It's so painful! So hard! So difficult!

It would not use its full strength and would cause more trauma to the poet, but would wipe him out completely.

This time, the attack wasn't solely from Yu Lang. While constantly taking damage from Bai Lin, he split open half of his body, launching wave after wave of frantic attacks. Countless chunks of flesh attempted to drown the poet beneath the sea of ​​filth, countless hands sought to drag her into the abyss, forever imprisoned, to drown her in this mad world.

The poet's expression didn't seem entirely calm, a trace of cold sweat dripping from the blood-stained cheeks. Even someone as formidable as she was, it seemed impossible to take such an attack lightly. However, she raised her blade without hesitation, aiming it at the attacker, completely wiping out any fear of battle.

Perhaps, it was just as she said, "to respond to Bai Lin's trust." And——

She also trusted Bai Lin. Therefore, in such a situation, she was unwilling to retreat, and would not choose to retreat. Even when facing such a terrifying monster and its self-sacrificing attack.

Soon, the poet's figure was completely submerged in a sea of ​​corpses and blood. The monster's shell, splitting apart, enveloped her body. Being pounded by waves must be unpleasant, especially when they were made of a solid, rotten, and disgusting unknown substance.

Furthermore, the poet's blade itself was difficult to inflict damage on a cluster of monsters. Under such an onslaught, even if she had the will, she was powerless. After struggling for several seconds, she was unable to move. The heavy pull restrained her limbs, making it impossible for her to swing the blade. But she knew she had to persevere. Every second she could attract hatred was the most effective help to Bai Lin.

There was no other way to win. Even with her throat choked, suffocated and overwhelmed by a sense of powerlessness... she refused to give up. Her weak fingers, driven by a combination of 70% subconsciousness and 30% consciousness, dug into the monster's flesh, seemingly trying to trap it. But this action was quickly interrupted by the monster's attack with more flesh.

The poet's eyes gradually dimmed. Perhaps this was all she could do. This would surely restore a certain advantage for Bai Lin's desperate fight. The rest would be left to her.

Just before the poet lost consciousness, a figure, covered in the same substance as the monster's body, but in a complete human form, wielded its iron rod frantically, as if harvesting the jungle with a chainsaw, tearing through a path of utter destruction. In an instant, it entered the poet's sight.

Though bloodstained, her golden eyes still shone, their brilliance intact. However, their clarity was no longer there, their vision now shrouded in a hazy haze. Though her face was completely obscured by the shredded hair and blood, the poet recognized her identity instantly. Who else could have emerged at this hour besides Bai Lin?

With a swift blow of the staff, Bai Lin instantly shattered the monster's body, restraining the poet. The poet collapsed to the ground, coughing loudly and instinctively. She managed to lift her eyes and look up at the battle before her. Bai Lin had already turned, shielding himself behind her, and was looking at the dragon-like monster, which, though largely destroyed, still retained its general appearance.

This was the countless times Bai Lin and the monster had stared at each other, but this time, both seemed to have reached the end of their rope, or perhaps, had already reached the end of their rope. The brave man, who was clearly unconscious and had to rely on an iron rod to support himself, actually chuckled.

She spoke a few words to the other party in a voice that was similar to the monster's, a little shrill, but with an extremely low and distorted tone. In the poet's ears, he seemed to be able to vaguely hear some of the meaning of the language itself:

"Are you and I... a lot alike?"

The monster offered no verbal response to Bai Lin. It opened its maw and roared, like a dragon for the first time. Then, its entire body gathered backward, surging toward the highest canopy, its entire form seemingly connected to this chaotic world. Suddenly, its limbs sprouted, rapidly sweeping across the world, surging toward Bai Lin from countless corners. This marked the beginning of the final battle of chaos.

Bai Lin, on the other hand, didn't even straighten her body, merely standing there, her frail figure drooping. With one hand, she held a stick, and with the other, seemingly intentionally or unintentionally, she blocked the poet's path. This scene became the last shot of the poet before he regained consciousness.

