Chapter 211:

The priest left the fort without a word, and left the city, followed by Felixon. Only when they finally reached the gate of the monastery, the priest of would speak.
"Did you see the tree one mile to the left of Li Badi?"
"Yes."
"Go and wait. I will come for you."
They separated as soon as they entered the city gate. In an ideal situation, the Hell Priest would complete the task at a much easier pace than he has to accept now. But he is ready to move, because he has been preparing for many years, and he is finally pleased to start a severe business in front of him. When he thanked the unconsumer, he was sincere.
Of course, everything he has to do depends on his possession of a lot of magic. From the beginning, this was the key to this effort. He found that most of his contemporaries, if they want to talk about magic and its effects, apart from despising it, they are nothing more than happy. This fact makes what is about to happen even more ironic.
He went straight to a row of anonymous buildings, which ran along the wall on the side of the fortress where the wall in the far distance fell. They are called Strait Houses. To compensate for this gradient, the wall on this side is twice the height of the front wall, and its top is stuffed with pointing, indicating and upward nails. In turn, they were covered with barbs of barbs, which trapped hundreds of birds, many of whom were caught during picking from early victims. Between the iron and the bones, there are some recent prisoners everywhere, occasionally fluttering frantically for a few seconds, then settle down again, gather strength, and make another futile attempt at freedom.
The original intention of the Channel House has long been forgotten. Many of them are completely empty. Some of them are storage warehouses for chain mail aprons and gloves, which were used in biopsies, and equipment that was thrown away with blood glue was thrown at flies. Even though they have bred and reproduced there for several generations, they have used up the usefulness of things and disappeared.
No one has been there except the Hell Priest, and he has only been there twice: once to choose a hiding place for his contribution to the temple’s torture tradition, and the other to actually hide them. In fact, it was the inspiration of the bird seen on the wall that inspired a simple and elegant solution, namely how he delivered the news (news he spent many months of research and refinement) to the recipient. Using the deadly knowledge he learned from his research and the only book in the secret library that has nothing to do with magic, "Origami Origami Crane" or "How to Fold a Thousand Crane", this is the oldest scroll in the art of origami. He has been working Explaining his secrets and working eagerly, he can't remember how he feels about most of the human life.
Now, when he enters the sixth Straits House, his job is lying in a big birdcage. He is again anxious, knowing that there is no time and no chance to do it twice, so he cannot afford to make mistakes. Since he first brought his secret work here, the number of orders has surged, and this is what he planned. He must fold the new identity into the flock with a fine brush and an ink called Ash Scale. This only takes a few minutes. During his work, he listened to the sounds of dying birds—whispers, footsteps, looking for any signs of him—but wrote an execution order on the extra documents he folded, without marking the situation. Finished without interruption. He put the paper and other hand-made papers in the cage, and when he did so, a feeling almost completely alien to him hinted at his thoughts. Confused, he tried to name it. How was it before?
As soon as the answer came out, he admitted in a low voice. Doubtful. But he knew nothing about the source of the news. He has no doubt that the work he is about to do is effective. He was sure it was enough. He also did not doubt how it was delivered. What is bothering him?
When he was confused by the emotion he didn't want, he stared at the folded paper bird in the cage. Everything is clear at a glance. The suspicion stems from certainty, which is that once the magic of his hard work in the room is free to conduct business, there is no turning back. He has long remembered that the world is about to change, and none of this can arouse people's approval. He is in the moment of getting rid of the chaos, and this suspicion is only reminding him of this fact. He is being tested. Someone asked him: Are you ready for revelation?
He heard the question in his head, but he answered with his lips.
"Yes," he said.
After confirming and answering the doubts, he continued his work, took the cage, and brought it to the door. When he lowered the cage to the threshold, the door opened.
To be safe, he took out a straight knife from his belt, just in case he was interrupted. Then he uttered these words, which originated in Africa, and it took him some time to become proficient because of their grunts and subtle breaths.
