My Abyss Survival Diary

Chapter 13 King of Sinners

Simon briefly turned his head to observe Klein's expression...

His face was grim, his brows were furrowed, and he was clenching his teeth, indicating that they were facing a formidable enemy.

"Feel sorry."

Klein sighed, removed his right hand from the hilt of the dagger, and slid it to the chin of the captured man. At the same time, his left hand gripped the back of the man's head. The man's eyes widened in despair, and then there was a very soft, wet crack, like a wet twig breaking.

The man's body tensed abruptly, then went limp...

Klein released his grip, letting the body slide silently to the roots of the fern.

He leaned close to Simon's ear, reminding him of the next step...

"We need to get out of here right now!"

Before Simon could ask why, Klein had already grabbed his sleeve. The hand was icy cold, with long, thin fingers, but the strength was astonishing.

He was pulled backward, his footsteps making soft, wet, squelching sounds as he stepped onto the muddy ground.

The footsteps suddenly became more frequent. Figures emerged from the mist, stepping over bushes, ferns, and the lifeless body of the man.

Klein didn't turn around; he pulled Simon through clumps of low bushes, the path winding and zigzagging.

A scream came from behind, followed by the dull thud of metal snapping shut. It was a wild animal trap, the kind specifically designed to catch large wild animals; several of them were buried around the camp.

Simon instantly understood why Klein had pulled him back earlier; otherwise, he might have accidentally stepped into the trap as well.

Screams rose and fell, and painful wails whispered incessantly... but the footsteps did not stop, and those who had not yet stepped into the trap were still chasing them.

Simon caught a glimpse of a broken rope on a tree trunk to his right, and a crossbow fixed to a branch fired suddenly, an arrow piercing the thigh of a figure.

The man screamed and fell to his knees, only to be knocked over by the person behind him and tumble into the roadside bushes.

A burst of laughter came from behind, a hoarse, maniacal laugh...

Simon couldn't help but look back.

In the fog, the blurry spore light was stirred and scattered, illuminating the outline of the person in the middle.

That man named Theodore...

He was shorter than Simon had imagined, just over 1.7 meters tall, thin, with slightly hunched shoulders as if carrying an invisible shackle. He wore a dirty dark coat with white frayed threads on the cuffs and the collar was open, revealing a patch of pale skin below his collarbone.

His hair was dark brown, sparsely plastered to his scalp, revealing his forehead with prominent veins.

That face looked like a corpse that had been in a morgue for too long—grayish-white, lifeless, with skin clinging to the cheekbones and deep-set eyes.

He stood there, hands in his pockets, head tilted, looking ahead.

The figures behind him were all taller than him, but no one stood in front of him.

Theodore raised one hand and gently waved his fingers.

The sinners behind them hesitated, standing still, looking at each other, none of them wanting to be the first to rush into that darkness full of traps.

Theodore lowered his hand, a smile still playing on his lips.

He turned around to face the group of people behind him.

"Who wouldn't want to go?" His voice was soft, even a little gentle.

No one answered.

He slowly walked over and came to the youngest sinner, who was in his early twenties, with ashen skin, trembling lips, and shaking legs.

Theodore reached out and gently patted his shoulder.

"Fear?"

The young man opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to utter a sound.

Theodore was all smiles this time, his mouth stretched to his ears, revealing a row of neat, yellowish teeth.

He pulled a short dagger from his waist; it had a narrow blade, like a scalpel.

The young man's eyes widened, and his lips trembled violently.

"I...I..."

Suddenly, the dagger stabbed into the young man's mouth! The sharp tip of the blade pierced his lips, prying them open. The movement was swift; the tip sliced ​​from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, tearing open the flesh to reveal pink gums and white teeth. Blood dripped down his chin and onto the muddy ground.

The young man wanted to scream in pain, but Theodore's fingers had already reached into the laceration and pinched his tongue.

"Shh—" Theodore leaned close to his face, almost touching his nose, "Let me hear what you have to say."

He loosened his fingers, took a half step back, tilted his head, and pretended to listen attentively.

The young man's mouth was open, blood was flowing down from the corner of his mouth, his tongue was wriggling inside his mouth, and he was making muffled, pitiful pleas for mercy: "Waaaaah..."

Theodore mimicked the voice, pouting his lips and squeezing out the same syllables: "Waaah... I'm too scared to go, I'm so afraid."

The faces of the criminals behind him were deathly pale.

Theodore grew tired of the horrific puppet show, and with his knife in his hand, he plunged it into the young man's neck.

Blood spurted out, and the young man's body fell straight down, crashing into the mud and splashing up a cloud of mud.

Theodore wiped the blood from his face, turned around, and faced the remaining people with a terrifying and ferocious expression.

"Is anyone still afraid?" he asked with a smile.

No one spoke, only obeyed stiffly, as they strode forward, chasing the two figures in the fog with hearts full of fear.

Simon looked away and continued running.

"That fellow was one of the first sinners to arrive in the abyss, two years ago," Klein's voice came from ahead, broken and panting. "He is the king of sinners."

He jumped over a fallen tree trunk, stumbled when he landed, but quickly regained his balance.

"He had a gang of thugs who were willing to follow him. Those bloodthirsty madmen took pleasure in torturing other sinners. They treated newcomers to the abyss as slaves, manipulating them with violence and fear. Those who obeyed were given a bite to eat, while those who disobeyed were used to feed the flesh of sin."

Simon remembered what the prisoner had said...

"Nurturing the flesh of evidence of crime?"

"By feeding the flesh of sin with fresh blood, it can survive longer, its quality can be improved, and it can be sold for more indulgences. That scum cuts open the wrists of sinners who oppose him and puts the flesh of sin on them to suck blood. That shameless bastard calls this nurturing the flesh of sin!"

Upon hearing this, Simon silently gripped the harpoon tighter...

Kill!

"He tried to recruit us, but I refused, so he sent men to hunt us down in the jungle..." Klein's voice was filled with anger as he recounted the story.

"Luckily, we found Mr. Bell. He taught us many techniques for hunting the flesh of the guilty, and we used that flesh to exchange for all sorts of supplies, which is how we barely survived. But that guy... that guy wants to take away everything we've worked so hard to accumulate!"

"Do you want to fight him?" Simon suddenly asked.

"No! Fighting him now is not a wise move..." After a heavy breathing session, Klein regained his composure. "We've exchanged a lot of supplies, but we haven't updated our weapons and equipment yet. We're no match for them now."

Klein's advance came to an abrupt halt. His eyes widened in shock as blinding gunfire exploded before his eyes, the stench of gunpowder and blood filled his nostrils, and his ears caught the piercing shouts and screams of agony... The sound was coming from the camp! Their camp had been attacked!

Simon spoke up from behind him: "I want to remind you that you should always have a weapon ready to defend yourself..."

"War will always find you when you're not prepared."