It was not like the great hall outside, where there was no dampness at all on the ground. On

the contrary, through the thin soft boots, Vincent's feet were massaded with a warm heat.

Entering the passageway represented by his right hand, the mercenaries behind him suddenly

became very quiet, even breathing carefully. For a moment, the mage feels that behind him

is an elite army of Dark Elves.

At first there was nothing on the walls of the passageway, but after a while Vincent saw a

hollow on either side. Most of them were long rectangles, about a hand's length deep into

the wall. The number of cavities would be too great for torches or lamps, but paintings and

most sculptures don't look like that.

It was only when they went further that Vincent realized the purpose of these cavities: to store

various prostheses. Around them, prosthetics made of wood, stone and various metals were

placed in neat rows in these cavities. Some have been completely eroded by age into useless

piles of debris and rubbish, others still reflect a glimmer of shine, or glow with the help of a

few inlaid gems. Most of these prostheses are arms, with only a small fraction of them legs.

The arms varied in size, with the largest being able to hang even from the shoulders of the

hill giants, while the smallest was only two palm lengths.

At first Vincent thought they were for smaller races like halflings or dwarfs, but when he looked

closely and re-evaluated the size of the arms, he was sure they were made for babies or small

children.

If it's for children who have been born with disabilities or who have lost their arms in accidents,

the folks at the Temple of the Severed Limbs are doing a good job of creating these tiny arms.

But through Valentine's introduction, Vincent learned that these crazy devotees often cut off

the limbs of small children to "evolve" them.

There is nothing more evil in the world than to hurt these innocent children.

So for now Vincent, struggling with the nausea of nausea, walked silently by Shelley's side. He

handed the scepter to his left hand -- which was now covered with thick gloves to hide the

sheen of pure gold -- and put his right hand on Shelley's shoulder.

The drow said nothing, but slowed her steps so that Vincent could follow easily.

The ragtag army that followed the master, either the lowest slaves of the Dark Elf family or

the mercenaries that Batana had paid for the mission, didn't care if the mission would bring

them "honor" or "blessing," they only cared about getting the most out of it. When they saw

that the dark elves in front of them did not look back at them, they pulled cloth bags out of

their waists and quickly searched the contents of the holes in the wall -- after all, many

prosthetic limbs were encrusted with precious stones, and some were even carved from

precious metal itself.

The passage continued downward, but the slope became less and less steep, and just as

Vincent wondered if the passage would lead to the abyss of hell, an apparently resting hall

appeared before the group.

But when they came to this resting place, Mother Batana's expression did not seem to be at

all relaxed, but rather a sign of rising anger. In front of her were only six trolls, cowering in

one corner of the room -- none of the other explorers of the first party had been able to

reach it. The other four passages finished them off once and for all, so that they could no

longer live as slaves.

But there was no further way forward in this room. Anyone who looked up could see at a

glance the whole landscape: a passage through which they had come, with bare walls on all

sides, and a stone platform with round piers along one side, whose upper surface had been

smoothed by long contact with the users' bottoms. In addition, in the very centre of the room

are six sculptures.

Vincent looked at these six sculptures a little depressed, and could not help but downgrade

the evaluation of the Temple of Severed limbs again: this "uncreative, tasteless, and no sense

of art" statue was also meant to be displayed, and these six statues were arranged just like a

torn human body.

In the very centre of the room was a head propped up on a stick, about two metres above

the ground; Below it was a body -- a body without limbs; And there the limbs of the main

body were quietly distributed around it, forming a cross exactly where the body was.

"What a perverted sect! "Echoed the voice in the master's mind.

"Show your strength, or offer your body!" "Came the words from the mouth of the head

statue. But the head, which had been made of stone or iron, did not move at all. Vincent knew

that there was an illusion among the mages that under certain conditions the preserved

sounds could be played out over and over again.

"Offering your body? Jokes!" Mistress Batana motioned behind her: "Go and chop these

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

statues up!"

