Azure Scepter

Page 26

The dwarf's voice grew softer and softer. He noticed that the soldier leading the way seemed to be suppressing a laugh, while Harlan remained solemn. The dwarf couldn't help but recall the enormous Torrag statue standing atop Shining Peak.

“You are indeed an excellent bard.” Harlan’s voice was very deep, and the dwarf couldn’t tell whether the other was being sarcastic or genuinely praising him.

The blacksmith could no longer bear the awkward situation, so he decided to get straight to the point: "May I ask what brings you here? I don't have any extra diamonds right now."

“It’s just to express our gratitude.” The dwarf noticed that Trill’s left index finger was tapping rhythmically on the table. “We want to publicize your contribution.”

For some reason, the dwarf had a vague feeling that this paladin, who was theoretically a moral exemplar, had not revealed the full reason.

Trier observed the dwarf in front of him, a variety of thoughts flashing through his mind.

“Providing blood plague treatment directly will not have a significant effect on boosting morale, because it will seem like a divine gift. In this case, it is possible that the decision of who receives treatment and who does not, made by me or a few people, could cause new chaos and conflict.”

"Although this possibility is unlikely, we must try our best to avoid it."

"At the same time, if we want to attract new volunteers with the subsequent blood plague treatment, we must come up with an example as proof—the dwarf is an old resident of Beaver Town, everyone knows him, and the dwarf has enough merit, so bringing out the dwarf can temporarily appease those who have not received treatment."

With this thought in mind, Trier stood up, walked to the dwarf's side, and whispered, "What you have to do is very simple: stand here and wait to receive everyone's thanks."

Time passed second by second, the black rain gradually stopped, and the gray sun once again ruled the earth.

As the work to cure the blood epidemic continued, the gray sun gradually slid towards the distant horizon.

Each person who was healed would sincerely thank the dwarf. At first, the dwarf felt a little shy, but soon he became dizzy. He felt as if he were drunk, or as if he were standing on clouds rather than solid ground. He tried to suppress the smile on his lips, but he always failed.

He felt this sensation peak when he saw the lender after he had finished treatment; he knew he would never forget the look of astonishment on the man's face, as if he had eaten a hundred ghost peppers.

"This feels great!" the blacksmith thought. "I wish it could go on like this forever."

Chapter 48 The Second Night

After the heavy rain, the weather became exceptionally clear.

As night fell, a crimson moon and countless stars enveloped the night sky, illuminating the gradually dying town of Beaver. Rotting, silent undead wandered aimlessly through the dark ruins, and occasionally, zombies would follow the red moonlight toward the dilapidated exterior wall of the inn.

Lacking dark vision, most of them get lost in the intricate ruins and head in the opposite direction. But some undead always manage to cross the ruins and reach the vicinity of the inn.

At that moment, a corpse demon, clutching a blood-stained knife, was rapidly approaching the inn. Its face was still intact, though a heavy black turban covered its head. The corpse demon's gaunt face was filled with confusion; its empty eye sockets stared, and it let out a sigh: "Uh..."

The next moment, a dark shadow pierced through the corpse demon's eye socket like lightning. The corpse demon's movements suddenly stopped, and fragments of its skull, along with bits of flesh, sprayed out from the wound. It staggered two steps due to inertia, and then fell straight to the ground.

A moment later, Futia, who was behind the wall, put down the composite bow in her hand.

“This is the fifth one,” she murmured to herself. “It seems to have been a tax official in its lifetime.”

She looked up at the moon's position: "It's almost time for the meeting, it's time to go back."

The next moment, the elf lightly braced herself against the edge of the wall, and then silently jumped off the wall like a falling feather. Her deerskin boots made no sound as she stepped into the puddles.

She looked up and happened to see the guard coming to take his shift. He was a middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion, and he was clearly startled.

"It's up to you now," the elf said, quickly stepping past the still-frightened guard.

As she crossed the courtyard, she vaguely heard the guard's reply behind her, as if waking from a dream.

As Futia pushed open the main door of the hotel building, the atmosphere inside was a far cry from yesterday's silence and arguments. Many people with rosy complexions were laughing, most of them wearing heavy armor; and even those who had not been cured due to resource shortages and whose faces were still pale, all had a glimmer of hope on their faces.

There is no doubt that the strategy for curing the blood plague was very successful.

