Chapter 12 Chapter Ten Beyond the Fog

Mosiah sat on a lawn-covered knoll, his shoulders arched, a thick layer of smoke overhead.The dense fog wrapped him tightly like a cold and wet hand, making him extremely uncomfortable.He did not know what time of day it was, or how long he had been sitting here, perhaps half a day since his regiment had been ordered to guard it.Maybe it's been half a month.Enveloped in this "smoky world", he has lost almost all sense of time, and possibly other senses as well. Through this thick, thick, impenetrable fog, he couldn't see anything, not even the figures of other comrades in his regiment.But when I think that those enemies can't see me, I still have some comfort in my heart.However, he still found it unbearable to feel the uneasiness that was growing stronger - a voice from the bottom of his heart whispered: The rest of humanity has gone long, long ago, and only he is left. The only one in this world.

Mosiah knew the feeling wasn't real, partly because he could hear the sound.Although the sound coming from the thick fog was distorted, it sounded more eerie than no sound at all.Are those hollow and cold voices people or ghosts?Is it footsteps?Is there an enemy sneaking up on him from behind? "Who is it?" Mosiah asked the fog, his voice trembling.However, no response.After his voice was absorbed by the thick fog, it drifted away. Was it a hand on his shoulder...? Mosiah drew his short sword, stood up suddenly, spun a few times, and thrust the sword into a tree with deft skill.

"Fool!" he muttered under his breath.As he sheathed his sword, he pushed back with his hands the claw-shaped branches that barred his way and touched his neck.Then he looked around hurriedly, hoping no one saw him.Then he exhaled a breath, before he was relieved.He went back to the hill and nursed the wound on his hand—it turned out that the branch just now had the ability to avenge the attacker, and a twig pierced into Mosiah's flesh. Has the battle already begun?Mosiah thought it was likely to start, and was pretty sure he'd been sitting here for at least a few hours.Is it over?Could it be that his regiment had received orders and he had not heard them?This thought made him so frightened that he immediately grabbed the heavy metal bow, walked a few steps, and looked carefully at the fog, hoping to find someone who understood the current situation of the war.

After a while, he hesitated and stopped. His orders were clear: to stand still until the clouds cleared.Prince Jarod stressed the importance of obeying this order to every word. "You demon craftsmen are the key to our victory." In the hours before dawn, they gathered in front of the teleportation corridor that was going to transport them to the battlefield of glory, Jarod told them. "Want to know why? Because you don't have to rely on magic! When our sorcerers drain Xavier's sorcerers of mana, and the enemy's catalyst saints are too exhausted to draw magic from the world, It is time for you to come out, and the enemy is at your disposal. Xavier will be completely controlled by us, and will surrender to us and give up his position."

Mosiah kept sighing and telling himself that he had only been here for five hours or so, not five weeks.When he turned to return to his post on the green hill, he found that the hill was gone.He stood there motionless, trying to remember how to turn back the same way.He was sure that he just stood up from the small hill, then turned left and walked four or five steps.Therefore, if he walked back to the right, he should have been able to return to the original location. After walking twenty steps, he still couldn't find it.To make matters worse, he was spinning around in the fog, completely bewildered after trying every possible direction he could think of.

"Look at you!" An angry voice suddenly sounded from his right ear. "It made us completely lost." Mosiah jumped up in fright, a heart almost jumping from his chest to his throat.He held the short sword tremblingly in his hand, and his feet spun around quickly, but he didn't touch anything. "Aren't you going to thorn the tree again?" said the voice sternly. "I've never been so ashamed..." "Singin!" Mosiah yelled angrily in a low voice, looking here and there, and at the same time trying to calm down his heart so that it returned to a normal heart rate. "Where are you?"

"Here." The voice sounded aggrieved, and it sounded like it came from somewhere near Mosiah's ear. "I have never tried to be as boring and dull as I was just a few hours ago in my life. The emperor told me the story of his life before, from worms to... It is not as boring as you are today." Mosiah put his body on The quiver on his back was thrown to the ground. "Ouch!" the voice cried. "You shouldn't be like this, you messed up my feathers too!" "Should you scare me half to death?" Mosiah whispered angrily. "Okay, if you really want that, I will." The arrow was puzzled. "But why do you want me to scare you again—"

"No, bastard!" cried Mosiah, kicking the quiver angrily. "I mean, you scared me half to death just now." He suddenly clutched his chest, feeling his heart beating violently. "I think I hurt something," he muttered, his knees giving way, and he collapsed, sitting on a tree stump. "I'm very sorry," said One Arrow, stepping out of the quiver.Mosiah stared at it intently, seeing its bright green body with orange-red feathers—a stark contrast to the plain metal arrows he had brought. "You know, you can help me." The arrow twisted and spun hard by itself, and slowly moved to the grass.

