Azure Scepter

Page 13

He walked openly and honestly toward the spirits of the dead not far away, his steps calm and firm.

“There are four zombies in front of me.” He walked and observed. “In good light, the visual perception limit of a well-preserved zombie transformed from the blood plague is about 30 meters, and its hearing limit is about 20 meters.”

"We're almost there," he thought.

However, he was terribly wrong.

The undead's perception was far worse than he had estimated at the lowest level.

Without making a sound attempt to conceal his footsteps, he calmly walked to a position about 10 meters directly in front of the zombie! Even at such close range, the zombie remained standing there, stunned. It stood there blankly, seemingly lost in thought, completely unresponsive.

Left with no other choice, the paladin coughed deliberately.

After about a second, the zombie stiffly turned its head like an old machine corroded by rust. Its malfunctioning eyeballs darted around erratically before finally aligning themselves in the correct direction.

"Ugh..." the undead groaned. Its gums were already rotten, so its voice also revealed a sense of decay and powerlessness.

It staggered toward the paladin, its bones creaking under the strain with each step, as if they were about to crumble at any moment.

"This has absolutely no maintenance," Trier thought to himself. "The Silent Whisperers are so unprofessional; how can a zombie like this be any fighting force?"

Suddenly, the zombie's movements abruptly froze; it stopped abruptly.

Heavy footsteps came from behind the corpse.

Trier looked up:

A burly cultist dressed in a priest's robe walked unhurriedly with three other nearly completely decaying zombies. A moment later, he stood before the paladin.

Trier watched the cultists in silence, without saying a word.

The cultist remained silent, observing Trier with a scrutinizing gaze, his expression so serious it was almost palpable.

A brief moment of dead silence.

The paladin said in a deep voice, "Silence is golden."

Remaining silent about the unspeakable is the only way to attain wisdom—this is a fundamental principle believed by members of the Silent Society. Therefore, "silence is golden" is a phrase used by Silent Society members to identify each other and to greet one another.

Trier lowered his head slightly and placed the index finger of his left hand against his chin.

This is also a unique gesture of respect among members of the Silent Whisperers.

The burly man seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Although he still didn't speak, he managed a stiff smile.

[Successfully fooled! Your fooling skills have been improved! +1]

"What's wrong?" the cultist asked succinctly.

Trier pointed to the dried bloodstains on his body without saying a word.

After a moment's thought, the cultist said, "A battle has broken out. Do you have urgent news to report to us?"

The paladin nodded.

"Lord Byron is not here; he has led others to check the alarm—you'll probably have to wait a while."

Trier said, “There’s something wrong with the ceremony. I’ve brought the listener’s decree. It’s urgent.”

The cultist glanced back at the ritual circle, licking his upper lip nervously. But the next moment, Trier noticed that the other man's pupils suddenly contracted.

—The other party noticed something.

"He's staring at my cuff," Trier's mind raced. "What's on my cuff?"

"The priest's robe has a patch on the cuff, which means that the other party knows the original owner of the robe and is very familiar with the patch on the cuff."

"Try to bluff, and if that doesn't work, just take action."

In a flash of inspiration, the paladin suddenly laughed and asked, "Do you know the original owner of this robe?"

"What did you do to him?" The cultist was no longer calm; his eyes widened, and the blood vessels at the corners of his eyes were clearly visible.

“I saw a pile of corpses, all suffocating from their maniacal laughter.” Trier stared calmly into the eyes of the cultists. “And the original owner of the robe was still alive.”

The burly cultist grew increasingly enraged. Trier noticed the veins bulging at the corners of his eyes, and the man, as if suppressing something, hissed in a low voice, "What do you mean, 'still alive back then'?"

“A cruel elf killed him, and I was powerless to stop it.”

Chapter 20 The Silent Society

“A cruel elf killed him, and I was powerless to stop it.”

"Ah!" the cultist growled like a wild beast, his voice even trembling with a sob, "Damn it!"

“Death is peace, my brother,” Trier comforted him in standard Silent language. “I was able to get here by virtue of his robe. When this mission is over, I will find the Listener to bring him back to life.”