Chapter 765: So Fearful

For unknown reasons, she lost consciousness. Some say that if a person loses a memory, it's likely because the memory itself is so unbearable that the body blocks it out of self-protection. Perhaps an overabundance of information beyond human comprehension can also cause this.

By the time he came to his senses, the monster's body had already covered the entire world before him. After the dragon-like form was ripped apart, it seemed no different from the ordinary monsters he had previously vanquished. Only half of the dragon's head remained, perched atop the pile of limbs, lying lifeless within. Bai Lin stood in the center of this shattered world, half-kneeling, leaning on the iron rod in his hand, panting.

Finally, with a thud, she also fell into a pool of blood. The poet, who had regained consciousness, immediately reacted and ran to Bai Lin's side. He cleared a space and laid Bai Lin flat on the ground nearby. He asked anxiously,

"Holy Son, how are you, Holy Son?!"

However, the poet only heard Bai Lin's faint breathing. It seemed all she could do now was lie flat on her back, with her remaining consciousness. The poet took a quick look at Bai Lin's condition, which was dire. But for some subtle reason, even though her injuries were severe, there was no need to worry about her dying from the consequences, let alone tending to her wounds. Something else had been filling Bai Lin's body.

This, perhaps, was indeed a blessing. After confirming that there were no problems, the poet breathed a sigh of relief. She helped Bai Lin up and, carrying her, began to move again. This wasn't a move to escape this troubled place after the battle. The poet knew that the current problem hadn't been completely resolved. Leaving Bai Lin here wasn't a reassuring option. Her injuries wouldn't heal over time, so the only effective solution was to get this done quickly. The poet was clear on this point.

In any case, it is always more appropriate to be within your own sight.

The poet was heading towards the same black building that had appeared at some point, protected by the dragon-like monster. The two of them stumbled, but their direction remained unwavering. It was simply a journey from one hell to another.

Compared to Bai Lin, the poet wasn't actually hurt much. At least from the outside, she only had a few scratches that didn't affect her movements. Even her physical strength was relatively intact, and she didn't feel tired. However, with every step she took toward the building, the feeling of suffocation intensified.

Towards the abyss.

As we approached, the building itself didn't look much different from a normal building from the outside. It was just that its exterior was much more hazy and profound, making it impossible to see through. Even looking through what looked like windows, we couldn't glimpse anything inside.

If the outside world was a Shura field connected to this chaotic world, then this place was probably the center of the world. A deeper, deadly place, isolated from the outside world, yet inextricably linked to it. Gazing at the door that gradually opened toward him, the poet took a deep breath and, without further hesitation, walked in with Bai Lin.

Entering the modest interior, the thick walls offered no reassurance, but instead a sense of foreboding. As the air grew heavier, a sense of unease settled once again within her. Her breathing grew heavier, but she had no choice but to turn back. The moment she entered the building, the door had abruptly shut, closed to all living beings.

Looking around the building, there wasn't anything unusual. It wasn't as grimy and dilapidated as the old school building, just a grayish gloom that made it difficult to see clearly. Most of the classroom doors wouldn't open, even tugging wouldn't budge, as if they were fixed to the space.

The same thing happened on the second and third floors. When the poet finally reached the fourth floor, the uppermost reaches of the teaching building, the peaceful scene that had once stood against the storm was finally torn apart. After a period of turmoil, a collection of otherworldly flesh began to seep out. It wasn't just a simple spawning of monsters; they crawled out from the walls, the ground, the ceiling, everywhere within reach, like incorruptible maggots.

A piercing shriek erupted first, but it was soon drowned out by the mechanical clatter of iron digging into flesh. Chains, stained with blood and flesh, hung from the sky, dangling from them either the mutilated remains of a gruesome death or the withered life itself. The remaining chains seemed to be an invitation to death to those still alive.

