Azure Scepter

Page 157

At this moment, all the light vanished, and everything fell into a dark and silent void, like a black hole.

Trier was released, and Cohen's soul returned to the other's body.

"Clap."

In Trier's divine vision, a drop of almost imperceptible golden liquid spilled from Cohen's soul and then slowly dripped to the soles of his feet.

Trier subconsciously looked down, and his dark pupils immediately contracted slightly.

He recognized the golden liquid.

That is the blood of God.

Trier looked thoughtfully up and glanced at his drunken Uncle Cohen again.

"How is it? Is it an illusion or a soul?" Cohen asked, clutching his head, his voice trembling. "Radiance, this really hurts."

"Where is that dark figure now?" Trier asked in a deep voice.

"Radiance..."

Cohen clutched his head, gritted his teeth, and knelt on the ground. He suddenly raised his head, his eyes bulging out, looking as ferocious as a demon.

“It… ah, my head, it… it’s backed up?! It’s back behind you now, Trier.”

Trier sighed and then helped his frail uncle to a chair.

He turned around, walked to the reception room, and used his "magic hand" to take ten bottles of wine.

Looking at the fine wine before him, Cohen suddenly fell silent. After a moment, he raised his face, which was covered in cold sweat, and casually raised an eyebrow: "Am I doomed?"

Trier didn't answer. He used a tapping technique to open a bottle of wine and then silently handed it to Uncle Cohen.

Cohen took the wine and drank it all in one gulp.

“Just say what you have to say, Trier. I’m not that fragile,” Cohen said rather nonchalantly. “I’m used to pain and misfortune. I’m not afraid of death, so don’t hesitate, just say it.”

“One good news, one bad news.” Trier pondered for a moment, then held up one finger.

Chapter 303 Coercion

"Let's start with the good news," Cohen said, opening another bottle of wine.

Trier pulled out a chair and sat down himself: "You certainly have a good attitude."

Cohen shook his head.

“By the radiance above, I have long been familiar with suffering and misfortune since childhood. It is a complete bitch; the weaker you are, the more pleased it becomes,” he said in a deep voice.

"From another perspective, suffering and misfortune are like the white canvas under an oil painting; the closer you get to them, the more precious the few moments of solace and happiness seem—Trier, stop rambling. My struggle may end in failure, but I will never give up the struggle."

Trier said in a deep voice, "The good news is, you might not die."

"Then it seems my end will be worse than death," Cohen laughed nonchalantly. "This is the punishment I deserve, after all, I killed my father. So, what's the bad news?"

Trier extended a second finger.

"The bad news is that you may have to confront the gods head-on."

Cohen froze, frowning incredulously before asking, "God?"

At this moment, everyone fell into complete silence; it stopped speaking.

“In short, your soul may be merging with some god.” Trier glanced at the statues of the crowd. “When the shadows completely touch you, that will be the moment for your soul duel.”

Cohen was silent for a moment, but then he broke into a bright smile: "I'll say it again, I may fail, but I will never surrender."

Trier glanced at Cohen with a complicated expression, and after a moment's hesitation, he slowly stood up.

"Take care of yourself."

He grasped Cohen's hand firmly, and after a moment's hesitation, he sincerely added the second half of his sentence: "Uncle."

Cohen shook his head.

"I'm not necessarily going to die."

After a long silence, he added, "Even if I lose, I won't beg for mercy like a maggot—I will do my best to let you know the outcome. Take care, Trier."

Trier did not respond to Cohen; he turned his head and stared directly at the faceless statue on the table.

“Saint-Sel, I know you’re here. It’s not too late to abandon your foolish plan,” he said in a deep voice. “I can forgive and forget.”

Trill's chilling words echoed in the room. As he spoke, the firelight seemed to shrink, and the damp, cold shadows spread aggressively from every corner.

An eerie silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of burning firewood and the sound of raindrops hitting the glass.

There was no other divine power to choose to respond.

“Trier, Saint Sel may be foolish, but He couldn’t be this foolish. Fusada and Losevie are our common enemies. Our plan has only just begun. Even if He is foolish, He wouldn’t choose to attack us now.” The group spoke calmly. “Besides, there’s no icon of His here. How could He possibly hear us? Trier, are you planning to turn against Him now? This is a bad timing. We still need those Asmos as cannon fodder.”