The priest looked at the cage while talking. Spells sometimes need to be repeated a second or even third time, so when the folded paper stack is slightly offset, he is breathing to repeat the syllable. Then there was almost another movement, and another impulse spread among the residents living in cages. In less than a minute, nearly a hundred origami cranes were alive, flapping their paper wings. The only sound they can make is the sound they are making now: the paper rubs against the paper and folds. They know what to imitate, and they rush to the door desiring to be released.
The priest had no intention of releasing them immediately. This may cause too much attention to its source. He opened the cage and placed less than ten. They hopped to and fro, stretching their wings. Then, as if with the agreement of both parties, they both flew up with their paper wings and stood up from the top of the Channel House. Three of them landed on the roof of the Sixth Channel house and looked up at the brothers in the cage. The rest of the planes that had bypassed the Straits House to position themselves flew away, and the remaining three people sat on the sink following them. The sight of the first few departures drove the madness left and right still in the cage.
"It's your turn," the priest said to them.
If they know him, they choose not to pay attention. They slapped, fought, and threw them at the bar repeatedly. Although the iron cage is heavy and fragile, they still managed to shake the cage. The priest opened the door a few inches, then let go of twelve doors, and quickly locked the door again to observe the work of the second group. As he suspected, no one wasted time sitting on the roof of Straits House like the three in the first group. Instead, they all flew up immediately, circled to adapt to their direction, and then quickly took various actions. The cold and strong wind blew again. The priest looked at his folding bird, which looked like confetti rolled from the chaotic sheets of the city. He knew that he could break the illusion with just a glance, because the debris was not affected by any particular wind. They are clearly flying in very different and very precise directions.
With the gift of this illusory wind, he decided to proceed cautiously and let all birds be free. He removed the cage doors from simple hinges, and where they were welded to the cage frame, the crossbar broke. He pulled the front of it away and stood among the paper balls, entangled in the chaotic tangles of wings and beaks.
They are not angry. They have work to do, and they are eager to do it. After a few seconds, they stood up, jumped or leaped towards the door. They set off from there to do their work. From he tore the cage to release the bird to the last bird's departure, the whole process took about three minutes.
He hasn't been long since. As a result, instead of waiting in the Channel House, he walked briskly so that he could be seen on the busy road between the cell blocks. However, this is not to provide an excuse. In fact, he does not need a person, because in a short period of time, none of those who have seen him live to testify. His only concern is that the birds will be found. However, to his satisfaction, his brothers and sisters did not notice their presence. In those beautiful expectations, he is still alive.
His consciousness trembled, and he climbed the steps, climbed the wall above the gate, and looked at the city. Ordinary fires burned everywhere, and on the second nearest bridge, he saw the regime’s guards, their violent collapse in black and silver uniforms, and a group of unruly citizens who forced them with simple advantages. The guards retreated. digital.
Homemade bombs were thrown in the guards, poured into orange flames and sprayed. The victims threw themselves from the bridge and rushed into the water. But the fire is immune to its worst enemy. The burning guardian will dive into the depths to extinguish the flames, only to float on its surface and immediately reignite. He could hear the screaming of the guards as they were consumed. Business as usual.
But then there was a cry. He heard wailing in the monastery behind him. Before it disappeared, there were two others, almost three or four. Of course, no one is crying. These people live in the pain of eternal self-election in order to gain a place in the temple, and the death penalty composed of priests is to improve efficiency rather than indulge themselves.
When a paper soldier of the local prison priest found a predetermined victim, the cruel effect of the writ came into effect, and at that moment, they had only eight to nine heartbeats left, each of which was weaker than before. The screams he heard were incredible and angry, none of them lasted long.
There is panic among the people who work for the dead and dying of the organization, but the damned people, like Felixon, enslaves their masters with any enslavement that is required to do so. Now their master has fallen.
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