Run! Run!
The earth continuously sank, and the collapse spread. It was as if death was chasing the living, with avalanches and mudslides hot on their heels. Once caught, they would be knocked unconscious in an instant, then buried thousands of feet deep, forever plunging into darkness.
Downhill, the Troll leaped dozens of feet, as if flying through the air. At this moment, he regretted not having the flight spell tattooed on his body. Unfortunately, when one acts on behalf of others, there are always oversights. Simon had not anticipated that the Tower of Mzark would have such a significant impact on the geological structure of this mountain; once removed, it would cause landslides and ground fissures.
However, what normal person would think of packing up and taking away a building buried underground? Simon's current predicament was due to inexperience; he would get better at such things after doing them a few more times.
At this moment, snow, ice, and mud plummeted rapidly. The sheer force, even from a distance, was enough to scare people out of their wits. It felt as if millions of beasts were stampeding, or as if the sea of clouds in the sky was falling. The forests along the way were easily snapped and swallowed, and the tall, upright pine and cypress trees, unable to flee, were seen bending one by one, falling to the ground, and disappearing.
The avalanche and mudslide, with their overwhelming momentum, chased one after another. At times, the crest of the wave was a vast expanse of white, and at other times, black earth waves could be seen hidden beneath the snow. The sound of the earth sinking and rock layers shattering was incessant, and the thunderous sound of falling snow could also be heard. In this world, there were no other Noise. The sound waves were as grand as a tide, and Simon felt his entire body resonate with them, his bones trembling, muscles quivering, blood surging, and head spinning.
Run!
Run for your life!
At the foot of the mountain was a stone fortress, from which about a dozen small figures emerged, like a group of black beans on the snow. They seemed to be shouting, and they were also desperately fleeing. The Troll, having quick feet, soon caught up with them. They were a group of bandits who had thrown away their helmets and armor. Seeing Simon's swift movements, someone shouted loudly for him to give them a hand.
Simon, however, accepted everyone. He directly took them into the Pure Land. They, too, felt saved, as if they had run over and one by one entered the Pure Land.
Eighteen people, excellent. Now the numbering can reach fifty.
Simon fled frantically for half an hour, then arrived at a fir forest. By this time, the terrifying scene behind him had gradually subsided, and he could finally sit down and catch his breath.
After repeatedly confirming the safety of the area, Simon returned to the Pure Land.
The eighteen bandits had already been subdued by Jonas, lying in the field, with broken limbs. Two had already died.
Simon shook his head. He was too late. The souls of the dead had dissipated, not ascending to heaven, but being swallowed by the Pure Land, going to an unknown other side.
Simon frowned. He felt that the Pure Land held deep mysteries that he could not yet perceive. He was like a user, but not a creator. What exactly was there, only the Bodhisattva knew.
Jonas happily dismounted from the little boy, looking as if he wanted to greet Simon, then he smelled the pungent scent of blood, choked a few times, dry-heaved a few times, shivered, then adapted. He smiled at Simon, taking credit, saying he had knocked down all these unknown fellows.
Among these bandits, there was a Nord man. Seeing Simon approaching with a worm in his hand, he did not resist, but just grinned and said, "Good friend... you saved me. I will now return my life to you... Dying by the hand of a strong man is not shameful. Dying in a natural disaster... is unwilling. You have made me willing..."
Jonas, hearing this, covered his mouth and said in a panic, "I didn't mean to. No, no, I didn't know you were a good person!"
The Nord shook his head, "I am indeed... not..." Before he could finish, he lost his life due to excessive bleeding. Simon bypassed him to collect the souls of the remaining fifteen people.
Jonas sat stunned beside the Nord.
Why?
Why can you hold honor so high in your heart?
Is this what a Nord is? Why do we Breton only have political struggles that are famous throughout the world?
The Troll comfortably converted the dead in the Pure Land. The numbered undead reached forty-seven, and the number of other miscellaneous undead exceeded five hundred.
Two hours passed, and Jonas was still squatting on the ground.
Simon walked over and pulled him up, rubbing his tear-stained face.
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't want to kill him anymore. Can he come back to life?"
"Not for now."
"When can he?"
"When you can transcend time and space, and overcome life and death."
"Alright, I will definitely save him in the future." The boy wiped away his tears and smiled again.
"You need to think carefully. This might be a task you can never complete in your lifetime."
"When I die, I won't owe him anymore."
"Good. I believe you." Simon patted Jonas's head. This little head always brings surprises.
After organizing the "relics" of the various bandits, they had left in a hurry. Besides their thin clothes, they had only a few broken swords, so crudely made it was heartbreaking. However, the Nord bandit who had embraced death carried a diary.
Simon opened it and quickly glanced through it.
It was recorded in Nordic, full of rambling and typos, but the content could still be vaguely discerned.
It turned out that this bandit had originally been active in the Winterhold Hold. His former bandit group was destroyed by a group of mages, and their fortress was occupied, with only a few people escaping.
Simon casually flipped through it for a while, intending to discard it, then he saw a familiar phrase—Blood Drinker.
The former leader of this bandit group was a Nord woman, referred to as Boss Blood Drinker in the diary.
A bandit group in Winterhold, led by a Nord woman, Blood Drinker...
Simon closed his eyes.
Excellent.
The Troll threw the bodies to the Wolf Pack to devour, instructed Jonas to stay in the Pure Land, and then mounted the Necromantic Motorcycle, rushing northeast.
Winterhold Hold was in the northeast of Skyrim. As long as the direction was correct, he would not go astray.
...
Crossing the mountains, Simon first arrived at the coast of the Sea of Ghosts, then traveled east, returning to Winterhold.
People on the road, upon discovering the Foodie's return, happily greeted him.
Upon his return, Simon immediately noticed that the Guards had been replaced; they were no longer the heroic female soldiers, but tall men.
Torine and her companions had already left, and unfortunately, they had left just yesterday, so Simon was one step late.
So he inquired among the people in the tavern, asking if anyone knew of a bandit fortress near Winterhold, and that there would be a reward for directions.
Many people shook their heads, indicating they didn't know. At this moment, Birna's drunk brother suddenly stood up and shouted, "Me! I'll take you!"
"What reward do you want?"
"Hehe," the drunkard smiled triumphantly, "I told you before, one day you'll look at me differently!"
Simon thought, 'You didn't say that.' "Do you really know where the bandit group is?"
"Of course!" Ranmir's eyes widened, about to boast.
At this moment, the tavern door opened, and a child came in with a coachman, "Big white ball! Look who this is! Coachman Mathieu, he's very familiar with this area, he definitely knows where you want to go!"
Seeing the coachman indeed nod, Ranmir immediately started to make a fuss, "No! I was here first! Mr. Foodie, I'll take you, no reward needed, just don't let that guy get involved!"
Mathieu said discontentedly, "Why? I've never provoked you!"
"I just want to prove that I'm stronger than all of you!" Ranmir threw the wine bottle in his hand to the ground, and the glass shattered with a bang.
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