国产乱子伦农村xxxx

It was an issue with the limited understanding of ordinary people.

In any case, those who couldn’t understand would simply regard it as a subspace dialect.

Morris didn’t inquire about the meaning of “PTSD,” but quietly processed the information the captain had just shared. Duncan was forthcoming and shared his experience in the graveyard the previous night.

He mainly sought the opinions of “professionals.”

Duncan’s narration quickly drew the attention of several people in the dining area. Nina was the first to approach, followed by Shirley, Alice, and Dog. Eventually, even Vanna, who had been quietly keeping to herself, couldn’t suppress her curiosity and discreetly moved closer to eavesdrop near the long table.

“Annihilators…” Morris, the most knowledgeable of the group, was the first to frown after hearing Duncan’s story, “Why would they be interested in corpses?”

“Shouldn’t Annihilators be interested in corpses?” Duncan asked curiously.

“They’re not necromancers,” Morris shook his head, “Annihilators follow the Nether Lord, exploring the knowledge of demonic and summoning realms. They have no interest in mortal flesh. In fact, they even despise and detest it because they believe that mortal flesh is weak and impure, while the demons of the dark depths and the Nether Lord are the ‘original form’ with ‘pure holiness.’ How could such heretics go to a graveyard to steal corpses?”

Duncan’s brow shot upwards after listening to the elderly scholar’s explanation.

Annihilators disdain mortal flesh and follow the “pure and holy beings of the dark realm”? They even believe that the dark demons and the Nether Lord possess this “pure holiness”?

Although he was aware from the start that the cultists in this world held strange beliefs, the Annihilators’ challenge to logical limits seemed a bit too outlandish!

Duncan couldn’t help but glance at Dog beside the table – who had been pulled over by Shirley and was now lying on the floor, diligently studying a vocabulary book with its grotesque skeletal skull swaying back and forth.

Noticing the captain’s gaze, Dog abruptly looked up, its entire body of terrifying bones rattling.

“Pure? Holy?” Duncan observed the dark hound with a peculiar expression, “Even the original form of life?”

Dog was taken aback: “… Huh? What?”

“Unimaginable,” Duncan shook his head, “The world in the eyes of those Annihilators must be entirely different from that of ordinary people.”

He said this casually, but Shirley instantly responded: “Who knows how their brains work? I’m not an annihilation cultist.”

“No one said you were,” Duncan replied indifferently.

“Anyway, I can’t say anything else, but that female cultist who escaped must be dead by now,” Shirley smacked her lips and continued, “Absolutely dead and dismembered.”

Duncan hadn’t initially considered the fate of the escaped cultist, but upon hearing Shirley’s words, he couldn’t help but be taken aback: “Why do you say that?”

“She was dragged by her own symbiotic demon into the deep-sea abyss,” Shirley nonchalantly explained. “The Annihilators, ugh, those fools may worship the Nether Lord and bind themselves with shadow demons, but once they enter the true dark depths of the deep-sea plane, they’re still treated as humans. Those uncontrollable demons only recognize the scent of their kin and will tear her apart.”

“She’ll be torn apart by other shadow demons?” Duncan murmured, and then couldn’t help but recall previous events, “Wait, but I remember you and Dog also used a similar method to escape before. Right in front of me, you both jumped into a rift leading to the demon’s realm.”

Upon recalling their past exploits, Shirley’s expression briefly turned peculiar, but she quickly waved her hand: “That’s different. When Dog helps me escape, he always does his best to protect me. He tries to confuse my scent, and if he can’t, he fights the other shadow demons. So every time we use this method to escape, he ends up injured. And the situation with other shadow demons is different. The one you just mentioned, they wouldn’t protect their masters, right, Dog?”

“That’s a ‘death crow’ you’re referring to,” Dog lifted its head, addressing Shirley while cautiously glancing at Duncan, “Ordinary shadow demons indeed won’t actively protect their masters. They don’t have a ‘heart’ and only cooperate with the Annihilators because of the symbiotic contract. Once they enter the deep-sea abyss, they’ll lose control immediately, and that cultist is as good as dead.”

