Azure Scepter

Page 66

P.S.: Transitional chapters are so hard to write... QWQ

Chapter 130 Trust

“You didn’t know that the blood plague spreads through food?” Trier raised an eyebrow. “This information is very important. Hult should have already reported it to Edith.”

The head of the intelligence agency, Nordman, remained silent for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh: "Damn Oris, he must have been hiding information. That beast, he must have done this to seize power!"

Trier did not respond; he looked back at the soldiers distributing salted fish.

Amidst the wind and rain, the black and white robes of the Radiant Cult clergy could be seen beneath the yellow robes of the guards. On a nearby high point, a knight wielding a kite-shaped shield was issuing commands loudly. Raindrops fell, making the black shrike painted on the shield appear as if it were weeping.

The black shrike is the coat of arms of the local nobles, and the people distributing the food are not the kingdom's survey team at all.

Trier narrowed his eyes.

—Hult’s direct informant was Princess Edith, and Vercingetorius was also present at the time. So, assuming that Oris chose to conceal this important information for some unknown reason, he would have to persuade both Vercingetorius and Edith at the same time, which was obviously not easy.

Therefore, from a more logical perspective, Nordmann's conjecture is untenable. The fact that Nordmann, as the head of intelligence, was unaware of this crucial information is less due to conflict between the investigation team and the local nobles, and more due to internal conflicts among the local nobles themselves.

Compared to the hypothesis that Oris withheld information, Trier is more inclined to believe that some people within the local faction withheld information from Nordmann, and this "some" certainly includes Vercingetorie.

The cold raindrops hit his face, and Trier perked up. He wiped them away and glanced at the spymaster.

Nordman fell silent, his face expressionless, seemingly realizing that the people distributing the salted fish were not members of the investigation team.

Trier had anticipated the complexity of the situation in Erlav, so he wasn't surprised—internal strife among the nobles of the Southern Duchy was normal; it would be strange if they didn't. Even in the face of a true apocalypse, without effective organization, people would most likely fight to the death over who would die first and who would die last.

The refugees received their food in turn, and they were strictly controlled on the right side of the road, while the left side was deliberately left empty by the organizers to keep traffic flowing smoothly.

The infantry was not hindered by the crowd. Under the numb gaze of the skeletal crowd, the infantrymen quickly passed the stone ruins that served as a command post.

The rain poured down, the sound of rain clashing. The knight with the kite-shaped shield roared at Nordman, "Lord, where is that handsome, lucky fellow?"

“It’s resolved,” Nordman replied in a muffled voice.

"What? By the Radiance, speak louder! I can't hear you!"

"I said, it's solved!"

"It's long overdue to stomp this annoying flea!" the kite-shield knight exclaimed gleefully.

—The conflict between the local nobles and the investigation team has become semi-public. Trier shook his head almost imperceptibly.

As one of the twelve outer towns of Eraf, Eradon is naturally quite large, and it naturally has more than one relief point within it.

After turning five streets and passing through more than a dozen crowded relief stations, Trier finally managed to get close to the north gate of the inner city.

Strictly speaking, Eraf is only truly known in the narrow sense of the city, behind the majestic north gate. The gate itself is forged entirely of black, cold iron, perfectly unified and exceptionally grand. With magical aids in its construction, its size and scale reached an inhuman level; the arched gate is large enough to make even the frost giants of the frigid lands appear as tiny pedestrians beneath it.

Since Losevie expanded Eraf, this city gate has withstood hundreds of years of wind and rain, yet the firing ports and oil traps on the arch, as well as the ritual circle inscribed with the "Protection from Fire" magic, remain as they were.

The majestic city gates, resembling mountains, acted as a screen, isolating the chaotic and dilapidated outer city. The protruding stone pillars and battlements carved with magical rituals on the outer walls seemed to watch over the outside world with the ruthlessness of metal golems.

Along the way, besides the desolate and bleak landscape, Trier also saw at least three large groups of newly infected and transformed Blood Plague zombies, as well as several times that number of dead. The bodies were not collected in time; most of the dead were simply wrapped hastily in linen and carelessly left on the streets.

Besides the rampant blood plague and the usual famine, Trier, with his extraordinary senses, also caught a glimpse of a strange alleyway very close to the city gate.

The alley was filled with mummies, all of whom wore strange smiles. The walls on either side of the corpses were covered with gray thorns, and among the thorns were the marks of demon worshippers drawn with dried blood—hearts entwined by thorns, with flowers blooming in the atrium.

