Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

Dongjiang mingled in the crowd outside the courtyard, watching the body sway slightly under the beating through the throng of heads. He didn't see a miracle, nor did he see sulfurous fire descend from the sky to burn these hypocrites to ashes. He only saw a flesh-and-blood body silently enduring the purest malice from its own kind.

At this point, he didn't want to watch any more of the cutscenes; he just wanted to go on a killing spree. But no matter how much he frantically pressed the non-existent "Skip" button, he couldn't skip it.

Damn, what a piece of trash game that can't even skip cutscenes!

Next, the man carrying the cross was forced to arduously walk from one place to another. From the Sanhedrin to the residence of the Roman governor Pontius Pilate, but even the Roman governor, who had always played many villains and demons in biblical stories, did not want to judge this innocent man.

“I cannot find any fault in him,” said Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, to the chief priests and the crowd, troubled. He was unwilling to judge a righteous man who had done good.

But those people, like enraged hyenas, clung on relentlessly.

"He is bewitching the people!"

"He claims to be a king!"

Their voices grew louder and louder, coalescing into a surging wave of malice.

Pilate handed Jesus over to Herod, the king of Israel appointed by Caesar. The governor hoped that the king of the Pharisees would forgive their righteous man, but Herod merely mocked Jesus and sent him back, showing no intention of forgiveness whatsoever.

Finally, out of options, Pilate remembered the Pharisees' custom of pardoning a prisoner at Passover. So he brought the infamous robber Barabbas and Jesus together before the crowd.

"Which one do you want me to release to you? Barabbas the robber, or Jesus who is called the Christ?"

Pilate opened his arms and proclaimed that he believed a sensible person would choose to pardon a good person who was lying rather than a wicked criminal.

But the Pharisees' high priests moved through the crowd, whispering incitement; their words, like the tongues of serpents, injected venom into the ears of every fanatical mob. And so the crowd roared like a tidal wave.

"Barabba! Release Barabba!"

"Then what should I do with Jesus, who is called the Christ?"

Pilate wanted to make one last attempt.

"Crucify him! Crucify him!" The shouts were deafening, as if they were about to lift the entire sky above Jerusalem. Each person who uttered these words wore a twisted, cruel joy on their face.

Helpless, Pilate asked for a basin of water, washed his hands in front of everyone, and said...

“I am not guilty of shedding the blood of this righteous man; you bear the consequences.”

"His blood belongs to us and our descendants!" the crowd responded wildly.

So Jesus was handed over. The Roman soldiers took him into the courtyard of the governor's palace, their contempt and mockery directed at the silent man. They stripped him naked, leaving him only with a loincloth to cover his shame.

His physique wasn't particularly strong; years of hard work had given him lean, muscular muscles and a healthy wheat-colored complexion. He was nothing like the fair-skinned priests, whose skin was full of wrinkled, flabby flesh from a life of luxury.

Two strong Roman soldiers bound him to a short stone pillar, forcing his body forward, exposing his entire smooth back and buttocks. A centurion brought a "scorpion whip," a Roman instrument of torture used to punish serious offenders, with several leather straps at the ends of which were inlaid with sharp bone fragments and lead balls.

"Hey, King of the Pharisees!"

A soldier shouted mockingly.

The repeated lashes instantly tore open several bloody gashes on Jesus' back, the broken bones easily ripping through the skin and plowing deep into the muscle. The blood didn't flow out, but rather gushed out with a "sizzle," turning into a bloody mist under the scorching sun.

Soon, Jesus' entire back became a bloody mess, with not a single patch of intact skin visible. Deep red muscle fibers were exposed to the air, and blood gushing from torn blood vessels flowed down the curves of his body, staining his thighs and pooling at his feet, turning the dust into a sticky mud.

The soldiers did not stop there. They roughly dragged him up and dressed him in a crimson robe, a symbol of royal power, but the robe was immediately soaked with blood seeping from his back, sticking stickily to his broken flesh, and every slight movement brought a new round of tearing and excruciating pain.

They wove a crown out of thorns. It wasn't made of soft branches, but of hardwood covered with thorns several inches long. A soldier laughed and forcefully pressed this terrifying crown onto Jesus' head.

