I will be crowned king

"...You can laugh at it all you want, it doesn't matter, I've given up anyway."

He was just stunned for a moment, and the man with the brand on his face immediately snorted and said with an indifferent smile: "You have only passed one round of trials, don't think you can breathe a sigh of relief - there is nothing that will really make you despair yet." It’s starting!”

"This is a bit like a test subject in a petri dish. In the beginning, it was just to get rid of the 'lucky ones' and fools so that they would not have to experience the horror later. It is a sign of the apostles' broad-mindedness and kindness!"

"So don't be happy for yourself. You should regret it. Regret why you didn't die as easily as the unlucky guy you killed and why you had to endure so much torture and pain!"

As if remembering some unbearable past events, the man roared hysterically, his branded cheeks were slightly distorted, and his breathing became rapid with the violent rise and fall of his chest.

Anson, whose mouth was slightly raised, listened silently to his sarcasm, and suddenly stepped forward, shortening the distance between the two.

"W-what do you want to do?!"

The man with a sudden change of expression panicked and subconsciously wanted to dodge backwards; then there was a "pop!" and Ansen held his shoulder.

Sure enough, even if the "invisibility" is lifted in this twisted field, one can only feel the breath of each other as spell casters, but the power is completely suppressed; but the quality of the body itself and the power of blood are not affected... An Sen, who firmly held the opponent's shoulders, was shocked, but still asked as if chatting:

"Nothing, I just want to ask a few simple questions, such as...what is your name?"

"name?"

The man's lips trembled, and his panicked face showed an expression that wanted to laugh: "You...you really don't know anything, right?!"

"This is the original tower, and we are the prisoners here. Except for the apostles and those Tutors who can pass the third trial, everyone else no longer has a name - names are used to distinguish different individuals within the group, and There is no difference between us, understand?!”

"You still remember your own name, right? Don't worry. It won't take long for you to forget it. Then you will forget who you are, the purpose of coming here, and what just happened. Just remember that you have to participate in another A trial that makes you miserable, turns you into a walking zombie with no desires, and is then killed by other fools!"

"This is our...your fate, your only fate!"

He gritted his teeth, and there was some emotion about to collapse in his eyes.

Therefore, the twisted field here can not only suppress power, but also possess the power of certain black magic, which will make people gradually lose their memory, eventually deprive them of consciousness, and turn into a walking zombie that cannot think, but it is limited to spellcasters below the blasphemy mage...

Anson suddenly remembered that the tombkeeper had mentioned when he came in that the blasphemy mage could directly participate in the third-level trial, but August, as a blasphemy mage, already had the third-level authority—could it be said that the original tower built by the apostles, Unable to influence the blasphemous mages on a conscious level?

"Don't be nervous, I just want to clear up some questions." Slowly releasing his right hand from the other person's shoulder, Anson continued to talk casually:

"As you said, we are all just prisoners here; the only difference is that you have some information here, and I know nothing, that's all."

He deliberately lowered his posture, and at the same time slowly sat down and looked at each other eye-to-eye, his face filled with unparalleled sincerity.

The man who was silent for a while showed a nervous smile again:

"You don't need to know anything, you don't need to ask anything...because no matter how much you know, it's useless."

"It's no use?"

"Let me guess, the trial you just passed has led to you entering a space that looks particularly in line with your imagination, and you can compete fairly with others." The mark on the man's face twitched, and he took a deep breath and said:

"You looked at the surrounding environment, then looked at the guy who suddenly appeared on the opposite side, and then subconsciously thought: Oh, I have to kill him in this trial before I can pass...right?"

Anson's expression changed: "What do you mean..."

"The environment, the atmosphere, the whispers lingering around... the moment you step into the trial, the Original Tower uses various methods and means to clarify or hint at the rules of this trial." The man nodded, his eyes filled with despair:

"So you don't need to ask anything, you don't need to know anything, just go and participate in the trial like a fool who thinks he is a lucky person."

