The Bad Girl's Quick Transmigration System: Traveling Back and Forth

In the town shrouded in smoke and flames, a thrilling battle had just concluded. The other German paladins sheathed their still-warm weapons and walked away with seemingly relaxed steps, their figures looming tall against the blazing flames. However, this air of ease was a false facade, masking the cruelty and ruthlessness of war.

In a land shrouded in flames and smoke, the brothel's dilapidated wooden door stood out, like a gaping maw in a dark abyss. And Arya, a young and brave female soldier scout, was quietly nailed to that door, becoming the most tragic footnote in this cruel world.

Arya, once such a vibrant presence. Her youth was like a flower blossoming in spring, beautiful and full of life. She loved her country, cherished the dream of defending her homeland, and resolutely threw herself into the war. She ran across the battlefield, her eyes gleaming with determination and fearlessness, each step carrying a persistent pursuit of justice. She was a beacon of hope in the hearts of her comrades, and a formidable opponent in the eyes of her enemies.

However, fate, like a ruthless demon, showed her a hideous smile. During this dangerous reconnaissance mission, Alia unfortunately fell into a trap carefully laid by the enemy and suffered a fatal sneak attack.

Those ruthless enemies, like demons from hell, mercilessly wielded their blades, brutally piercing her chest. Instantly, blood gushed out like a fountain, staining her clothes red. Then, they plunged their sharp swords through her throat, delivering the final blow, extinguishing her last remaining hope. With her heart pierced through her chest, she managed to keep breathing thanks to her powerful three-star paladin status, but the fatal blow to her throat completely silenced her struggles. She uttered her final, strangled breath, her head tilted, her tongue protruding from her lips, and her beautiful head drooped, her death filled with resentment. A warm liquid flowed between her legs, as if witnessing Arya's tragic end.

Alia's body hung limply on the wooden door. Her body was nailed to the wooden door, as if she was firmly bound by the shackles of fate and could never break free.

Now, she lay there quietly, fused with the shabby wooden door. That door, like an unbridgeable chasm, completely separated her from the outside world. And she, alone in this world of blood and slaughter, could only face this tragic end.

A howling wind swept across the desolate landscape, the wooden door creaking in the wind, as if sobbing mournfully for her. Her once beautiful face was now as pale and haggard as a withered flower. A few strands of messy hair fluttered in the wind, as if telling of her unwilling struggle.

Memories surged through her soul like a surging tide. It was a quiet and peaceful village, a paradise, secluded from the world. Surrounded by verdant mountains and clear waters, a gurgling stream meandered past the village like a silver ribbon, adorning it with a picturesque beauty.

The endless green fields resembled a giant emerald, embedded in the earth. A gentle breeze blew, and the wheat waves billowed, as if the earth were performing a grand concert. Occasionally, a few butterflies danced in the fields, their graceful movements like spirits, adding a touch of vitality and energy to the landscape.

In this small village, she spent a carefree childhood. She often wore simple clothes, like a fresh lily, running lightly through the fields. Her laughter, as clear and melodious as a silver bell, seemed to transcend time and space, echoing throughout this beautiful land.

Back then, her eyes were filled with beautiful visions of life and boundless hope. She believed that as long as she worked hard, the world would open its doors to her, waiting for her to explore and discover. Her heart was filled with curiosity, and she was fascinated by everything around her. Whether it was the flowers and grass in the fields or the birds flying in the sky, they brought her immense joy and satisfaction.

However, since the brave female general of the Great Zhou Empire conquered the Eastern Roman Empire, everything has changed dramatically. The status of women has been greatly improved. They are no longer limited to traditional roles, but have more opportunities to express themselves.

And she, relying on her formidable strength as a three-star paladin, resolutely joined the army. In the fierce battle, she was fearless and charged forward, her blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight, as sharp as lightning. Every swing of her sword was filled with boundless power and determination, and wherever she passed, the enemies fell like harvested wheat.

Time, like a knife, carved deep marks on her once beautiful face, as if these marks were proof of the countless fierce battles she had experienced. However, these marks did not diminish her beauty, but instead added a sense of tenacity and courage after going through vicissitudes of life.

She possessed astonishing strength. As a three-star paladin, she resolutely joined the army. On the battlefield filled with smoke and flames, she was fearless and bravely advanced, like a god of war.

The sharp blade in her hand gleamed in the sunlight, a chilling gleam, as sharp as lightning. Every swing of the sword contained endless power and determination, as if to tear the enemy apart.

Each scar bears witness to her bloody battles with the enemy, a reminder of her time on the brink of life and death. Each injury sharpens her path to growth, making her stronger and stronger.

She darted through the hail of arrows and the flash of swords, facing the enemy's attacks without fear. The baptism of blood and fire made her will as hard as steel.

However, fate always seemed to play tricks on her. During this undercover operation, she encountered an unprecedented crisis. The enemy's sudden attack caught her off guard. The deadly blade pierced her body like lightning, pinning her to the dilapidated wooden door.

Her eyes were wide open, and her long eyelashes were still stained with blood, the final traces left by her in battle. This blood was the medal of her heroic resistance, and also a testimony to the cruelty and ruthlessness of this world.

The surrounding enemies erupted in shrill laughter, believing her utter defeat. However, they were mistaken. Behind those wide-open eyes lay an unyielding spirit. She vowed silently in her heart that even as her life faded, her spirit would never fade. She believed that more people would rise up to fight for freedom and justice, and that one day, this land would be reborn.

The wind still howled, as if singing her story. She lay silently nailed to the door, like an immortal statue, demonstrating to the world the strength and indomitable spirit of a fragile woman in the face of cruel fate. And her story, carried on by the wind, will be passed down forever.