Azure Scepter

Page 155

“It is indeed very unusual,” Trier agreed, then changed the subject, “but I think we should not panic. Perhaps we should ignore it—the best way to deal with a conspiracy is to remain calm and wait for the right opportunity.”

“Foolish, absurd!” the crowd immediately shouted. “Trier, you’ve gone mad!”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Trier said abruptly. “This doesn’t seem right.”

After a moment of silence, the group said in a deep voice, "Trill, our relationship is different from others—only my interests are completely tied to yours. Only by defeating Loseville can I regain my freedom."

This analysis was essentially nonsense, but Trier directly expressed his agreement and apology.

“Excuse me,” Trier said, suppressing a laugh, “So you mean this unknown enemy has information channels we don’t know about?”

“It’s obvious.” The crowd’s voices returned to calm, though they seemed much colder. “Trier, what I’m about to say might not be pleasant to hear, but I think it’s necessary to say it.”

“Speak freely,” Trier said in a deep voice. “You mean Saint-Sel has betrayed us again?”

The crowd fell silent again, this time seemingly unsure how to respond.

After a long pause, he abruptly changed the subject.

“Your uncle in this body, Cohen, is highly suspicious.” The crowd’s voices were equally somber. “He has ample motive to do this—whether it’s killing the Duke or siding with other saints of the Radiant Church to turn against you—the actions of mortals like him are always unpredictable, and you should make a decision soon.”

Trier remained unfazed: "What do you mean?"

"Strike first, or lose." The voices of the crowd were cold and stern, their layers upon layers overlapping like an unquestionable death sentence.

Trier suppressed a laugh, having made up his mind.

As the saying goes, what the enemy opposes is what we should support. If the crowd wants to kill Uncle Cohen, then we cannot kill Uncle Cohen ourselves—there is clearly a conspiracy involved. And if we kill Uncle Cohen ourselves, it may be related to the judgment of that large-scale ceremony.

Terrill gazed at the dark clouds in the sky, and deliberately waited until the thunder was about to explode before suddenly slamming his hand on the table.

"You're right." He slammed his hand on the table, shattering it. "Even to prevent accidents, we should nip the risks in the bud!"

"boom!"

"Bang!" The cup fell to the ground and shattered into pieces.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to." Futia looked up at the Duke's widow and apologized softly.

Chapter 299 Legend and Death

Futia picked up the broken pieces of the cup casually, then glanced out the window out of the corner of her eye.

It was pitch black outside. Large raindrops pounded against the window frame, the round water droplets wriggling and breaking before sliding down into the Crystal Garden below the window.

Using the reflection in the window, she secretly glanced at the Duke's widow's reflection in the glass.

The young widow was deathly pale, her eyes empty and lifeless. Her reflection was already illusory, but at this moment she looked like a bound spirit in an ancient castle.

Why did she contact me?

Was it because the Duke accused me before she died? Perhaps she believed I was responsible for her husband's death...?

Lost in her thoughts, Futia felt increasingly guilty, and within that guilt, confusion and unease grew like mold.

“Please don’t blame yourself,” the Duke’s widow suddenly said, picking up the teacup on the table and taking a careful sip. “After all, I was the one who invited you here.”

“So is there anything I can help you with?” Futia asked directly.

“I…this is the first time I’ve ever seen a living elf. You don’t look like what Dad said at all.”

Whether intentionally or unintentionally, the young widow glanced out the window, then turned to look at Futia.

"What did your father think of elves?" Futia asked with great curiosity.

However, she regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth—she was simply humiliating herself, as most humans were extremely wary of elves.

“He thinks elves are summer berries, and have never seen the blood and fire of winter,” the duke’s widow said after a moment of deliberate hesitation.

“A very poetic expression.” Futia’s pointed ears twitched.

At this point, Futia couldn't help but recall what she had experienced over the past few years.

A few years ago, when she was still in her hometown, she had never seen a dead person, nor had she ever experienced any real battle involving life and death. She had never even seen any other race besides elves.

However, ever since she ran away from home to find her sister and came to the Kingdom of Orco to serve as a military attaché at the embassy, ​​she seems to have experienced too many bloody battles and life-or-death situations.

Fighting, killing, and dancing on the edge of a knife seemed to have become commonplace in her life, no different from eating and drinking.

