Azure Scepter

Page 8

"It seems the Silent Whisperers cult in Beaver Town aren't very well organized," the paladin thought. "The ambush failed, and a spellcaster died from the backlash, preventing them from quickly devising a new plan. This either means their strength isn't actually that great, or it means the heavy casualties have severely damaged their organization."

"Or there's another possibility: this is the calm before the storm, and they're planning to hold their fists tight before making their move. If that's the case, then the Silent Whisper Society of Beaver Town is incredibly powerful."

“But in either case, it’s no longer my concern.” Trier took a deep breath, clearing his mind, put on his chainmail, picked up the backpack and weapons he had prepared the night before, and left the room.

Passing through the narrow corridor and staircase, you arrive at the hotel lobby.

The militiamen and soldiers on night watch were taking turns, while Futia was taking stock of the supplies for the trip.

She seemed to have just woken up, looking sleepy-eyed, with a few teardrops still clinging to her long eyelashes, like sweet morning dew on flowers before dawn.

"Good morning." After a night's rest, the elf's voice was no longer hoarse, but rather as clear as a nightingale in the morning. "You're up very early today. There are a few soldiers and townspeople who are planning to leave together, they're not ready yet—that sergeant who likes to wear a bonnet is leaving too."

"How was the illness last night?" Trier took out the cold rations he had prepared in advance from his backpack and began to replenish his energy.

The elf blinked: "Your ritual was incredibly effective; not a single person died. Even a town resident who was suffering from an illness and was rescued by a patrol was saved by the ritual circle. Noy ​​said the ritual was a miracle."

At this point, Fydia suddenly lowered her voice: "Speaking of which, I really didn't expect you to choose to leave Beaver Town. I thought you and Noy were..."

"This elf is so gossipy?" Trier thought to himself. "I couldn't tell at all when I was slaying the undead yesterday."

Suddenly, he realized something was wrong—the ranger's voice had abruptly stopped.

He subconsciously looked up and found that Fyodor had turned her head away, her fair face flushed with a blush that extended even to the tips of her ears. She looked extremely embarrassed, like a cat that had been hit on the toe by a heavy piano while trying to steal fish.

"What is it?" The nun's gentle voice suddenly rang out from behind!

The elf chuckled twice but did not reply.

“A fellow countryman, a follower, unrequited love, a lover.” Trier didn’t like to linger on such matters, so he coldly listed all the possibilities using exhaustive enumeration.

“Trier…” Noe looked surprised, then her surprise blossomed into a warm smile, “You’ve finally mustered the courage…”

She seemed completely oblivious to the coldness in the other person's words.

However, before she could finish speaking, the paladin quickly changed the subject, "This is intelligence from the Silent Whisperers. I also gave the same document to Sir Harlan and the garrison captain."

His words, so solemn as if a bishop were giving instructions to a subordinate priest, tore apart the ambiguous and romantic atmosphere like the sharp edge of a sword with the power of holiness.

And this is exactly the result Trier had hoped for.

Whether the quick conversation is successful or not, he can effectively avoid the same awkward situation as Futia.

He glanced at the panel, and sure enough, it displayed "[Quick Conversation Failed]"

Noy took the paper, then looked up and said sincerely, "You're changing the subject. But could you stay?"

"No." The paladin's tone was firm.

He trusted his rational judgment, and based on the details he had observed yesterday, Sister Neu was far from reliable.

If she is a cult member, then she must be the culprit who infected the original body with the blood plague; if she is not a cult member, then considering her past actions, she was merely using the original body.

The dramatic change in her attitude after she became a paladin is clear evidence of this.

The original owner of this body was bewitched by one-sided love and was unable to accurately and objectively understand his own situation; however, for the always rational transmigrator, he did not view his relationship with Noy through the lens of love—in fact, due to his indignation at the original owner's plight, he even harbored some hostility towards the nun.

“…” Noi lowered his eyelids and then said, “I understand.”

