Azure Scepter

Page 6

Futia slowed her pace further.

"Furthermore, your tactical awareness is nothing like that of a militiaman. Even a seasoned soldier would have a hard time quickly finding the cultist mage who commands the undead, or even realizing that there is a commander."

Trier had assumed that Harlan would ask the question, since he had deliberately revealed surgical knowledge that the original owner could not possibly possess while treating the young soldiers, but to his surprise, it was Futia who raised the question first.

—Since we'll be leaving the town tomorrow anyway, it doesn't really matter whether we persuade them or not.

Trier turned his head and looked directly into the elf's azure eyes: "I am a paladin, and I have been inspired."

Futia did not look away.

“She’s waiting for me to tell her the details,” Trier thought to himself.

He also slowed his pace, trying to keep pace with the elves: "After leaving the inn, I intended to seek refuge at the Shrine of Radiance, but there were no survivors there. I stumbled upon a secret chamber in the confessional, where the coffin of a paladin was kept."

"Is it possible that you've been possessed? Or rather, influenced by something?" the ranger asked directly, a stark contrast to her earlier hesitant remarks.

"Perhaps, but at least paladins can be trusted. I feel like I'm still myself, just with a lot more knowledge out of thin air."

Trier wasn't lying at all; it's just that the three things—"the paladins can be trusted," "I am who I am," and "I have gained much more knowledge"—are actually unrelated. He implied a causal connection between them by omitting parts of the facts.

The original body no longer exists, but the one who replaced him was not a paladin from the shrine.

“I feel like you’re hiding something.” The ranger frowned. “Trill, you used to be a very sincere person.”

“Persuasion failed, but it’s not a big deal,” Trier thought. “Indeed, fools like the squire Hod are a tiny minority.”

He turned his head away, no longer looking directly at the other person, "So I can be a paladin—and I am just as sincere now."

When Trier returned to the hotel, the sun had set, a thin mist had risen in the night sky, and there were few stars.

Pushing open the hotel door, one finds fewer people inside. Only those in their early fifties who are armed and capable of fighting remain, and most of the survivors are wounded. The unarmed are busy cleaning up the bloodstains on the floor.

The halfling owner who calmly wiped the utensils behind the bar was gone, as was the obese pastor who preached the theory of salvation, and the old garrison officer was covered in bandages.

"Miss Neue, come quickly! There's a seriously wounded soldier!" the garrison officer shouted. "By Radiance, is Hod also dead, Sir? Your eyes..."

“Yes.” The knight paused for a moment, then spoke in a deep voice as if squeezed from rough rubble, “He is a cultist who framed Trier, lured us into an ambush, and stabbed me in the eye.”

"Cultists again! Pastor Byron is a cultist, Hod is a cultist, damned cultists, they all deserve to be hanged!" The garrison captain spat at the ground.

“The good news is that Trier has become a paladin.” The knight extended his left hand and clenched his fist tightly. “We have also wiped out the main force of the undead! We have found the way the blood plague spreads! Friends, victory is within reach! The remaining undead are no threat at all!”

This passionate speech received little response; the fervent enthusiasm crumbled in the face of reality.

Anyone with basic common sense knows that Beaver Town is in a very bad situation right now.

“Two days ago, there were only a few scattered spirits in the town. Now, the undead have confined us to the inn. In another two days, we might all be reporting to the cemetery.” The garrison captain walked up to the knight and said, “Sir, I see no hope of victory. We don’t even know who the enemy is—who would have thought that the highly respected Reverend Byron would be a cultist? Who would have thought that Hod was also a cultist? How many cultists are there in this place? We have no idea—we must get out of here immediately! We can’t win a war where we don’t know who the enemy is!”

"Please allow me to interrupt you all—there are still many unarmed civilians in the town, and if we leave, they will surely die, which would be contrary to the teachings of Radiance." A gentle and warm female voice, reminiscent of the warm sunshine of early spring, came from the stairs. "It is hardship and adversity that can temper our will."

Trier looked up, and a fresh scent of citrus mixed with rosemary wafted over with her words.