Within that wall of flesh, large, eerie eyes awoke. Their gazes held indifference and coldness, yet one could sense the most tangible malice within. It was pure malice, a desire to devour you alive simply because you were still alive.

Standing in the center of the building, the poet seemed to have not anticipated the ubiquity of her opponent. Standing at the center of countless gazes, her body trembled uncontrollably. Against the backdrop of this infernal, extinct scene, countless images raced wildly in her mind. It was as if a cold hand gripped her heart, holding her eyes open, forcing her to face everything that flashed through her mind with no way out.

Soon, her body became unsteady, and she took a step forward, nearly falling to the ground. Fortunately, she managed to hold on, otherwise she might not be the only one to fall. Cold sweat permeated her body, and the poet gasped heavily, her eyes filled with fear and disbelief.

Bai Lin... had she been fighting in this state just now? Is this really possible?

No one could respond to the poet. Only countless eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a hint of sneer, as a well-deserved response to the poet's hesitation. The poet remained silent. She steadied herself, placed Bai Lin in the corner, then slowly raised her weapon and took a deep breath. With a gloomy expression, she this time, directly thrust her weapon forward, taking the initiative to attack.

Chapter 766 Continuous Pain

The sharp edge flashed past, and an eyeball was instantly split in two by her blade. A large amount of blood spurted out, and the shrunken eye socket was instantly reduced to a hollow shell, a scar that seemed to record the demise of something. Then the poet's body began to move.

Her feet shot up, leaving the wet, fleshy ground. The blade in her hand danced swiftly with her body. She charged through the flesh, piercing every eye that looked like a vital point with impeccable skill. In an instant, she destroyed most of the monster-like building, the threat that could be glimpsed within her sight.

Her steps were hurried, and even though her breathing was unsteady, her movements didn't slow down much. It was obvious that her mood wasn't as calm as her expression suggested, but rather a touch of impatience, which didn't seem like a poet's style.

As her movements quickened, the monsters seemed to react. Instead of simply watching the poet swing her blade recklessly at them, they began to resist. The remaining iron chains instantly swung back into action, chasing the poet. From their intact eyeballs, spherical drops of condensed liquid began to drip. Like eggshells, they were ruptured from the inside, and from within emerged the monsters seen from the outside.

Even if one watched this scene countless times, no one could possibly get used to its terrifying quality. The poet knew she couldn't instantly neutralize the waves of attack, so she chose to keep moving, pulling, swinging the chains, slicing through the flesh, and, incidentally, shredding the eyeballs of the mother creature that had spawned the monster.

The pressure wasn't too great, but it wasn't too small either. While she didn't know what the monsters were actually doing, the poet was certain that if she stopped, the chances of being injured were extremely high. So, she and her blade moved like flowing water, slicing through the chaos, and as the attack grew more intense, she gradually increased her offensive power.

As Bai Lin said, sometimes the surefire way to victory is right before your eyes. You know it, and I know it too. The poet also practiced this. Although his response seemed a little hasty, his actions were generally well-organized, and his overarching goal was crystal clear: to annihilate the monsters.

But is it really that easy?

As the monster's body was destroyed, the exhaustion and chaos within her deepened. The dual pressures of body and mind didn't slow her weapon's swing, but it would eventually expose the poet to vulnerability.

Blood suddenly began to seep profusely from the already decaying wall of flesh. Like a volcanic eruption, the liquid splashed, sweeping up the numerous limbs the poet had severed from the ground, rapidly merging with them. Then, they swelled and grew larger, some with only two arms, rapidly crawling toward the poet. Others, with only their heads, rolled over in the liquid, toward the poet.

The crimson liquid, with a strange and unusual aura, suddenly attacked the sword-wielding girl. As the poet raised her sword, ready to slay the monsters, which seemed even more frantic than before, a sudden foreboding premonition forced her to suspend her sword in mid-air. Then, the pair of limbs that leaped toward her suddenly erupted in a burst of bright red flames and exploded.

