Azure Scepter

Page 37

She squinted slightly and began to observe carefully.

The light spot on the left hand looked like a familiar human figure, its warmth like that of the sun; while the light spot on the right hand was two human figures, their dazzling brilliance almost piercing through the mist.

"A guiding angel?!" Noi's heart skipped a beat, but then she felt a little down. "Can I really still enter the radiant divine kingdom?"

She took off the holy emblem hanging on her chest and prayed softly. A moment later, a warm and bright beam of light appeared in her palm like a lantern.

Noi stared blankly at the light spot in his palm: "I can still cast light spells through prayer—I can still enter the realm of the gods."

"But which side should we choose?"

She hesitated for a moment, then, guided by a vague premonition, chose the familiar human figure on her left.

The icy fog churned, like a cold, indifferent sea that swallowed everything. Noi, carrying the warm light in his hand, moved forward to the left, one step at a time, the fog barely touching the surface.

The closer you get, the clearer the comforting warmth becomes, and the more distinct the familiar outline becomes.

Suddenly, a chilling murmur rang in my ears, and the gray mist instantly dissipated as if it had been washed away by a water gun.

Noi raised her head blankly, and she finally saw the familiar figure clearly.

“Trier!?” She stared in surprise.

The paladin radiated a warm, golden light, and a dazzling, holy aura scattering around him, making him appear like the sun.

The next moment, the paladin gently opened his hand, and the knife-like cold mist was instantly bound by cage-like black lines. Those black lines, which looked extremely evil, were obediently swirling around him like a vortex, along with the gray mist.

Noi reached out to touch the other, but the sharp, sinister lines firmly blocked her fingers.

“As expected, Noy’s soul belongs to Losevie.” She heard the paladin mutter to himself, “First, confuse, mislead, and frame; second, sever Noy’s contract with Losevie; third, counter any possible backlash.”

Following Trier's gaze, Noy looked down at her ankle and was startled—she saw scarlet, decaying chains, one end of which seemed to stretch to the distant horizon, while the other end was fastened to her right ankle.

Noi continued looking into the distance to her right and saw two humanoid orbs of light—Harlan's spirit and an angel!

The angel wore a winged helmet, with several strands of fiery red hair cascading down from the gaps in the helmet like a waterfall. At this moment, she looked at Trier with astonishment, while the spirit of Harlan beside her was also filled with shock.

"Is he really a paladin? He actually wants to enslave other people's souls!" The angel's eyes widened as she asked Harlan in astonishment.

Harlan paused for a moment, then said, "He must have his own reasons."

“This is going too far no matter what, he is a paladin!” the angel said in a deep voice. “We must act and not let him fall.”

“He must have his reasons.” Harlan’s spirit voice rose in pitch. “He saved the town. He never made a mistake. When we were fighting against evil, you stood by and did nothing; and now that evil has been destroyed, you’re out here trying to sabotage his plans!”

Ignoring Harlan's protests, the angel extended her right hand, and a sword burning with holy flames appeared out of thin air in her grasp. A deep, blasphemous incantation echoed through the room, and the angel's wings suddenly flapped as she charged towards Trier, the pure white holy flames slicing through the air like the tail of a comet.

"Watch out!" Noi tried to scream a warning, but she couldn't make a sound. She could only watch helplessly as the blade slashed towards the magic circle beneath Trier's feet.

Time seemed to stand still.

The next instant, everything around them began to disintegrate and collapse like a toy made of quicksand. Clumps of black shadows emerged from every corner, and endless whispers seemed to lurk within them. A stench, like that of rotting hairy rats, suddenly burst forth.

"This soul belongs to me." The whisper suddenly transformed into a chilling, decaying female voice, as cold as a thousand-year-old glacier. "In the name of the King, I command you to immediately cease this illegal act... Rakward, what's wrong with you?"

Green mold and dark blue ice crystals suddenly appeared out of thin air from the shadows of the outer wall, and then began to spread rapidly. They swept over everything around them like a tidal wave, and then rushed towards Trier, who was casting a spell, like a sharp sword piercing his heart.

The ice crystals and mold resembled an ever-expanding sphere of mercury, slowing the movement of everything covered within them. Even a wisp of gray, negative energy mist, once tainted, slowed and stagnated like a droplet of water trapped in viscous amber...

The angel approaching Trier suddenly stopped, her movements abruptly halting, and her pure white feathers fell like petals.

The next moment, without hesitation, she turned her sword and slashed at the approaching mold.

The holy sword cleaved the ground, and the earth shattered and cracked as if struck by a giant hammer. The ground trembled as if an earthquake had struck, and the already decaying eastern outer wall collapsed under the strong tremor, with countless stones and fallen trees crashing down.

However, this attack did not stop the strange mold. Ice shards and mold clung to the holy sword like insects, then spiraled and spread toward the hilt and the angel's right hand holding the sword.

