Azure Scepter

Page 44

The Sunset Sage's so-called "key to defeating the lich" actually points to something very simple—He means unleashing the demigods who are hostile to Losevie.

However, this method is undoubtedly wrong.

II. Necromancer

Chapter 79 Dinner

Although the Sunset Sage, an elven deity with meager divine power, was known for his wisdom, his method of releasing the demigod who harbored a grudge against Losevie was, from the perspective of the humans of the Kingdom of Orco, absolutely a mistake.

First of all, the sealed demigod is not stupid. Once its seal is broken, the most likely thing it will do is not to fight Loseville to the death, but to run away directly.

In the original history, decades after Losewey was utterly defeated by the allied forces of human nations, this dream realm demigod known as "the One" was released by several players exploring the dream realm through another means.

The first thing He did after being released was not to seek revenge on the lich, but to run away immediately. Moreover, in order to conceal His tracks as much as possible, He also maliciously used the power of "mischief and metamorphosis" that He controlled to distort the meaning of the words of the player who released Him, turning them into a deadly curse.

The unlucky souls who originally wanted to receive a reward were turned into diamonds by the curse that their unintentional words had created—because before breaking the seal, they had promised the cunning dream realm demigod that they would definitely rescue Him, a promise that was harder than diamonds.

In short, this dream realm demigod was extremely cunning and utterly untrustworthy. At the same time, he was filled with cruel malice towards most living beings. From a certain perspective, Lothaway did a great thing by sealing him away.

Trier knew very well that his promise to Harlan was to “protect the people of the Southern Duchy”, not simply to “defeat the lich,” so he could not simply adopt the Sunset Sage’s plan.

However, the Sunset Sage's plan was not flawed because of shortsightedness or stupidity. His plan must have concealed his own private motives. Therefore, Trier's strategy toward "the others" was very clear: he would only cooperate with them to a limited extent and would never break their seal. At the same time, he should speak as little as possible in his interactions with them to prevent his language from being distorted.

“Alright, that’s the end of my story.” Trier stood up and looked around.

At this moment, Futia had already laid down her weapon. She was drinking her soup with a blank expression, with a few soft, sticky remnants of turnip still clinging to the corners of her mouth. Noi, on the other hand, was floating quietly in the air, thoughtfully observing the burning ashes of the walking corpses on the ground. She took out her holy symbol and began to pray silently.

Only the dragon seemed to understand something. It noticed Trier's gaze, and the stiff muscles on its cheeks trembled as it forced a smile that looked like it was crying.

“Insanity, this is absolutely insane!” Its tone was low and almost a groan. “It really is a demigod! And you dare to threaten Him... Do you even know what you're doing?!”

Olius's voice echoed through the quiet forest, and the next moment, the ashes of the walker spoke again.

This time, the voice of the sealed dream realm demigod, no longer as intermittent as a radio with a poor signal, rose solemnly and deeply from the ashes: "An interesting story, but it is just a story. The truth is far beyond the limits of your thinking. You may know who I am, but you are just a pathetic mortal, so you know nothing of my power."

“There are no shackles. Shackles are merely constraints imposed on the subjective mind. As long as I am willing to leave, even radiance cannot hold me back. So don’t think your bluff can threaten me. However, although you are just a weak mortal, let’s play a game. If you agree, then make an oath.”

"Click."

A crisp cracking sound came from the cloth bag, and a little scarlet liquid seeped out from the bottom of the bag.

Due to frequent interactions, the faceless sculpture is on the verge of breaking apart.

There are two more opportunities to communicate.

Trier stared at the ashes of the walkers on the ground, a series of thoughts flashing through his mind.

“He is deliberately wasting opportunities to communicate in order to create the image that he is indifferent. At the same time, reducing the number of communications will further reduce our room for maneuver. By squeezing out our room to maneuver, He can take the initiative.”

"A typical edge strategy. This dream realm demigod is indeed cunning. He is clearly aware that the initiative is entirely on my side, so he is trying to use this method to deceive me."