*Thud! Thud! Thud!* Sharp thorns pierced his scalp, embedding themselves deep into his flesh and even the surface of his skull. Crimson blood immediately streamed down his forehead and temples, blurring his vision and mingling with sweat and tears, carving horrifying furrows into his face. His hair was matted together with blood, making him look like a blood sacrifice crawling out of hell.

“Congratulations, King of the Pharisees!” They knelt before him, mocking him with the most exaggerated gestures, then stood up and took turns slapping his face with their hands and striking his head with reeds. With each blow, the crown of thorns on his head pierced deeper.

"Look at this man!" Pilate, unable to bear it any longer, wanted to stop there.

"Having suffered such torment, isn't that enough to atone for his sins?"

But his response was only a more frantic and impatient roar. The Pharisees' high priest, Caiaphas, approached him and warned the Roman governor in a threatening tone.

Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's!

Pilate fell completely silent.

"Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!"

The voice was filled with a thirst for blood and a fanaticism for destruction. They couldn't wait any longer; they wanted to watch this man who called himself the Son of God die in extreme pain and humiliation, like the lowest of slaves.

Ultimately, the verdict was delivered.

The soldiers stripped off the crimson robe, which was now stuck to his flesh and blood, tearing open the newly scabbed wound and bringing a new wave of excruciating pain. They dressed him in his own clothes and then placed a heavy cross made of rough logs across his bloodied shoulder.

The heavy crossbeam, rough-edged and splintered, pressed down on his shoulder blade, which had been ravaged by the scorpion's whip. Every muscle, every nerve screamed. He staggered onto the Via Dolorosa, the path of suffering leading to Golgotha.

The streets of Jerusalem were narrow and crowded. People poured out of the houses on both sides, not out of pity, but to watch this brutal procession. They hurled stones, rotten fruits and vegetables, and rubbish at him. Foul language, like the filthiest flood, overwhelmed him.

Every step Jesus took was incredibly difficult. The heavy cross pressed his body almost to the ground. He lost his footing and fell again and again on the pebbly, dusty road. Each fall caused the crossbar to slam into his back, reopening his wounds and sending excruciating pain deep into his bones. The soldiers roughly urged him on with whip handles and spear shafts, beating him to get up quickly.

He struggled to reach Golgotha, a hillside filled with death and decay. There, along with two bandits, his hands were impaled by nails hammered into them with hammers. Then, his legs were crossed, his calves were pinned down with his knees, and an even longer nail was driven into the instep.

The heavy hammer pounded the nails, piercing his hands and ankles, the intense pain tearing through his flesh, muscles and bones with a sickening sound.

He was suspended high in the air, between life and death, between heaven and earth. Blood dripped continuously from the wounds on his hands and feet, falling onto the ground below with a soft "drip, drip" sound.

Beneath the cross, a reveling crowd thronged. As his breathing grew increasingly labored, he looked at those still hurling insults at him, and with his last breath, uttered his first and last words before his execution.

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

The cutscene ends here.

"Bro, I know what you mean."

Tsugumi, standing in the crowd, opened her eyes. Looking at the silent man on the cross, she shook her head with pity.

"I'm sure I'm not a good person, but I still don't want to see only good people being held at gunpoint!"

"I think—they still owe TuTu!"

The next moment, Tsugumi activated her card without hesitation. Immediately afterwards, a blood-red figure appeared in the crowd, accompanied by a furious and frenzied battle roar.

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God, skull offering to the skull seat!!!"

Having transmigrated, my only purpose is to kill, kill, kill! : 3. Blood sacrifice to God, skull offering to Jesus.

Dongjiang is not a religious believer. Although everything he has experienced seems quite unscientific, his attitude towards religion remains unchanged.

It's free; you just need to pray a couple of times, similar to using a catheter, and the goal is simply to help you fall asleep.

He had naturally heard about Teacher Daye's experiences, especially after a group of wise people who had been wandering for thousands of years used various amazing methods to change the evaluation of an artist from mostly negative to mixed or even mostly positive. He knew that the artist was pitiful.

But how should I put it?

The stories you hear are ultimately different from what you see with your own eyes.

He could easily make jokes about Teacher Da Ye just by listening to the story, such as being powerless to stop the priest and the little boy.

But after witnessing firsthand how such a good person, who guides others towards goodness, was subjected to gunpoint, persecution, and humiliation...

Tsurugi is furious!

