Azure Scepter

Page 103

Trier's words were ordinary, even somewhat hollow and comical, but they struck a chord deep within Seres's heart.

Yeah, why can't I be the successful one?

Seres closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

In the darkness, memories of the past inexplicably popped into his mind: the dim twilight of Gerdran illuminating the golden wheat fields, the free farmers in the territory sitting comfortably under tree stumps, chewing on straws; the Bloodstone Castle hall under the bright moon, the magnificent ballroom swaying with the melodious melody of violins, wine glasses reflecting the nine-tiered crystal chandelier, the clinking of glasses making the revelry seem like it would never end.

He thought of more.

Jewels and silks, seal rings bearing family crests, loud debates in cabinet meetings, whispered plots of opponents in the shadows, respectful subjects, and knightly duels filled with honor...

However, all of this came to an abrupt end when the court knights sent by the king stood beneath the bone-white ivy vines, coldly reciting the decree of expulsion.

He was exiled, and the beautiful old days vanished forever with the knight's emotionless pronouncement.

That damned tyrant!

Cyrus clenched his fist even tighter.

After being expelled, he had tasted too many failures. In his long mercenary career, his youth had passed in vain, most of his loyal followers had died in battle, and although his wealth had increased slightly, his personal strength remained stagnant.

Why can't I be the one who succeeds?

He had always been a gambler, trusting his intuition and judgment. Although, rationally speaking, the young nobleman named Trier in front of him seemed like a reckless madman, at this moment, Seres inexplicably felt that the other party was very special and very trustworthy.

Perhaps it really is worth a try?

“They’ve gone mad, completely mad!” Jasmine lamented, clutching her pointed ears and slumping onto the wooden table. “Fodia, look at my husband, he’s gone completely insane! He actually wants to pay for a war!”

Fatiya blinked blankly; she was completely unable to see how things were going.

Why would mercenaries actually be willing to pay to fight?

Why does this mercenary leader have so much money?

Why did Trier suddenly become so incoherent and incomprehensible?

What on earth happened? Am I too stupid to understand?!

Overwhelmed by a strong sense of insecurity, Futia wrapped her cloak tightly around herself.

“Darling, don’t speak yet.” Cyrus held Jasmine’s hand and whispered, then looked at Trier again.

"Your Excellency Trier, please forgive my impertinence, but I need to assess your ability to pay—how much money do you have available right now?"

Trier spread his hands, smiled, and pointed to the bag of gold coins on the table: "I don't have a single copper deer right now. All the money I have is on the table."

Furdia was even more confused. In her bewilderment, the focus in her eyes slowly faded. She tried to look at Jasmine, only to find that Jasmine also clearly did not understand what was happening.

Although she knew nothing about it, Jasmine protested with an extremely confident tone, as if she were an expert in the field: "Are you making fun of us, Lord Trier?"

When she was in school, Furdia thought Jasmine was very smart and wise, but now she realized that was a complete misunderstanding—Jasmine was neither smart nor wise; she just liked to comment.

"Quiet, Jesmin!" Seres snapped at his wife for the first time.

Jasmine froze for a moment. She frowned, opened her mouth slightly as if she wanted to say something but then stopped herself, but in the end, she said nothing.

Seres stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice: "So, Lord Trier, what do you intend to use as payment?"

Trier did not stand up. He said leisurely, "Of course, it's land and noble titles—I assure you in the name of the Holy Knight that your efforts will be rewarded accordingly."

The tavern fell completely silent. Seres felt his heart skip a beat. He froze in place as if he had been frozen in place, even his waving hand stopped in mid-air.

Jessie realized her tongue was tied in knots. She instinctively wanted to argue, but considering the possible consequences, she shut her mouth.

To be honest, she still misses the days when she was a countess. Although the things in the human world are not very exquisite or interesting, at least she didn't have to live such a hard life as she does now.

However, amidst the burning greed, Jasmine sensed a vague unease—among the great nobles of the southern duchy, there seemed to be no one named Trill.

Could the other person be using an alias?

Jasmine hesitated for a moment, but when she saw Trier's calm expression, she instinctively dared not question him.

Surely a conman couldn't fool Futia? Futia is now a military attaché at the embassy and also serves the royal family of Orko. Although Little Deer is usually quite dim-witted, she shouldn't be that dim-witted, right?

She glanced silently at her husband.

In Jasmine's mind, her mage husband had always been cowardly and never dared to fight against others. But at this moment, her husband spoke frankly about her confusion: "Excuse me for speaking frankly, Your Excellency Trier, as far as I know, you do not seem to be a high-ranking nobleman of the Southern Duchy. If it is convenient, could you please reveal your surname?"

