Azure Scepter

Page 45

“Bishop, there is something else,” the page whispered.

Vercingetori took the report on the Beaver Town incident and glanced at it briefly by the moonlight and lamplight: "It's alright, Mr. Hult is a trustworthy person. He's not a cultist, so just tell me directly."

"The mage who calls himself the Shadowless One has disappeared, and the men we sent to track him are also missing."

"Yes, I understand." The bishop neither confirmed nor denied it. He turned to the first page of the report and began reading the second page. "What do you think is the reason?"

"The Shadowless Man must have found the laboratory of that legendary necromancer from over a decade ago. There must be a lot of relics inside, so he fled immediately after exploring it. I've already arranged for people to search the area where the Shadowless Man was last seen. He definitely didn't have time to fully loot the laboratory; there should still be quite a few good things inside."

The attendant paused here, then emphasized, "They are all skilled fighters."

The tall, thin Vercingetorius nodded calmly.

Under the moonlight, his tall and slender figure appeared exceptionally imposing, as if nothing could faze him.

Hult felt a surge of admiration and wanted to say something, but the next moment, the bishop's composed figure, as steady as the foothills of Mount Saint-Saëns, suddenly stiffened—through the reflection in the French windows, Hult saw a hint of barely suppressed surprise flash across the bishop's face.

“By the radiance above,” Vercingtorli murmured, his speed increasing as he flipped through the documents, as if they contained not dry, tedious text, but scantily clad naked women. “Trier!?”

"Lord Trier was passing through Beaver Town with Sister Neu," Hult couldn't help but interject.

The tall, thin Bishop Vercingetorie slowly turned his head and looked down at Hult. He frowned, his deep eyes filled with seriousness, and asked slowly, word by word, "What did he do in Beaver Town? You must tell me everything. This is very important."

"He was seriously injured while saving Sister Noy, and then he suddenly became a paladin. Then he gained some knowledge through divine revelation, which helped the infected slow down the onset of the disease. Then I left the town."

"Trier, became a paladin?" The bishop's eyes widened, his composure and demeanor completely gone, his surprise almost overflowing.

Seeing Vercingetori's astonished expression, Hult couldn't help but think of the ignorant farmers in the town.

"Ahem." The attendant coughed lightly twice. "Although Lord Trier was not good at fighting or reading in the past, being enlightened by the Radiant Light is not the privilege of the intelligent; the dull-witted also have the opportunity."

Bishop Vercingetorius took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. After he finished exhaling, his expression, which had been contorted almost distorted, returned to normal.

"You're right, I lost my composure."

—Hult frowned; he had a vague feeling that the bishop was hiding something.

"Child, based on your observation, did Trier cast any spells?" The bishop put down the report and sat back down across the table. He looked as focused as if he were listening to divine pronouncements, and his usually deep eyes were now tinged with a light.

Hult subconsciously squinted. He was about to answer when a muffled sound of horses' hooves suddenly came from outside the window.

"Clatter, clatter, clatter..." The dull sound of horses' hooves grew louder as they approached, suggesting that a large army was heading straight for them.

He turned his head to look out the window.

On the deserted street, a small troop of fully armed knights galloped by, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust as they pounded the cobblestones. Under the bright moonlight, the cold glint of metal shone through the dust, and a banner embroidered with the royal coat of arms of the Royal Family of Lorraine waved rhythmically with the sound of hooves.

From a distance, it looked as if a forest of steel was approaching through the smoke and dust.

“Her Highness the Princess is back. You can think about what you’re going to say later.” Vercingetor’s voice came from the side. “There’s one more thing. Your plan to request reinforcements is probably off the table.”

Hult jumped to his feet, turning incredulously to stare at Vercingetorius.

The tall, thin bishop still had a smile on his face. He chuckled and waved the report in his hand: "Because Beaver Town has been defended, there is no need for reinforcements there."

Before Hult could fully process the news, he continued, "But in any case, remember to be respectful when you meet the princess—for people like us from humble backgrounds, nobles have never been known for their good temper."

Before he could recover from the sudden news, Vercingetori's words pierced Hult's heart like a dagger. Hult quickly nodded and said, "I understand."

