Azure Scepter

Page 70

"On the chessboard of saints, mortals are merely puppets. I once heard a wise man say that a nobleman who owns real estate should not live in a house that is about to collapse. If a puppet wants to jump to the end, the only reasonable way is to not enter the play in the first place."

“Your Excellency Trier, I am very grateful for the opportunities you have given me in the past, so I will no longer play games with you.” The bishop picked up his wine glass and drank it all in one gulp. “I don’t want to get involved in all of this. I just want to stay far away. It’s that simple.”

Chief Spy Nordman noticed that Sister Neu had disappeared sometime during the night; it seemed she had cast a high-level invisibility spell on herself? But can a priest cast a high-level invisibility spell?

Meanwhile, the talkative tailor, trembling, pulled out a spellbook from who-knows-where.

"What do you want with the vessel of a lesser demon lord?" Trier, who had been silent just moments before, asked in quick succession.

Bishop Vercingetor slammed down his wine glass, causing the wooden table to wobble slightly.

"You know everything, don't you? Of course, it's to prolong my stay in the mortal world. Your magic seems to have encountered a small problem."

The usually calm and composed bishop's cheek muscles twitched slightly, though very subtly. However, Nordman, who had long been an interrogator, noticed it keenly.

“My friend, don’t be nervous.” Trier’s voice was as soft as the mist in the moonlight. “I can solve your lifespan problem directly. You don’t need to go through all that trouble to find that bomb. Since the spell has gone wrong, I will naturally help you fix it.”

Vercingtoli picked up a towel from the table and slowly wiped his forehead. He pursed his lips, then took a deep breath and made up his mind.

However, the next moment, a warm hand gently rested on his shoulder.

“I won’t force you, Bishop. The agreement still stands, and I will help you find that little girl. But my friend, if you want me to solve your lifespan problem directly, you can come to me anytime.”

Trier's voice came from above.

Bishop Vercingetorius felt as if he had punched cotton; he once again experienced the familiar sense of powerlessness and unease—the same was true of that cold-blooded, cruel, and controlling necromancer. He seemed to know everything, and he always managed to hit people's weak points with unerring accuracy.

Even the demons in hell, who are the embodiment of lawful evil, are far inferior to this monk who has no empathy and not a single bit of goodness in his heart.

Although the mage's help extended his lifespan and provided him with unexpected assistance within the church system, even giving him the opportunity to wear the Pope's Thirteen-Layer Amber Crown, the mage always seemed to demand more, like a devil seeking payment.

If this immortal monster hadn't suddenly been seriously injured and lost his memory, he would have remained under his enslavement and control forever, even more miserable than the half-human dancers on stage, because he might not have found peace even after death, and might have suffered endless enslavement like the pitiful Noy.

Even though he is now a legend, he still feels uneasy and anxious when facing Trier. The psychological advantage he has intentionally built up through the setting and the language he used in the early stages is crumbling like a sandcastle on the beach.

He knew he was afraid.

After Trier lost his memory, Vercingetorie thought countless times about eliminating this unknown monster disguised as a human.

However, the highly skilled mage forcibly linked his life to the continuation of the longevity spell in a way that was completely incomprehensible to everyone—as long as Trier's physical life ended, the effect of the Iolem longevity spell would disappear directly.

At that moment, a warm and dry courage suddenly rose in Vercingetori's heart.

A paladin has unleashed a divine aura of courage? The bishop looked up and saw that Trier was holding the holy emblem in his hand.

Chapter 140 Paladins and Mages

The emblem radiates warmth like the sun piercing through the cold fog of winter.

Vercingetorius seemed frozen in place, his cloudy, gloomy eyes fixed on the cascading halo of light emanating from beneath the holy emblem. He remained silent, his mind a jumble of emotions—doubt, surprise, and a sense of relief—like a tangled ball of yarn.

As a legendary priest, he knew very well that the aura of courage before him was not a magical imitation or forgery; this sacred, supernatural aura was the genuine aura of courage—Trill had truly become a paladin.

For a moment, hesitation crept into Vercingetorie's heart like sticky swamp silt. The piercing memories of the past warned him never to trust this cold-blooded and insane necromancer, but the aura of courage before him proved as solid as a rock that Trier was a paladin who could be completely trusted.

After all, paladins are not only sacred, but also special. Priests may be able to contradict themselves and feign piety, but a paladin's entire power comes from their own oath, and apart from those who break their oaths, paladins are absolute moral exemplars.