"The situation on the Princess's side should be better," the elf thought, as she pushed through the crowd and quickly stepped onto the creaking stairs.

The meeting was held on the second floor, and Trier seemed to have deliberately chosen a relatively secluded location.

Futia walked to the door, coughed lightly, and then pushed the door open and went inside.

Inside the room, Trier was chatting with the bronze dragon disguised as a tailor. The paladin spoke very softly and in a very low tone, so the bronze dragon seemed to be listening very attentively.

“You don’t understand—when an intelligent being lives long enough, it gains not only greater power, but also a more terrifying wisdom. In my view, even the most intelligent mortal would find it difficult to contend with a spirit with nearly a thousand years of experience in the realm of wisdom.” The bronze dragon, its usual frivolous demeanor gone, spoke with considerable seriousness. “I fear her wisdom, her power. If severing the link means facing her again, then I would rather…”

At this point, the tailor suddenly shuddered, and then the dragon's head turned a full 180 degrees, its withered face, carrying a neurotic air, turning back to face Futia.

It was then that Futia noticed that the tailor's eyes had vertical pupils.

“Don’t worry, you don’t need to face Losevie directly. We have other ways.” Trier’s voice was as reassuring as ever. “Fodia, please sit down. Please wait a moment. They will be here soon.”

Futia nodded, glanced at the seats briefly, hesitated for a moment, and then sat down next to the paladin.

“Uh, elf, did you shoot out that sonic boom cloud this morning? I don’t mean anything by it, I mean, your power is truly amazing—I visited Whirlpool Island in the distant past, and I might have even seen you there!” The tailor’s words, which had been logical when he was talking to Trier earlier, became incoherent again.

“I think I wasn’t born yet, but you may have met my mother,” Futia said. “She was always very interested in dragons, especially the history they knew.”

"Fodia, have you read the first volume of 'The History of the Decline and Fall of the Human Kingdom'?" Trier's voice suddenly came from beside her.

Futia knew the hidden meaning behind the paladin's words, and her rationality told her that she should be shocked. However, after two days together, she had become completely numb to the paladin's various astonishing actions.

—The author of *The Decline and Fall of the Kingdom of Man* was none other than his own mother, a fact Trier clearly deduced from her earlier words.

Fythia couldn't help but sigh inwardly, "Trill is just too clever; he seems to know everything..."

After a moment's thought, just as she was about to speak, the dragon suddenly burst into laughter.

“Young man, you’re mistaken! This elf is clearly not interested in reading history books. You should change the subject. I’m quite knowledgeable about courtship, such as talking about flowers! They usually like that; it’s a universal topic!”

—Is this dragon saying I'm stupid?

Futia's expression froze. As a former, less-than-successful mage apprentice, the thing she hated most in her life was being looked down upon for her intelligence. And what did "seeking a mate" even mean?

She glanced at the paladin, only to find that he remained expressionless, as if he hadn't heard the dragon's joke at all.

The elf breathed a sigh of relief, but inexplicably, she also felt a strange dissatisfaction rising within her. She took a deep breath, dispelling this inexplicable emotion, and then began to stare blankly, waiting for the others to arrive.

“299, 300, 301…” Trier counted the time in his mind.

Although no one paid any attention to the copper dragon, Olius continued to speak at a frantic pace, boasting about how magnificent his former dragon lair was and how much treasure it contained. His rambling, aimless chatter annoyed and frustrated Trier, as if a file were slowly scraping along the folds of his cerebral cortex.

Trier glanced at the elf: the elf was also lost in thought.

So the time traveler turned around and resumed his blank staring.

"twenty three..."

When he counted to 467, Noy came into the room—the nun was always very easygoing, so she didn't ignore Olius; on the contrary, she even tried to chat with the bronze dragon.

"A foolish choice," Trier thought to himself.

As expected, the copper dragon, encouraged, became even more talkative, and his words became increasingly incomprehensible.

Trier watched as Noe's smile gradually froze and then slowly faded away, and a smile involuntarily appeared on his face.

"682, 684—wait, I just counted to six hundred and eighty-something?"

Harlan and the garrison captain arrived late, as Trier was too bored to concentrate.

“I apologize, everyone, I’m late.” Sir Harlan’s armor was stained with blood, which Trier noticed was very fresh. “I just encountered a very strange undead in the street.”

Having said that, the knight gently placed a human head, still connected to the spine, on the table.