She was a priest in a white robe, with a few strands of silver hair hanging down from the sides of her hood, and the heavy folds of her robe, embroidered with black silk thread, draped down the steps.

"Sister Noy, the original owner's sweetheart, a priest of the Radiant Church," the transmigrator thought.

As the images in her memory gradually overlapped with reality, the nun appeared exceptionally beautiful and charming, enhanced by the ambiguous memories of the past and the hazy allure of unrequited love. Her pink lips beneath her hood were particularly alluring.

"Trill!" A hint of surprise crept into the gentle voice. "You really didn't turn into a zombie!"

Although Noy's voice was full of surprise, Trier keenly caught a fleeting look of astonishment on his face—an expression that should never appear on the face of someone who truly cared about the original owner.

"Stay alert." Trier shattered his uncontrollable, idyllic fantasies and calmly warned himself.

So he simply nodded in acknowledgment and took no further action.

“But if we don’t leave, how can those townspeople survive? They’ve already been infected with the blood plague and won’t live more than a few days!” the garrison captain retorted. “Miss Noy, you know the specifics!”

"But there must be a solution..."

"Then you might as well bring it up." The old captain's tone became increasingly aggressive, and several armed survivors nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, Trier felt someone tapping his shoulder. He turned around and saw it was Fythia again.

The elf lowered his voice and asked, "You have a way to suppress the blood plague, right?"

The paladin remained silent, waiting for Futia to continue.

“None of the people you pulled into the shrine turned into zombies, and the shrine itself definitely doesn’t have that function, but it did after you went in. So the conclusion is obvious—you have a way to suppress the blood plague,” the ranger said rapidly.

“Yes, I have a way to delay the onset of the blood plague by two or three days,” Trier said slowly and in a low voice. “But aren’t you worried that I might be a possessed demon worshipper?”

Fythia blinked, the tips of her ears seeming to turn red: "I...I just thought about it, and it's indeed unlikely that a paladin would have malicious intent."

“It’s strange that Futia actually admitted it directly,” the paladin thought. “This means that delaying the onset of the disease in infected people is very important to her, otherwise she definitely wouldn’t be able to overcome her stubbornness.”

"A reasonable assumption is that Futia has a way to solve the problem."

With this thought in mind, Trier turned around and began to carefully observe the elf: "Second question, will delaying it by three days fundamentally change things?"

“Yes, it will,” Futia said decisively, holding up two pale fingers. “I only need two days.”

“Let me guess—the method is related to your purpose in coming here, isn’t that right, Feudia?” Trier slowed his speech further, his flat tone sounding gentle and reliable.

“Yes, but it’s no secret,” the elf said frankly. “I’m employed by the eldest princess of the Kingdom of Orko. She hired me as a scout for an investigation team—the team’s mission is to investigate the blood plague, and I was dispatched to Beaver Town a few days ago to gather relevant information. Once I contact the court mages who are accompanying me, they can come up with a solution.”

“…” Terry was quite disappointed. He thought the elves had some good ideas because of their confident demeanor, but it turned out they were just looking for outside help—and not even very reliable help at that.

The magical power of the Kingdom of Orko has always been weak, even the weakest among all human kingdoms. So much so that for a long time after the Kingdom of Orko was destroyed, mages still used the proverb "the court mage of the Orko" to mock someone who appears impressive on the surface but is actually incompetent.

The accompanying court mages certainly couldn't find a solution, because the blood plague was an extremely difficult magical hybrid plague to deal with. The difficulty lay not in its incurability, but in the exorbitant cost of external cures. Given the widespread nature of the blood plague, this cost would be astronomical.

Given the level of knowledge of the court sorcerers, Trier was quite certain they couldn't find a way to reduce costs.

However, Fati's plan could provide a legitimate reason to leave Beaver Town.

Various thoughts flashed through Trier's mind as he rapidly analyzed the pros and cons, feasibility, hidden information, and exploitable aspects of the situation, as if peeling away a shell.

The time traveler rhythmically tapped the table with his index finger; the steady, monotonous rhythm helped him maintain his thinking in the noisy environment.

