Chapter 277: Pain

It takes an average of four minutes to finish a cigarette.

A bottle of whiskey can last at most two hours.

But if there is nothing at all, how long can a person endure in pain?

In a pitch-black small room, a figure sat silently on the ground, neither moving nor speaking, looking as if dead.

If not for his body occasionally spasming and twitching a couple of times due to excruciating pain, everyone would think he was truly dead.

A spark of light flared in the darkness; as a wisp of smoke drifted out, the second figure in the dark shifted his body: "Want some whiskey?"

"No need!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi's voice was harsh and hoarse; at this moment, most of his sanity was basically used to fight the pain and weakness of flesh being gnawed, so speaking naturally was not very smooth.

"Don't force it." Constantine took a swig of alcohol, then placed the whiskey bottle in the corner: "Your body is far stronger than Lester's; that thing wanting to gnaw you to death will take at least a day—this is a war of attrition."

"Drinking makes it easy to lose control." Ma Ma Zhaodi desperately restrained the impulse to go mad and struggle due to the pain; in his heart, he silently rejoiced that without the System, he would absolutely not be able to endure such heart-piercing, bone-eroding agony, and would probably go mad by now.

【Detecting your heartbeat and blood pressure slowly increasing; current pain has been suppressed to 70% of normal pain. Do you wish to strengthen suppression to 50%?】

"No, thank you."

【Note: Adjusting the degree of pain suppression will not affect the fee charged this time; it remains 10,000 Asset Points.】

"It's not that I'm coughing, I'm not stingy with money."

Actually, he wasn't completely unconcerned about money, but Ma Ma Zhaodi rejected the System's thoughtful proposal indeed for another reason.

Before, he had already gotten used to dying in the System's combat simulations and gotten used to being injured; at that time, he originally thought that adapting to this level of pain in advance would be enough to let him ignore the interference of pain in actual combat.

"I was wrong, cough." Ma Ma Zhaodi clenched his fists, biting his teeth hard: "That little bit of pain, where does that even count!"

In this universe, pain is probably something unavoidable, just like combat; since that is the case, it is better to adapt early, so as not to be caught off guard when life and death hang in the balance next time.

Although that is the case—

"It really, hurts."

Ma Ma Zhaodi sat in the darkness, doing his best to restrain the impulse to wail, so as not to be heard by others.

The three of them certainly did not actually go to Sudan—at this moment, he was inside one of Constantine's secret safe houses; of course, this place was temporarily being used as a cage; Ma Ma Zhaodi entered the small prison in the basement to avoid going mad from pain and tearing down the entire house.

But now it seems the significance of this decision is not very great. With the System's help, Ma Ma Zhaodi's sanity can barely hold back the sensation of pain.

Creak—

A beam of light suddenly lit up in the basement, and a man crept down timidly.

"Jo, John, whiskey, morphine, and cigarettes are bought back, and food..."

Lester stole a glance at the suffering Ma Ma Zhaodi in the light, then felt too ashamed to look again. At this moment, he already knew Ma Ma Zhaodi had replaced him as the container to seal Namus; the words "you owe me a life" sounded light, but in reality weighed a thousand pounds.

"Understood." Constantine took a drag of his cigarette, patted his old friend's shoulder: "Leave the morphine for me; you go upstairs. Remember, don't secretly give yourself that stuff."

Lester nodded silently and went back upstairs; he no longer had a physiological addiction now; if he could overcome the thought of relapsing, then he could return to being a normal person—but neither Ma Ma Zhaodi nor Constantine held much hope for this. This was normal; they knew Lester's willpower all too well.

"Self-sacrifice born of wishful thinking is worthless, Old Ma." As the ember of the cigarette flickered, Constantine slowly exhaled a puff of smoke: "To make someone better, you must not only give them the will to improve, but also have the means and power to discipline them."

"Well said; you must rarely be tricked by bad women." At this very moment, Ma Ma Zhaodi had gradually been able to adapt to this level of pain, and the sentences he spat out became relatively fluent: "But your cigarette is really harsh; can you not smoke?"

"Damn it." Constantine cursed irritably, threw the cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it: "I'll go up and smoke."

"Smoke less; smoking is harmful to health."

"You sound just like those politicians; do you want to take the civil service exam and enter Whitehall?" Constantine mocked: "With your body covered in spell tattoos, the BBC would surely be happy to report, 'Free Asian Tattoo Artist Joins British Politics,' 'We Should View Everyone with Equal Eyes.'"

"Smoking bans are a matter for the collective, Constantine—perhaps you will never fit in with the crowd in your life." Ma Ma Zhaodi said: "What I mean is, with the way you smoke, you might not live until the day the policy takes effect."

"Fxxk you, I'll live to be a hundred."

Constantine raised his middle finger at him, really put the cigarette pack back in his chest, and picked up the whiskey again.

"Drink less too."

"Damn it." Constantine put the bottle down too, picked up the morphine: "Laozi will give you an injection, then go straight up."

"I don't need morphine right now; look, I'm still relatively sober."

"..."

People who could leave Constantine speechless were always few; Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't help but chuckle; he had probably unlocked a rare achievement.

The next day.

Ma Ma Zhaodi's breathing had become steady; he seemed to have already adapted to this pain.

【Current pain has been suppressed to 80% of normal pain.】

"Can still increase." He muttered: "Add one percent."

As soon as the words fell, the agony of a swarm of insects eating his body intensified by another fraction.

"Hmph—"

Ma Ma Zhaodi barely held onto the ground, supporting his own body.

"If you can't hold on, just get an injection."

Constantine's voice rang out again; he was still in the basement today.

"No need."

Constantine shrugged; he instinctively wanted to take a puff, but found the cigarette pack was filled with Pocky.

"Damn it... Is this the 'good cigarette' you talked about?"

"Cigarette-flavored Pocky; a good thing you can't buy anywhere else."

Constantine pulled one out and put it in his mouth; sure enough, a faint cigarette smell spread across his tongue and into his nasal cavity.

"According to the rules, Namus's feeding time is about the same." He said: "A normal person should have been eaten clean by noon today; I didn't expect you to last until now."

"Maybe it's because my flesh is harder." Ma Ma Zhaodi replied: "It can't gnaw through it."

"No difference; sooner or later, it's just a matter of time."

After saying this sentence, Constantine fell silent.

He saw four ghosts standing silently beside Ma Ma Zhaodi, praying for him, hoping to alleviate his suffering.

Useless, thought Constantine—but let them be.

(End of this chapter)