The immense force of the explosion whipped up clouds of crimson mist, and the poet's figure was instantly obscured by the flames. This self-sacrificing blow was bound to drag the poet into the same hell that bred death as these monsters. Their movement continued unabated; simply by following the direction of the flesh tide, they could locate the poet.

The poet, however, was coughing violently. Even though she reacted at the last moment and raised her sword to block the attack, one of her eyes was unfortunately splashed with a burning substance, and half of her arm bore a visible, horrific wound. The deep wound, as if it had been roasted over a charcoal fire and then rolled over with pitch-black coals, was indescribably painful. And... her eyes had also suffered similar injuries.

Even the poet cried out in pain at the blow. But what emerged from her throat were muffled, sharp gasps. Her vision began to blur, and from time to time, scenes she had never seen before flashed across her horizon. Even with all her might, she could barely make out the world before her.

Under this pain and erosion, her steps became even more unstable, but she did not fall down even after stumbling. She remembered Bai Lin's previous actions.

The torture and pain she endured were probably far greater than mine. Giving up here would be a complete waste of her previous desperate struggle. Is she already afraid? It's probably too early.

The poet, reflecting on this, seemed to calm down a bit. Her steps moved swiftly, continuing to swing her blade. But this time, her movements were no longer as methodical as before. Due to the presence of the self-exploding chunks of flesh, these chains, and the monsters they spawned, posed an even greater threat to the poet. If she were to be delayed even a moment, she would be one step closer to death.

Her movements became more aggressive. Or perhaps even more impulsive. But even so, her killing speed seemed to be no longer able to keep pace with the monsters. Fortunately, the area was large, giving her ample room to maneuver. After being chased to the edge of the wall, she gathered her breath, planned her counterattack, and then leaped towards the wall.

She leaped high, wedging herself between the chain and the monster, dislodging the chain mid-air. Then, using the wall as a sprinter, she dashed out, forcing the monster in front and the wreckage of the explosion behind her to reverse course. This made the situation much easier for her, as she no longer had to worry about being blocked by the monster, and the pressure on her attack was instantly reduced.

The poet leaped into the air, raising her sword high above her head, channeling all the momentum from her leap into the sword. And the madly growing chain followed her as expected.

Chapter 767: Beyond the Fear of Death

She swung her sword instantly, but not with a clean, sharp cut. Instead, she struck with a bat, striking at a specific spot until it completely broke. After all, the chains that held the monster together were its limbs. Ensuring their complete destruction, their inability to move, was the only way to feel at ease, wasn't it?

Despite the effort, the poet's plan was successfully executed. The chains were completely shattered by the poet, and her body flew towards the wall. And the moment her body touched the wall, the omnipresent monster, or rather, the monster's malicious intent, finally revealed its claws.

The barrier of flesh instantly absorbed the poet's body, dragging it ever deeper into hell. Her face was instantly swarmed into the center of the sea of ​​flesh. A agonizing, suffocating feeling, along with other precarious existences, instantly filled her mind, squeezing out all the poet's thoughts. She lay in agony at the bottom of the ocean, yet she had no desire to escape. She simply couldn't muster such a thought.

When a monster's claw pierced the poet's shoulder bone, her mind finally regained consciousness for a moment. The poet was no ordinary character after all, and the pain brought her back to a slightly clearer state. With the most primitive human method, she frantically tore at the flesh, allowing her mind to breathe the stale air of the outside world again. The remaining disgusting consciousness still lingered within her, half her body trapped in the flesh, but the poet was the first to turn around, weapon drawn, and face the monster.

However, it didn't matter if she didn't look. Once she looked outward... her inner state was no better than being submerged in the deep ocean. The wave of the self-destructing remains, combined with the monster, had already reached her. The poet's lower body was still being corroded and bound by the flesh, and even if she had time to react instantly, it would have been impossible.

