Endless Debt-Chapter 759 - 232 Joke

The cold wind, filled with icy breath, surged in through the shattered car window. The hot blood gradually cooled down, and the chill felt like a cloth filled with sharp needles, harshly scrubbing over the body, scraping out large patches of blood.

Bologue sat on the chair, his hands resting on the sword hilt, head bowed forward. The demon’s blood had soaked through his clothes and started to coagulate, causing discomfort throughout his body, not to mention the pain from numerous wounds.

Palmer held his injured leg, gritting his teeth in pain. Although Aimou had treated him, the severe injury left Palmer temporarily unable to move. In normal game calculations, Palmer’s injury verdict would count as a failed dice roll.

Finally disposing of the Fear-Devouring Demon, the tense atmosphere welcomed a moment of relief, and everyone took this hard-earned pause to catch their breath and regroup.

Bologue couldn’t relax; he remained tense, without a hint of slack. The environment reminded him of bygone days, remembering the winter of the first year of the war when he and his comrades huddled in the dilapidated carriage, sleeping with piles of supplies.

Snow piled thickly on people, frost covered the carriage. Every time Bologue closed his eyes, he doubted whether he would awaken, and each time he awoke, there were always a few who never opened their eyes again.

No funerals, no gravestones. Opening the carriage door, Bologue witnessed bodies being tossed into the wilderness, hidden under snow dust.

Bologue exhaled a cold breath, gently wiped the surface of the blade, removing those congealed blood stains.

"Good news, with one more dice roll, we can reach the supply station."

Bologue picked up the dice but hesitated to throw.

The Dawn on the game board was at the edge of the wilderness, close to the next area. They were about to escape this damn wilderness.

Upon reaching the next area, some continually active event cards would be lifted, like Event Card·Harassment. Different areas have their unique cards.

"Bad news, the game’s difficulty will increase," Palmer, knowledgeable about the game, said, "We’re delving deeper into the darkness."

Disaster Card·Darkness Brewing.

This effect runs throughout the game. The deeper the game progresses, the stronger the darkness grows. When the game reaches the end, it will expand to its strongest posture and herald the final showdown of the game.

Thinking of this, Bologue looked toward the end of the tracks, at the haunted castle standing behind the mountains. That would be the final battlefield.

"We have no choice but to move forward."

Canary, having accepted the situation long ago, joked, "If I could, I really want to see what Joyful Garden looks like."

Currently, they were in the Joyful Garden’s game, and the true form of Joyful Garden remained hidden behind layers of darkness.

Palmer said, "Is it like visiting the nemesis’ hometown?"

"No, I just want to know what exactly is so enticing about Joyful Garden that so many people follow suit."

Canary thought of the traitors, then her gaze fell on Bai Ou’s head. It was hard to tell if Bai Ou was still alive; he could indeed speak, conjuring up bizarre things from his mouth. But compared to a self-willed individual, Bai Ou now seemed more like a puppet, a tool for playing the game.

Is this the Joyous Desire Witch’s punishment for his failure, or some kind of dark humor?

Canary thought it was probably the latter; the Joyous Desire Witch did it simply because she found it amusing.

The shifting view encompassed Ewen. Canary didn’t understand this person. From later conversations with Bologue and Ewen’s own words, it seemed he also held a ticket to Joyful Garden.

The events became increasingly enigmatic.

"Everyone, are you ready?"

Bologue’s words interrupted Canary’s thoughts, his hand clutching the dice hovering over the board.

Currently, the team was in a bad state. Hart was still trapped in nightmares, Palmer was injured, not to mention having depleted his ammunition suppressing the Fear-Devouring Demon.

If they’re unlucky, pulling some malicious event cards, they might face total annihilation in this round.

Bologue was unsure if dying in the game meant true death or ending up captured by the Joyous Desire Witch as Gold and Hart had, becoming her playthings.

Whichever outcome it was, Bologue didn’t like it.

