But I highly doubt that in this situation, you can hold on for five minutes.
Get ready!
Positioning is about to start, draw your sword, Witch Hunter. The Wolf People are now very sensitive to Star-world Tear. Even a slight leak of scent will make you their primary target.
Rember, hold on for five minutes, at the very least!
A few seconds later, a unique force emanated from the positioning seed in Norman’s hand, locking onto him like a shackle, making the old Witch Hunter experience a montary illusion of stars flickering before his eyes.
It even made him see a lonely city floating in the dead silent Star Realm during a few breaths of this illusion.
However, the illusion quickly dispersed amidst the surrounding roars, and Norman imdiately drew his Hunter’s Sword and his combat handgun, knowing that the Wolf People had found him. Just jumping out to fight with them directly would not end well, he had to think of a plan.
Then, Norman looked at the handgun in his hand and at the stacks of Dwarf Dynamite around.
The Wolf People didn’t neglect safety asures; they temporarily removed the fuses from the dynamite to prevent them from being quietly ignited by sothing malicious. However, ever since Molotov cocktails were devised by players, Witch Hunters always bring them along during actions.
The Priests sensed the terrifying Star Realm aura spreading around the convoy and scread for the Barbarians to imdiately find the bastard hiding in the convoy. The sharp Blood Scar Warriors sprang into action imdiately.
But as they approached that vehicle, a Molotov cocktail was thrown high into the sky, exploding in mid-air with a sound of gunfire.
The flaming rain poured down, drenching the mountain-like heaps of explosives and supplies in the truck bed under the horrified gaze of the Wolf People warriors.
The fierce fire burned, and the dwarf’s explosives awaited. If these things, made to resist the Black Disaster, could speak, they would definitely gloomily state that they would rather rot in a dwarf’s mine than be used by Wolf People.
The explosives, too, were accumulating fury, waiting for this mont. When the temperature brought by the flas reached a certain limit, the creations of the dwarves "cheered."
Damn it!
Blow up with this bunch of idiotic Wolf People!
"Boom"
Towering flas erupted from the middle of the convoy, enveloping the fleeing Wolf People instantly. Old Norman, hiding nearby, was thrown into the air by the blast wave, tumbling down and landing awkwardly in the burning inferno.
He couldn’t move.
His leg seed broken, and his head was buzzing, probably a concussion.
Yet the fire and explosion continued to prevent the Wolf People from getting close, buying the precious five minutes.
The flas rolled and licked at his body, making Norman feel as if he had returned to the burning day at Green Island, frantically running through the fire, searching amid the blazing ho, only to finally despairingly clutch his daughter’s cold remains in the flas.
The burns on his face and body were the marks left by that dreadful day.
They were the traces of pain.
People say that before death, a person’s life flashes before their eyes like a luminescent wheel. Norman could prove this phenonon with his experience.
The fire reached him again, just like that night ten years ago.
But compared to the pain back then, now he could only feel a strange warmth from the flas, like the birthday celebration Milian and other guards held for him last month.
It was like the candle fla when lit on the cake... only warmth.
It was the first ti since losing everything that he felt helpless, and it was also the first ti tears welled up not due to weakness or pain but from other surging emotions.
Two different periods of mories overlapped and intertwined, unfolding in front of Norman’s already befuddled eyes. He had stepped onto the battlefield due to disaster, but when he entered the sa river for the second ti, it wasn’t past regrets driving him forward.
Perhaps Dr. Crow’s treatnt had indeed worked.
Though not in the way the foreign savior had hoped to see, Norman truly had walked out from his past. It wasn’t just a farewell to life but also to the pain and regrets.
He welcod a new life in a more decisive and explosive manner, even if this new life lasted only a few months.
Even if it lasted only a second.
As he had told Porter, this war should be fought by those of their generation; otherwise, Milian and the young ones would have to step up. But those young ones, so full of confidence in life, belonged to the future. They shouldn’t be consud in a war ant to bid farewell to the past.
Purple energy arcs blossod before Norman’s eyes.
He could see a black mark splitting open in the sky above the swamp, and hear the terrified shrieks of the Wolf People around him.
So, surrounded by flas, he laughed heartily. In the end, he hadn’t made the sa mistake again. He had still protected so things with his own hands, preventing the war from descending into the worst scenario, and now victory seed possible.
So let him sleep in this arc of purple light and warming flas, relax into sleep for the first ti without regrets.
Norman could feel the corrupt energy from the Star Realm pouring down through the dinsional rift, then starting to recede in a short ti. He felt as if he were a kite in the wind, swept into the sky, eventually drowning in that dead Star Sea.
"Hey! Hey? Can you still hear ?"
At this mont, the voice of that Goat Man, Paul, who dared to do anything except good deeds, echoed in Norman’s mind, saying:
"This crying Druid beside keeps begging to find a way to save you. Maybe your heroic spirit moved them. Congratulations, you’ve earned a little fan with a scarred face. Although I totally can’t understand such noble feelings, saving you is not impossible.
I just happen to have a task that requires a brave enough warrior to delve deep into the Star Realm as a more precise reference coordinate.
I’ll send you there."
"No need! I don’t want to live anymore, I’m very tired."
Norman firmly declined, but the Goat Man’s voice soon ca with a malicious chuckle, saying:
"Did I give you the right to refuse? Why are you foolishly refusing? I’m rely telling you what’s needed to be done. Even if your corpse falls over there, I can still locate it. So if you wish to die, rember to give yourself a stab when you fall into the Star Realm.
I’m a pragmatic Goat Man.
Since my birth until now, whenever facing desperate situations, I’ve used any ans necessary to survive. I simply don’t understand why you sentintal folks actively seek death. You aren’t afraid of dying, but living scares you?
Listen up!
Sentintal Witch Hunter, a progeny of the Wanderer will et you when you fall into the Star Realm. The process of traversing the Star Realm can only be completed by those hardcore folks unafraid of death.
You don’t want to live, so you’re the best ’ssenger’ I could find.
When you successfully enter the city about to be sent into subspace, your positioning task will be complete, and you can die or live as you please afterwards.
However, in that city, so subspace lackeys are causing trouble, and Sir Morphy doesn’t wish to see those disgusting entities when the city returns to the physical world.
You’re a Hunter, spotting and sniffing out prey is your fundantal task...
So, rember to finish the job before you die, OK?"
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