Black mist descends, and I and the witches take refuge in the dungeon.

The rice porridge was cooked quickly.

The rice porridge in this other world is pretty much the same as before I transmigrated; it looks exactly the same, but the color is slightly more bluish.

Mill always felt very uncomfortable with this color.

The old priest carried a wooden bucket, twice the size of his body, and walked towards the interior of the church.

"Just help me maintain order in a bit, to prevent anyone from missing out and to prevent anyone from taking it multiple times."

But be careful how you do it; don't use too much force. Just teach them a lesson; they have no other choice.

The old priest kept talking, but his steps were steady. Andrebel and Mil followed behind him, carrying some wooden bowls and spoons.

But as he was about to step through the threshold of the small door inside the church, Andrei paused instinctively.

She looked at the statue of the goddess inside the Vatican, who seemed to be gently watching over the world, and hesitated.

For the witch, this is the final judgment point before her hanging.

She took a deep breath, stared at the goddess statue, and paused, stunned.

The next moment, Mir walked in front of her and tilted the soul lamp in his hand slightly in her direction.

The warm yellow candlelight fell on the stone bricks in front of Andre Bell, making it warm and bright.

It's like a clean road.

Seeing this, Anderbel turned to look at Mil, then smiled and, without any hesitation, stepped across.

The interior of the church was slightly brighter than the exterior, and in addition to the spirit lamps, there were also many torches.

The torches were much dimmer than usual, probably due to the black fog.

At the very center of the church hangs a huge soul lamp, comparable to the soul lamps on the outer city walls.

The warm yellow light emitted by the soul lamp was like an indoor sun.

Although it lacks the brilliance and warmth of the sun, it is still a rare find compared to the black fog outside.

The original long wooden benches inside the church were moved to the sides, leaving an empty area in the middle.

In that area, several layers of old blankets and coarse cloth were laid out, on which some people were sitting or lying.

There weren't many people; most were elderly people and women. A few injured adults leaned against the wall, wrapped in tattered coats with their eyes closed.

"The elderly and children are in the very center, while the rest of the people are in other places, either building houses or in places where the soul lamps are not so plentiful."

The old priest looked at Mil and explained something.

"Shouldn't someone with combat capabilities be in the middle at this point?"

Mill asked in a low voice.

The old priest shook his head and slowly said:

"Logically speaking, that's how it should be, but that would be too cruel. After the black mist arrives, this place is already hell. Let's not make hell even more hellish because of our own reasons."

The spark of civilization is born from a healed bone. You understand this better than I do, after all, you seem quite knowledgeable.

Finally, unless one is a superhuman of rank 5 or higher, the rest of the people in the black mist are actually quite similar, especially ordinary people; strength is not important.

After the old priest finished speaking, he handed Mil a bowl of thin porridge and then said:

"You drink first, then come over and help me maintain order."

After saying this, the old priest got up and began distributing rice porridge.

The disaster victims stood up one after another. Even though it was only the first day of the black fog, the mental pollution that was constantly engulfing them had already brought them to the brink of emotional collapse.

Many people seek relief from anxiety by engaging in verbal or physical expression when they experience emotional breakdowns.

This seems to be code etched into biological instincts.

Mir quickly finished his rice porridge, then said to Andrebel, who had only drunk less than half of it:

"Come back after you finish your drink. Don't give your leftovers to others; that's not nice."

After saying that, Mir walked toward the old priest.

Hearing this, Anderbel was stunned for a moment. She didn't quite understand why Mil would do this, but she nodded and finished all the rice porridge.

"Make way! Don't crowd around, let the old priest distribute them slowly!"

Mil's voice was loud and clear, sounding somewhat out of place in the otherwise deathly quiet church.

The refugees who were crowding each other with their bodies instinctively looked at Mir after hearing his voice.

Then, the moment they saw Mir's face clearly, they all shrank back and dared not look him in the eye.

The reason is simple: Neil's hand is glowing with lightning.

This is an extraordinary person.

Offending Mir will result in death even faster than entering the black fog directly.

Under Mil's intimidation, the distribution process went smoothly, and the old priest quickly finished distributing the porridge.

He kept a little bit for himself, it was scraps from the pot, mixed with some wood shavings.

The old priest slurped up a mouthful of porridge, drinking it from the side.

"Tsk."

He smacked his lips, looked at Mill sitting next to him, and said with a smile:

"It's not very good, it's all cold, and the bottom part is a bit salty."

Instead of your complaints, tell me about the situation here.

The old priest sighed, took another sip of porridge, and slowly said:

"What's the rush? Let me sort out my thoughts. Let's start with the corpses outside."

The old priest finished the last mouthful of porridge, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and his beard was covered in porridge, making it look dirty.

He placed the empty bowl on the wooden table beside him, then leaned against the wall, his gaze passing over the refugees who were eating quietly, and landing on the stained glass window at the top of the church.

The window depicted a picture of the goddess of light bestowing blessings upon humankind, but it was mostly obscured by the black mist, with only a corner of the goddess holding a light source still faintly visible.

The colorful glass was something Mill had visited once, on a fine day.

The sunlight made this place very beautiful back then.

"That corpse outside is my son, Leos. Oh, I've said it before, sorry, he's getting old."

The old priest spoke, his voice as calm as if he were discussing whether they had eaten that day.

"He was dragged up by something in the black fog, or rather, I think he went up on his own."

On the first night the black fog descended, he and a few men guarded the small door on the north side. Yes, over there, can you see it?

There was still bloodstains there, but no one cleaned them up.

I remember that the soul lamp suddenly dimmed for a moment, how should I put it, it was just for a very short time.

When the soul lamp lit up again, he was hung up on the roof.

Mil was silent for a moment, then stared at the pool of blood and continued to ask the old priest:

"Then why did you say he went up there on his own?"

The old priest glanced at the dome, as if he could see his son's body through it.

"He is my son. No one knows him better than me. Those things in the black fog could not confuse his mind. He must have sensed something and went there on his own initiative."

That's the legendary death pose of an archangel, nailed to a cross.

That's all.

Milton paused, then replied:

"Some of it doesn't make sense, but I believe you."

"If you believe me, then what about you, dear extraordinary individual? Why have you returned?"