Logically speaking, elves her age are still receiving primary compulsory education, while those living on Evergrande Island may never witness any accidental death in their entire lives, and will spend their lives learning, working, and dying in a routine manner.

If it weren't for my mother's insistence on experimenting with her unique educational philosophy, I might have lived a peaceful life like that...

From this perspective, the Duke's widow was quite right.

The widow paused for a moment, then said with a complicated expression, "I thought you would be angry."

“What he said is part of the truth,” Faudia shook her head. “It’s not comprehensive, but it’s insightful enough.”

"Adventure must be so much fun." The widow's gaze drifted back to the window.

Futia frowned slightly. She suddenly realized that the other party's invitation to tea was definitely not just for entertainment—the other party had other plans.

But after a moment, she controlled her expression and then gave a faint smile.

After a long period of experience, she is no longer the naive young woman who wore her heart on her sleeve.

“Before I left home, I thought adventures would be as fun as they are in the movies.”

Futia pulled the dagger from her boot and gently placed it on the table.

"But when I actually embarked on the adventure, I discovered that adventure is not fun at all. It is full of blood, death, and loss—of course, there are also many gains."

For example, love, friendship, and strange life experiences...

“You must be a powerful legend as well.” The duke’s widow turned her head, glanced at the dagger on the table, and then smiled faintly.

legend...

Upon hearing this word, Futia couldn't help but purse her lips.

If I were truly a legend, perhaps I could have prevented my sister's death; if I were a legend, Trier might have it much easier; if I were a legend, my mother's parenting philosophy could be proven correct...

"If only I were a legend too."

She sighed, picked up her cup, took a sip of her sweetened black tea, and then whispered.

"But unfortunately, I am not."

Just then, a "thump thump thump" sound came from outside the window.

Foudi instinctively thought someone was knocking on the window, but the next moment, she was horrified—this was the third floor!

She instinctively pulled the duke's widow behind her, then abruptly turned her head to look out the window.

In the pitch-black rain, Count Cohen was clinging to the window with one hand, waving to those inside.

what? !

Didn't the Duke's widow come to me for the sake of fighting?

Futia was extremely surprised.

In a flash, she realized with a start that the Duke's widow was planning to use her status to prevent Earl Cohen from winning her heart!

Then, something even more perplexing to Futia occurred.

The Duke's widow actually went to the window and opened it.

As soon as the window was opened, the noisy rainy night rushed into the room. The thick moisture mixed with the cold made the fire in the corner of the room seem to dim.

"What are you doing here?" the duke's widow asked in a soft, reproachful voice, the affected tone making Futia feel a deep sense of disgust.

Count Cohen exerted a slight force with his mechanical arm, then flipped himself into the room. Rain dripped from his cloak onto the floor, instantly making the carpet wet.

“Just as you thought.” Cohen turned and closed the window, then took a bottle of wine from under his cloak and took a small sip.

Faudia was stunned. She never expected that the seemingly respectable and proper Earl Cohen would be such a person, and that he didn't seem to care at all about her presence.

Was Harlan's father really that open and honest?

The next moment, Count Cohen abruptly changed the subject: "I'm here to comfort her too."

"Comforting someone by coming in through the window?" Futia thought to herself.

The duke's widow's face was icy cold: "Please have some self-respect. I'm not that fragile and don't need comforting. Now, please both of you leave."

“I’m sorry.” Cohen spread his hands to indicate that he meant no harm. He looked down into the Duke’s widow’s eyes. “But you do remind me of my former wife. I just don’t want to leave another regret before I die.”

The Duke's widow seemed almost to laugh in anger: "Before you die? You're only in your forties, you have a very long time to live."

"On the contrary, I'm dying." Cohen pulled out a chair and sat down. "Death, such a heavy topic."

The duke's widow's expression softened slightly, and she blinked: "You're too pessimistic. Why not be more optimistic?"

“This is my retribution, just as my father’s death was retribution for his actions.” Cohen unbuttoned his cloak and then threw it on the ground.

Retribution? Fythia's ears perked up instinctively. What did that mean?

"Please don't say that," the duke's widow said weakly, frowning as she slowly approached the other person.

Is this going to work? Futia was first stunned, then felt extremely uneasy. She didn't know what to do at the moment, and she subconsciously glanced at Cohen.

At that moment, Cohen gave the Duke's widow a deep look, then suddenly stood up and sighed, "It really is just a resemblance."