The cultist stared intently at Trier, a hint of expectation in his tearful eyes.

The paladin smiled and said, “A resurrection with preserved consciousness—he’s a good lad. Now, take me to see the temporary supervisor.”

"Sir, can you swear an oath?" the cultist asked.

The paladin's smile vanished, and he looked at the other man coldly, his amiable tone turning into undisguised contempt: "I think the only thing you can trust now is my reputation."

The deceased novice pastor is important to the burly cultist in front of him, so he loses his judgment on related issues, making it easy to construct a lie around the basic point of "resurrecting the dead".

Lies cannot deceive people; people can only be deceived because they want to be deceived.

The burly cultist shuddered; he wanted to say something more.

But Trier coldly interrupted, "Silence is golden. Lead the way."

[A resounding success in bluffing! Through this experience, your bluffing skills have increased by 3, your intimidation skills by 3, and your ability to read people by 3.]

Logically speaking, the burly cultist should have consulted his superiors before making a decision, but at this moment he had completely lost his composure, and so he blindly led Trier straight to the magic circle consciousness.

"What is your relationship with him?" Trier asked casually.

The burly man's face suddenly turned red, and he stammered, unable to speak.

The paladin sneered, further tormenting the other's spirit: "It's a physical relationship, isn't it?"

The cultist's voice was barely audible: "Stop...stop talking..."

“At this point, he wouldn’t be able to withstand any spell that grants a will-based immunity,” Trier thought. “He’s on the verge of a mental breakdown. We can’t push him any further. It’s time to comfort him.”

Suddenly, a shout interrupted Trier's thoughts.

"What are you doing?! Who is he?" A cultist wearing standard chainmail of a town guard shouted angrily from not far away.

“This gentleman is the Listener’s messenger; he brings important news,” the burly man replied without hesitation.

"Shouldn't you have asked for permission first?" The chainmail cultist sighed and strode over. "What news?"

“Due to the ceremonial renovations, the energy supply to the town hall is going to have some problems recently,” Trier stated the facts.

"What do you mean there's going to be a problem? Wait... haven't I seen you before?" The cultist guard looked confused. "Uh..."

The paladin glanced at the burly cultist, who immediately understood and shouted, "Go now!"

Rebuked, the chainmail cultist's tone turned hostile: "Can you vouch for him?"

“Of course.” The burly man nodded without hesitation.

"Then you can go ahead, but be careful. It's Frege on duty today. He's not as easy to talk to as I am, and you know his temper."

“The cultists remaining are not just the three visible ones; they are the fixed sentries. There are also hidden sentries on the high ground of the building south of the ritual circle, as well as two groups of patrolling sentries.” Trier observed the enemy’s deployment as he advanced. “A very professional arrangement.”

They soon arrived at the edge of the ceremony.

Six people were responsible for maintaining the ritual. Five of them stood very close together on the south side, towards Trier, while the last one, an old man in silver chainmail, stood at the far north end with a thick spellbook in his hand.

They were all intently focused on keeping the ritual running—which proved that the ritual itself was flawed and required the intervention of the caster as a mediator.

The guard on duty was enormous, and he held an even larger halberd in his hand. Upon seeing the two men, he immediately said, "Hey, who is he?"

"You cannot come near here!"

“He is the Listener’s envoy…” the burly man explained, “He has urgent news to report.”

Trier lowered his head and slowly approached the guard like a hidden shadow, his fingers already gripping the cold hilt of his sword.

My heart was racing, and a buzzing sound was gradually coming into my ears.

The dry mouth and parched throat made him even more focused, and every detail in his field of vision became more vivid as his brain was filled with oxygen.

Adrenaline continuously stimulated the paladin's nerves, and oxygen and energy were rapidly pumped to every part of his body through his blood, making it seem as if his limbs and bones contained endless power.

"It's not time yet. Kill the spellcaster in the far north first," Trier told himself.

Suppressing his restless urge to attack, the paladin raised his head and calmly looked at the guards on duty.

Sudden changes occur.

"Trier!" the cultist on guard exclaimed in shock. "What are you doing here?"

The other party actually knows the original owner!

