Once again, Renner stood in the center of the open-air arena. He saw bundles of dark clouds obscuring the sun; on the watchtower, guards battled the shivering of their spear tips against the strong wind. He heard the waves crashing on the rocks; the scattered sea foam hoped in vain to splash onto the high city walls, with one droplet after another dying midway, much like the prisoners rushing towards him—they knew there was no way out, but at least they wanted to vent some desperate anger against the visible and tangible enemy in front of them. He could read two sentences in their eyes: "May God help me hit him," and "Whatever happens after this attack doesn't matter." However, it might not be entirely despair; perhaps some still hoped to gain Galin's appreciation by defeating him, not only surviving but also being reemployed—a ludicrous dream. Lawrence once asked him if he dreamed. He replied that he didn't know. Dreams were just hallucinations after falling asleep. He couldn't find the boundary between dreams and the hallucinations he experienced when awake. Beyond the city walls, in the farthest reach of his line of sight, a faint red light could be seen. Perhaps the boundary between the cloud layer and the cloudless sky was there.
In his hands, he held dual swords—one for parrying enemies, the other for severing their throats. Why did they always give him such weapons? Why not something else, like one of the countless longbows aimed at him? He only recently understood the reason. It was a familiar weapon, the one he used in the Plague Lands. The person assisting him in recalling this today sat in the stands: Jorgen. He was next to Galin, with Lawrence a bit distant from them and slightly behind. He wasn't constantly focused on observing Renner but occasionally glanced at the other two. Jorgen encapsulated Renner's hazy memories of the yellowish sky and dilapidated walls into one word: Plague Lands. Renner vaguely recalled this place, and Jorgen clarified its meaning, allowing Renner to reimagine placing himself within it. Then he recalled his weapon.
"I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust you," Renner said to Jorgen at the time. Jorgen's response included the phrase, "Trust must be mutual," and based on this, he requested that Renner keep the content of their conversations secret from Lawrence. Renner did as instructed. Shortly after Jorgen left, Lawrence entered the room frantically and in disarray, but Renner provided nothing. It wasn't difficult because he had lied to Lawrence before. After that incident, Renner realized he was opposing Lawrence—with Jorgen's assistance.
The question was, why oppose Lawrence? What was the foundation of this hostile relationship?
For the prisoners used in Renner's training, Galin distributed weapons, but due to the fear of rebellion, these weapons were not only of poor quality but also insufficient in quantity. One prisoner caught Renner's attention. He had no weapon but was unwilling to run away. Instead, he took a long-handled axe from a corpse just 30 seconds ago. Unexpectedly, the axe was too heavy, and as he picked it up, still not straightening, the axe slipped and hit his toes. He fell to the ground, curling up, right hand tightly pressed against the sole of his foot, looking at Renner with eyes full of resentment. This man embarrassed himself at the brink of death. He wanted to die more gallantly—engaging in combat with a weapon taken from a dead person—but ended up as the worst kind of clown. Foolish actions on the battlefield. You shouldn't do that. You made a critical mistake at a critical moment, and that couldn't be forgiven. Renner could hear the guards nearby snickering. He stepped forward and severed the man's head before the laughter had ceased. Countless spiders of various sizes crawled out from the severed neck, clinging to each other—there were too many, forming a small ball, as if strands of hair had grown from the neck's blood and flesh, entwining the corpse and then disappearing into another boundary that could not be explored.
This was what Galin and Lawrence provided him. Renner used to enjoy wielding a sword, and he even looked forward to Lawrence leading him to this open field because it maximized his sense of delusion. But now things had changed. He started thinking about something else in his mind, unlike before when there was nothing but a blank slate besides blades and blood. The man in front of him, trying to make a final stand before death, was mocked. When Renner killed him, he felt he had done something entirely unnecessary. Killing a powerless, ridiculous death row prisoner and letting others watch, what was the point? When he began to feel confused, the illusions permeated out again from his viscera, skin, and eyeballs.
Jorgen told Renner to try becoming a person. At that time, all Renner was sure about was that he didn't want to become a Death Knight-like monster, so he said "yes" to Jorgen. Now, he found that what he did wasn't appreciated by "people"—something he still didn't understand. He discreetly observed the expressions of the guards, and mostly, he saw boredom and fear. Even Galin, who usually wore an approving expression, sometimes yawned. What was all this for? Lawrence's answer was "a necessary step for your recovery." Recover to... what?
Another prisoner charged at Renner. He wielded a spear, keeping his body tightly curled around the spear's end, hoping to stay out of Renner's attack range. After Renner cut off the spear, the prisoner tried to hit him with the remaining part. Renner intercepted this awkward attack, not wanting to strike immediately but observing the eyes of the opponent. He wanted to see if there was something decisive, making this desperate flesh and blood become a "person"—an honor he far from understood.
"I'll kill you. Kill you," the man said, spitting on Renner's mask.
After killing this man, Renner looked up at Jorgen in the distance. Watching him sit next to Galin—Lawrence's usual position—confused Renner. Why was he here? If it weren't for that conversation about Crecyda, just from Jorgen's current position, Renner would naturally guess he was a collaborator with Galin and Lawrence, the next one trying to inject drugs into his body. He obviously knew everything, but he still didn't explain what Renner was going through. Perhaps he had his own purpose.
