Huh? Are they all real?.

However, a large amount of blood gushed out from the pregnant woman's back, turning the witch into a blood-soaked figure almost instantly.

Their flesh and blood had become one with the bed.

The witch knew this and was prepared.

In her arms, blood flowed backward, and flesh and blood were reborn.

The physical wounds may have healed, but the spiritual ones have not.

No matter how the witch tried, the woman in her arms remained completely unresponsive.

With vacant eyes and limp limbs, she was merely a living person in a conceptual sense.

It was at this moment that a voice came from behind the witch:

"There's no point in trying. Only those that were just brought in and those that were just put up can be saved. These, and most of the others, are beyond saving."

A man in black armor walked up behind the witch, holding a helmet.

Like the witch, he was someone who admired the saints and voluntarily went to the Forsaken Land to guard the abyss.

This time, they also came to the Old World in response to the witch's request.

Upon hearing this, the witch sadly placed the woman in her arms on the ground.

She knew what the man meant, but she still wanted to try:

"We can take them with us; perhaps things will turn around in the future?"

The man, his face etched with the marks of time, sighed and said:

"There is no hope of a turnaround. They are only alive in body now. As you and I both know, many people have tried before us."

"So, please, let them be freed from their suffering and go to their resting place to await rebirth."

The witch grew even more sorrowful, and the man sighed, saying:

"You go and meet up with them first, I'll take care of things here."

But the witch shook her head:

"Only I can ensure that they leave peacefully and without pain in the end."

This time, it was the men's turn to fall silent. They had come to save lives, but in the end, they were forced to kill the vast majority of innocent people with their own hands, even if it was to free them.

But this is just too torturous.

After a moment, he bowed to the witch and said:

"I'll be waiting for you on the ship."

When the man returned to the boat full of women and children.

The witch has also returned here.

Behind the giant ship that has already set sail lies the burning city of Quega.

Behind Quega City, countless factories that were originally slave factories have vanished completely, as if they had never existed.

Seeing the witch staring intently at the firelight, the man tried to distract her by saying:

“Our companions say that the abyss beyond the land of abandonment is receding day by day. Perhaps if this continues, the saints’ hopes and our perseverance will both come to a satisfactory conclusion.”

Protecting the Abyss is their top priority; the naturally evil demons of the Abyss, who sow chaos and corrupt hearts, are more important than an Old World.

But the Abyss is weakening further in the present-day fragility of the Forsaken Lands.

They gradually shifted their focus elsewhere.

This was supposed to be good news for the man to comfort the witch, but the witch shook her head and said:

"The abyss will not disappear."

"Yes, the abyss will not disappear, but it no longer has much connection with the present world."

The witch didn't say anything more; she simply clutched her heart tightly.

The abyss will not disappear, nor will it be far removed from the present world; this was a truth she belatedly realized after receiving that revelation.

She is the daughter of the abyss, and the only one who can end it all.

As the last legacy he left to the world, she felt she had to finish what he hadn't done.

Chapter 240 I am Augustus, I have returned to rebuild Rome (3k2)

The Roman Empire of Pompeii is constantly being attacked by the Abyss Watchers led by the witch.

Meanwhile, the Eastern Roman Empire in the north was making intensive preparations for the largest gladiator competition in its history.

The giant arena outside Argas has been urgently expanded by countless slaves.

They want to add more seats and a larger venue.

So that enough powerful and influential people could watch the event.

And in the wilderness not far from the Colosseum.

The tens of thousands of gladiators that Moen brought are all stationed here peacefully.

Around them were Roman troops, just the right number, in front, behind, and to the left and right.

Even after what happened thirteen years ago, Rome is still on guard against gladiator uprisings, but that's all it is.

Spataco, who dared to lead the slaves in rebellion, had his head chopped off and displayed on an airship for years.

Who else could continue the rebellion?

Who else could possibly be more qualified and capable of rebelling against Rome than Spataco, whom almost all the slaves considered to be Augustus?

Surely Augustus couldn't have crawled out of his grave himself, could he?

If that's the case, then as the descendants of sinners, they really are a little afraid!