"In conclusion, He is actually very anxious right now. Although He says I am bluffing, He is the one who is really bluffing. In this situation, when the number of exchanges approaches zero, He will be the first to compromise."

With this thought in mind, Trier smiled and said slowly, "I am informing you, not communicating with you—in terms of time in the Prime Material Plane, things will change dramatically within three months. You just need to seize the opportunity."

A cold wind swept through the treetops, rustling the leaves, but the powerful dream realm demigod remained silent.

—The channels and opportunities for communication between the two sides are already too limited. If He were to speak now, there is a high probability that this once-in-a-century opportunity would be lost, and the whole situation would develop in a completely unpredictable direction.

Realizing that his plans had been completely seen through by the young paladin, the demigod of the dream realm felt a bitter sense of annoyance. He even wondered if the mental damage from his long imprisonment had caused his once-proud art of speech to have deteriorated to the point where even a paladin, known for his rigid thinking, could see through it.

—However, how did this paladin know about His ordeal? Have those cowardly gods of the Radiant pantheon finally decided to eliminate Losevie? But among those cowardly Radiant gods, who has the ability to destroy that powerful fallen paladin?

Or perhaps they simply wanted to use this opportunity to weaken or even eliminate themselves?

Doubt spread through the mind of the demigod of the dream realm like thorny vines; the more he pondered, the more frightened he became. After a moment, the group finally decided to remain silent and wait for the representative of the Radiant Pantheon to state his terms.

However, the paladin remained silent.

The campfire burned, and warm yellow sparks rose and fell like butterflies, while time slowly passed between the rising and falling of the flames.

The voice of "the multitude" came again, this time no longer solemn and dignified, but peaceful: "I need a promise."

Ignoring the other person's words, Trier grabbed the cloth bag containing the faceless sculpture and stuffed it back into his backpack.

"Bang." The sculpture bumped into the items in the backpack, making a dull thud.

Just then, a message flashed across Trier's eye, and he looked at it intently.

[You have obtained full information about the personal talent "Tranquility"]

[Gained the personal perk "Tranquility"]

[Tranquility: Faced with the terrifying crisis brought by overwhelming evil, some exceptionally gifted paladins can still remain calm. Their composure makes them even stronger—the number of divine spells you can use each day, as well as the related effects of those spells and the various paladin feats, will be determined by the Perception modifier, not the Charisma modifier.]

[You have successfully intimidated a sealed demigod. Through this experience, your intimidation ability has been greatly enhanced. Intimidation +10]

“Insane! Absolutely insane! Trier actually dared to threaten a demigod…” Olius muttered to himself, grabbing the iron pot on the campfire in a daze and gulping down the boiling broth.

The rich broth swirls in your mouth.

"hiss--"

"Hiss—" Rich broth gushed out from between the ribs, and the boiling oil released the aroma of black pepper and unknown spices.

Hult sat in the deep blue velvet chair, feeling a little uneasy. His fingers brushed against the smooth velvet surface, the soft lining carrying a summery warmth.

He had seen such velvet chairs before in the town's baron's mansion. Sitting on something with such soft curtains had always been the baron's privilege. Now, sitting on something that once represented mystery and nobility, he felt a strange feeling in his heart.

Overall, it was pretty fun...

Since arriving in Eraf a few days ago, he and the sergeant who liked to wear a cauldron had tried every means to get close to the princess in hopes of getting reinforcements for Beaver Town. Today, he finally made some progress, and a knight received him.

“Her Highness the Princess is busy dealing with the cultists. You can go see her after dinner.” The person across the table coughed lightly, interrupting Hult’s observation of the chair. “We can talk first, so you won’t be impolite later.”

She exclaimed "Ah!" and looked across the table as if waking from a dream.

Opposite him sat a tall, thin young nobleman, wearing plate armor that had been polished to a gleaming shine. The acanthodian emblem on the armor shone brightly under the crystal chandelier overhead.

"He's much more handsome than Sir Harland," Hult thought instinctively.