The duke's widow clenched her fists, then glared fiercely at the dagger on the table, but a moment later she loosened her grip.

"Are you here to toy with me for your own amusement?!" she asked coldly. "I'm warning you..."

Before the widow could speak, Cohen interrupted her, saying, "Fodia, an elf with such a long lifespan must have never experienced the death of a loved one."

Cohen's words struck Fauci like a hammer blow. Recalling her sister's body in the church, she involuntarily closed her eyes.

The sister she was desperately searching for was long dead, and her body had even been desecrated into a ghoul—according to Trier, even her sister's soul had been taken to hell by lust demons.

If I had tried harder back then, maybe I could have found my sister sooner, and she wouldn't have died...

She wanted to say something, but when the words reached her lips, all her thoughts turned into a faint sigh, as gentle as the wind.

“I’m sorry, it seems you’ve also lost a loved one,” Cohen said. “But I would say that might not be such a bad thing.”

Fatiya froze, and then she subconsciously clenched her fists as well.

Is this drunkard even speaking human language?! What does he mean by "the death of a loved one is not a bad thing"?

“My sister is dead. Her body has been turned into a ghoul,” she said, taking a deep breath and trying to suppress her emotions.

“The closer you get to death, the more vivid the colors of life become.” Cohen picked up the bottle and slowly took a sip. “We may be indifferent when we see other people die, but when a loved one dies in front of us, the feeling is very profound.”

"Can death really be a good thing?" Futia said coldly.

Cohen put down his bottle and looked at Fythia: "Fythia, you want to become a legend, don't you—do you know why short-lived species like us humans have a much higher chance of producing legends than you elves?"

Fatiya pursed her lips. The core of her mother's educational philosophy was to find out why elves' growth rate lagged far behind that of humans.

Cohen shook the bottle: "Some say elves are lazy by nature and unwilling to work hard; others say elves are born stupid; still others say it's all the work of the Radiance, and everything happens naturally—but by the Radiance's side, I say all of this is nonsense. The truth is actually very simple—the biggest difference between humans and elves lies in their views on death, which are completely different. It is precisely because life is short that we are urged to unleash our potential."

"If death were as natural as that of dragons, then the meaning of life would be reduced to animalistic reproduction and hoarding of treasure. That's why you see, apart from blue dragons, those large lizards can't even form societies. Death is the cradle of fear, but isn't fear also the cradle of courage?"

"Legend means discovering oneself, but if you can't even understand the opposite of self-destruction, how can you talk about understanding yourself?"

Hearing the drunkard's words, Futia fell silent for a moment, and she even felt a strange and inexplicable sense of enlightenment.

"You climbed in through the window just to spout this nonsense?!" The Duke's widow's anger reached its peak.

But Cohen still ignored her.

“For the first sixteen years of my life, I was cowardly, insecure, and closed off, yet also incredibly vicious. I hated the world because the world hated me,” he said. “But when I saw my wife’s swollen body, when I saw my brother’s smashed head, I suddenly understood this profound truth.”

“Death is never frightening; it gives birth to courage. Only by accepting destruction and nothingness can you truly gain vibrant life force. Only then will all the moral and legal shackles of the past, the labyrinths rooted in our minds, be destroyed—this becomes increasingly evident the closer we get to our death—and now, my death is imminent.” Cohen’s voice grew increasingly somber, but his gaze sharpened, making him seem like a prophet spreading a proclamation.

Suddenly, he changed the subject, and his gloomy tone dissipated: "But thankfully, by the light above, you only look like Sophie."

The duke's widow began to sob softly after being subjected to such inexplicable verbal insults.

Cohen sighed, then looked at Feudia again.

"Fodia, your values ​​are completely different from those of ordinary elves—I was a mercenary for a long time, and your way of thinking is unique to us humans, beings with short lifespans!"

"Boom!" Purple lightning ripped through the rain, and as if a blessing had come to mind, Futia's understanding became clearer and clearer.

However, the next moment, Cohen stood up abruptly, ignoring the astonishment of the others, and walked through the living room with the fireplace burning, pushing open the door and stepping into the hallway.

The guards and knights at the gate were startled.

"Where did you come from?!" the knight at the door asked incredulously.

Cohen shook the rain off his cloak, then said in a deep voice, "Take me to Trier."