Chapter 6 Chapter 4 I Call It The Whirlwind

Inside the magic shield, Mosiah glared at the guy standing next to him in surprise and displeasure. "Sinkin," he murmured vaguely, spitting sand out of his mouth. "What are you doing here?" "Why, it's Emin Sunday. I always come here on Sundays. What did you say? It's Thursday? So—" He shrugged. "This may be a good day to meet friends." He said, raising his arms to show off his clothes. "what do you think?" Mosiah cast a disgusted glance at the young man with the mustache.Everything Simkin wears—from his blue cotton jacket to his purple silk vest to his dazzling green trousers—is worn backwards.Not only that, but he had his underwear over his coat, his hair was standing on end, and his normally smooth beard was scurrying in all directions.

"You'll always look like a fool," Mosiah muttered. "If I knew it was you, I should have let you fly out and crash into the mountains." "I saved you, you didn't fly out, remember?" Xin Jin said listlessly. "You're boring. I warned you that your face would freeze in that way. You remind me of Duke Tukinho's body. His body rots before he's dead. I can't think of any reason for you Get mad at me, dear boy." He conjured up a mirror as he spoke, looked smugly at himself in the mirror, and twirled his beard to enhance the effect. "Oh, come on!" said Mosiah viciously. "Only a few people knew that we met that night in the Sacred Grove—me, Joram, Saryon, and you, and then there was Duke Xis! Do I think it was pure coincidence?"

Simkin put down the mirror and stared at Mosiah in disbelief. "It's unbelievable," he cried mournfully. "You have always suspected that I betrayed you! It was me!" He threw the mirror to the ground hard, grabbed his chest and said, "It's broken, it's broken." He lamented. "Oh, this defiled, insulted flesh is about to wither." "Shut up, Simkin." Mosiah said coldly, almost unable to control his rage, and grabbed the young man by the neck, trying to strangle him. "Your trick is not working." Simkin blinked, glanced down at Mosiah, straightened up abruptly, smoothed out his hair, and changed into a conservative but decent gray silk suit with white lace trim, pearl buttons, and an elegant skirt. Fuchsia bow tie.He adjusted the lace of his cuffs, and said casually, "I didn't know you were holding a grudge, you should have said it earlier - Saryon is the traitor, as I told you before! Jarod must have found out Source of the truth, ask him if you don't believe me."

"I don't believe it, besides, I've already asked." Mosiah said gloomily. "Nobody knows...if there's anything to know." "Oh, yes," Simkin interjected. Mosiah shook her head angrily. "As for the betrayal of us by the Catalyst Saints, I've heard enough of your nonsense that Joram and I won't believe it. Father Saryon will never betray us, so—" "—I will?" Simkin finished his words calmly, smoothing his hair.Then with a wave of his hand, he pulled out a small orange silk scarf from the air, and wiped his nose lightly. "Of course, you're right."

He went on coolly: "I might betray you, but only when things get boring. And as it turns out, I didn't have to, and you must admit that we had a time in the good old city of Merilon." Exciting time." "Bah!" Mosiah angrily looked away from Sim Jin who was dressing up, and stared at the flying sand and howling wind outside under the protection of the shield. "I don't know there's going to be a storm like this hitting the Far Lands, how long will it last?" he asked coldly, suggesting that he was only talking to Sim'kin because he needed some information. "Simply put it!" he added harshly.

"Not long, but it's been a long, long time," Simkin replied. "What?" Mosiah asked irritably. "What do you mean by that?" "I did," retorted Simkin angrily. "It was you who asked me to answer briefly." "Well, maybe it doesn't have to be that simple," Mosiah corrected, feeling more and more uncomfortable being here.Although it was almost noon, the sky was like night, and it was getting darker and darker. Even with the protection of the shield, he could still feel that the wind was not weakening but increasing. Keeping the magic shield around them was consuming him less and less He could feel his strength draining and knew he couldn't stand still for too long.