"Don't be nervous, child," the young nobleman said with a gentle smile. His voice and demeanor complemented his attire, exuding an air of nobility, as if he had stepped out of a poem often sung by the town's blacksmith. "What exactly happened in Beaver Town?"

Hult was about to blurt everything out, but suddenly he remembered Feudia's instructions to him before he left—to be careful of Bishop Vercingetorius.

So he swallowed back the words that were almost out of his mouth. He thought for a moment and then said, "This news is very important, and it is especially important that Bishop Vercingetorie not know about it."

For some reason, the young man opposite him trembled slightly in the hand holding the knife.

Chapter 80 Vercingeoli

"Don't worry, there are no church people near the room, you can trust me." The young man stood up and eagerly cut a piece of meat for Hult.

The silver cutlery sliced ​​through the steak, and the juicy meat juices flowed slowly from the tip of the knife like summer berries.

Hult felt flattered and thanked him repeatedly, but the other party just smiled slightly.

"A plague has broken out in Beaver Town. Those infected are transformed into terrifying undead, and the culprit behind this disaster is a cult called the Silent Whisperers."

Hult picked up a piece of meat, put it in his mouth, and the perfect temperature infused the spiciness of the pepper into the firm texture of the rib. He bit down on the meat, and the tender juices mixed with the chewy tendons burst on his tongue. He felt as if his lips were coated with a layer of oil.

"Eat slowly," the young nobleman said with a smile, calmly sitting back in his chair. "What do you know about those cultists?"

"This evil cult is called the Silent Whisperers, and their leader is a powerful lich. That beast is trying to conquer the entire kingdom, so they are planning to spread this terrible plague by contaminating the food!"

The young man opposite him nodded in agreement, his eyes narrowing as his smile widened: "It seems the cultists in Beaver Town have been eliminated."

“No, sir, quite the opposite! I have come to seek the Princess’s help,” Hult quickly said.

Suddenly, the young nobleman began to tap the table rhythmically with his knuckles, as if he were pondering something.

The monotonous and tedious tapping echoed on the table, making Hult feel somewhat uncomfortable.

He suddenly remembered that Trier seemed to have this habit as well.

"Won't you have some wine?" Hult couldn't help but ask.

The young nobleman looked up, apologetic. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. I don’t usually drink; these kinds of nerve-numbing substances weaken one’s will and make one cowardly. By the way, my dear friend, if I may ask, why do you ask to be extra wary of Vercingetorie? It’s just out of personal curiosity; if it’s inconvenient to disclose, then so be it.”

“This was on Lady Futia’s orders. She found a human experimentation site in the shrine in Beaver Town, and there is a lot of evidence pointing to the collusion between Bishop Vercingetorius and the Silent Whisperers.” Hult was a little thirsty, so he grabbed the wine bottle and poured himself a glass.

"Heh." Suddenly, Hurt heard a disdainful snort, and he subconsciously looked up at the young man opposite him.

"Laughable elves," the young man sneered. "These lowly long-eared creatures are no different from goblins in my eyes. They are arrogant by nature, free and lazy, and will sooner or later be conquered and enslaved by us humans. My dear friend, am I right?"

“Although Ms. Futia often mocks others, she always helps others in her actions—she is a truly good person, not like what you say…” Hult replied, forcing himself to speak.

“You’ve been deceived by her. Like other elves, she lacks a sharp mind. Even if she occasionally finds a clue, it’s just luck.” The young man suddenly regained his cheerful demeanor. “However, her good luck has come to an end.”

Hult sensed a hidden malice emanating from the other party. Although the other party was smiling, a kind of viscous and cold killing intent seemed to be brewing beneath the smile.

He instinctively became more alert.

"Have you shared this information with anyone else?" the young nobleman asked casually.

Hult remained silent.

Before the plague broke out, Hult, as a member of the town's guard, had many dealings with the town's smugglers and moneylenders. As a result, he was exposed to quite a few shady dealings. Although he was not very old, he had witnessed at least five vendettas and murders caused by conflicts of interest.