“So that’s how it is,” Duncan stroked his chin, contemplating, “No wonder she looked quite reluctant when she was dragged in…”

At this point, Vanna, who had been standing by silently, finally couldn’t help herself. She moved a little closer to the long table: “Did those heretics…do anything other than try to remove you from the cemetery?”

Duncan glanced up at Vanna, who hastily added: “It’s probably a professional habit. I’m very curious about the purpose of those heretics. As Mr. Morris just mentioned, typical Annihilators wouldn’t be interested in mortal flesh and blood, so the cultists who appeared in the cemetery are even more suspicious.”

“Now that you bring it up, it reminds me,” Duncan said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, “The body I inhabited at that time experienced a very strange ‘collapse’ phenomenon not long after leaving the coffin. The skin and muscles fell apart like cracked mud, and those cultists seemed to have anticipated this…”

Vanna furrowed her brows slightly, and after pondering for a while, she suddenly realized something: “So, the key is the body you inhabited at that time.”

“You mean…”

“Annihilators aren’t interested in mortal flesh and blood, but what if that wasn’t a ‘mortal flesh body’?” Vanna looked up, her eyes fixed on Duncan’s, “In fact, it might not even be flesh at all.”

Listening to Vanna’s analysis, Duncan appeared thoughtful: “Oh…well, this is getting interesting.”

……

After a long absence, the Sea Mist finally returned to its home port.

At the edge of the secret island shrouded in floating ice, turbulent currents, and fog, the steel warship, with its towering prow, docked smoothly at the end of the pier. The undead sailors were busy amid the cold wind and thin mist, with some inspecting the ship’s condition, others tallying cargo or directing the onshore cranes to lift heavy cargo containers from the hold to the shore.

The Sea Mist had returned from the warm central seas. Although it hadn’t brought back a victorious report, it had brought gifts and specialties from afar – fine wine and souvenirs given by Pland authorities to the “Sea Mist Venture Capital Company,” as well as tobacco, cloth, and handicrafts purchased by the captain. These items were all perfect for the cold, secluded island.

Although the undead had left the world of the living, they still possessed individual personalities and emotions. They required a certain quality of life, entertainment, and hobbies, and in some ways, they needed these things even more than the living.

Their souls constantly felt cold and empty, and they needed the warm creations of the civilized world to fill those voids all the more.

First Mate Aiden stood at the edge of the deck, meticulously packing fine Pland tobacco into an old-fashioned short-stemmed pipe, lighting it with a lighter, and taking a satisfying deep puff.

He then held his breath, making an effort.

A mist of smoke seeped out from the collar, cuffs, and pocket seams of his sailor’s uniform, enveloping his entire upper body in a cloud of white smoke.

Aiden rotated his neck, gazed at the smoke around him, and then opened his collar to take a peek.

The bullet hole in his chest was still emitting wisps of blue smoke.

“Warm tobacco can fill the void in the soul – but a physical void is another matter, isn’t it?”

A hoarse, dark voice suddenly emerged from behind. Aiden turned to see an old man with pale skin and a withered figure standing at the edge of the deck. The old man wore a priest’s robe, with one side of his skull caved in and the corresponding half of his body displaying a damp texture as if soaked in seawater.

That was the shipboard priest of the Sea Mist, Will.

The old priest finished speaking, picked up a small liquor bottle, and took a swig. The liquid trickled down from the cracked side of his cheek due to the caved-in skull.

Aiden observed the old priest for a moment and suddenly blurted out, “Want me to teach you a trick? You could make that bottle of liquor last for days…”

“Tricks don’t work,” the old priest shook his head, “mainly because it’s disgusting, and it starts to turn sour after the third time.”

Aiden shrugged, picked up his pipe, and took another deep puff, holding his breath again, completely enveloped in smoke.

“Actually, being undead isn’t that bad. I couldn’t play like this when I was alive.”

“…It’s good to have an open mind,” the old priest couldn’t help but exclaim.