"As for other things, it's useless even if you know it. It's better to be a fool and you'll be luckier!"

"Then how many rounds of trials have you participated in? Are there any other believers in this twisted field who have participated in trials? How long is usually the interval between a new round of trials? What is the consequence of failing the trial? What else? Is there any chance to come back?"

Anson asked continuously. The other party's mood swings were obviously abnormal, but now that he was completely confused, he really needed information. Even temporarily meaningless information was better than no information at all.

But the man seemed to have no intention of talking anymore. No matter how much he pressed, there was only a nervous laughter and a pair of eyes full of despair and ridicule, which evoked Anson's old feelings for a certain "disheartened brother". memory.

Just when he was about to continue fighting, the purple bonfire on the podium lit up again, and the strange black door gradually emerged, exuding an indescribable aura of terror to the surroundings.

The man raised his head and stared at Anson in front of him, and the slightly raised corners of his mouth made everything self-evident.

It seemed that there was nothing more he could ask... Standing up slowly, Anson walked up the stairs to the podium and headed towards the door.

The moment he held the door handle, the man still sitting on the steps behind him suddenly spoke:

"The third trial...I participated in three trials in total."

"But in the third round, I...and another companion who participated in the trial together...we failed."

"In that round of trials, there was a Tutuo who was punished. My companion didn't even see his movements clearly, and his body completely rotted. His consciousness was taken away and turned into an... undead... that was enslaved by the opponent..."

"I ran fast enough and escaped back here by taking advantage of the door that opened the moment my companion was killed... But even so, I can still... still feel the aura of that Tutor..."

"If I step into that door again, I will bump into that Tutor again... You will die without a burial place, but the key is that even if you die, you will still be enslaved until he wants to give you a good time!"

"The three trials are the final destination for you and me...all of us fools who thought Boredim was heaven!"

Looking at his trembling eyes, Anson looked back and looked behind him. He paused for a long time and nodded slightly when he was about to count a hundred breaths silently in his heart:

"Thanks a lot, I'll remember that."

Then he pushed the door open and walked into the depths. His back disappeared without a trace along with the door on the podium.

It's still the same darkness as before, like an abyss, and the ground under your feet is still so flat that you can't see any undulations; the only difference is that there is an extra beam of white light falling from the sky in the darkness, reflecting Zhang's simple shape and exquisite appearance. Long table in relief.

With the help of the slightly dazzling beam of light, Anson's eyes gradually adapted to the environment and he instantly locked onto the figure sitting behind the long table - a high-collared purple robe with an open placket, and a slightly funny wide-brimmed hat with a feather pinned to it, most of it. His face was hidden in his hat and collar, but you could still see his raised corners of his mouth and his long, pointed chin.

"Hello, my dear parishioner~"

Voices full of joy rang out, and the figure behind the long table put his elbows on the table and supported his pointed chin with a pair of crossed white gloves: "Congratulations, congratulations on passing the first round of trials. After all the hardships, Suffering comes here.”

"Don't deny it. I know it. I have been there. I know how painful it is to have to kill a church member who has nothing to do with me."

"But you don't need to suffer! So from now on, this kind of thing will never happen again - at least, at least in this round of trials, it will never happen!"

"The Three True Gods, as well as the great apostles, are kind and merciful. Just to ensure the rigor of the trial, they formulated a slightly harsh trial process; after all, we have to find a way to filter out those who are not... Qualified church member, right?”

"As for you...you and me, we have passed the first round of trials and have proven ourselves as evolvers. We are the chosen ones and are part of the big plan!"

"We no longer need to use such barbaric, cruel, and harsh methods to ensure the purity and nobility of the Original Tower."

"We... have a better way."

The smiling spellcaster stood up and raised his arms as if to give him a big hug.

Looking at the incredibly enthusiastic guy in front of him, Anson couldn't help but raise his eyebrows: "In what way?"

"That's it..." The spell caster paused slightly, and the smile on his face became brighter:

"I'm sorry, I almost forgot the most important thing... Don't worry, please sit down first and let me tell you."