"The one plotting this conspiracy must be another god of the Radiant Church. What we need to do now is to stay united and not let suspicion and distrust destroy our connection, or let those fools' schemes succeed!" the crowd said in a deep voice. "Trill, use your brain and think about it. If we fail, do you think Fusada and Losewey will let us go?"

Trier did not respond.

After waiting for a while, Saint-Saëns still did not respond.

Trier slowly withdrew his gaze, then said softly, "Very good."

He took out the holy emblem and then looked at Cohen, who had a completely blank expression.

“I swear by my oath,” Trier said in a deep voice, gripping the holy emblem. “If you die, I will exact my revenge and annihilate every single person involved in this conspiracy!”

Thunder suddenly roared at that moment.

"Boom!"

In the darkness that seemed like an eternal night, the group silently closed the only window through which they could peek out. The firelight and lightning outside vanished instantly, and the vast silence once again enveloped everything.

However, the next moment, a holy golden light descended from the sky, transformed into raging flames, and rose up.

"Is Trier bluffing us, Saint-Sel?" The crowd stared at the golden flames and asked slowly, "Where exactly did we slip up?"

Its layered sounds echoed throughout the boundless space.

After a long while, Saint-Sel's hoarse voice came from the flames: "That doesn't matter. We are now ready to act. No matter what Trier thinks, we have to do it."

“If we mess things up, Fusada and Losewey will be laughing all the way to the bank,” the group said calmly. “Only by maintaining a delicate balance and a delicate rhythm can we reap the sweetest rewards. Perhaps it’s time to slow down.”

“Quite the opposite,” Saint-Sel said slowly. “We need to accelerate our pace further.”

"Do you really think Trier is an idiot?" the crowd asked incredulously. "You're practically trying to commit suicide!"

“From the beginning, he didn’t trust us, so what he was thinking is actually meaningless.”

Saint-Sel gave a cold laugh.

"His warning just now seemed wise, but it was actually quite foolish, which exposed his weakness—he has to cooperate with us if he wants to obtain divinity and priesthood."

"Whether it's using my Asmos to explore the Mirror City, using you to maintain the entrance, or using us to protect the Legend and deal with Loseweg, he'll have to cooperate with us with a heavy heart."

There was no response from the crowd.

Saint-Sel's analysis seemed reasonable, but in reality, it did not entirely align with the interests of the other party: Saint-Sel remained firmly within the Kingdom of God, and regardless of the success or failure of the matter, He would not be threatened by Trier in the short term, while the other party was different.

If Trier were to turn his guns on Fusada and choose to cooperate, given the latter's magical prowess, Trier would definitely be able to break the seal, pull himself out, and utterly destroy him.

Therefore, the best approach is to delay Trier's entry into the underground city of Wirth as much as possible—this is easy to do. As long as I don't participate in maintaining the entrance passage, Trier will be too busy to do so. And as long as Trier doesn't participate in the exploration, the Mirror City will be enough to engulf any mortals who attempt to venture into it.

However, this essentially rendered Saint-Ser's plan a failure.

Just as everyone was pondering, Saint-Sel's slightly mocking voice rang out again: "What, regretting it?"

The flames around the crowd brightened a bit.

"I never like to hand over my fate to others," the man said solemnly. "And I never regret any decision I've made."

Saint Seir's flames coalesced into a human form, and he said leisurely, "By the way, I have some bad news for you—if your plan was to delay Trier's actions by not participating in maintaining the entrance to the Mirror City, then your plan has already failed."

Everyone's hearts sank.

“A few weeks ago, Trier sent a mage to the Great Swamp region of the Prime Material Plane to find help. Now, that group of necromancers has arrived in the Southern Duchy.” Saint Sel sneered. “My dear followers, the question now is not what you should do, but what you can do.”

PS: This is the first update. There will be another update later.

Chapter 304 The Banshee

The sun is always particularly scorching after the rain, and the heatwave that had hit on the wedding day swept through the entire city of Wilt again at noon the next day.

With the forceful suppression, the traces of unrest and disappointment, like bloodstains washed away by rain, slowly faded from the city.