Vincent stepped back a little, avoiding the area where the battle might take place. He watches

in silence as the mercenaries behind him, wielding their weapons -- swords, mace, machetes

and giant warhammers -- pounce on the six immobile statues.

Oh, no, the statues are moving now! Vincent watched in amazement as the two statues on

the ground brandished their machetes and twirled and cut towards the onrushing enemy.

The arms moved like lightning, and as a silver arc swept through the crowd, many goblins

eager to make a mark rolled painfully on the ground with their remaining half legs. With their

thick, hairy palms, they pressed the main bleeding wound, only to find it was in vain. A cut of

the main blood vessel in the thigh means death.

The legs of the two statues are not idle. They constantly kick at the enemy who dares to attack

them, and each kick is precisely aimed at their knees. Accompanied by rapid and precise

attacks, listening to the ear rings constantly "stain stain" sound, mages know, these who dared

to attack, will be forever lost their knee, can no longer stand up.

Vincent could not help but be attracted to the statues that could attack at such high speed,

and he closely watched their every movement, observing the flow of magical energy around

them. The golem that the Mages' Guild could make now, was no longer usable, had become

very slow, and although they had great power, they could not attack as quickly as the statue

before them.

Even Valentine was busy, watching these ancient relics fight back. For all he knew about

goliaths, he never let them go. Just when Vincent thought that this hand-to-hand attack

would be the only mode of attack here, the half-empty head showed what it could do -- his

mouth opened and a hot magical fire burst out over the crowd.

With a wave of her hand, Matron Batana added a forces-type protective wall to the front of

the group before Vincent could react. The heat and the smell of death were kept out without

causing any harm to the group.

Vincent could not help but breathe out. If the hot flame spilled over, it would definitely be like

lighting a dry fuelwood, and the whole team would not have many survivors. That gave them

time to use spells like "absorb fire energy damage," but the Dark Elf army did not. They had

all been blinded by the sudden flash of fire, and it was impossible for them to react. Unless

the fire was on them, the poor dark elves would not have been able to detect the attack, and

would not have been able to use their dexterity to avoid damage.

'Give it to me! Cut off the limbs! ' Mistress Batana angrily addressed the rest of the army and

said, "Show me what you can do! Or die!"

All the mercenaries rush in, they try to get close to the statues, and then quickly fire their

weapons before the attack. The machetes and swords don't do much damage to the statues,

only mace and hammers can knock things out of them.

The Dark Elves' cannon fodder army was severely depleted, and a large number of slave

soldiers were killed in front of the statues. In the dark vision of the Drow, the ground was

already lit by the warm blood of creatures, and the warriors who rushed to support them

moved quickly through the pools of blood, leaving behind black blind spots in their vision

because the temperature was cooler than their surroundings. But the statues with their broken

limbs were too strong, and the destruction of the enemy was like chopping a melon and

vegetable. When a large number of soldiers pounced on them, they were turned into dead

bodies or burned straight to gray.

Trolls, on the other hand, do not advance, but look in horror at the head statue that has just

spewed flames in front of them. They are a race born with a fear of acid and fire, both of

which instantly extinguish their regenerative powers. They are not willing to die in vain.

At last the limbs broke into pieces with a crash, leaving only the torso that had never moved.

He just sat quietly in the center of all the statues.

Mother Batana has been using her magic to suppress the fire-breathing head, a colorful

fluorescent magic ball tightly trapped the flame of the spray firmly in the corner. The head's

own fiery fire was baking its stone skin, turning slowly red, then cyan, and then a little white

before it finally cracked.

The room was quiet, and there was no more fighting going on. The floor was already thick

with dead bodies -- they too had become, as the temple was called, "severed limbs" -- but,

alas, the room still offered no passage through which to proceed.

Matron Batana's teeth clucked and she seemed to have forgotten how to get into the next

room, and the news really made her angry.

But what was new and desperate was the speed with which the stone statues, which had just

been broken, were restored to their original state. They had regained their fighting power.

"Is there no end to it? Vincent muttered in his heart...