However, the large number of guards at the city gate ignored this, simply placing a chevaux-de-frise at the entrance of the alley and refusing to collect the bodies.

“The outer city is completely out of control; they simply don’t have the capacity to manage so many people,” Trier thought. “The situation is far from optimistic.”

The journey through the city gates into the inner city went very smoothly, and the officers guarding the gates did not obstruct them in any way. The infantry barracks were located under the outer tower behind the northern barbican, so the infantry, led by Nordmann's deputy, went straight back to camp.

At this moment, Trier stood on the wide and deserted street of Dragonclaw Avenue, with sewage flowing across the cobblestone pavement beneath his feet, and the pure white and holy Star Tower reflected in the rain.

"Boom!" Another thunderclap streaked across the sky.

“A riot is brewing.” Nordman’s expression was grim, his damp beard already matted. “Elf, if you ever see Oris, you must tell this divine revealer a profound truth: people will starve to death if they don’t have enough to eat, but those who starve to death will never sit idly by and wait for their demise.”

Trier knew the spymaster was right; whether it was to carry out the massacres in advance or to establish a more comprehensive relief system, they had to prepare as soon as possible—even without instigation, an uprising was imminent.

“Alright.” Unusually, Futia did not refute or speak sarcastically. She pursed her lips, looking somewhat sad. “Wet Beard, I understand your concerns, but I am also willing to believe in His Highness Edith.”

“Expressing concerns and shouting slogans is easy, but solving problems is incredibly difficult.” Nordman, who had been given a nickname, sneered. “To be honest, in terms of indifference and arrogance, this prince is no different from us.”

“She’s in trouble…” Futia’s voice trailed off—she suddenly remembered her experience in Beaver Town, where the situation was much worse than here, but unlike Edith, Trier, after becoming a paladin, shattered all those seemingly unsolvable problems in a very short time.

Perhaps the difficulties are just some kind of excuse I'm subconsciously using to help my friend? If Trier really stands against Edith, then what should I do?

The apocalyptic desolation along the way seemed to seep into Futia's heart, and she felt a sense of powerlessness and oppression.

"Come on," Nordman scoffed, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. "Our princess is completely subservient to her teacher; she's nothing but a puppet. She may know what's right, but she can't do anything."

“Alright, let’s part ways here.” After a long silence, Trier interrupted the spymaster’s incessant complaints, “Fodia, as planned, you and Silent will take the demon worshippers on the ground to the upper city to find Edith. I will come to find you later.”

Trier looked down at the boy at his feet, whose limbs had been dislocated. To prevent the boy from talking nonsense, the cold-blooded spy chief had cut off the boy's tongue with a smile shortly after they set off. Nordman's explanation was that demon worshippers could heal their wounds quickly anyway, and they could just put it back on when they needed to ask questions.

Turning back again, Trier was stunned.

For the first time since meeting Fythia, Trier had seen a pleading look on an elf's face. Her pale, damp face held a melancholy air, and her blue eyes seemed to shimmer with tears.

“Trier, they really can’t be trusted.”

The time traveler subconsciously recalled the scene when he first met the elf. The pale, tired, and proud face of the past gradually overlapped with the pleading face now smelling of damp rain.

A strange, inexplicable feeling of weakness flashed through his chest, and Trier took a deep breath to dispel the inexplicable pity.

"Trust me," Trier said softly, looking directly into the elf's moist eyes.

Fythia's eyes remained fixed on Trier. She didn't speak, and after a long while, she looked away and nodded silently.

P.S.: After much thought, I've decided not to change it. I'm truly at a loss when it comes to handling emotional scenes amidst disaster QWQ

Chapter 131 Tracking (Part 1)

Large raindrops slammed into the ground, making a series of muffled thuds.

Fythia grabbed the edge of the hood and pulled it down hard. After a moment, she felt a little warmer.

By this time, she had parted ways with Trier. She was continuing along Dragonclaw Avenue to reach the Upper City and contact Edith.

The drainage system in Erlav is outstanding. The cobblestone pavement is wide and has an overall arc-shaped cross-section. The dirty rainwater, carrying unknown debris, flows at an angle into the drainage holes next to the curb and then rolls into the drainage pipes.

Through the puddles on the ground, Futia saw her reflection—slender and thin, with a skin so pale it was almost dazzling, and her shoulders under her cloak trembling slightly from the cold. She looked like a piece of white paper drifting in the wind.