Just as Trill was about to speak, the vampire priest, who had been silent all along, spoke up.

“Trill Rowland.” The priest’s voice was so soft it was almost a whisper.

Seres narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Excuse me, what did you say?"

“He said, Trier Rowland!” Suddenly, another voice came from the doorway.

Seres instinctively turned his head to look and then saw a tall, thin, and emaciated figure.

The figure was surrounded by several trusted church knights and squires, while an old man with blind bandages followed closely behind.

Seres stared at the figure for several seconds, then said incredulously, "Bishop Vercingetorius?"

In his memory, Bishop Vercingetori was a man who took great care of himself. Even though he was over 90, he still looked like a 20-year-old. But now, Bishop Vercingetori has obviously aged.

His face was covered with wrinkles, and his once tall and thin figure began to hunch over. His muscles seemed to be atrophying, and his shriveled flesh and bones were faintly visible beneath his magnificent bishop's robes.

PS: Second update. Thank you for your votes, monthly tickets, and recommendation tickets.

Chapter 207 Legendary Mage

Seres stared at the withered bishop, a multitude of thoughts racing through his mind.

Logically, the bishop had no reason to lie to him on this matter, but he still felt somewhat uneasy.

Seres' lips moved as he was about to ask another question, but Bishop Vercingetorie immediately interrupted, saying, "It's normal that you haven't heard of Lord Trier, because due to the Duke's recklessness, he is currently in exile, and with some deliberate concealment, his reputation is not prominent."

"Exiled?" Seres countered. Though he appeared quite gentle, he was unyielding when it came to matters that truly touched upon his bottom line. "Wouldn't that be the same as me?"

The bishop walked to the table, his tall figure casting a shadow.

“You’re mistaken.” He extended an old, wrinkled finger. “Little Seres, I’ve heard the ancient Carlo Sandlin people have a short but wise proverb: Power is born from the blood at the tip of a gun, and violence is synonymous with power.”

Seres couldn't help but glance at Trier, who remained calm and seemed unresponsive to the words of the man who was likely to become the next pope.

Seres knew very well that the other person's expression at this moment was not feigned, but rather a kind of inner calm and composure.

"I still don't understand." After weighing his options for a long time, Seres still did not back down. He slowly stood up and looked up to meet the bishop's gaze.

The bishop remained smiling. He paused for a moment, then said, "Before you stands a true legendary mage—restoring honor and property may be very difficult for you, but for Lord Trier, those things are within reach."

A legendary mage!?

Seres subconsciously doubted whether he had heard correctly, and he frowned slightly—in his understanding, there were very few legends in the entire world, most of them held high positions, and legendary mages were even rarer, more like figures from myths and legends.

While fighting on the front lines of the Demon Rift, he had seen legendary paladins fighting bloody battles, fought alongside legendary shadow dancers, and even received a special status effect from a legendary priest during a major battle to attack a demon portal. But he had never seen a legendary mage.

As a mage, Cyrus knew very well that becoming a legendary mage meant almost exaggerated effort and day-to-day accumulation—as far as he knew, even the youngest high-ranking mage was at least 50 years old, and Trill looked to be only 25.

By the light above, the world has gone mad!

Although he was shocked, Seres did not refute it—precisely because the matter was so absurd, it had a certain rationality.

Trier stared blankly at Vercingetorie, who was speaking, and at Seres, whose face was filled with terror.

Although he didn't care about other people's opinions, to be honest, it was still a little embarrassing to be praised like that to their face. However, the good news was that things were developing in a direction that was favorable to him.

But at that moment, he suddenly felt someone gently touch his arm.

The time traveler turned his head and saw that Futia was looking at him with wide eyes and a confused expression.

Although Fythia didn't speak, and there was no telepathic connection between them, Trier inexplicably sensed the hidden meaning in her eyes.

"Didn't you say that you knew so much knowledge because of divine revelation?"

Just as the time traveler was about to answer, Bishop Vercingetorie opened his palm.

"Believe me, Cyrus, working with Lord Trier will be the most successful business you've ever done."

Seres's lips twitched slightly: "You said the same thing last time, but you never paid the balance."

At this point, he turned to look at Trier and then extended his right hand.

“Your Excellency Trier, my wife and I need a few days to draft the contract, and it will take at least two weeks to remobilize my men—I hope we can work together smoothly.”

Trier stood up, then extended his right hand, and the two shook hands.

“Our first stop is Danles, where I’ve already established an outpost,” Trier said slowly. “If you don’t mind, I also need to know the specific marching plans, supply arrangements, and organizational details.”

“That’s a very specialized field,” Cyrus said with a smile. “It’s both boring and difficult. If you really want to contribute, just provide magical support. Lord Trier, please trust the professionals.”