After a moment, Trier made his decision, and said with a smile, "So, the princess and the others are currently in Erlav, the capital of Earl Harlan, right?"

Fythia opened her mouth in surprise, almost blurting out, "How did you know?"

"Two days round trip, one day each way. Starting from Beaver Town, there aren't many places you can reach. Considering you were dispatched as a scout, they're unlikely to be in the wilderness, but rather in an urban area. Therefore, Eraf is highly likely to be the base of operations."

"I see." The elf blinked. "So, what was your answer?"

Her eyes were full of expectation.

"I am a paladin, and I will certainly lend a helping hand to those in distress."

“Trier, you haven’t changed at all.” The elf smiled, a shallow dimple appearing at the corner of her mouth.

“But I have one condition,” Trier said casually.

Her smile froze.

"I want to go to Erlav too."

“Even if I desert, you can’t stop me! I will never let my brothers fight those monsters under these circumstances!” The garrison captain’s loud voice interrupted their conversation.

"Are you really going to break your oath like this?" The knight's voice suddenly rose. "I, now, as your lord, command you to obey the law!"

“I am loyal to your father, not you,” the garrison captain retorted sharply. “Little Harlan, you are far inferior to your ancestors. You can’t even manage your own servants! Now, with the enemy situation completely unclear, you are sending our men to their deaths for some abstract ideology. How despicable!”

Chapter 9 Wine Cellar

Harlan's face turned bright red.

He looked around at the crowd, seemingly seeking help, but the low morale seemed to have infected him as well, like a contagious disease.

The knight sat down dejectedly, then said, "I am willing to give every willing fighter a gold dragon as a reward. I swear on the honor of the Roland family, cash."

"You can make money, but you also need to be alive to spend it." The garrison captain sneered.

"Everyone, please stop arguing." Suddenly, Futia stepped forward. "I have a solution."

Exhausted, the elf's voice was very hoarse, but her words briefly dispelled the tense atmosphere in the inn. The garrison captain looked at her silently.

"Her Highness the Princess is in Erlav, a day's journey from here. She has a court mage accompanying her, so the person who can solve the problem is right next to you. Anyone who wants to leave can come with me to Erlav to find help."

“Fodia, please forgive my bluntness, but while the person who will solve the problem is within reach, the problem is also within reach,” the nun said. “There are already a large number of people unconscious in the hotel alone, and they can’t afford to wait that long.”

Fythia turned to look at Trier, seemingly seeking his opinion.

Trier nodded.

Then the elf said, “Trier has a way to delay the onset of the blood plague.”

The noisy hall fell silent for a moment, followed by an even more heated argument.

Some demanded to try it immediately, while others angrily rebuked why they hadn't said so earlier. Some cautious townspeople even believed it was a new conspiracy by cultists, and that anyone who tried it would be turned into an undead.

“Everyone should have heard of the legend of Paladin Cord.” After waiting for the crowd’s emotions to build up for a while, Trier suddenly spoke up. His voice was not loud, but his calm tone was like a sea breeze that soothed the waves and quieted the noisy hotel.

The paladin stood up.

“Korde was an upright man who died fighting against the Balrog who was trying to destroy the town. His body is kept in the Radiant Shrine in the north of the town.” Trier’s gaze swept across the crowd. “And his soul has been guarding Beaver Town ever since.”

“I received a revelation in the shrine, became a paladin, and learned a magical ritual that could delay the onset of the blood plague.”

“This sounds too suspicious! If you’re a cultist, all you need to do is draw some kind of unknown, evil ritual circle, and we’re all doomed!” the garrison captain couldn’t help but say. “Besides, you’re a stranger! The best thing we can do is get out of here.”

“I’m willing to vouch for him!” The nun stood beside Trier, the scent of citrus and rosemary filling the air. “Why not let him give it a try? Many people in the cellar are dying. Things can’t get any worse, so why don’t we try it on a small scale?”

The garrison commander hesitated for a moment, then the elderly officer frowned and said, "Let's do it this way. But even if it proves effective, we can only fight for three more days at most."

"Come this way," Noe said softly.