After a long while, Noy said again, "Have a safe journey."

She slowly stood up and then quickly left the main building of the hotel.

Having been caught red-handed gossiping behind her back, Futia was too embarrassed to say anything more, and with a flushed face, she went to re-check her travel supplies.

When Futia began to recount the supplies for the fifth time, everyone had arrived.

Trier silently scanned the area, mentally summarizing the situation:

"There are six people in total: four armed men and two civilians. The four armed men are: myself, Futia, the sir, and the young man who was seriously injured yesterday; the two civilians are the dwarf blacksmith and his human wife."

He looked at the young man named Hult. The young man's face was still withered, but much better than yesterday. The gray wrinkles on his skin, which resembled those of an old man, had disappeared. Apart from the hideous scar that ran from his forehead to his collarbone, he only had large bags under his eyes and dark circles.

Although he was almost split in two yesterday, he is in excellent spirits today—that is the power of divine magic.

Noticing Trier's gaze, Hult smiled and said, "Thank you for your treatment, Your Excellency Trier. This morning, Miss Neu dispelled the negative energy for me, just as you said! I am now fully recovered! Miss Neu recommends that I go with you to Eraf for further treatment."

Just as Trier was about to exchange a few polite words with the young man, Sergeant Guokui interrupted, saying, "From yesterday until now, all your decisions have been correct. Based on my many years of military experience, following you is the best choice. Since you have chosen to leave Beaver Town, there must be a deeper reason behind it."

“I never imagined that the squire Hod was a cultist,” Trier thought to himself.

With a mix of thoughts swirling in his mind, the paladin smiled and spoke with an air of certainty and slowness, adopting the demeanor of an old charlatan: "I was simply following the guidance of the radiance."

The two civilians sat quietly in the corner, and Trier noticed that the dwarf was holding his wife's hand tightly.

The dwarf blacksmith wore a short black cloak made of exquisite materials; the finishing of the threads revealed that the garment was crafted by a master.

In his luggage, besides the hammer, he also carried a lute.

“We will be safe and sound,” the dwarf said gently to his wife, “just like the traveler Hippo.”

“You’d better not forget to bring anything,” his human wife said. “The journey isn’t long, but it could be quite long if something unexpected happens.”

“It rhymes so well, my dear. Your poetry skills have improved again,” said the dwarf.

"The fog seems to be getting thicker."

Sister Neu stood at the window on the second floor of the hotel, watching Trier and his party push open the gate in the hotel wall and step into the thick fog.

Their figures gradually began to blur, like an oil painting slowly eroded by water stains. After a few heartbeats, they completely disappeared into the thick fog, like water droplets melting into the ocean.

Even the fluctuations in the fog were no longer visible.

"I hope everything goes well for them." The nun gripped the holy emblem tightly, her delicate fingers pressing firmly into her palm, her glossy nails even turning slightly white.

The fog was thick, obscuring the silent streets. The raging fire of yesterday had been extinguished, but the buildings on both sides of the street were now in ruins, their crumbling remains appearing and disappearing in the white mist like lost ghosts.

The good news is that the dense fog greatly obscured the senses of the undead, and they didn't encounter any enemies along the way; the bad news is that the dense fog also greatly limited their senses, and once they encountered enemies, they would have no time to react.

The air was thick with the stench of rotting corpses. Futia pulled up her mask and covered her nose.

She turned around and looked back; the figures of the others were almost black silhouettes.

"It's time to go back." The elf stopped and muttered to himself before turning back to the group.

She was acting as the team's scout, exploring ahead and returning to the team every five minutes to check if it was safe. This ensured that even if she was attacked, the others would have some time to react.

Because of the thick fog, the distance between her and the main team was not the usual 200 meters, but only a dozen meters—the fog was too thick now, and a distance that was too far would not serve as a warning, so they had to make sure that they were both within each other's line of sight.