Images flashed through the poet's eyes. Her own tragic death seemed to be reflected in them, though there was no revolving lantern. Her mind was completely overwhelmed by other emotions, stripped of even the ability to reflect on her own life.

This was an emotion she didn't want to face, or even admit. It was human nature, yet it was also something everyone hated and resisted. It was fear.

Yes, from the moment she faced the monster, fear had already begun to fill the poet's heart. This was undeniable. Her teammates had fallen, no longer able to provide any assistance. Alone, facing this completely helpless existence, she was undoubtedly panicked.

The moment her mind began to be invaded by this world, she could no longer maintain a sense of composure. Her movements became increasingly hasty, driven by fear, her urgency to kill. Escape was impossible. The monsters were everywhere, completely encroaching on the isolated building, like death itself, leaving her with no choice but to slay them. Only by suppressing her fear and slaying them could she possibly survive.

The monster exploited this very fact. It gradually applied pressure, but never unleashed full force right away. Instead, through a variety of intriguing circumstances, it created a deadly situation, as it did now. It seduced the poet step by step, making her feel as if she saw an opportunity to kill him. She grew increasingly impatient under pressure, and in her unclear state of mind, she made the wrong choice. Ultimately, she crashed into the predetermined outcome.

Even at this moment, the poet certainly couldn't wrap her head around it. She knew she was being tricked, but she had no time for anything else. The impasse before her, combined with the mental pressure she'd previously exerted, pushed her mind to the brink. Her crimson eyes flashed with burning madness, just like the blade in her hand, which began to dance wildly, and the shrill cry that emanated from her screams.

Death is a primal fear deeply rooted in the human heart. It's the unknown, but not entirely unknown; it represents the end of life. While some cultures don't consider death to be the end, allowing some to face it with equanimity, the fear of death is not uncommon. More generally... it's an emotion shared by nearly everyone.

When faced with such fear, people often go through several stages. First, they struggle to resist, trapped in a negative cycle of fear, their actions becoming increasingly irrational, their desire to survive intensifying until they go mad. Then, faced with the inevitable, feeling powerless, they try to resist death once again, but with the attitude of a weakling, begging for mercy or praying, pinning their hopes entirely on a miracle. Finally, it's like being thrown alone into the depths of the ocean, completely drowning both physically and mentally.

Perhaps not every stage will manifest itself, but similar internal fluctuations will always exist. Unless the person has a relatively calm attitude towards death itself, such as "dedicating oneself to science", but obviously, this attitude does not apply to most people.

Blood exploded, covering every area within sight. But the sound of the explosion couldn't drown out the piercing, inaudible screams emanating from someone unknown.

After an unknown amount of time, the world finally welcomed a much quieter peace than before. The poet, covered in wounds and looking like a bloody corpse, with a shattered body and a faint wisp of burnt smoke wafting from his body, was lowered from the wall and landed heavily on the floor.

Lying on the ground, the wounds covering her body made her look like a corpse. Her expression was devoid of life, leaving no room for doubt that she was a corpse. The only signs of life were her faint breathing and her gradually slowing heartbeat.

She had used all her strength to withstand the attack after being set up. The fact that she ended up like this was proof that she had given it her all. Even she herself didn't know if this was truly the result of her own hard work. Was she really that powerful?

Is this because his own flesh tissues had begun to spread with some freely moving strips and patches of life forms stained with rotten blood and mottled with black and dirty yellow colors? That's why he was able to withstand such an attack and survive?

Chapter 768: Forgotten Matters

Or maybe the monster just let him go out of his way out of some malicious intent?

The poet didn't consider either answer. Against the boundless fear that now dominated her mind, this was merely a fleeting thought. Even if her body could still function, her brain was no longer strong enough to support her normal movements. Even her vision was blurring.

In a trance, a cold stinging sensation penetrated the poet's back. The pain pierced through her spine, instantly clearing her mind. She gasped for breath again and regained her sight.