The inn in Beaver Town is not just an isolated building; in fact, it's a small complex enclosed by walls over two meters high, resembling a miniature fortress. The wine cellar isn't located beneath the main inn building, but rather beneath an annex brick building to the south.

The dull sound of footsteps echoed in the decaying wooden stairwell, and the light from the glass lantern cast three shadows on the corner of the brick wall.

The nun, carrying a lantern, walked at the front, her right hand gripping the wall as she carefully made her way: "We don't have much time left. The Silent Whisperers are instigating the plague. In two days at most, all the infected will develop symptoms and be transformed."

"How did she know about the Silent Whisper Society?" The suspicious transmigrator was immediately filled with doubts.

So he asked, feigning ignorance, "The Silent Society? What's that?"

"Have you forgotten?" Noi suddenly stopped in his tracks, the movement very abrupt.

The nun turned her head, the shadows in the firelight obscuring her expression and gaze like a veil, her soft cherry lips appearing even more luscious against the backdrop of the shadows and firelight.

The original owner's memories were fragmented, and Trier only vaguely remembered that he seemed to have come into contact with the Silent Whisperers when he came to Beaver Town, so he shook his head.

Noy sighed. "It's a bizarre cult that worships death. You and I shut down the Silent Whisperers in our town three weeks ago. You were the one who contacted the garrison captain—and you even wrote a letter to the Duke reporting on it."

“You are badly injured, and your memory is confused. By the light above, please allow me to heal you. I can also cast spells.” The nun’s voice was full of pity.

"His attitude has changed so much compared to a few hours ago," Trier thought to himself. He didn't trust Noy, so naturally he wouldn't accept divine healing.

He is currently critically injured; if the divine magic goes wrong, he will surely die.

"No need, I have no external injuries."

The nun bent down and placed the lantern on the steps, then looked up, took off her hood, and looked intently at Trier.

"You have been corrupted by negative energy. Corruption by negative energy will cause you to emit the stench of rotting corpses. The stench of decay on you now is much stronger than that of the soldier who was wounded by the corpse demon."

“Besides that, you must have suffered very serious shock injuries.”

"Finally, the blood plague will erode a person's internal organs. Although you seem fine, your body is definitely in a mess inside, and may even be on the verge of death! Trier, I have one more chance to cast a healing spell on a fatal wound today. Please reach out your hand."

Neue extended her left hand in a friendly manner, her long, slender, white fingers seemingly adorned with sparkling, milky-white specks of light, like fireflies. She tilted her head slightly, looking at Trier expectantly.

"Time is of the essence, let's go treat those infected with the plague." The paladin remained unmoved.

“I’m sorry, Trier, I know you’re still angry with me. You were seriously injured saving me, but I didn’t use my divine magic when you were unconscious. Now that you look quite healthy, I’m rushing to sell you my divine magic—I’m afraid in your heart I’m a selfish, cowardly, friend-abandoning, hypocritical priest who divides people into different classes!” The nun lowered her eyelids.

“Noi! Is that what you think?” Futia, at the back of the group, said in surprise. “I thought you simply believed that there was no possibility of curing the blood plague.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! Although I knew that Trier would have a hard time surviving the blood plague, I still held onto the hope that he could survive the disease. That’s why I left him one chance to use divine magic, hoping to cure the aftereffects of the blood plague. Over the past few days, many people have survived the transformation of the blood plague, but died from the aftereffects.”

Noy raised her head again, tears glistening beneath her long eyelashes: "Trier, we've known each other for almost twenty years, you're my best friend—please think not only of your own life, but also of mine, please get treatment!"

The nun's words were very sincere, but Trier remained unmoved.

These words only sound sincere; the underlying logic is ridiculously far-fetched.

In addition, from a risk perspective, the other party could also be a cult member. However, whether she is a cult member or not can only be guessed in the absence of evidence, and there is currently no concrete evidence; all that exists are details observed, whether true or false.

From the perspective of opportunity cost, considering that she will be leaving tomorrow, her attitude towards herself is meaningless.

In conclusion, a cool-headed approach can effectively avoid unknown risks, with virtually no cost.

Trier then shook his head.