The main force was divided into two parts, led by young soldiers and sergeants respectively. They each advanced parallel to the walls on both sides of the street, their vigilance range being the ruins opposite their respective side. Those in front were responsible for observing the first floor, while those behind were responsible for observing the second floor and above.

Trier was responsible for bringing up the rear as a scout, and like Fyodor, he returned to the group every five minutes to check if it was safe.

This arrangement was proposed by the paladins.

As a professional ranger and scout, Faldia was well aware of the advantages of Trier's arrangement: simple organization, no blind spots, minimal risk of being caught off guard in a sudden encounter, and protection for the relatively weaker members. If the undead discovered the main group, she and Trier could then turn the tables and ambush them.

—This setup is so professional, it's practically textbook material.

At that moment, Fythia saw Trier and noticed that he was also wearing a mask.

The wandering swordsman stepped forward and whispered, "Something's not right. The fog is too thick, and there's a foul stench of negative energy inside."

“You’re right,” Trier nodded.

He scanned his surroundings; the deathly fog still churned, like a monster devouring everything.

With each breath, a cold, invisible substance fills his lungs through his trachea. If he breathes too hard or too forcefully, he can even feel a burning sensation. He can even smell blood in his nasal cavity now.

PS: I finished the overview ahead of schedule and quickly wrote a chapter.

Chapter 13 The Eloquent One

“This should be a large-scale fog spell,” Trier thought. “But the Silent Whisperers must have also taken advantage of the existing weather conditions, otherwise such a large area would not make sense.”

"Another spellcaster. Counting the one casting Heavy Fog now, that's the fourth one. There are too many spellcasters from the Silent Whisperers in Beaver Town. This is not normal."

"Do you believe in your intuition?" Futia suddenly asked.

The paladin pondered for a moment and said, "Generally speaking, intuition is reason that goes unnoticed. Do you have a bad feeling right now?"

"Hmm." The ranger slowed his pace even further. "But what exactly is wrong?"

“Wind direction,” Trier said succinctly, pointing to the sky. “Right now, the wind is perpendicular to the street, which is impossible under natural conditions. And since we left the hotel, the wind direction has changed six times.”

Fytia was startled, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Could it be the wind that passed through the ruins..." she murmured to herself, but her voice grew softer and softer as she spoke, as if she realized that the conjecture was not true, and finally she fell silent.

After a moment, she lowered her voice and asked in a deep tone, as if afraid of disturbing some sleeping behemoth, "How did you find it?"

“Because I’ve been thinking about where I should place Death Cloud,” Trier thought. “Dense fog means there’s a problem with air circulation, and this kind of environment is perfect for Death Cloud—if I were a necromancer from the Silent Whisperers, I’d throw a few at the inn right away.”

Such dark thoughts could not be spoken aloud, so the paladin said in a deep voice, "Observe the details."

"Watch out, there's someone in my direction!" the dwarf carrying the lute suddenly exclaimed.

Trier immediately raised his military crossbow and aimed at the second-floor building opposite the dwarf; Fythia reacted even faster, drawing her bowstring taut and already taking aim.

It was a fairly well-preserved two-story house, and a man wearing a deerstalker hat was waving his arms excitedly from the window.

"Help!"

The rough voice echoed through the empty streets.

"Shut up!" shouted the soldier in the guokui (a type of flatbread). "Do you want to attract all the wandering spirits of the dead?"

Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps it was the thick fog, but the spirits were not attracted.

"Clap."

A rope made of clothes fell from the window, and a man wearing a deerstalker hat nimbly climbed down it.

Trier noticed an extremely strong stench of decay emanating from him, and he looked incredibly frail. A gruesome scar marred his withered face, his cheeks were severely lacking in fat, and his bronze skin had a deathly bluish tinge. But his eyes were exceptionally bright, as if all the flesh and blood in his body had burned into his deep-set sockets; his brown eyes were almost ablaze.