"Are you going to continue insulting me?" Sim Jin asked haughtily. "Because I wouldn't say another word if you wanted to." "No." Mosiah said. "So you're going to apologize for slandering me as a traitor?" Mosiah didn't answer. Simkin put his hands behind his back, watched the howling wind outside, and said, "I was wondering how far a person can go if he is thrown onto something big and hard like an oak tree..." "Okay! I'm sorry." Mosiah said darkly. "Very well," Simkin snorted. "There's never been a storm in the Far Lands, and this storm has something to do with a magical border or something like that, so as to how long this particular storm is going to last, I have a hunch it's going to be a long, long time. Far more than any of us, I suppose. Any one of you can think about it longer." The tone of the last sentence was low, and Xin Jin watched the flying sand outside from the magic shield with a serious expression.

"Can we walk in it?" Simkin asked suddenly. "Can you make it move with us?" "I think...it's ok." Mosiah said reluctantly. "Although it takes a lot of energy, and I'm still weak—" "Don't worry, we won't be here long," Simkin interrupted Mosiah. "Go in that direction," he directed. "You know, you're capable of maintaining my shield!" Mosiah said as they trudged through the sand.He had no idea where they were going, couldn't see anything at all. "Perhaps not," Simkin said. "That's tiring. Blowing off the clothes and then blowing them back again, inside out, upside down, consumes too much energy. It's not far away."

"What's not far away?" "Of course it's the statue of the Catalyst Saint, I thought, didn't you just want to see that?" "How do you know—? Never mind," said Mosiah wearily, tripping as the sand trickled under his feet. "You said you often come here, why? Why are you here?" "Come to keep him company, of course," said Simkin, looking at Mosiah with a self-righteous look, and went on: "You are too busy to attend to some things, but the poor man was turned to stone." , maybe he doesn't feel it. Standing there all day, looking at the emptiness all around, must be terribly boring, with only the pigeon standing on top of his head, that's it. If the pigeon is interesting, maybe it's a different matter, but They're really bad for talking to, and I think their claws definitely tickle him, don't you think?"

Mosiah slipped and fell, and Simkin helped him up. "Not far away." The young man said with certainty. "Almost here." "So, what are you... um... talking about?" Mosiah asked, feeling an indescribable sense of guilt at the same time.He knew that those sentenced to transformation were actually still alive, but it never occurred to him to speak to them, or provide them with some kind of human interaction. "What are we talking about?" Simkin asked, pausing for a moment as if to get his bearings, though he knew with greater certainty where they were than Mosiah in the blinding storm. "Ah, yes, we're heading in the right direction, just a few steps away. Where did I say that? Oh, remember. I told our statue friend the latest court anecdote, and I showed him My latest outfits, but I was dismayed to find that his reactions to these things were indeed 'like a rock' as people say, so I read him."