After a round of eye confirmation, everyone stood ready. Bologue threw the dice, followed by Palmer, and finally Ewen.

Ewen stopped writing. After stabbing through the demon, the pen in his hand surprisingly wasn’t broken, though the words he wrote were stained with blood.

Bologue said, "It’s just a game form, you don’t have to keep writing endlessly."

"I’m only doing what I can," Ewen insisted on writing, "Someone has to record the story here."

"For what, exactly?"

"For..."

Ewen paused for a moment. Fortunately, he had contemplated this question long ago and arrived at what he believed to be the correct answer.

"To tell those who come after us what happened here."

Bologue said, "Maybe there won’t be any who come after."

"What if there are?" Ewen emphasized repeatedly, "What if there are? What if? People always need to have a sliver of hope."

Bologue’s voice turned severe, "You’re just comforting yourself with this meaningless solace, which cannot overcome reality."

"Alright, alright."

Ewen put down his pen, not because he was complying with Bologue, but because he had finished writing that section of the story.

"Has anyone ever told you, Bologue, that you lack a bit of romantic flair?"

Aimou glanced at Ewen, feeling that he wasn’t wrong. Bologue was efficient, meticulous, and professional, almost omnipotent, but people like him lacked a touch of romance, which often left Aimou frustrated.

Ewen laughed heartily, though his laugh was somewhat inappropriate and even a bit provocative.

Bologue wasn’t angered; his emotions scarcely fluctuated, just as Aimou remembered him—an analytical fellow, not one to get upset over such trivial matters. He was more interested in hearing what Ewen had to say next.

"Not everyone is as strong as you, Bologue."

Ewen picked up the dice and continued, "Look at them."

He scanned faces marred by blood and wounds, etched with exhaustion and hardship. Bologue had seen such faces before. In his first year of war, his comrades bore the same expressions.

Bologue had once been like them, but now he was resilient, like iron weathered by storms.

Bologue’s gaze fell on Palmer. Palmer paid no mind to Bologue, clutching his thigh with expressions of pain. Aimou noticed Bologue’s attention and immediately discarded her relaxed demeanor, adopting a readiness for battle.

This pretense couldn’t fool Bologue; he saw through Aimou’s fatigue and tense nerves, her eyes slightly shadowed as if sleepless for days. Everyone was like this.

"This will only leave everyone breathless... You should smile at them."

Bologue’s tense expression relaxed, he sighed deeply, placing the Sharp Sword horizontally on his knee. While Bologue was reliable, he also had a stern side that was daunting. Only then did the atmosphere truly become leisurely.

Bologue asked, "Is this the author’s gift?"

"Probably," Ewen thought for a moment and replied, "Sometimes I see you all as characters from my writing and contemplate what such characters might do."

"Sounds a bit odd."

"Think of it as the experience of an older person? Although I haven’t interacted much with people."

"Older person?"

Palmer noted the term Ewen used and laughed to himself. Aimou had respect for Bologue, but Palmer didn’t care for such formalities. In his eyes, Palmer was a life-and-death partner with Bologue.

"Is there a problem?"

Ewen could infer many people’s thoughts, a necessary skill for authors analyzing characters’ psyches, but two people were exceptions. One was Cinderella, too enigmatic to provide Ewen with clues; the other was Palmer, not mysterious but neurotic.

The moment Palmer had been waiting for came, "You may not believe it, but this guy’s much older than you."

Ewen scrutinized Bologue, remembering Bologue claimed to be an Undead, yet now the Extraordinary Power was entirely stripped away, he almost forgot this detail.

Ewen frowned, "You..."

Bologue smiled.

Bologue did tell jokes, though typically only in private settings. The oppressive environment left Bologue little time for such things, and the removal of Extraordinary Power made him question his ability to protect others. It was hard for him to relax or smile.

"If we can survive this, if you live long enough..."

Bologue took a deep breath and finally told a good joke, "I’ll consider inviting you to my hundredth birthday."

Ewen was stunned, while Palmer laughed uncontrollably.