws frantically reached into the mailbox outside the Bragi door.

"It's cleaning the mailbox," Lin Qiye said softly, and followed after it with light steps.

The raccoon moved with remarkable skill, quickly rolling up the parchment that had been stuffed full of mail.

He haphazardly stuffed the contents into the cloth bag in his arms, glancing around warily as he did so.

He was muttering some kind of incomprehensible rambling.

Wu Hen chuckled softly, "This little guy is quite skilled. Judging by his technique, he couldn't have done this without three to five years of petty theft."

The two followed the raccoon silently around the corner of the corridor to the storage room.

The moment Wu Hen pushed open the door, the teasing remark he was about to make got stuck in his throat.

"Fuck..."

In the cramped warehouse, thousands upon thousands of letters were piled up like small mountains to the ceiling.

Each letter was carefully tied with string and labeled with the date and year on the side.

From the Aurora Era of Asgard to the current date, it fits perfectly, not a single letter is missing.

The "love letter mountain" looked somewhat absurd under the dim lights, yet it also exuded an indescribable sense of oppression.

The raccoon tossed the letter it had just taken out into the "New Arrivals" pile.

He patted the dust off his paws, sighed, and looked like a worried old housekeeper.

"Old Lin, did that idiot write all of this?"

Wu Hen casually picked up a bundle, looked at the familiar "To Eden" inscription, and clicked his tongue.

"How many years must this have taken to write? The whole hospital was just playing along with his act."

Lin Qiye's fingers brushed over the cold papers, his gaze trembling slightly: "I thought it was just Li Yifei managing it, but I didn't expect this to be the 'normal illusion' here."

"Everyone is feeding his fantasies."

"How long can this kind of support last?" Wu Hen tossed the letter back to its place, his eyes sharp.

"A bubble is still a bubble. The stench of blood from the dungeon is almost wafting over here. How long do you think this illusion can last?"

Lin Qiye didn't reply, and turned to walk out of the warehouse.

In a corner of the hospital cafeteria, Li Yifei was staring blankly at two empty glasses, holding a jug of fruit wine that he had somehow acquired.

"Want some drinks?" Li Yifei saw the two of them approaching, but didn't get up; he simply pushed the drinks towards them.

Lin Qiye sat down, tilted his head back and took a swig. The spicy taste went down his throat, which eased his oppressive feeling a little.

"Braggi's emotions have been fluctuating a lot lately." Li Yifei stared at the swirling liquid in his glass, his tone calm.

"He began to wonder why the mailbox was always full but there were never any replies."

"We could only tell him that Eden had been working non-stop in the orchard lately and the letter got lost in the mail."

"But Lao Lin, you can't fool the gods for long with these kinds of words."

"What will happen if his fantasy is shattered?" Lin Qiye asked.

"The mental hospital will gain another mad god, and Asgard will lose a poet." Li Yifei smiled wryly.

"The worst thing is that he might try to force his way out of the hospital to find someone, and then no one can stop him."

Lin Qiye's knuckles turned white from gripping the wine glass so tightly:

“I’m wondering if it’s possible to forcibly remove his part of the pain by ‘separating his heart’.”

"He won't go crazy as long as he doesn't remember Eden."

"You want to strip a poet of his soul?" Wu Hen glanced at him sideways and sneered.

“Old Lin, without pain and longing, Bragi is just a puppet clinging to a wooden frame.”

"What's the difference between this and killing him?"

Lin Qiye fell silent, the wine in his glass reflecting his anxious expression.

This struggle between truth and lies was more exhausting for him than facing a supreme god.

"never mind."

Lin Qiye abruptly stood up, downed the remaining wine in his glass, and his eyes regained their surgical precision and coldness.

"Since Bragi can't move, let's ask someone else."

"Who should we switch to?" Wu Hen stood up and dusted off his pants.

"Eden".

Lin Qiye turned and walked into the depths of darkness.

"The one in ward number three, although she never uttered a sound, is after all a 'goddess of youth'."

"She must know something."

The night wind blew into the hospital from the cracks in Asgard, carrying with it an unyielding anxiety.

The two walked through the silent corridor and stopped in front of the tightly closed black door.

Just as Lin Qiye's hand touched the doorknob, a very faint "click" sound suddenly came from the shadows behind him.

It sounded like the echo of some kind of wooden object being pressed.

Wu Hen's heart skipped a beat, and he turned around abruptly.

Beside the mailbox in the distance, Blake, who should have been sleeping in his room, stood quietly in the shadows.

His old harp leaned against his leg, his withered fingertips gently stroking the cold metal shell of the mailbox.

In the dim light, Bragi slowly raised his head, his face, usually etched with innocence and idiocy, revealing...

At this moment, he wore an extremely eerie smile, and in his turbid eyes, there was no trace of madness left.

The air froze completely at that moment.