Renner thought he wouldn't trust the current Jorgen, but the conversation about Crecyda changed that—if it wasn't for that. These days, Renner tried to use every spare moment to contemplate its meaning. Today, he felt he had figured out some things: he died once for the sake of picking up his wedding ring on the battlefield; it proved he had loved her. He understood the concept—loving someone, making some form of sacrifice for them—but he still didn't understand "why" it was like this. The enemy was right in front of him, and there was an exciting feeling before killing them—he understood and could feel that. However, the concept sparked by the wedding ring, he could only forcibly accept it, enveloping it in a simple cause-and-effect relationship. He tried to imagine such a mood: attaching great importance to something seemingly insignificant, generating impatience to protect it even on a dangerous battlefield, but getting nothing in return. The simulated sentiment felt like forcibly combining water and stones. He thought that perhaps the key difference between himself and what Jorgen called a "person" was here. Jorgen promised to arrange a meeting with Crecyda, hoping to awaken in Renner a sensitivity to unfamiliar concepts, just as Jorgen's appearance awakened his "trust."
Crecyda. What an incredible syllable. Always providing him with a familiar feeling of calmness. As long as this familiarity remained, as long as...
Before him was the last prisoner. Just one more swing of the sword, and today's task would be considered complete. For the first time, Renner felt that what he was doing was a bitter task; it wasn't the body that was fatigued but the brain. An undeniable sense of boredom wreaked havoc deep within his mind.
—If becoming a person means escaping from this life, does it?
This thought gave Renner a glimmer of anticipation for the first time. He raised his sword.
The last prisoner sat beside a corpse, gray eyes peering out from mud-stained eyelids. It was a female prisoner. She seemed to have no intention of resisting from the beginning, always hiding in the back, which is probably why she had survived until now. The least eager for survival became the one who lived the longest, even if only by a few minutes.
Renner had killed three female prisoners before, and they had shown more aggression than male prisoners. The woman in front of him, though not resisting, wouldn't be difficult for Renner to handle since she was the last one today. He wanted to finish it quickly, return to that dark iron room, and use more time to contemplate. Just cut her throat. Fast and convenient. She would likely reflexively cover her upper body with her hands, so he might also slice off a few fingers. It didn't matter because her throat would split open before the severed fingers hit the ground.
Wait a minute. She...
Renner's sword stopped halfway. The female prisoner in front of him, the one with fearful gray eyes, had a noticeable bulge in her abdomen. Renner understood the concept. She was pregnant.
Not one person but two. An adult and an unformed one. One person at the end of life and one who had not yet begun to exist. One who didn't intend to resist and one who didn't know what resistance was.
Renner looked at the woman with decayed scalp, deep-set eye sockets, and skin with purple patches visible under the yellowish hue—a mother. Limbs so emaciated, as if someone had wrung out all the moisture and muscles like a towel. No wonder she didn't resist. How could she pick up a weapon? Spiders were gathering around her body.
He didn't want to kill her. He didn't have time to think about the logic behind it, but he just didn't want to. A sharp pain appeared first in Renner's sword-holding palm, then like a wheel burning with flames, it rolled from his arm to his brain. He heard Galin loudly say from the stands:
"This sinful woman used to be a citizen of Stromgarde. For a little money, she shamefully became a spy for the Syndicate and poisoned her own husband who discovered her betrayal. Punish her, my fearless knight."
Renner looked towards the stands. Galin held his head high, Lawrence gripped a pen in his right hand recording something, and Jorgen frowned, looking straight at him. At this moment, Renner hoped Jorgen would stand up and somehow stop this. But he didn't. He sat silently, staring.
"Be decisive," Galin said, "it's your duty."
Renner turned back to the woman. She poisoned her own husband. That wasn't right. She should have loved him instead of poisoning him. Since Jorgen tried hard to make him accept the logic about the wedding ring, Renner applied that logic to the current situation. Renner still didn't understand why he felt a stabbing and repulsive sensation when he realized the female prisoner was pregnant; he planned to ignore those reactions and deal with this logically with the "human" logic. The logic of "human" was that his Crecyda wouldn't poison him but loved him. The woman in front of him made a major mistake.
He swung his sword, but he didn't kill the female prisoner. As he expected, the woman raised her hands to block; in the end, two fingers fell to the ground, but the neck wasn't severed. He didn't understand why he swung such a weak blow. He should do it again, kill—
The woman screamed in pain, hands trembling in the air. The two severed fingers on the ground turned into maggots. That scream drove groups of spiders out of Renner's ears and eye sockets. In the pool of blood on the ground, iron chains, like muscle fibers, emerged, tightly binding Renner's legs, causing him to fall. He dropped the sword, used his left hand to try to remove the mask, and then tampered with his mouth. Within seconds, he felt like he was in a spider's nest. This was an illusion, an illusion, an illusion, an illusion—he told himself, but even the self-explanatory voice was overwhelmed by the crawling sound of spiders. The boundaries of reality completely disappeared until half a minute later—a sudden, icy pain came from his shoulder—the female prisoner picked up Renner's dropped sword and thrust it into his body.