“Unknown risks,” Trier thought to himself.

“By the radiance above, old blacksmith, it really is you!” said the man wearing the deerstalker hat. “You’re planning to leave the town? If so, I’d advise you to take another route.”

"You're a tailor?" the dwarf blacksmith asked uncertainly. "How did you end up like this?"

“Hey, guess what?” the man laughed. “Starting the day before yesterday, the town was suddenly teeming with the dead. My wife turned into a ghoul while we were sleeping together, and she almost bit me to death.”

At this point, the tailor glanced at the dwarf's wife, and then he continued, "I made a trap out of silk—the kind of trap that looks like a rat trap—and then I lured her in, and I succeeded."

"Can you get to the point, my friend? Time is of the essence. Undead could appear here at any moment!" the dwarf said. "Why are you trying to persuade us to take another route? And what's wrong with you?"

“I’m dying. Yesterday, a fire suddenly broke out. I tried to take my wife with me, but she was being disobedient and yelling, just like she always has. Then it disturbed a nobleman wearing black plate armor—well, to be precise, the remains of a nobleman—who wasn’t happy about it.”

The tailor seemed a bit talkative; he talked and laughed at the same time, which looked very strange.

Trier patted Faudia quietly, and she nodded, then picked up her weapon and disappeared into the shadows.

"Its eyes were emitting black smoke, like they were on fire! It glared at me, and I glared back at it. Then I felt powerless, and I abandoned my wife and ran away."

The tailor's rambling words were utterly incoherent, leaving the paladin dizzy and disoriented. He took a deep breath to suppress his irritation and mentally summarized the tailor's words: "In short, there's an undead wearing plate armor with lethal eyes—this description sounds a lot like a Boda Corpse."

“I went back home and started feeling weaker and weaker. I looked in the mirror and realized I was starting to look more and more like it.”

The tailor's eyes widened, just like the ghosts he was describing.

Upon hearing the tailor's account, the soldier unconsciously moved a little further away, while the young soldier gripped his spear tightly. The dwarf blacksmith and his wife dared not look at the tailor any longer.

The paladin was not alarmed, for he knew very well that only those who died directly from the Death Gaze would become Bodas, and the tailor was clearly alive and well, so it was unlikely that he would suddenly become an undead.

Knowledge is not only power, knowledge is also courage.

Bodas are dangerous undead, typically born from curses. When a weak-willed mortal faces supernatural evil they cannot resist, their soul is severely damaged by immense fear and chaos, and they may then become a Boda.

All Bordas possess the supernatural ability of a death stare. Anyone who makes eye contact with a Borda within 10 meters will suffer severe negative energy corruption, or in game terms, 1d4 negative levels. This effect can be mitigated by a fortitude saving throw.

In addition, the Boda Corpse has the ability to create derivatives; those who die from the Death Gaze will become new Boda Corpses.

"If only I had a magic storage stone that could prevent death barriers," Trier thought to himself.

As for why the tailor kept laughing, Trier also found it very strange—logically, a maniacal laugh could not last for a whole day.

The tailor seemed oblivious to everyone's wariness and continued, "I ran away without looking back, and it didn't chase me. As I ran, I saw some people with white ribbons tied around their arms, and one of them ordered the others to take the nobleman to seal off the area and kill anyone who tried to leave."

"If you take this road, you'll definitely run into them!" the tailor concluded with a smile.

“Thank you for the information.” Trier walked up to the tailor, his expression serious. “Are you unable to control your laughter right now?”

“Me? Of course I can control it.” The tailor looked surprised. “Uh, I know you. You gave me medicine for free five days ago! You and that white-haired nun are both good people! Has that nun also become a ghost? What a pity!”

The tailor's rapid-fire words left Trier no chance to get a word in edgewise. The talkative tailor continued, "I'm dying, my life is almost over, like a candle burning at midnight! At a time like this, am I supposed to wear a mournful face?"