Just kidding, Rome no longer believes they can be overthrown.

Spataco's resistance was merely a show of force, but in reality, it did not address the root of the problem at all.

Their ability to recover so quickly from the rebellion that swept across the continent thirteen years ago speaks volumes.

Therefore, the Roman nobles were very relaxed at today's grand event.

Nobody thought anything would happen.

If there was anything they were truly worried about, it was that the lowly slaves were simply incapable of using their powerful and advanced weaponry, resulting in a gladiatorial contest that was completely out of place with their status and expectations.

To dispel any doubts, the general who personally presided over the event even led his soldiers directly to Moen's camp.

Upon meeting, the general, who had already donned the purple sash of Tyre, burst into laughter and embraced Moen.

"Ah, my friend, I really miss you!"

Moen smiled and stepped forward to hug the general.

The two embraced warmly.

The general, without letting go, asked:

"So, do you really think your gladiators can succeed?"

Moen laughed:

"Of course they will succeed. I've seen every single one of them; they are all highly motivated and excellent soldiers!"

The general then released Moen, and patted him on the shoulder, saying:

"Then I'm relieved. But is there anything I can do? Although time is running out, I think there's something I can do."

Moen nodded and said:

"There is indeed something I need you to do."

"Huh? What? I'd be happy to help."

"I need you to order the withdrawal of the northern troops and hand over the armaments controlled by the southern troops to us."

The general waved his hand and laughed:

“That won’t do. It’s not time yet. I know you want those slaves outside to get used to weapons they’ve never used before, but the Third and Seventh Legions haven’t arrived yet.”

"You wouldn't want to see some idiot trying to learn from Spataco, would you?"

As they were talking, the general, seemingly realizing something, suddenly looked at Moen.

The other person just stood there smiling.

The next moment, the general suddenly reached for the short sword at his waist.

But Quintus behind him was faster.

Almost instantly, the general's hand, which was trying to draw his sword, was severed.

"Ah! Ah—! Guards, guards!"

The general clutched his severed hand and retreated repeatedly.

He tried to call for his guards, but no one answered him.

Instead, several gladiators carrying soldiers' heads stormed in.

These were all warriors handpicked by Quintus, and they were all survivors of the uprising thirteen years ago.

Absolutely reliable!

Seeing the general groaning, one of the gladiators, whose eye had been gouged out by a Roman soldier, stepped forward and grabbed the general by the neck.

The coldness of the sword blade made the general instantly fall silent and look up.

He looked at Moen in horror and said:

"Are you crazy? Spataco lost, what makes you think you can beat him?"

Moen did not answer, but simply stepped forward and repeated what he had said:

"Make the northern army step aside, and then immediately have the southern army deliver the weapons."

The general's face grew increasingly pale, a sign of excessive blood loss, but his mind remained clear.

"Don't even think about it. I must tell you, I haven't just brought the two legions that are on the surface. I've also added two more legions. You and your slaves won't be able to accomplish anything!"

The gladiator, who had his hand on his neck, pressed his sword down and sliced ​​through his flesh, saying:

"Then I'll let you die first!"

The general, far from being afraid, pressed his neck even closer and said:

"Then kill me! I'm your biggest star! Do you dare kill me?"

The gladiator hastily withdrew the sword that was at his neck; the gladiator truly dared not kill this biggest card.

Although he was an ordinary man, he was the most powerful person in southern Eastern Rome.

This made the general grin even more menacingly:

"See? You bunch of cowards!"

He was certain that these people wouldn't dare to actually kill him.

Therefore, his words and actions became increasingly intense:

"Just wait and see. Once my adjutant realizes something is wrong, you'll immediately understand the difference between an army and slaves!"

Gladiators? A bunch of slaves for our amusement.

"Does he really think he can fly to the heavens?"

"Those idiots deserve to be torn to pieces."

The gladiators were enraged by his disdain and insults, but dared not actually attack.

Until Moen said calmly:

"Then let's kill him."

These words did not faze the general; instead, they left the gladiators bewildered.

But some people immediately made a move to kill, but the general straightened his neck and leaned even higher.