It was the head of a human female.

Trier looked closely—the head was indeed that of the dwarf blacksmith's wife.

P.S.: I'll try to finish another chapter before noon tomorrow.

Chapter 49 Bewitching

Martha's empty eye sockets were filled with resentment, and on her forehead was a huge, bloody wound through which the shattered skull was clearly visible—caused by Harlan's attack.

“These undead are very strange. They seem to have preserved their consciousness from when they were alive. When I encountered it, it even tried to deceive me.” The knight pointed to the skull still attached to the spine. “It took us some time to deal with it. Please forgive us.”

Looking at the disfigured head, Trier's eyes lit up. His mind, which had been somewhat sluggish due to boredom, became as active as sodium metal thrown into boiling water.

As a master of necromancy, he had always had a great passion for creating and modifying the undead. Now, seeing a type of undead he had never seen before, Trier couldn't help but examine it quickly with the eyes of a professional.

His mind raced: "It looks like a variant of the flying head monster, but such a low-level monster couldn't possibly have intelligence—and Harlan said it was trying to fool itself, so this monster isn't just a simple variant of the flying head monster. Interesting."

He reached out his left hand, gently grasped the third vertebra of the lumbar spine, and pulled the corpse in front of him.

“The absence of lividity proves that the blood is flowing smoothly,” he thought. “It is very likely in a semi-dead state—the only way to give lower-level undead intelligence is to somehow deceive death and retain the immortal essence of the dead.”

As the iron glove gently stroked the back of the corpse's head, Trier instantly understood how it worked.

"The essence of this thing is spirit binding, but the soul is bound to the brainstem. This kind of living spirit binding can be created simply by completing the bone carving while the victim is still alive."

"When battle is needed, the head retains its solid form, while the illusory spirit body attaches itself to either side of the spine..."

"The person who invented this method is truly ingenious; it is indeed an excellent way to preserve the intelligence of low-level undead at a low cost. However, this method is too cruel—it seems that the high-level undead in black armor also possesses spellcasting abilities, and has an extremely twisted personality."

"If we want to improve this method, then we can..."

Trier shook his head, dismissing the idea of ​​improving the technology. His main task now was to eliminate the Silent Whisperers cultists in Beaver Town, and it was not the time to study magic—such things could wait until after leaving the Kingdom of Orco, when he would have almost endless time to think and experiment.

"Trill, what are your thoughts?" The garrison captain's question interrupted the paladin's thoughts.

“This is an evil variant of the spirit binder,” Trier said, pressing down on the monster’s spine with his hand. “And it’s very likely that the monster isn’t dead yet; it’s just temporarily incapacitated.”

After saying that, the paladin gently tapped the area of ​​Martha's brainstem.

"boom!"

A ghostly blue flame instantly ignited from the empty eye socket, and a cold, putrid stench filled the air. It struggled violently, the joints of its spine creaking, but under Trier's suppression, the head's struggle turned into powerless spasms.

Martha's withered head showed a look of pain, and it opened its mouth wide silently.

"Not dead yet?!" Harlan was clearly taken aback, and he quickly pulled out a dagger to try and make amends for his mistake.

However, the next moment, a metallic roar flashed by, and the longsword burning with pure white flames pierced through Martha's head in an instant. The gentle holy flame slowly rose, and like a torch touching pine resin, it instantly exploded into a blinding white fireball.

When the dazzling light faded, only a pool of ashes remained on the table.

[XP+150]

The sacred flame burned quietly, and the room was completely silent.

“She was a good person, and now she can rest in peace,” Trier said casually. “If we encounter such a monster tomorrow, we just need to attack the brainstem—now let’s get down to business.”

At this moment, Harlan's face turned bright red. He was about to apologize when the garrison captain beside him suddenly said, "Sir, please forgive my bluntness, but I really don't understand what there is to discuss. The best plan is no plan!"

"The essence of battle is a clash of courage. The more complex the tactics, the harder they are to execute. Now our morale is high, and those cultists who hide like rats cannot stop us at all. As long as we launch an attack, they will surely collapse."

“We just need to determine the time, location, and organization of the attack. The radiance will protect the brave.” The elderly garrison captain, his face flushed, waved his hands excitedly. “These undead are blind at night, so now is the best time for us to set off! If we continue to delay, the soldiers’ courage will soon dissipate like a burnt-out candle.”