The guard suddenly realized what was happening and immediately shouted, "There's someone here!"

The paladin suddenly drew his longsword!

—The cold blade hummed as it came down, its powerful strike seemingly tearing through the air.

The cold glint of the sword flashed in the guard's pupils, and then the dazzling sword light slashed fiercely across his neck.

"boom!"

The longsword pierced the carotid artery, its blade striking the chainmail and bursting into a bloody flash. A hysterical scream of pain was extinguished before it could even be born.

A blinding drop of blood shot straight from his right shoulder to his left waist, the wound burning with pure white embers.

The smell of blood suddenly intensified, and the massive guard collapsed to the ground like a crumbling tower. Trier, meanwhile, suddenly pushed off the ground and twisted his waist, delivering a backhand slash to the face of the cult leader.

The burly cultist hadn't yet recovered from this sudden turn of events; his face still bore the look of astonishment as if he had just woken up. The next moment, that astonishment was shattered by the back of the sword, which struck him like a hammer.

"Crack!"

Amidst the teeth-grinding cracking sound of bones breaking, an intense, astringent sensation exploded in the burly man's nasal cavity, followed by groans and screams from all his nerves. The astringent sensation was quickly replaced by indescribable, excruciating pain.

He was violently thrown to the ground like a kite with a broken string, and completely lost consciousness.

In the blink of an eye, the slaughter was complete, and a few steps away, a spellcaster in a magic robe was looking at the paladin with a blank expression.

Amidst the blood mist, Trier charged forward, dragging his sword. Like a steamroller, he rolled straight into the group of spellcasters a few steps away, instantly unleashing a storm of blood and gore.

With the combined power of the Holy Slash and the fierce attack, the sharp blade roared as it sliced ​​through the waist of the still-dazed cultist. Half of the corpse was thrown high into the air. In the warm rain of blood, Trier gracefully dodged the still-on-the-ground remains, pushed off the ground, and the powerful blade rolled into the crowd and slashed down!

The five cultists, who were positioned very close together, suffered heavy casualties instantly. Only one man with a small mustache managed to escape. He turned to run, but the paladin's hand gripped his shoulder tightly, and then the longsword pierced his heart.

"Bang." At that moment, the guard's body had just fallen to the ground, splashing mud everywhere.

Pure white holy flames burned quietly on the wreckage.

In just two seconds, all the cultists near the paladin were wiped out.

"Close-quarters combat is still the most satisfying," Trier thought to himself.

He pulled his longsword from the corpse, his cold gaze sweeping over the mage on the northernmost side.

The old mage, clad in mithril chainmail, was as pale as his beard. He trembled uncontrollably, and his left hand, holding the spellbook, shook as if he had been electrocuted.

[The fear-mongering operation was successful; Loft was gripped by terror.]

“A dimensional portal?” Trier looked at the other person’s lips and gestures and instantly recognized the spell the other person was about to cast.

As a seasoned spellcaster, Trier was well aware of the power of magic. Although he didn't understand why the other party wanted to use a dimensional portal, the mage must have a special tactic, so stopping the other party from completing the spell was definitely the right thing to do.

He immediately raised the holy emblem, concentrated his mind, and uttered a shout mixed with divine magic: "Stop!"

He rebuked them with a fierce shout!

The old mage shuddered violently, but although he trembled even more violently and his pupils almost lost focus, he still subconsciously kept his hands steady.

"The opponent has a wealth of combat experience," the paladin thought. "He won't be easy to deal with."

The next moment, a burst of lightning suddenly erupted from the ritual lines not far in front of Trier, and he also felt a surge of magical wind.

The old mage finished casting the spell.

He raised his right hand, and a dazzling white halo emerged from his fingertips, then enveloped him from above, and he vanished instantly.

"Did they go into the building on the south side?" Trier's gaze quickly swept towards the building on the south side.

But the mage wasn't there—and the cultists who were supposed to be outposts were also gone.

“It can’t be a simple escape, otherwise it would be much better to use a summon monster or a wall of fire first.” Various thoughts flashed through Trier’s mind. “It can’t be planar movement either, because that’s not very meaningful and would just waste a spellcasting opportunity.”