"What?" At this astonishing statement, Mosiah stopped struggling in the sand, partly to catch his breath and recover, and partly because he was staring at Simkin in astonishment. "You read for him? What? Scripture? Holy scriptures? I can't think of you—" "—read something so boring?" Simkin raised an eyebrow. "You're so right! God! The scriptures!" He turned pale at this thought, fanned the air with the orange silk scarf, and said, "No, no, I'll read some to him. Delightful stuff, cheers him up. I found a thick play by a guy who was terribly prolific from the old days, and it was so much fun. I could play all the characters, look, I remember Some." Simkin struck a tragic pose. "But something soft broke the far window? To the east, Juliet has fallen through the glass. Oh, forgive me, your blood has stained the ground..." He frowned at this . "What happened next? Can't remember exactly." He continued with a shrug. "Or, if we're less academic, I'll read this for him." With a wave of his hand, he conjured a leather-bound book and handed it to Mosiah. "Open it, any page will do." Mosiah complied, eyes suddenly widening. "It's disgusting!" he said, slamming the book shut and staring at Simkin. "Aren't you saying that you read this... this obscenity... to... to—" "Obscenity! You country bumpkin, this is art!" cried Simkin, snatching the book back and sending it back into the air. "I said it used to help lift his spirits." "The past has helped, what do you mean 'the past has helped'?" Mosiah interrupted him. "Why do you say it's the past?" "Because I'm afraid our Catalyst Saints are a thing of the past forever," Simkin said. "Move the shield a little bit, there, it's right under your feet." "My God!" Mosiah murmured in horror, looking up at Simkin. "No, it's impossible." "I'm afraid it's true, my dear boy." Simkin shook his head sadly. "I see, there is no doubt that all that our bald friend left us is stone residue, and these things are worse than things without feelings." Mosiah knelt on the ground, under the protection of the magic shield, He brushed the sand off what looked like a head rock, fighting back tears as he spewed out.He kept hoping and praying that Simkin was mistaken, maybe it was just one of the other keepers.But there was no doubt that it was Saryon—the gentle, scholarly face, the tender, loving expression, which he remembered so well that he could even see him, as Prince Garrod had said. However, that peaceful expression will always be engraved on the stone statue. "How could this be?" Mosiah asked angrily. "Can anyone do such a thing? I don't know it's possible to break the spell—" "Impossible," Simkin said, with a strange smile on his face. Mosiah stood up. "Impossible?" he repeated, eyeing Simkin suspiciously. "How do you know? How do you know all this?" Simkin shrugged. "Quite simply, the spell is unbreakable. Stop and think, these stone sentinels have been here for hundreds of years, and during that time no one or anything has been able to change them or bring them back to life. ’ He gestured toward the broken stones in the sand. "I stood here and watched Xavier and his gang hack at the hand of our stone friend, trying to take the Darksword, but all they got was a Heaps of gravel; I saw the sorcerer cast one spell after another on Saryon, and did nothing but kindle some doves on fire. But we now see the stone statue in pieces, However, not even the most powerful spell cast by the world's most powerful sorcerer could shake it." Mosiah shuddered. Despite the protection of the protective shield, he still felt the temperature dropping. His mouth was dry and thirsty. The longer he stayed, the more uncomfortable he felt. "What else do you—" "Over there, I'll show you." Xin Jin said with a gesture. "How far?" Mosiah asked hesitantly. "I'm not sure how far I can go..." "You've done a good job, the shield is still in place, just a few steps away, just ahead." Mosiah walked forward, trying to avoid the pile of sand-covered debris that he thought was a stone statue.Saryon was dead, he had no doubts now.He thought he should feel grief or relief, but what he felt now was a numbness, a growing sense of dread that something terrible was going to happen. "There." Simkin stopped, hands behind his back. Mosiah followed his gaze, staring straight ahead of him, his blood congealed in his veins, and the cold made him shiver from head to toe. Garrod had described the borders as clouds of slowly moving and changing fog, but what Mosiah saw was a whirling, greenish-black cloud of ugly, with lightning flashing occasionally at the edge. The wind sucks up the sand and dust, rolls it into a funnel shape, and then spits it out from the churning mouth, inhaling and exhaling alternately, like a living thing.Mosiah felt his shield begin to give way. "My mana is drained," he said breathlessly. "My shield won't last long." "Teleportation Corridor!" Sim Jin said calmly. "Run to the teleportation corridor." They turned around and stumbled through the wind and sand. If Xinjin hadn't led the way, Mosiah would have been swept away by the wind and sand. "We're almost there." Simkin shouted, and at the same time grabbed Mosiah who was about to collapse on the sand. With Simkin's help, Mosiah struggled to stand up, but the shield disappeared, and the wind and sand quickly blew towards They, the wind roared and roared in their ears, like countless big fists beating them, trying to pull them back into the huge mouth, and then push them forward again, kneeling on the ground. Mosiah could see nothing, hear nothing, only chaos, darkness, and stinging sand. Afterwards, everything returned to calm. Mosiah opened his eyes and looked around in surprise. He came back here before he even experienced the feeling of being in the teleportation corridor, and returned to Radisovik's study with Simkin. The red silk scarf covered his mouth and nose, looking quite ridiculous. Cardinal Radisovik stood up from his chair and stared at them both in amazement. "What's the matter?" He hurried forward and helped Mosiah, who was pale and trembling, onto the chair. "Calm down! Where have you been? I'll send for some wine..." "Frontier...Farland!" Mosiah stammered, unable to stop himself from shaking.He jumped up, categorically refusing the cardinal's comfort, and shouted: "I must see Prince Jarod! Where is he?" "I think he should be in the combat command room," Radisovik said. "But why? What happened?" "This tie," Simkin said, looking critically at himself in the mirror on the Bishop's room wall. "It's purple... an awful shade of gray..."