“No, this is insane. It’s impossible to succeed in a melee with nearly a thousand undead,” the knight retorted without hesitation. “The only thing we can rely on is discipline. If our formation falls apart, we’re all doomed.”

“You’re too young, Harlan!” the garrison captain said. “You know very well how weak our organization is! Those guys who have only received basic militia training simply can’t understand complex orders, and tactics will only create chaos and backfire!”

“None of you have grasped the key point. The problem isn’t the undead, it’s the Silent Whisperers.” Olius stood up. “You need to help me take down the Speakers before I have the courage to join the battle.”

"You can just fly in the sky and breathe fire, wouldn't that solve the problem? What's there to be afraid of?" the garrison captain asked incredulously. "And who is this smooth talker? It can't be the one from the bard's story, can it?"

The dragon laughed: "It's like the one in the fairy tale. But I'm crippled and can no longer fly."

The paladin silently observed the argument, tapping the table lightly with his index finger; the monotonous, rhythmic sound made his thoughts exceptionally clear.

"Gentlemen, why don't we hear what Trill has to say?" The knight turned to look at the paladin.

Trier paused for a moment, then said, “If we were facing a thousand mindless undead, then I think the garrison captain’s plan would be the best; but if the Silent Whisperers have no spellcasting power, then Sir Harlan’s plan would undoubtedly be appropriate.”

"But the problem is that we are actually facing a tightly controlled army of undead, and a large group of cultists who are proficient in magic."

“I know you all know this perfectly well—but if we consider it this way, it seems we have no chance of winning, so none of you have said it outright.” The paladin spoke slowly, but his voice was very clear.

“What you say is very good, but besides relying on courage, do we have any other way?” The garrison captain clenched his fist.

At this moment, Trier noticed that everyone was looking at him, even the garrison captain who had been very excited had quieted down, they all seemed to be expecting something.

Trier stood up and said softly, “The Silent Whisperers’ spellcasting power in Beavertown has been greatly weakened. Given the abilities of their remaining spellcasters, if they want to control nearly a thousand undead, they must rely on concentrated spellcasting—which means they will be very concentrated in space. At this point, we only need to eliminate them, and the undead will be left uncontrolled.”

"Excuse my bluntness—you may know a lot, but in the realm of warfare, you're a complete novice. This is utterly far-fetched imagination! Dealing with the spellcaster first is common sense, but the problem isn't why we should deal with the spellcaster, but how we should deal with the spellcaster!" The guard captain frowned, his tone growing increasingly impatient. "It's all the same old stuff, utterly meaningless."

“Remember the explosion this morning?” Trier was not impatient at being refuted; his voice remained gentle. “What we need to do is lead them into a new explosion ritual.”

“The spellcaster isn’t stupid!” the veteran sneered. “They won’t just obediently fall into the trap like rabbits. Do you think you can control where they are?”

"I understand!" Suddenly, Futia, who had been silent all along, clapped her hands and said excitedly, "As long as the battlefield is selected, the location of the Silent Whisperers cultists can be controlled."

She walked to the map spread out on the table and reached out to sweep away the embers left by the spirit binding it.

“Controlling nearly a thousand undead requires a good enough field of vision, and also enough space…” Futia’s fingers quickly swept across the map. “So, as long as we start the battle in the old square south of the town hall, those cultists will have no choice but to stay near the collapsed tower!”

The paladin nodded: "The maximum control distance for general group spellcasting is about 700 meters, so their location can be accurately calculated; in addition, my ritual requires a sufficient amount of Death Wind to accumulate, and this morning's explosion consumed too much Death Wind, so our battle location cannot be too far from the town hall where the Silent Whisper uses to accumulate Death Wind; finally, the terrain there is relatively complex and not suitable for the undead to take advantage of their numbers—in conclusion, I think choosing the Old Square as the pre-selected battlefield is very wise and reasonable."

The garrison captain fell silent and sat back down in his chair.

"But why would they fight us at the location we chose?" the elf asked curiously.

Trier took a deep breath. He knew that the most difficult moment of the night had arrived—everyone except the garrison captain was a kind person, so persuading them to accept the next plan would be very difficult.

The paladin was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "Two reasons. First, we need Olius to show up in that area; they can't abandon their main objective. Second, to prevent the cultists from noticing the ritual, we need someone to lure them here."