Time ticked by, and Hult sat anxiously in the waiting room, awaiting the messenger's summons. The empty crystal chandelier cast a monotonous glow, while the cold gray brick walls of the waiting room exuded an oppressive and somber atmosphere.

Hult inexplicably thought of the prison in town where criminals were held.

“Knock, knock… knock, knock…”

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed down the empty corridor, the intervals between them as precise as the finest spring. Hult pricked up his ears, intending to ponder the exact intervals, but the jarring sound of a door opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes, we held... Beaver Town... Good news…” The intermittent voice reached Hult’s ears. He pondered for a moment and then guessed that it must be the previous visitor talking to the soldiers inside the fortress.

Hult felt a sense of frustration; it seemed his information was completely outdated. A moment later, he felt a pang of unease: if the information was indeed outdated, would the princess be furious and execute him?

Lost in thought, his heart began to race, and his unease about the unknown turned into fear.

Suddenly, the messenger's voice broke his reverie: "Please follow me."

Hult stood up, feeling as if he were walking on cotton, everything light and airy. He followed the herald through a corridor full of guards to a heavy, ornately designed brown wooden door, as if it were a statue.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The cool-toned walls reflected a slightly dim light, and the delicate and intricate reliefs on the walls appeared somewhat faded, filling the small room with a sense of oppression.

At the far end of the room stood a simple mahogany table. Behind the table, a knight clad in silver armor sat upright in a high-backed chair, his posture as dignified and standard as that of a solemn deity.

—She is the eldest princess.

Hult quietly raised his head and glanced at the other person's movements with lightning speed.

At that moment, the knight was writing something with a pen, and Hult noticed that there were still some dust and bloodstains on the knight's iron gauntlets.

There is no doubt that she has just been through a battle.

In addition, Hult realized that the princess wore a hood even indoors, so he couldn't see her expression at all, only her fair chin faintly visible in the cool light.

Strong and aloof, that was Hult's first impression of the princess.

"Your Highness, congratulations on another great victory." A familiar voice suddenly came from beside Hurth. "This plague will soon be over."

He turned his head in surprise and found Bishop Vercingetorius in the room as well. The tall, thin bishop was completely hidden in the shadows, almost blending into the darkness.

The princess remained silent, continuing to write as if she hadn't heard Vercingetori's compliments at all.

After a long while, so long that even Hult felt a little uneasy, she suddenly spoke.

“If we can’t find the mastermind behind this, then all of this is meaningless. The people of the kingdom are dying one after another, while the nobles of the southern duchies are still passing the buck to each other—they’re really sitting on the sidelines.”

“There’s no use in being anxious, Your Highness.” The bishop still smiled. “I’ve heard that calmness is a quality more precious than gold, and that patience brings opportunity—and now that opportunity has arrived.”

After saying that, Vercingetori pointed to Hult: "This man has brought us good news."

The eldest princess raised her head and looked at Hult.

At that moment, Hult felt every muscle in his body trembling. His mind went blank, the words he had just prepared seemed to be tangled together, and he felt his tongue go numb.

"me..."

"It's alright, don't be nervous. Your name is Hurt, right?" The princess's attitude was humble, a stark contrast to her previous coldness. "Don't be afraid, you are safe now. No undead will harm you. Please speak slowly."

Chapter 82 Edith

Edith's left hand, holding the pen, trembled slightly. Her ring finger, under the iron glove, was throbbing with pain. The coldness of the metal carried the smell of blood. Edith felt as if she could almost hear the rustling sound of the proximal and middle phalanges of her ring finger breaking and rubbing against each other.

"You are a paladin, the crown princess of the kingdom—Edith, you must do your best in every detail and never slack off. This pain is nothing." Princess Edith admonished herself in her heart.

She tried to sit upright in the high-backed chair, forcing herself to ignore the increasingly intense and unbearable dull pain coming from between the bones of her ring finger.

The soldier who came to report looked trembling with fear. His pale face, devoid of any color, was almost like that of a ghost, and his evasive eyes suppressed an unconcealable terror.