After saying that, he smiled ingratiatingly and snapped his fingers; soon, an armchair with the same backrest as the one behind him appeared on the opposite side of the long table.

I didn’t feel any obvious magical aura. Could it be that it was something inherent in this twisted field? It felt a bit suspicious... Anson nodded slightly and stepped forward, sitting on the bench very naturally, and propped up with his elbows like the other person. on the desktop.

But in fact, at the moment he sat down, his body did not touch the chair, but relied on the strength of his elbows and thighs to maintain balance.

Being able to do this is not only thanks to Thalia who repeatedly helped me "clear the questions" before, but also for learning body control techniques from many "senior conjurers", and also thanks to the gym of the Truth Seeking Order in Clovis City.

The caster who sat down together again didn't seem to notice anything unusual, and happily began to introduce Anson:

"The second round of the trial is...debate!"

"debate?"

"Who is right and who is wrong? Let us use the depth of our thoughts and the accumulation of experience to determine the final outcome!" The caster happily explained:

"There are ten rounds of debate in total, and both sides continue to speak in a turn-based system. If either party cannot continue to refute, it will be deemed a failure."

"The victor must win ten rounds of debates in a row to pass the trial - of course, you can also win in any round and leave the trial through the door opened after the loser dies, but you will have to start all over again next time. here we go."

"The topic of each round is random, and the one who starts first is random. You can refute but you can't mess around. If the content of the answer has nothing to do with the opponent's refutation, or is not enough to refute, it will also be judged as a failure!"

Accompanied by the applause of "Pah!", the caster with his hands clasped together moved his head closer and asked with an impatient smile: "How are you doing? Do you have any questions?"

"Only one." Anson met his gaze and responded with a smile:

"When does it begin?"

"Of course now!"

The caster suddenly returned to his chair; the moment he sat firmly, a piece of delicate parchment suddenly appeared on the long table, with several scribbles on it forming a series of sentences:

"Which came first, light or shadow?"

Just as the parchment appeared, the light above the two people suddenly moved to the caster.

"Ah! I speak first this round, how lucky you are!" The caster's voice was unusually brisk:

"My answer is that there is light first, because only after the light appears, the shadow exists. Otherwise, the essence of our world is just chaotic darkness."

It turns out that the party that speaks first can choose the angle of debate, and the latter can only debate from the opposite direction... Anson calmed down slightly: "I object."

"Since this is the topic of the debate, it is to judge light and shadow as independent entities. I think there is no accompanying relationship between the two parties, because the light changes the surroundings at the moment it falls, but everything around them already exists and is not meant to be. It was born out of light; nature has shadow first, and then light."

"Objection - without light, how can you tell where the shadow is?" The caster smiled: "It is the existence of light that gives the shadow its meaning."

"Objection." Anson raised his eyebrows and asked calmly:

"Ask, what is your definition of shadow?"

"It is the complete opposite of light, invisible black..."

The words stopped abruptly.

The spell caster, who opened his mouth but did not make any sound, froze in place. After being stunned for a few seconds, a bitter smile appeared on his face:

"I lost."

Anson nodded slightly, but his heart was still tense; the other party gave up too readily, and even if he really couldn't answer, he should have struggled a little more, or...

Just as he kept guessing, the spell caster in front of him suddenly took out a dagger from his arms, then without hesitation stabbed it into his chest, twisted and pulled hard, and cut out his crushed flesh. heart!

"puff!"

Dark red plasma sprayed on the unprepared Anson's face, and he looked at him in slight surprise as he "Plop!" He leaned on the table, and the plasma overflowing from the wound quickly dyed the entire long table red.

Before he could recover from his shock, the spell caster who had just died with his heart ripped out slowly climbed up from the table, smiling at him with his face covered in blood:

"Okay, now that I've died once, I can continue to debate with you."

"Oh...it seems I haven't introduced myself to you yet, right? I'm so sorry, my name is Sirze..."

"As you can see, it's a Tutor."