Behind them, the undead, whom Trier called "Silence," was roughly dragging the subdued boy by the hair as they marched forward. The boy's face slammed against the stone slabs, and he rolled into the sewage, blood mingling with the rainwater and splashing everywhere.

It must be admitted that Trier's level of undead creation has reached an unbelievable level. Judging from its appearance alone, "Silence" has no characteristics of an undead. It is covered in armor and looks like the most typical warrior, the kind of warrior who is as silent as a stone in ordinary times, but as ruthless as a viper when he strikes.

If Trier hadn't admitted it himself, Futia felt she would never have been able to tell that "Silence" was an undead with an extremely exaggerated fighting power.

Thinking of this, a sense of sadness welled up in Faudia's heart. Although rationally she understood Trier's decision to go see Vercingetorie first, emotionally she felt a melancholy, a feeling like the gray winter sky, or the dilapidated ruins of the outer city covered with desolate white weeds.

Fythia took a deep breath, trying to use reason to analyze her complex feelings at this moment: "My chest feels empty, and my emotions tell me that I am helpless again. I hate this feeling—no, to be precise, I am afraid of this feeling."

"First I relied on my mother, but she never cared about me again after I gave up the path of magic; then I relied on my sister, but she is dead; now, I'm trying to rely on Trier..."

"To be honest, there might be a hint of jealousy in this feeling that I can't quite explain myself."

The elf brushed her wet hair with her fingers, raindrops dripping from her fingertips. She stared blankly at the water's surface, then sighed.

“You are twenty-four years old this year, Futia. If you are human, you have already lived nearly half of your life. You should not rely on anyone.”

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" Three bolts of lightning ripped through the night sky behind the Star Tower. Futia's pointed ears twitched, and she could faintly hear the sound of horses' hooves splashing water behind her.

She didn't turn around, but instead glanced quickly in the reflection of the glass windows of the buildings along the street.

The streets were sparsely populated, but through the rain, a heavily armored mounted soldier could be seen at the end of the street. He made no attempt to conceal his presence and leisurely stopped about a block away from him.

The sergeant was wearing a scarlet smock with a hound's head embroidered in black thread—he was sent by the chief spymaster, and he was brazenly tracking her!

Fatiya's sadness vanished instantly, and her mind, which had been somewhat stiff from the cold, gradually became active again.

She knew the first question she needed to consider was whether or not to just kill the tracker.

The thought lingered in her mind for only a moment before Fythia dismissed it—the other party hadn't yet made any substantial hostile moves, and she didn't want to kill anyone indiscriminately.

Therefore, the option is very clear: use your professional skills to get rid of the other party's pursuit.

Although she is very, very young by elf standards, she is definitely an expert in tracking and counter-tracking from the perspective of ranger abilities.

Futia rubbed her frozen, pointed ears, her azure eyes taking the opportunity to glance at her surroundings.

About eighty paces ahead, there was a side road. According to Faucia's memory, there was a narrow alley in the middle of this side road. Theoretically, turning into the alley would allow them to shake off the pursuers, since the alley was very narrow and the horse could not pass through easily.

"Silence" continued to drag the boy along, oblivious to his surroundings, faithfully carrying out Trier's final orders—to protect Futia so she could see Edith and to escort the demon worshipper boy.

They were getting closer to the side road. A merchant wearing a thick brocade cloak and a velvet coat stood under the eaves, his coat open to reveal a white linen shirt underneath, puffing on his pipe. Upon seeing Futia, the merchant's lips immediately curled into a sneer.

"First the undead, then the demon worshippers, and now even the elves have appeared. It's all in chaos." The merchant's voice was gloomy. Then, he seemed to see the boy being "silenced" by the undead and being roughly dragged, and he froze.

"Clatter." The pipe fell to the ground and was then crushed into pieces by the undead's iron boots.

The merchant dared not say anything more and simply opened the door and ran inside.

Despite the discrimination, Futia wasn't angry; she had already come to the conclusion: "Don't go into the alley."

The option of slipping into the alley to shake off the pursuers seems simple and effective, but in Faudia's experience, a duchy's chief spymaster couldn't be that foolish—the pursuers were too swaggering, and pursuing on horseback was a bit too deliberate.

So the answer is obvious: the person on horseback was an obvious target to attract attention, there were other stalkers, and the other party even wanted to drive her into the alley.