Princess Edith felt a surge of annoyance; the other party's timid demeanor reminded her of herself.

The room was fairly spacious, but the intricate reliefs on the walls absorbed the already limited light like a vortex, creating a cramped and oppressive feeling that shrouded her heart like a gloom.

Since entering the Southern Duchy and embarking on an investigation into the increasingly rampant cult and the spreading plague, this sense of oppression, unable to stretch one's hands and feet freely, has lingered.

A few hours earlier, following the plan she had devised with her teacher and the local ruler, Earl Cohen, she had successfully investigated and wiped out a hidden cult stronghold. The cultists planned to turn the captured people into undead under their enslavement and control—Edith acted swiftly, and after a difficult and bloody battle, she managed to thwart the cultists' plans at the cost of an injured left hand, and obtained a new clue about the mastermind behind it all from the stronghold.

The new clues were clear and pointed directly to Wilt, the capital city of the Southern Duchy, but Edith still felt something was off.

This clue seemed to have been deliberately thrown to her; the difficult battle and the precious clue, which could be obtained through a mere glance and was almost laid bare, formed a strange and stark contrast.

Sometimes, Edith even felt that the Southern Duchy was a cave filled with sharp cobwebs, and once she stepped inside, the invisible threads would wrap her up completely. And now, she was like a puppet, manipulated by the mastermind behind the scenes, her every move anticipated and even controlled by the other party.

What made her feel even more powerless and depressed was that her respected teacher did not agree with her views. The teacher thought it was just a hallucination caused by excessive pressure, and that the so-called mastermind was simply a fabrication—even if there was a conspiracy, a true paladin only needed unwavering faith to cut down all evil with holy flames.

Based on this idea, the teacher and Count Cohen, with the temporarily mobilized forces, are constantly clearing out the growing undead horde.

Meanwhile, Granny Lor, on whom she had placed high hopes, had not made any significant progress in her research on the blood plague. After several weeks of arduous research, this court mage, renowned for her extensive knowledge, could only confirm that the plague was not simply a natural occurrence; its mechanism of action, transmission routes, and treatment methods remained completely unknown.

However, what troubled and unsettled Edith most was the strange attitude of the southern ducal nobles and the local church. Their passive and ambiguous stance towards the spreading plague seemed to indicate a complete disregard for the lives of their subjects. While this could be attributed to the unrest caused by the illness of the highly respected and shrewd old duke, the underlying oddity was still unsettling.

As the saying goes, strange things always have a reason. Edith sometimes even suspected that these nobles and priests all had some connection with cultists—if things had deteriorated to this point, could this "cult" still be called a cult?

Edith sighed almost imperceptibly, her gaze lowered slightly, and she looked back at the soldiers below.

She knew the other person was from Beaver Town and was most likely there to ask for help.

The plague is now spreading everywhere, and the area south of Earl Harlan is almost completely cut off. The road to Beaver Town has also been completely blocked by the increasingly dense hordes of undead. Edith once thought that it was the source of the entire plague, but in any case, Beaver Town is now in grave danger.

“If we had known about the enemy’s movements earlier, those people wouldn’t have died—it’s too late now, I’m sorry to my people.” Looking at the soldiers, Edith felt a pang of self-reproach. “The situation changed too quickly. I shouldn’t have sent Futia there alone to gather intelligence. I’m the one who killed her.”

She took a deep breath, suppressing her restless thoughts: "Enough, stop being so weak! If Futia were still here, she would laugh at your indecisiveness! By the light above, I can't let my mind wander any further!"

As her emotions fluctuated, the pain in her left ring finger became increasingly unbearable. Edith suppressed her pain and said softly, "Have you come to ask for help for Beaver Town?"

“That was true,” Hurt said tremulously from below.

The princess's heart sank; she knew the messenger had probably brought bad news again.

Edith didn't rush to speak. She silently counted to ten in her mind, waiting for her emotions to calm down before asking, "Has that place fallen?"

"Huh?!" Hult suddenly looked up. He paused for a moment, seemingly realizing that this behavior was extremely impolite, and then said, "Your Highness, the defenses there are intact."