As if time had reversed, the bustling and prosperous street scene returned to the streets and alleys. Apart from a few unconscious whispers in the shadows of street corners and taverns, all the effects of the Duke's sudden death seemed to have melted away like ice in the sunlight.

In a tavern somewhere on Muddy Street.

It was lunchtime, and the tavern was packed. Sunlight filtered through the wooden partitions, and the cheap pine tables reeked of sweat. In the dim, vulgar ambiance, the stench of cheap alcohol mingled with foam and loud laughter, seeping onto the floor.

The elf Jasmine quietly pulled her hood down a little, then covered her nose.

She looked at her husband, Cyrus, who shook his head slightly at her.

Jasmine sighed, then raised her head and looked at the blind old mage opposite her with considerable disdain.

Beside the old mage sat an incredibly strong orc; and beside the orc was a strange man wearing a mechanical metal mask and metal gloves, whose every move was quite pretentious.

According to the old mage, the orc and the masked man were both necromancers from the Great Swamp, and their titles were something like "plenipotentiary representatives for the execution and exchange of spell agreements"—a rather convoluted name...

They originally intended to go directly to Erlav to find Trier, but due to the Duke's wedding, Trier was not in Erlav at the time. So they went to Wirth instead. However, once in Wirth, they were unable to reach the Golden Palace through "peaceful" means. Afterwards, the old mage found her and her husband.

Jasmine had hoped the other party would find a decent place, but these two so-called "high-level mages" actually chose such a shabby and run-down place, which was simply pathetic.

The thought that Fyodor might be enjoying an extremely expensive stew of veal in Portarán wine while she herself had to condescend to be in such a shabby tavern made Jasmine feel even worse.

Jasmine cleared her throat, intending to give a basic introduction, but at that moment, a scantily clad waitress in a low-cut short skirt nimbly approached the table with five stacked plates.

"Your grilled fish~" the waitress said sweetly.

Whether it was her imagination or not, the waitress seemed to be deliberately keeping her body low while serving the food, intentionally showing off her ample figure.

How disgusting! Vulgar, short-lived species!

Jasmine glared at the other person with displeasure.

However, the orc opposite him, upon seeing the waitress, actually pulled out a whole golden dragon!

He rested his elbows on the table, then slightly twisted his fingers, pinching the golden dragon between his thumb and forefinger.

"They really are uncivilized orcs!" Jasmine thought maliciously, but her gaze was involuntarily drawn to the gleaming golden dragon.

"Don't let anyone else come near here."

The orc's voice was flat, without any inflection, making one think of a machine.

The waitress stared at the golden dragon, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment, she nodded as if waking from a dream.

"Sir, do you need any additional services?"

"You get lost too, and don't try to be clever," the orc said in a deep voice.

With that, he flicked his finger, and the golden dragon traced an arc in the air before landing precisely in the maid's pocket.

"Thud." The golden dragon seemed to have bumped into some kind of glass in the pocket.

The waitress smiled awkwardly, then bowed slightly: "As you wish."

After the waitress had walked away, Seres explained, "That man was from the Thieves' Guild, and he might even be a spy for Nordman."

Jasmine was stunned. Only when she recalled the other woman's every move did she realize with horror that the seemingly wanton waitress was clearly a professionally trained expert.

The orc opposite nodded.

“Well said—so, I won’t waste any more words, let’s get straight to the point.”

Jasmine had originally planned to use the restaurant's poor condition as an opportunity to cause trouble, but the orc's move had completely intimidated her, so she listened obediently.

"Why don't you go directly to the guards of the Golden Palace?" Cyrus asked first. "As far as I know, they have no reason to stop you from seeing Trill."

"Something...something...something unexpected happened." Beside the orc, the strange man wearing a mechanical mask and metal gloves stammered, "I'm afraid...I'm afraid...I...I've been mistaken for someone with ulterior motives, so I need...I need..."

“You two can mediate.” The orc seemed to have had enough. He patted the metal monster on the shoulder and said, “If it’s done, I’ll give you a hundred golden dragons forged during the time of Losevie, or I’ll give you a magical weapon.”

100 golden dragons!? Jasmine's pointed ears immediately perked up.

When her husband was a count in the Kingdom of Gederan, 100 golden dragons cast by the Kingdom of Orko were not a small number!

However, Ceres didn't even lift his eyelids. He asked, "What did you do?"