In short, they can't stand seeing good people suffer, or rather, they can't stand seeing good people suffer while bad guys get away with it.

Or to put it bluntly—I fucking love killing people who annoy me!!!

In the end, it all boils down to this: if I'm unhappy, I'll kill! If I can't even kill people randomly in a game, then what's the point of playing it?

Damn it, if you have power, you should be able to do whatever you want! I'm going to take over this place today!

And it's just the right time to complete the task, isn't it?

A miracle is revealed... Isn't the mass extinction also a miracle of Laoye?

Tsugumi took out the card, and the moment he activated it, the card's appearance instantly changed from blank to blank.

Its color turned as black as night, with a brass-colored rune branded in the center consisting of three arrows linked end to end, surrounded by countless bas-reliefs of agonizing human faces. It exuded a primal, savage, and chillingly hot aura.

The moment Tsugumi crushed the card, his body began to swell and twist in a terrifying way. His bones crackled and popped, and his muscles bulged like wildly growing tumors, tearing his clothes apart.

His skin turned an unnatural dark red, and black veins bulged like writhing venomous snakes on his bulging muscles. Within seconds, his height increased to nearly three meters, transforming him into a true giant.

A heavy, rugged, and violently aesthetically pleasing suit of brass-trimmed crimson power armor sprouted from his flesh, the plates twisting and intertwining with his muscle fibers. The shoulder armor was enormous and grotesque, adorned with sharp bone spikes and dried-out skulls.

A closed helmet with huge "rabbit ear" shaped heat dissipation fins on both sides covered his entire head, leaving only a T-shaped visor through which a hellish, blazing blood-red light shone.

In his right hand, a gigantic, grotesque chainsaw axe materialized out of thin air! He gripped the handle tightly, and the engine on the side of the axe roared deafeningly. The saw-toothed chain spun wildly at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, emitting a terrifying noise like the simultaneous screams of countless demons!

It hurts so much, it really hurts a lot!

But more than the pain, what Tsurugi felt was the powerful and almost infinite force surging into her body, and the omnipotent feeling that came with that force!

He became a Khorne berserker, but he didn't care about his name!

"No, my friend, no!"

"Ha, I'm so incredibly excited!!!"

Dongjiang laughed maniacally, raising his chainsaw axe high. His voice had completely transformed into a metallic hiss. His blood-red goggles swept over everyone on the hilltop. In his eyes, these people were no longer human, but rather bright red health bars and kill counts waiting to be harvested.

"Then—a blood sacrifice to the Blood God, a skull offering to the skull seat!!!"

At the foot of the cross, the priest who had just been mocking Jesus looked in horror at the suddenly appearing crimson monster, his arrogance instantly replaced by extreme fear.

"What...what are you?!" he screamed, trembling.

The berserker did not answer. His answer was action.

He exerted force with both legs, and the rocky ground beneath his feet instantly shattered! His massive body transformed into a red afterimage, rushing towards the high priest with a terrifying speed completely disproportionate to his size!

"Roar!"

The chainsaw axe was raised high, whistling as it tore through the air, and then came crashing down with the force of a thunderbolt!

The high priest didn't even have time to let out a complete scream. The high-speed spinning serrated chain made contact with the top of his head without stopping for a moment.

"Pfft pfft pfft pfft pfft—!"

It was a terrifying sound, like a chainsaw cutting through damp wood, sending chills down your spine. Skull, brain, spine, sternum, internal organs… everything beneath his ornate priestly robes was instantly churned into an indistinguishable mass of flesh and blood, a mixture of bone fragments and cloth, before the raging chainsaw axe!

The chainsaw axe continued downwards until it completely cleaved him from the center line, splitting him deep into the rock and sending sparks flying!

The berserker suddenly raised his axe, and the priest was turned into two pieces of "flesh" that sprayed entrails and blood to the left and right. Then, with a "thud," he fell to the ground and turned into a pool of writhing filth.

This incredibly bloody scene brought the commotion on the hillside to an abrupt halt. Everyone stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the two still-twitching corpses and the crimson demon, covered in blood and still spinning its chainsaw axe at high speed.

He abruptly turned his head, looked at everyone, and let out a sinister laugh, followed by a remarkably fluent 'Latin'.

"As you wished, a miracle has occurred."