“I have no intention of interfering in your mercenary group.” Trier’s tone was calm, but he bluntly exposed the other party’s subtext. “We have other allies, and if I get the information, then we can coordinate better.”

Seres knew the other party was putting him on the spot. After hesitating for a moment, he continued, "Do they have supplies? Food and weapons are extremely expensive in the entire Southern Duchy right now. If they don't have supplies, it's better not to let them march."

"Of course."

Trier stared into Seres' eyes, then extended the five fingers of his left hand: "Now that you've already bet 50,000 gold dragons on the table, I think it's necessary to consider the consequences. From your perspective, you have two parallel paths in front of you: one is victory and laurels under a blazing fire, and the other is losing everything—if I were you, I would definitely seize every opportunity to increase my odds of winning."

At this point, Trier also laughed.

"Of course, you can choose to withdraw at any time."

Seres hesitated, his fist clenching involuntarily. After a moment, he turned his head and spoke to his wife in the language of the trolls of the Gordesland region.

—This is an extremely obscure language, but Trier happens to be proficient in it as well. In the game, he slaughtered a large number of trolls in the Gorden region to collect materials for creating undead, and he was very familiar with the language of these mountain trolls.

Trier lowered his eyes and heard what the other person was saying.

P.S.: A short chapter to get back into the swing of things, and a red envelope, which will be posted tomorrow at noon.

Chapter 208 Plan

“I think we can trust Trier,” Cyrus whispered in Trollish. “Jesmin, I know there’s a great risk in giving him those details, but I think it’s worth a try.”

Trier had expected the mad elf Jasmine to object, but to his surprise, Jasmine actually nodded slightly.

“Since you’ve made up your mind, I won’t object,” Jasmine said softly. “If we succeed, there won’t be any problems; but if we fail, there’s no point in minimizing the losses, since the initial investment was too large. Let’s do it this way.”

During their discussion, Trier turned to look at Vercingetorie.

"Bishop, what brings you here?" the time traveler asked.

Vercingetor raised his wrinkled hand and extended two fingers.

“Two things.” He paused. “First, you asked Noy to tell me to help you find the Shadow Man’s mage apprentice. I found him; he’s right here.”

As he spoke, Vercingtoli gestured behind him.

The blind old mage was now wearing the same black ribbon as his sister Futia, and through the rough edges of the ribbon, one could vaguely see burn scars that resembled fish scales.

“The second thing is mainly to express my gratitude to you,” the elderly bishop said slowly. “Terre, thank you for keeping your promise—and I will keep mine. I will put pressure on you to ensure that no one is hindering the evacuation of refugees—but please forgive me for my inability. There are not many devout warriors left—I’m afraid we don’t have enough manpower to help you fight the undead and clear the evacuation route.”

As expected. The time traveler thought to himself.

He nodded slightly, then said succinctly, "Okay."

"Your Excellency Trier, who is both just and merciful, what do you need me to do?" The blind old mage bowed slightly in respect, then asked softly.

Trier made no attempt to hide it from those around him, stating directly, "Deliver a letter for me to the ancient lich Rakwald in the City That Never Sleeps."

At this moment, Cyrus and his wife's discussion was nearing its end, and he was taken aback when he heard Trier's words.

The Ever-Sleeping City of the Great Swamp?

That hellhole is full of bloodthirsty undead and barbarians; it's not a place that normal humans can set foot in!

Why would a mage dressed as a paladin like Trier have any connection to that place?

Seres looked at the old mage talking to Trier with surprise.

Within a few breaths, the mercenary leader, a man of many experience, immediately recognized the old mage's identity—a necromancer from the Shattered Desert region, the man bearing a brown "sacred fire band" tied to his left index finger. In the Endless Desert region, a band on the index finger is a symbol of a mage, while brown signifies the man's specialization in necromancy, an ominous art resembling brown corpse spots.

Wait... Trier is young, or perhaps he just looks young.

Seres narrowed his eyes slightly.

Everything makes sense now.

A legendary mage in his twenties is highly unlikely to exist, but a legendary mage who looks to be in his twenties certainly does exist—considering his close association with the necromancers of the Great Swamp, then an answer becomes clear.

Trill is a legendary necromancer who has taken over the body of a paladin.

“By the Radiance, this is too blasphemous.” He thought to himself, “That old bastard Vercingetori is indeed untrustworthy. As a holy candidate for Pope, he actually bows and scrapes to a necromancer. This is terrible. If he becomes Pope, won’t the entire Papacy be doomed?”

“Lackward?” The blind old mage was slightly taken aback. “Lord Trier, that lord is not easy to see. Even my teacher does not always receive his hospitality.”