Vercingetorie shifted his gaze slightly, then saw Trier's still indifferent eyes. Instantly, the bishop lowered his head as if stung by a scorpion.

"Then I wish us a pleasant cooperation," the bishop said dryly after a long while.

He raised his already empty glass, then seemed to realize that there was no wine left, and then dejectedly put the glass down.

Trier silently observed Vercingetori's bewildered behavior, then nodded slightly.

Clearly, Vercingetorius was hesitant to speak, and the only reason for his silence was a lack of trust. Trier didn't know what he had done in the past to turn this famously kind-hearted man in gaming history into this strange state, but he knew there was no need to continue the conversation at this point.

The other party may have invited you to communicate simply to test whether you have regained your memory.

Although he didn't directly persuade Bishop Vercingetorius to help, the conversation wasn't entirely fruitless; at least he learned more information.

“If you’ve thought it through, you can come to me anytime to resolve the spell’s lifespan issue.” Trier put away the holy symbol. “According to the agreement, I will also use magic to help you find that little girl, but it might take a little longer.”

After saying that, Trier turned around and walked towards the door without hesitation.

The blood plague crisis is still in its nascent stage, and time is extremely precious; every minute delayed means more people will die from the plague and its side effects. Since Vercingetorie claims that Oris, currently in charge of the Kingdom's investigation team, has forcibly ordered the export of grain, Trier feels it is essential to personally see for himself what the legendary paladin is really like.

After a long while, Vercingetori nodded absentmindedly. He looked at the four blood-red crystal chandeliers on the ceiling, but his gaze seemed to stretch into the infinite void.

"Hey, Lord Trier, wait! Where are you going?!" Chief Spy Nordman suddenly stood up. "Radiance, what kind of riddle are you talking about? We really should wait for Lady Rolina."

Without turning his head, Trier said, "Let's wait a while."

The time traveler was well aware that his primary goal was to fulfill his promise to Harlan and do his utmost to protect the people of the Southern Duchy. This would allow him to reconcile his conscience by keeping his promise, and also provide a sufficient material foundation for future research into magic and deification by saving the Duchy and securing his place in the line of succession.

As for the conflict between the local nobles of the Southern Duchy and the Kingdom's survey team, he saw it merely as an opportunity to resolve the crisis. In his view, uniting the local nobles for the sake of uniting the local nobles was a completely misguided act.

Of course, from a more pragmatic perspective, since Bishop Vercingetorie has made it clear that he is unwilling to get deeply involved in this crisis, the balance of power between the Kingdom's investigation team and the local faction of the Southern Duchy has also changed. Under these circumstances, Trier believes it is even more necessary to meet with Oris before making a decision.

“Sir Nordman, even if Aunt Rolina were here, she would find it difficult to make a decision. After all, Earl Cohen is not here, so today may not be a good time.” Sister Neuy took the opportunity to deactivate her invisibility and then added that she pulled up the trembling Aurelius and Hult and quickly followed Trier.

Nordmann paused for a moment, then sighed, raised an eyebrow with a hint of helplessness, and looked at Vercingetorius again.

"What are you talking about, Bishop? What happened?"

“It means exactly what it says.” Bishop Vercingetorie stared blankly into the distance, completely devoid of his usual nonchalant air of having everything under control. After a long pause, he added again, “There’s no subtext, really.”

Suddenly, the dancer's singing and violin playing stopped abruptly. The spy chief, Nordman, frowned instinctively, then followed Vercingetorie's gaze to the limbless, stick-like, half-human dancer.

—Sometime later, Trier walked up to the dancer.

The paladin raised his right hand.

Pure white light pierced through the crimson, ambiguous lamplight, and warmth enveloped the hazy, incense-scented scent like a velvet blanket.

Holy Healing.

The pool of blood on the wooden stage floor was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the delicate blood vessels of the half-human dancer torn and twisted by steel and metal, as well as the pure white light.

In the holy light, the smooth wound began to scab over, and the trickling ochre-red blood gradually congealed.

The halfling dancer struggled to lift her face, which was covered in thick rouge. A glimmer of light seemed to flash in her dull, numb eyes. A few tears fell down her face, mingling with the blood on the ground.

"Thank you, sir, thank you." Unlike her clear, melodious voice when singing, the dancer's voice was extremely hoarse, like a nightingale caught on thorns by a shrike.

Trier nodded slightly, then said nothing more, leaping directly from the stage onto the expensive, soft carpet, and strode towards the tavern's door.

The blankets covered the sound of footsteps, and only silence remained in the luxurious tavern.