They held on?

Beaver Town?

Edith took half a second to process those words, then a surge of joy welled up inside her. She excitedly clenched her left hand, but the pain in her ring finger almost made her gasp.

“This is truly a miracle of divine intervention, Your Highness,” Bishop Vercingtoli suddenly said, stepping out of the shadows with a smile. “Hult, do you have any other news to tell the Princess?”

The soldier frowned, seemingly hesitating about something. After a moment, he said in a deep voice, "Lady Futia asked me to remind you to be careful of Bishop Vercingetorius."

Edith instinctively looked at Vercingetorie.

The tall, thin bishop maintained his smile, as if he hadn't heard the accusations against him.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Edith asked.

“I believe this stems from her arrogance and prejudice, but whether this serious accusation is valid is something I think you need to decide.”

—Vicington was fearless.

Edith understood perfectly well that although the bishop spoke humbly, his power and influence far surpassed hers. He was not only the chief representative of the Church of Radiance throughout the Kingdom of Orco, but also a strong candidate for the next pope. From a motivational standpoint, he had no reason to participate in strange cult activities. Furthermore, if he truly was a cultist, there was nothing she could do about it.

Since we cannot defeat them for the time being, we must conceal our intentions.

With this thought in mind, Edith said, "There is probably some misunderstanding here, but Feudia must have played a crucial role in saving Beaver Town. Although she is an elf, her actions did indeed save the people of the kingdom."

“That’s not necessarily true,” the bishop interrupted directly. “Quite the opposite. It was a paladin named Trill who saved Beaver Town—I just received a detailed report. Would you like to hear it?”

Edith suppressed her joy and nodded slightly: "I would like to hear more details."

Bishop Vercingetorius was not a born orator, but through tireless effort, he eventually mastered this difficult subject. Based on his report, he vividly described how Trier organized and led the weak militia to help the dragon and ultimately defeat an incredibly powerful enemy.

Edith was so engrossed in the story that when it came to the militia being attacked by a cultist's sorcerer with fireballs, she was so nervous that she broke the pen in her hand. And when she heard that Harlan was killed by a spirit that could be resurrected again and again, her first reaction was not the rational consideration that a politician should have, but an uncontrollable emotional sadness.

"Sir Harlan is dead?" At that moment, Hult interrupted incredulously.

Vercingetorius stopped telling the story and laughed, “He must have gone to the radiant kingdom of the gods.”

"Was Trier still alive in the end?" Edith tried to control her anxiety, but her speech still quickened considerably.

She had never seen Bishop Vercingetorius praise anyone so highly. In Vercingetorius's depiction, Trier was almost an omnipotent and morally upright paragon of paladins—an image that was certainly desirable, but such overly perfect praise was usually reserved for the dead.

Edith couldn't help but recall her ancestor, Loseweg, who was a perfect knight who only existed in stories and legends.

I also want to accomplish great things like my ancestors, she thought.

The tall, thin bishop smiled slightly, not in a hurry to answer: "Please allow me to keep you in suspense, Your Highness, the pen in your hand has broken."

Edith paused for a moment, then looked down as if waking from a dream—the pen was indeed broken, and the written military order had been turned into a wad of waste paper by the ink.

She felt her face burning with shame, so she put down her pen, took off her hood, and prepared to drink a cup of hot tea.

Edith caught a glimpse of her own face through the reflection in the window, and quickly turned her head away to avoid looking.

She doesn't like her appearance.

Beneath the hood, her face was youthful and beautiful, lacking the imposing presence expected of an ideal ruler. This overly youthful appearance was hardly intimidating; even her efforts to maintain the serious expression befitting a crown princess might only elicit laughter...

“Trier is certainly still alive. In fact, you may see him soon. Judging from the time he set off, he should have already arrived near Eraf.”

Chapter 83 Digging Graves

Although the ring finger of her left hand was increasingly painful, Edith still held the silver-plated cup up slowly and gracefully with the most standard posture, and then took a small sip of hot tea.

As the steam rose, the moist mist carried the unique fresh and bitter scent of plants, which invigorated the princess.