In the chaotic Oblivion passage, Simon was plummeting, surrounded by distorted, blood-red shadows.
They wove together into gigantic, horrifying, and sorrowful outlines, layer upon layer, like a tangled net of crisscrossing lines.
Everything remained hidden in an inaccessible depth, with only occasional glimpses surfacing—the shimmering reflections, the grayish sight—all speaking of ill omens, hinting at violence, slaughter, betrayal, and death.
Mad whispers echoed in Simon's ears: a layer of agitated static beneath a calm orchestral piece, and between these two melodies, a faint, chilling sound of dripping water, appearing and disappearing.
The world inherently harbors the seeds of destruction within its order, and all these tragedies are merely meaningless ripples of fate.
Indeed, Simon felt the melody gradually become more impassioned; a grand battle was approaching.
It was Boethiah's invitation, one no one could refuse, and similarly, behind the tribulation would be a Daedra's appreciation—provided one could survive.
Plummeting, he saw the end of the passage was a twisted, gray-red snake wall.
He crashed into it, shattering into pieces!
…
Still waters run deep.
Flesh and bone were slowly devoured by greedy long snakes, with the rustling of scales, the gurgling of swallowing, and the hissing of flicking tongues.
Countless snakes sang a blasphemous hymn.
Soon, everything became quiet.
…
Simon's consciousness slowly cleared.
"What a unique dream," he thought, twisting his neck and looking around.
A faint blood-red glow seeped through a patch of gray clouds.
The air carried a faint smell of decay.
The dark, cracked earth resembled a burnt Turtle Shell, uneven, with many depressions and fissures.
Clusters of black spires, chaotic in form, were sparsely distributed in all directions.
Simon observed carefully: the surfaces of these spires had a delicate sheen, and some were entwined with gigantic snake-shaped sculptures along their outer edges.
The sculptures were diverse, seemingly from different eras, some with crude lines, others strikingly lifelike.
Overall, these spire clusters resembled shattered ruins, failing to convey a sense of civilized order.
Instead, they looked like the messy aftermath of a terrifying ritual by an evil god, with countless lifeless husks lying fallen.
Simon waited for a moment, the auditory hallucinations in his ears gradually fading, and a familiar voice spoke.
"We meet again, audacious mortal.
I told you, you would be dragged into my Snake Mountain to participate in the most agonizing trial of hell.
Now, my promise is fulfilled, in a way you are unwilling to accept, hehehe.
Arrogant as you are, leaving Akatosh's Dragonfire barrier is like a chick walking into a storm.
Can you still maintain your composure?
Hmph hmph hmph haha!"
Simon gently clenched his right hand, remaining silent.
Boethiah said maliciously, "Mortal, you will participate in the blood competition as a Nord.
If you can win, you will receive a reward.
If not, then leave your corpse behind.
I will resurrect you, turn you into a Dependents, and then assign you to wipe out that useless Hircine's followers.
How does that sound to you?"
Simon nodded, "I hope you keep your word."
Boethiah laughed, her voice high-pitched and piercing, "Excellent! Excellent! Maintain your confidence, for the higher the flower, the more brilliantly it blooms!"
The whispers receded, and Simon suddenly felt an immense force surge from all directions, seeping into his body.
First, there was a great sense of compression, followed by a suffocating feeling of being constricted.
The Troll transformation was forcibly canceled.
Simon was squeezed back into human form.
Once he tried to transform again, immense pressure would instantly descend, making the transformation impossible.
A five-foot-tall Nord boy—this was his current form.
Boethiah's words about participating in the battle as a Nord meant this, after all.
Simon swung his fist.
The results of his Hard Qigong training were still present, but without the solid foundation of the Troll body, the effect was diminished.
Originally, the Troll's skin was like iron and bones like steel, able to withstand sword slashes, but now it was not.
His skin, though tough as thick rubber, could be cut by a steel blade.
Furthermore, the enchanted tattoos were distorted due to the change in body size, and none could be activated except for underwater breathing.
Simon thought for a moment, then waved his hand to retrieve the Little Boy mech from the Pure Land.
Suddenly, Boethiah's surprised exclamation came from his ear, "An exquisite creation.
How did it appear?
However, I do not intend to let you use such cheating methods, hehehe!"
The ground beneath the Little Boy suddenly cracked open, and a giant python opened its mouth to swallow the mech.
However, Simon waved his hand again, retracting the mech.
Boethiah did not speak.
Simon sighed.
The Pure Land was very safe; even a Daedra could not glimpse it.
Even if he lost in the blood competition, he could choose to hide back in the Pure Land, with no life-threatening danger.
However, that would mean being trapped in Snake Mountain.
He was not alone; the responsibilities on his shoulders told him—
He must win!
…
After walking for a long time in Snake Mountain, Simon moved slowly towards the distant cluster of spires, keeping close to the edge of a giant fissure.
The venue for the Ten-Race Blood Competition was the entire Snake Mountain domain.
Kill anyone you encounter; there would be no mistake.
At the end of the horizon, a tiny figure emerged from a spire, like a sesame seed, swaying, unsure if it was approaching or just wandering in place.
Simon also walked towards that person.
The clothes on him were prepared for Jonas, a bit too long and also a bit tight, not very comfortable to wear.
He also had a cloak, with many Sleeve Flying Swallows hidden in its dark pockets.
Strapped to his back was a slender greatsword, four and a half feet long, one and a half inches wide, with an oval cross-section.
The spine was half an inch thick, cast from ebony, with a simple design, covered in bright gray patterns that were mysterious and beautiful.
It weighed one hundred thirteen pounds; cutting a person in half never required a second strike.
Speaking of which, this ebony was contributed by the Draugr in Forelhost, quite commemorative.
Boethiah, as a top Daedra Prince, had an unusually vast domain, comparable to a small continent.
Simon and the person on the horizon approached each other, walking for about twenty minutes before they could faintly see each other's clear outlines.
It was an Orc, bare-chested, with long, dark hair tied into many braids.
He held a long knife in each hand, his steps steady.
They walked for another twenty minutes, as if an invisible rope was pulling them closer.
The closer they got, the more taut it became.
They looked at each other, the Orc warrior's gaze was cold and did not hesitate for a moment because Simon was a child.
Such a person, his swordsmanship must be relentless.
Closer and closer, they went from a slow walk, to a brisk pace, then started running, followed by a sprint!
Simon drew his greatsword, and the Orc raised his two knives.
Cold light splashed like moonlight!
In a fleeting pass, they stood back to back.
One second, two seconds.
Simon sheathed his greatsword.
The two halves of the Orc's corpse fell to the ground, kicking up humble dust.
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