At the same time, but the crazy

Chapter 614

The clear water slid silently over my skin, each inch feeling like it was being scraped by a quenched blade.

The whip marks were crisscrossed, deep enough to expose the bone, and the tender new flesh convulsed under the stimulation of cold water, conveying clear pain.

Ye silently cleaned himself, his movements somewhat stiff, not only because of the wound, but also because of the curse rooted deep in his flesh and blood.

The rope marks were deep on his wrists and ankles, and beneath the purplish-black bruises lay a deeper punishment from the holy light magic—a thorny pain that would never cease.

He was born in holy light.

But it is something that sounds incredibly glorious, but is actually chillingly cold.

This means that he was born as property within the Angelic territory, a talking animal.

The Angel race, one of all races, resides high on floating islands in the clouds, bathed in eternal light.

They are a positive and wealthy group, which gives them a natural advantage over races that are obsessed with darkness and killing, with a touch more so-called "goodness".

However, this kindness is as rare as morning mist for humankind.

Positive energy is gentle and easily dissipates, far less domineering and corrosive than negative energy.

In order to maintain their existence and strength, the angel race has long since learned to mix pure positive energy with the free energy in the world and refine it into a power unique to them—Holy Light.

Holy light may have the appearance of positive energy, but it lacks pure compassion.

Therefore, the Angels are not pushovers.

They might not take pleasure in torture like the demons, nor would they treat human flesh as a delicacy at a banquet like the orcs.

In their territory, human slaves were able to reproduce without constantly living in fear of being torn apart on the spot.

But this is by no means kindness.

They've simply adopted a more "civilized" method of domestication.

Humans are still domesticated animals, slaves, and have never held the right to life in their own hands.

On ordinary days, they gently drive you to work; but if you disobey in any way, the indifference and cruelty beneath that gentleness will be revealed without mercy.

The methods of punishment ranged from whipping to nailing to the cross, and finally to the most horrific burning in the sacred fire.

Angels are masters of healing magic; they can make you wail in the holy fire for a year without dying, making pain a part of your breath.

Then Jesus made a mistake.

A mistake that seems blasphemous to the angel, but is perfectly justified to him.

When choosing a sacred offering to the "Source of Holy Light," he, an unchosen slave, spoke without his master's permission.

He wanted to replace the chosen girl named Hua.

He wanted to replace Hua.

"The Holy Light chose the sacrifice; it is sacred, in accordance with the teachings of the Holy Light, and is the most virtuous."

The high and mighty angel master thus pronounced the judgment.
"How dare a filthy, lowly human slave utter such blasphemy?"

If it weren't for the fact that the sacrificial ceremony before the expedition was not allowed to be bloody, he would have been purified into a handful of ashes on the spot.

The punishment that followed was far more protracted. He was hung on a cross, whipped into a mangled pulp by an enchanted thorn whip, then healed, whipped again, and healed again. Three times in total.

Now, although he has survived, the curse originating from the Holy Light is like countless invisible poisonous thorns, piercing into every inch of his flesh and every bone.

As long as he is alive and moving, the excruciating pain will follow him like a shadow.

But at this moment, no matter how much the pain pierced his bones, he didn't even flinch.

All the pain is nothing compared to the emptiness in my heart.

Because on this very day, his only relative, Hua, who was not related by blood but was closer than blood relatives, was sent to the sacrificial site called "Avici Demon City".

The territory of the Angels is not a charity.

They also need offerings to please the "source of holy light" high in the sky. On fixed festivals each year, or to celebrate a victory, randomly selected humans are sent into the sacred fire, their souls and flesh becoming part of the light.

Jehovah's parents disappeared during a grand celebration for an archangel when he only had fragmented memories of them.

That day, in all the human settlements bathed in holy light, two-thirds of the inhabitants turned to ashes.

At that time, he didn't understand death; he only knew that his parents would never come back to hug him again.

His world consisted only of hunger, cold, toil, and praising the holy light.

Good and bad, cold and warm, are ultimately the instincts of an intellectual life.

On the day their parents turned to ashes, countless human children became orphans.

The angels do not sacrifice their young, not out of pity, but because they need powerful souls.

Children's souls, though pure, are too weak; it would be far more "cost-effective" to sacrifice them when they grow up.

And it was on that desolate and helpless ruin that Jehovah met Hua.

A girl a few years older than him, who was already beginning to understand things.

Hua took his hand and taught him how to avoid the overseer's whip;

Hua gave him half a dry, hard wheat cake and taught him how to fill his stomach with the least amount of food.

It was Hua who taught him, on a cold winter night, to stuff straw into his thin linen clothes, and then to hug each other tightly, using their body heat to ward off the cold.

That girl was everything to him, his only light...

He couldn't tolerate those guys taking away his only light!
Thinking of this, Ye took a deep breath and, enduring the pain, got up from the ground.

There's no time for him to recover from his injuries; he must rescue Hua before the sacrifice.

To accomplish this, he could only rely on his own abilities.

He could casually grab a handful of soybeans from a sack used to feed Pegasus, and with just a glance, he could tell the approximate quantity and weight of the entire sack.

He explained to China that it was very simple.

By comparing the average weight of the beans in your hand, the volume of space you can grasp, and the volume of the sack, you can deduce everything.

All of this was just a fleeting thought in his mind for two or three seconds.

He could also accurately calculate the size of the floating farm they were in by measuring the stride of his feet, the number of steps he took, and the refraction ratio of light at different distances. He could even estimate its distant distance from the "source of holy light" at the top of the sky.

These abilities, which seem like miracles to the Chinese, are nothing more than useless cleverness in Ye's eyes.

After all, compared to the mighty power of his master wielding holy light, such power was utterly insignificant.

But this was the only thing he could rely on at that moment...

That helpless anger, that deep-seated hatred, was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing all the chaotic emotions and leaving only a cold, absolute silence.

His gaze passed over the window of the simple hut and looked toward the floating boat that was gradually disappearing into the clouds in the distance.

In everyone's eyes, it was a ship heading towards death.

But in Ye's mind, the ship was instantly broken down into countless data points. Its speed, its current altitude, the wind's influence on its course, its straight-line distance from the City of Abyss... He had heard the angel masters mention the City of Abyss; it was a massive fortress built to centrally process sacrificial offerings, located at the intersection of several floating islands.

He began to calculate.

The shortest path from here to there.

The intervals between guard shifts. The height and weak points of the city walls. The nodes of energy flow... Countless numbers and models that he once regarded as mere pastimes were now running wildly in his mind, reorganizing and constructing an unprecedented, clear, and ruthless blueprint.

These hands had once dug up grass roots, wielded a horsewhip, helplessly pounded the ground, and tightly held Hua's cold hands.

And now, perhaps... it can do something else...

(End of this chapter)