Just as Trier grasped the doorknob, preparing to push the door open and leave, Bishop Vercingetorius suddenly spoke up: "Trier, although you surely know, I still have to say..."

He paused, then spoke quickly in an almost whispered voice: “This plague is not as simple as it seems on the surface. In a fundamental sense, the course of events does not depend on us mortals. Oris is not simply delusional; the whispers he heard came from the gods—and this is only one side of the story.”

"Don't get involved in this. The risks involved are not proportional to what you can gain. Throughout history, even if you win temporarily by getting involved in this, you will eventually die a violent death. In the end, all the puppets on both sides will be torn to pieces."

Trier stopped walking, but did not turn around.

Have you seen the final scene of "Drunken Moon"?

Vercingetorie narrowed his eyes slightly and did not answer, but the spymaster Nordman spoke first: "The poster is on the pillar. Are you trying to say that classic line, 'Adventures usually have a successful ending'?"

“Of course not.” Trier turned his head and looked at Vercingetorie, who seemed to want to say something but hesitated. “What I want to say is that in the end, the princess and the knight got together not because of sweet words, nor because the king suddenly had a change of heart, but because of her own sword.”

After saying that, Trier pushed open the door and left with the others.

Vercingetor sat blankly in the chair for a long while before rubbing his temples and giving a genuine smile.

“Nordman, do you think Trier’s performance is fake? He seems to have really become a paladin? This is too... bizarre.”

Despite being constantly ignored and hearing overly horrifying information, Chief Spy Nordman had regained his composure. He glanced at the dancer on stage whose bleeding had been stopped by Holy Healing, then at the posters on the pillars, before lowering his eyelids.

Through the conversation between Trier and the bishop, Nordmann now fully understands that the interests he represents are not entirely aligned with those of Bishop Vercingetorie—he has realized that this bishop, who wants to run for pope, is not on the side of the local faction of the Southern Duchy; on the contrary, the other party seems to want to withdraw and run away.

“I don’t know, but according to religious texts, it’s not unheard of for the most wicked to suddenly repent and turn to good.” Nordman pondered for a moment. “By the light above, at least for us, he has become much better, hasn’t he?”

He took out five heavy gold dragons from his pocket, hesitated for a moment, and then threw them directly at the dancers on the stage.

"Think about it, a bishop, a cold-blooded mage who is indifferent to his subordinates and extremely efficiency-driven, versus a kind-hearted halfling who is willing to waste time and energy to help a lowly halfling. Who would you rather be with? Perhaps we should change our perspective."

“You don’t need to pledge your loyalty; he’s already on his carriage and can’t hear you at all.” The bishop put on his usual amiable face again. “However, you’d better be careful. Compared to loving someone, at least respecting them won’t lead you astray.”

[Based on your actions, your alignment is shifting; current alignment: Lawful Good]

[Your virtuous actions are exceptionally consistent with the paladin's oath "To atone for evil," and you are gaining progress on the Justice saving throw bonus of "Protection of Faith," current saving throw bonus: 5]

Trier blinked, dispelling the cobalt blue system light screen on his retina. He reached out and grabbed the handrail on the carriage steps, pulling himself into the carriage with a slight effort.

In the rain, the silent vampire coachman sat back down behind his horse, his pale face appearing even more ashen in the flashes of lightning.

He leaned out, reached out, and pulled Noi up with him. As a bound spirit, Noi felt light and airy, like a cold veil swaying in the wind.

After pulling Aurelius and Hult up, Trier sat back down.

The burning incense burner inside the carriage dispelled the cold, heavy dampness, and the traveler, sinking into the soft seat, couldn't help but feel a little regretful.

"If only Vercingetorie had made a move," he thought. "It's such a shame that I haven't had a chance to test my fighting abilities since I got the lab's legacy."

"Although we did not directly achieve our original goal of getting the church to block food shipments, we did obtain a lot of useful information."

“The most important point is that Saint-Sel is behind Oris.” Trier turned his head and looked through the car window at the street covered with water droplets and stains. “Vicington didn’t seem to be planning to tell me this. No matter how much I threatened him, he wasn’t really affected. But after I casually treated the dancer, he revealed this crucial information. It was an unexpected stroke of luck.”

He silently called out to the system again in his mind, looking at his own [Lawful Good] alignment.

"It can be considered that good people are rewarded."

At that moment, Trier's gaze suddenly sharpened.

Amidst the dull patter of the downpour, several very familiar figures emerged from the side door of the tavern—the bald judge, his female barbarian henchmen, and the earth gnome Yorle.