The monster then unleashed a chain from the ceiling, hooking it around the poet's back and slowly pulling her prostrate body up. She watched herself drift further and further away from the ground, unable to muster any desire or strength to struggle. Like a child in her most horrified moments, she simply huddled in the corner of the bed, tightly wrapped in the sheets, knowing full well she shouldn't, yet trembling feebly nonetheless.

Because true fear makes it impossible for people to resist. After trying their best to resist, the result of failure becomes even more of a recipe for fear.

Unable to think, unwilling to think. She no longer believed in any facts, even the fear that was about to come was unknown.

As for her own prophecy... that itself was a more realistic picture, similar to her imagination. The images flooding the poet's mind were already countless, and she couldn't tell which was the true ending and which was tampered with. In this mood and situation, she had already questioned everything about herself.

It can be said that today's poets are not much different from corpses. If crows and flies fly by, they will surely arrive on the scent of the wind of death and leave with decaying things in their mouths.

As a picture appeared, her eyes twitched. She saw the eyeballs on the ground, which she had previously destroyed, suddenly regenerate on their own. The monster clinging to the building seemed unharmed, seemingly intact, save for one more member hanging from the chains.

A deeper despair then pierced the poet's heart. Perhaps the icy pain that penetrated his spine, the blow that brought him back to his senses, was simply the monster's plan for this outcome.

Then, another scene caught her attention. The ground, formed of chunks of flesh, began to wriggle violently. It gradually cracked, forming a ravine. The ravine was bottomless, swallowing up all the light and drawing all living things towards their final destination.

A bloodstained figure, similar in appearance to her own, yet still clearly recognizable, was transported before the poet's eyes, actuated by the wriggling of flesh. Her crimson pupils, now as pale as death, instantly froze in a violent tremor. It seemed as if some unusually intense emotion had suddenly pierced her mind.

The steel needle that stirred into his mind gathered the deep waters of fear into one place. Our hero, Bai Lin Eshlevitann, was thus unconsciously pushed into the abyss.

As this scene unfolded, the poet's entire body began to tremble violently. Her mad thoughts completely seized control of her, and every hair on her body stood on end. Her heart beat faster, oozing blood in ever greater quantities. Even so, her mind continued to spiral ever closer to the brink of madness, just like the inexplicable thing that danced madly and grew from her body.

But even though her heart was raging, and her lips were trembling to the extreme, she could only utter a few weak, inhuman words. And extending her hand towards the abyss was the only thing she could do in the end.

Unhindered, Bai Lin's body was completely swallowed by the abyss. Completely vanishing from the poet's sight, the monsters, reassembled into the floor, opened their variously sized eyes, trembling as they looked towards the poet, emitting a low, rustling sound. It seemed to mock and ridicule the poet. They existed in all directions, everywhere. Naturally, they pushed the frantic anxiety and tinnitus to an extreme.

The sound of shattering glass echoed. It was as if something had reached its limit, completely exploding the container. The last glimmer of hope was completely extinguished.

The poet's eyes were open, but her vision had completely dimmed. Her entire body finally gave way to complete weakness, even her heart.

-

A delicate hand tightly grasped a knife. Though it was only a small hand, the gesture of holding the knife was incredibly steady and skilled. The three-inch-long dagger had an extremely sharp, gleaming blade. And the target pointed at was another, equally delicate arm.

A girl with short white hair, looking like a lovely teenager, stood in a dark room, dressed in a white nightgown. Her bright red eyes stared intently at the tip of the knife in her hand and the target it was aimed at. It was obvious that she intended to use this knife to end her own life.

The distance between the blade and the tender skin was a mere few centimeters. But just as the tip of the knife was about to touch her skin, the girl's hand suddenly began to tremble violently. Her eyes were no longer firm, but instead conveyed an uneasy emotion, reaching a peak in just a few seconds.