She did not quicken her pace, but slowly crossed the intersection of the side road.

With her eyes closed, Futia recalled the pedestrians she had seen along the way.

Faces flashed through her mind, and soon she remembered one person—she had seen a soldier near the spy chief Nordman in the evening. Unlike the other elite infantrymen who wore cloaks, plate armor, chainmail, and cotton armor, this soldier was very thin and only wore a dull gray leather armor.

Before she made formal contact with the head of the intelligence agency, Futia, with her exceptional perception, vaguely heard the head of the agency refer to him as "Williams".

"I've found you," Futia thought.

The businessman who was standing on the street corner just now was Williams in disguise.

Chapter 132 Tracking (Part Two)

Williams changed his attire, put on sophisticated makeup, increased his height, and deliberately made his waistline thicker. Fauci even suspected that he had used appearance-altering magic.

However, whether it's makeup or magic that changes appearance, some details can never be changed, including gait frequency, stride length, breathing rate, and eye spacing.

Memorizing details such as the cadence, stride length, and breathing rate of people you've met might sound like something out of a fairy tale, but it's not difficult for Futia.

Her observation and memory skills have always been exceptional—so exceptional that even her legendary mage mother was amazed. To this day, Futia still clearly remembers the explosive data her mother unconsciously recited when she was a child. In short, she was born with the ability to remember everything she saw.

“Williams must be a high-ranking rogue. He may possess the ability to move through shadows, which would be extremely useful for tracking people in alleyways.” Fythia glanced quickly behind her and saw Williams, dressed as a businessman, standing behind the window, silently watching her.

White Harbor's domed secondary city gate, Green Road Crystal Glass Museum, Red Brick Bishop's Fine Wine Brothel—after turning several corners of the main streets, Futia finally managed to shake off the mounted soldiers who were openly following her. However, every time Futia glanced into the shadows, she could still see Williams, who was like a persistent ghost.

The opponent's hiding skills are excellent, but Fati's searching skills are even better.

"I need to find a group of people." After failing to shake off Williams's pursuit once again, Fauci made up her mind.

The melodious sound of a violin drifted from overhead, and a woman's ethereal voice came from the second floor of the fine wine brothel. The scent of vulgar rouge and perfume had been dispersed by the downpour, but the sweet fragrance was still so strong that it made Futia's nose itch.

She's allergic to these things...

Even with the rampant blood plague, it seems that the threat of death cannot stop these humans' desire for pleasure.

"The demon worshippers are definitely here. Don't try to protect them. Lord Oris's wrath will burn away your despicable desires! Be careful! Beware of your souls falling into the bottomless abyss!" Under the luxuriously designed sky bridge, a blond man dressed as a paladin stood alone, urgently admonishing the madam who was dressed in an elegant, low-cut black dress.

But this advice was obviously ineffective. The madam chuckled and laughed, her body shaking with laughter: "Oh my, what a rare guest! You're actually a paladin! Your skills must be as good as the seven weapons you carry."

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Futia squeezed past the madam.

"Watch where you're going, you little sprite!" The young-looking madam waved her peacock feather fan with displeasure, her tone becoming sharp. "Rude! Utterly rude!"

“You must be hiding a succubus here! Look at this horrific series of murders!” the blond paladin persisted.

The madam's voice was playful: "Clever paladin, according to you, there's no one alive here."

Then came a scream, the madam's playful words instantly replaced by an angry shriek: "Hey, hey, how can you all be so barbaric! Radiance, why are you dragging someone along?! Paladin! Paladin! Help him!"

The "Silence" technique, which drags the boy's spirit into the dead, perfectly replicates Futia's path...

“He is not evil; the one on the ground is.” The paladin seemed to have used the Detect Evil technique, and his tone was certain.

—The sound of violins faded away, the arguments gradually receded, and Futia breathed a sigh of relief.

This time we should be able to shake off the tracking.

"Crack!" A sycamore tree planted by the roadside was battered by the strong wind and a branch was suddenly flung off.

Fatih instinctively dodged, and through the swaying branches of the sycamore tree, she saw Williams dressed as a businessman again from the second-floor window ahead.

"Just as annoying as Noi!" Futia felt a surge of anger.

She glanced around again, and then her eyes lit up—in front of the magnificent Longwen Pass, which leads to the upper city, a crowd of people dressed in fine clothes had gathered!