P.S.: I'm really sorry, I've been busy with real-world matters the past few days. I'm sending this red envelope to express my apologies.

To allow more people to receive it, I've decided to issue four 50-yuan prizes instead. Readers who have already received one, please do not claim it again. Thank you.

Chapter 141 Elves and Princesses (Part 1)

Half a minute ago——

Pushing open the metal door of the wine cellar, the barbarian woman, Jia Erbei, came outside.

The rain was heavy, there was no starlight outside, and the streets and alleys were pitch black. She stopped to listen. The noisy, cold rain was mixed with the howling sea wind. The wind brushed against her golden hair. In the sound of the wind, she could vaguely hear the "crack" of breaking glass and a woman's scream.

Jiaerbei knew that the voices came from the city beneath her feet, but from a very far corner of the city—although the urban planning of Erlav City was far from comparable to the Great Swamp's City That Never Sleeps, it was already magnificent enough.

The cold water droplets hitting the bridge of my nose dispelled the unease and anger I felt after being reprimanded by the Virgin Torri chief.

“Safe,” she called out to the dark side door of the wine cellar. “There’s nothing here but rain.”

The judge and the goblin quickly climbed up. Although the judge still wore his usual indifferent expression, Jia Erbei could still read a hint of dissatisfaction in his cold blue eyes.

"This is outrageous! We completed the mission but were still scolded. I just don't understand. He's a great shaman, why does he have to cause trouble for a little girl?" Jia Erbei complained casually. "It's unbelievable! We almost died, and there was no reward, only scolding."

In the simple analogy of the female barbarian worldview, Bishop Vercingetorie, as a legendary spellcaster and clergyman, can be roughly equivalent to the high shaman of the Lorster clan and the powerful necromancer of the City of the Nightless.

Jiaerbei knew that the Inquisitor, as a powerful vampire, did not need to breathe, but he still pretended to take a deep breath: "Don't complain, and don't ask too many questions. The less you know about certain things, the safer you are."

“Heh, what’s so mysterious about it? I’m not completely ignorant about magic. That little girl is definitely going to be sacrificed. Shamans and necromancers love to do these kinds of sacrifices.” Jia’erbei snorted and glanced at the Inquisitor and the earth gnome Yorle with considerable dissatisfaction. “If you ask me, if he wants to live a few more years, he might as well just become a vampire.”

The judge pursed her lips, her pale blue eyes shifting slightly as she stared intently at Jia Erbei: "Stop talking, Jia Erbei. Becoming a vampire isn't a good thing..."

Before he could finish speaking, the judge suddenly fell silent and turned his head to look at the empty street.

A rather ornate carriage was parked alone on the street. Following the judge's gaze, Jia Erbei noticed that he was watching the coachman changing the reins of the horse.

The coachman wore a black coat embroidered with gold thread, and his face was deathly pale. Jia Erbei could tell at a glance that the coachman was also a vampire.

As far as Jia Erbei knows, due to the distribution of blood abilities, the relationship between vampires of the same bloodline is generally extremely tense, and even vampire derivatives are always ready to betray their masters and take their place.

However, due to the strict and cruel hierarchy among vampires, although they are hostile to each other, none of them dare to openly clash.

But at this moment, the judge greeted the coachman quite sincerely.

The blonde barbarian scratched her head. She had been making a living with a greatsword in the Kingdom of Orko for almost five years, but she still couldn't understand why the vampires here neither attacked ordinary citizens nor attacked each other.

Perhaps it was a blessing from the radiant light? She pondered for a long time, but ultimately gave up on the thought, which was destined to be futile.

Although Jiaerbei has always been simple-minded and not good at thinking, she enjoys thinking. She likes the feeling of information flowing through the crevices of her brain, which reminds her of cracking someone's skull with the hilt of a sword.

Soon her wandering thoughts turned to the carriage and the passengers inside.

The female barbarian immediately began a brainstorming session.

Vampires are all powerful, so that vampire dressed as a coachman must be acting as a bodyguard. Ha, and the people sitting in the carriage must be some cowardly and weak nobles.

Although the Kingdom of Orco has a particularly high proportion of powerful warriors and fighters, true strongmen cannot hide in carriages! Those sitting in carriages are definitely the kind of people who are as fragile as skeletons. If they were put into the Great Swamp, they would have been eliminated long ago!

If I wanted to, I could easily snap the necks of those weaklings with one hand. Jiaerbei, you're amazing! You have such a brilliant mind and a strong physique!