Soon, the blade in the girl's hand slipped from her grasp. It fell from her loosened grip, hitting the ground and rolling into the shadows of the room. The girl's legs gave way, and she slumped backwards, powerless. Her hands rested on the ground, and the sound of her heartbeat seemed to echo throughout the room, pounding her already tinnitus and sending her into a deeper state of tension and anxiety.

The panting girl stared at the dim space before her, gasping for breath for a long time before she managed to regain her composure. With familiarity, she reached out and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, wiping it away completely. Then, she slowly stood up and dusted off her clothes.

Chapter 769 Memories of Death

This is the girl's 394th suicide attempt.

Among their race, suicide is not uncommon, but fear of death is almost nonexistent. Almost everyone, upon first receiving the prophecy of their own death, was utterly terrified and at a loss. However, after professional counseling and reflection, they all calmed down and chose a path they wished to take.

Whether giving up this life or making good use of everything in it is a decision made according to one's own will after knowing everything.

The young girl, however, was different from everyone else. You could call her a "genius," but a very special genius. Perhaps it was because she'd heard older children describe the horrific future, or perhaps it was because her father had passed away at a young age due to a prophecy. She desperately didn't want to see her own death, and even more so, she didn't want to face anything related to death. This "thing" included the inevitable glimpse of the future that her race inevitably encountered. Surprisingly, she was able to control herself and not look into the distant future.

This way, she didn't suffer from the boredom of life that plagued her tribe, as she could see the entire future. Naturally, she had no reason to make choices, but could simply live her life as it came, just like the rest of the race. Therefore, in terms of "enjoying life," she was truly a genius among her race.

Yet, even with all this, she still harbored suicidal thoughts. Why? The answer wasn't hard to find. Born in such an environment, her existence seemed particularly strange. The girl was somewhat intelligent, but not exceptionally so. Even though others didn't discriminate against her unique existence, she was aware that she was profoundly abnormal.

Lacking a sense of community, she attempted to look back and even attempted suicide. These were common behaviors among her kind. But ultimately, as previously described, the girl gave up at the last moment.

The reason was simple: she couldn't overcome her fear of death. It was human nature, but in this case, it was undoubtedly abnormal. She couldn't bear the torment of thinking about the complex emotions she'd experience if she saw everything, the strange and awkward actions she'd make. She couldn't suppress the fear she felt if she chose death, the final shred of consciousness she'd lose in an unknown abyss.

She couldn't understand the people around her, but it seemed she couldn't understand herself either. So, aside from occasionally trying to kill herself, she'd always tried to escape. She wouldn't look, wouldn't listen, and pretended to be happy all the time, always naive about many things, finding them all new and surprising.

But such days, over the course of just a few years, seemed to have gradually become tiresome. The girl's smiles became less and less frequent, her desire to connect with others was completely eroded, and her temper became increasingly strange. Cold yet inexplicably irritable—that was her.

She even began to stay indoors, unwilling to even glance at the bookcase beside her bed. Instead, she preferred to confine herself to this claustrophobic environment, doing nothing and thinking nothing. But can a living person really think of nothing while awake?

The answer, obviously, was no. The caring family members were naturally well aware of this. They would kindly plead with her to go outside, perhaps to get some fresh air, or just sit in the living room and chat with her family. They would also strive to satisfy any desires or cravings she might have. But all of this only made the girl feel more annoyed, and even disgusted with herself for irritating her family's kindness.

So, one day, she ran away from the settlement. Behind the timeless and noble ruins, on the plains where the morning glow and stars were within reach and the gentle breeze carried the sound of flowers, she met the most special person she had ever met.

Her appearance was different from that of her people, and her demeanor was completely different from theirs. She was frivolous and flirtatious. Even when they first met, she was already seriously injured, unable to move, and even had a broken arm. She hid it, speaking with meaningless and flowery words. Only after the girl saw through the flirtatious woman's injuries did she cry out "It hurts, it hurts," as if to gain attention.