The angel's right hand moved rather slowly for a moment, but she still gripped her sword resolutely and slashed at the dark shadows from which mold was emerging once more.

"Ah."

A disdainful sneer seemed to come from the shadows.

Suddenly, Noy noticed a smile flash across Trier's face, and the next moment, Trier clenched his palms together.

"Bang!" In an instant, the death wind and negative energy, which had been twisted into thin threads, suddenly sliced ​​through the chains binding Noi, and then swept across the outer wall and shadows that had crumbled into dust.

The low murmurs suddenly dissipated, and the subtle sense of spatial dislocation returned abruptly. The cold, putrid stench was masked by another, even stronger and colder stench—the unstoppable mold had vanished, as if everything that had just happened was merely an illusion.

A brief silence fell over the room as the angel silently retreated behind Harlan.

“It really isn’t good at necromancy. It seems the rest of the preparations won’t be needed.” Suddenly, Trier’s muttering broke the silence, “—The fourth step, fulfill my promise.”

The winds of death surged once more. Crimson chains bound Noy, but she did not resist; in fact, she sat down with apparent ease.

Noi suddenly realized that he could speak.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Reduce some of the perverted ideas."

"How was the ritual I drew?" Noy asked with a smile. "Wasn't it very, very good?"

"It's a complete disaster—and prepare a redemption spell for tomorrow."

“By the radiance above, what blasphemy this is! Redemption is reserved for those who truly repent!” the angel whispered, turning his head. “By the way, can they not even see us?”

Hearing the angels' whispers, Noi couldn't help but laugh.

Chapter 66 Urgent Matter

The afternoon sun was warm and gentle, and a leisurely breeze brushed against the hair by my ears, the strands of hair brushing against my face, making it slightly itchy.

Fatih squinted and yawned.

Although there are still many wandering undead in the town, the undead, having lost all their organization, no longer pose a threat to the survivors. People are eliminating the scattered undead at an extremely fast, safe, and efficient pace.

After realizing that the high-ranking undead that kept resurrecting had escaped, the cowardly and timid Olius transformed back into a dragon. He then actively stayed with the soldiers, launching heavy attacks on the scattered zombies.

If all goes well, enough safe zones should be created by tonight.

Although the air after the rain still carried the smell of blood, the fresh scent of earth still invigorated Futia.

Since setting foot on human soil in the Kingdom of Orco, she had been on edge. For the first time in months, she felt a long-lost sense of ease and joy.

Especially when she recalled the events that had happened in quick succession over the past three days, she felt a light, dreamlike sensation.

"I've become a hero too," she thought. "Maybe this story can even get back to Everlasting Island!"

Futia let her thoughts drift in her fantasies, and as she thought, even the distant sun seemed to smile.

"Next, I'll capture that evil Bishop Vercingetorie, bring him to justice, and avenge my sister; then I'll become a renowned military attaché abroad, proving my mother's teachings were absolutely correct, and those stubborn academics will definitely regret it..."

Faudia's daydreams became increasingly bizarre. She gradually imagined herself taking over as ambassador, then becoming governor, and then Trier and her mother being genuinely amazed by her achievements. Finally, she would completely subdue Trier with her overwhelming power.

Upon realizing this, she couldn't help but reveal a slightly silly smile.

Suddenly, the dwarf blacksmith came running over, panting, and said, "Torrag's hammer, Fydea, I've finally found you!"

"Huh?" Futia's eyes gradually regained focus.

"We found a large quantity of diamonds on the second floor of the town hall! Go quickly to Lord Trier, Ms. Neuer, everyone is ready for treatment now!"

"Have they not returned yet?"

The dwarf shook his head. Just then, another soldier, covered in blood and with an extremely serious expression, walked over.

“Madam, I am the standard-bearer appointed by His Excellency Trier,” the soldier said. “We have just found many new survivors in the prison, and we have also found some scattered around while clearing the streets. There are now nearly forty more people here, and we hope you can make arrangements as soon as possible.”

“What about Harlan?” Fythia asked in surprise. “Hasn’t he always been in charge of these things?”

The soldier shook his head: "I'm sorry, Madam, Sir Trier, I can't find Sir Harlan or Sister Neuy right now. I'm afraid you'll have to make the decision."

Suddenly, another strong voice rang out: "The new survivors are fighting! Please think of a solution quickly!"

A barrage of things suddenly came crashing down on her, catching Frodia completely off guard. She suddenly realized that she was probably not cut out for the governorship, because she already felt a profound sense of powerlessness as she faced hundreds of people and a constant stream of tasks...

"That's enough!" Fythia was dizzy from listening to all this, so she quickly said, "I'll go find them. You can take care of things here for now!"

"Then you'd better hurry," the standard-bearer said sternly.