This is a standard interrogation before a verbal killing.

A deathly silence suddenly began to spread like frost, and the only sound in the luxuriously decorated room was the sizzling of bubbles boiling and bursting on the fat and juices of the pork chops.

After a moment, the young nobleman laughed and said, "If you don't want to talk about it, then forget it. There are a lot of cultists in the city now, and I'm worried you'll leak the news. This information is indeed very valuable, and it's good that you came here first. This is a great contribution, and if things go well, you might be able to get a knighthood—of course, the landless kind."

Hult breathed a sigh of relief, picked up another piece of steak, and took a big bite.

Suddenly, there was a rapid knocking on the door.

"Dong dong dong."

"Please come in," the young nobleman said.

A handsome, pale-skinned servant hurried over, glanced at Hult, and then looked at the young nobleman with an inquiring gaze.

"Just say it, it's fine." The young nobleman squinted and looked at Hult with amusement.

The attendant approached the young nobleman and said, "Bishop, news has arrived from Beaver Town. Would you like to review the report now?"

Hult was stunned.

bishop?

Bishop of Vercingetorius?!

The man opposite me who looks like a young nobleman is Bishop Vercingetor!

In an instant, he felt a stinging sensation in his nose, and fear and regret, like a cold wind, traveled from the back of his head along his spinal cord to every muscle in his body.

His muscles trembled, and he seemed to hear the sound of his bones colliding.

I actually ran up to the other person on my own initiative!

However, Vercingetorius did not make a move.

“You have misunderstood me.” The tall, thin Bishop Vercingetorius still smiled. “Child, I am not a cultist. You have only been bewitched by that elf. Those evil elves have been trying to invade us. Fythia is the military attaché of the elven embassy. She obviously has a special mission.”

The bishop clenched his fingers tightly, as if to crush Fythia in his words: "She came here to bring us strife. She will corrupt our youth and prevent us from noticing the evil spirits' sinister intentions."

“But you just said there were no church members near the room.” Hult gripped his knife tightly and carefully observed the surrounding escape routes.

Vercingetorius remained calm and composed, as if Hult were holding bread instead of a knife.

He gave a sly smile: "There aren't any nearby, but there are in the room. In the name of Radiance, I never lie."

Hult was infuriated by this sophistry, and he felt his cheeks burning.

"Please don't show that look of disgust," the attendant reprimanded, frowning. "You are facing a living legend! He is the bishop of seven dioceses in the Kingdom of Orco, and a strong candidate for the next pope."

"How old are you this year?!" Hult noticed his voice trembling, as if his tongue had become some kind of alien thing.

Vercingetorius, still smiling, said slowly, "By the grace of radiance, I will be entering my ninety-fifth year in my own material world—child, would you like another steak?"

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll expose your misdeeds to the Princess?” Hult asked incredulously.

The bishop picked up a dry piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth: "I once heard a wise man say that if you stand straight enough, your shadow will not be crooked. Honesty is the best way to resolve misunderstandings. Now we are all facing the invasion of evil, so we must resolve our conflicts."

“Child, you must be wary of evil lies. They always come in the form of something that looks beautiful or kind, but they are nothing more than bait on a sharp metal hook.”

Chapter 81 Meeting

Vercingtoli's eyes were deep and unfathomable, like an ancient well covered with a layer of dust. He stared calmly into Hult's eyes, as if trying to pierce through Hult's eyeballs and penetrate his thoughts.

"You mean, Lady Frodia is a cultist?" Hult suddenly felt that what the bishop said might actually be true...

Bishop Vercingetor waved his hand and said with a smile, "I can only say that it is possible. I am just reminding you not to be too blindly optimistic when you meet Her Highness the Princess and to only believe one side's story. Neither she nor her teacher are easy to talk to. Please forgive my rudeness, I need to read an urgent document now."

After speaking, Vercingetorie slowly stood up, walked to the huge French windows, took the monocle from the servant, and put it on his right eye.