Futia nodded, picked up her weapon, and strode out of the room: "Of course."

Stepping outside, her mood improved again, and she couldn't help but hum the traditional fairy tune "Misty Waters," her ethereal voice drifting on the wind and echoing in the courtyard.

—However, it wasn't until the last rays of the setting sun were about to disappear below the horizon that she found Trill among a pile of zombie remains.

"Tick."

Decaying blood dripped from the corpse's fingers onto the ground, and the zombie's murky eyes stared blankly at the ground covered in a pool of scarlet blood.

Her deerskin boots sank into the pool of blood. The next moment, Futia bent down and gently picked up a handful of embers.

“It’s the embers of the Holy Flame,” she muttered to herself. “Judging from the temperature of the burns, Trier shouldn’t be far off.”

At that moment, she suddenly heard a question filled with pain, followed by the sound of flesh being torn apart by steel.

"Why?! -- Pfft!"

Fatiah carefully hid in the shadows and slowly walked toward the direction of the sound.

Soon, she saw two figures in the blood-red afterglow of the sunset—Terry and Noy.

Futia was about to go out and say hello, but just as she was about to leave the shadows, her movements suddenly froze.

“Something’s not right.” She frowned slightly. “Harlan should be with them, and…”

Her gaze swept over the two corpses at Trier's feet.

One corpse was a rather burly cultist with bruises on his face, and the other was a corpse wearing a tattered priest's robe; both were covered in purple dust.

Fythia's gaze sharpened. She remembered the corpse dressed in tattered priest's robes, the one she had shot dead with an arrow—the first cultist they had encountered yesterday after sneaking through the undead horde.

Even more bizarrely, Trier was talking to himself in front of the empty street, while Noe next to him did not react at all; she remained motionless, as if she had been petrified.

Fatiya suddenly felt a dry mouth. She took a deep breath and crept forward with extreme caution.

Suddenly, Noi, who had been standing still, turned her head, and her ruby-like eyes met Fytia's.

Noi's eyes seemed to possess a dreamlike, alluring quality, almost capable of captivating the soul. At this moment, Noi's clear, watery eyes reflected Futia's surprised expression, and with just a fleeting glance, Futia felt a slight tremor in her heart.

Futia quickly averted her gaze, just in time to see Noi's pale, almost transparent hand. In the afterglow, fine dust swirled around the pale blue veins on the back of Noi's hand, and her pale skin seemed to radiate a faint glow. Undoubtedly, Noi was currently exuding a strange, hazy charm, but for some reason, Futia vaguely sensed that something was amiss with the nun.

A hidden inspiration was about to burst forth, like a thunderclap lurking in the clouds, but she could never grasp that ghostly feeling.

Suddenly, Trier's reassuring voice broke her secret thoughts: "Are you alright?"

The deep, slow voice dispelled the unease in Fythia's heart, and she laughed, "Of course, what were you doing just now?"

Trier pointed to the corpse on the ground: "Fulfill your promise and destroy evil."

Futia glanced at the corpse on the ground out of the corner of her eye—a sharp sword wound ran across the neck of the burly cultist, and the smell of rust, still warm from the blood, slowly filled the air.

"Has someone asked you to take revenge?" she asked tentatively.

Trier sheathed his blood-stained sword: "Someone entrusted me with the task of reuniting with their lover, and I kept my promise—by the way, Futia, is something urgent coming up?"

The elf recounted the chaotic situation of the survivors in detail, and at the end of her account, she asked curiously, "Triel, do you know where the religious fanatic went? He went to find you with Noy."

Trier remained silent for a long time, then said in a deep voice, "He died trying to save me."

Upon hearing the news of her friend's death, Futia felt a sense of unreality. She was stunned for a moment, then asked incredulously, "Harlan, dead?"

Trier nodded heavily: "Dead."

A ray of golden afterglow fell on the ground, and Noi suddenly lowered his eyelids. Only then did Futia realize that the other party had actually put on the cursed robe "Growing Cold".

—That must have been an exceptionally arduous and bloody battle, Futia thought.

She wanted to say something, but the strange atmosphere made any words seem inappropriate, so she silently watched the setting sun recede into the distance.

Suddenly, Futia noticed a strange detail.

Noy had a blooming golden iris tucked behind her ear. In the afterglow, the edges of the iris seemed to shimmer—yet the edges of the iris were covered with charred black spots, like mold spreading deep into the iris's pistil!

This is a sign that a spirit is nearby!

In the dazzling afterglow of the sunset, a strange inspiration flashed into Fythia's mind like lightning, and she suddenly reached out and grabbed Noy's fingers.

"Snapped!"

Chapter 67 Footprints

"Snapped!"

Fythia grabbed Noy's fingers, which were as cold as ice crystals—but her grip did not go straight through as expected.

Without a doubt, Noi was not a spirit bound; she guessed wrong...