Not only did Mosiah not give the arrow any help, but he also firmly told it that it should solve it by itself. "A simple 'no' will suffice," said the arrow with a snort.It wriggled one last time with all its strength, and finally popped out of the quiver.Presented in front of Mosiah was a blurry mass of green and orange mixed together. That mass was Simkin. He returned to normal size and stood stiffly in front of Mosiah, with his arms attached to the sides of his body. Sideways, feet together. "I'm as stiff as the last queen, and I can't even feel my toes," he complained sadly. "Say, don't you like me the way I am? I call it Lincoln Green. There used to be a merry gang of bandits whose leader liked to wear stockings and a pointed feather hat Hanging around in the woods. He was seen playing with a deer one day, and someone reported it to the local sheriff, and—”

"What are you doing here?" Mosiah grumbled, looking into the fog, trying to see or hear something.He thought he could detect some suspicious sound coming from his left, but he wasn't sure. "You should know that Garrod said that he didn't want to see too much of your orange scarf on the battlefield." "Jarrod is a sweet kid, I love him to the point of distraction," Simkin said, stretching comfortably. "But he has to admit he's a pompous fool sometimes—" "Hush!" Mosiah whispered in surprise. "Keep your voice down!" "I hate to tell you that, old man," said Simkin cheerfully. "But now we must be miles away from the battlefield, don't be so nervous. The whole thing is a tiresome thing anyway. A bunch of old wizards cast spells on each other while they remember During those spells. The Catalyst Saints are taking a nap in the sun. Oh, and sometimes you see a young, reckless guy directing a centaur or two into a fight, which can liven things up a bit. Interestingly, , to see the old fellows pull up their robes and make a hasty retreat into the woods. But I assure you, it's a terribly tiresome affair, and no one or anything was killed."

"Hey, no one deserves to die!" Mosiah cursed softly, feeling very disturbed, wondering if Simkin was right, and if he had slipped from the battlefield. "I know. But I'd really like to have a centaur running around untethered, or a giant scurrying around at will. No luck, however. I find myself getting bored. To make matters worse , I'm sharing a carriage with Baron von Lichtenstein. Usually he prepares the best frozen lunches. He always carries a basket of savory food with him, and the aroma keeps running out, but there's still an hour or so to go It was only noon. The Baron was such a nuisance, insisting on describing all the games to me. I told him I was starving, but he ignored my gentle hints - just a little snack It will restore my spirits. So at last I decided to come to you, dear child. Besides, I want to tell you some important information." "It's not even noon yet, what time is it?" Mosiah said suddenly, hoping that Xin Jin would not mention the food. "Probably one or two o'clock or two or three o'clock, maybe. By the way, if I'm smart enough to sneak into your arrow pile like I did just now, do you agree—" Mosiah interrupted him again: "Aren't you Do you want to tell me some important information?" Simkin raised an eyebrow. "Yes, indeed there is." When he spoke, he had a strange mocking but absolutely serious smile on his face, which never failed to make Mosiah tremble with fright. "I ran across an acquaintance of yours at Merilon." "Mine?" Mosiah glared at Simkin suspiciously. "Who?" "Your friend, the sorceress, the leader of Dukexis." "My God!" Mosiah turned pale and trembled. "Emin's beard, dear little one," said Simkin, looking at him amused. "Don't be so gaffe, you look guilty, but you haven't done anything bad—at least, as far as I know, not." "You don't know what kind of situation that is!" Mosiah said after swallowing a mouthful of saliva. "I sometimes dream that I can still see her face, squinting at me..." Mosiah stared at Simkin and suddenly came to himself. "What were you doing at Merilon last night?" "I've been there a week," Simkin said with a yawn.He looked uninterestedly at the tree stump where Mosiah was sitting from a distance, waved his hands and magically conjured a couch, and then lay down on it, putting his hands under his head. “Great party there!” "But Merilon is our enemy!" "My dear little fellow, I have no enemies!" said Simkin. "You didn't follow my train of thought at all, which is also very important." He frowned, and stroked the beard on his chin with his hands.Thick fog rolled over and around his head, partially blocking his vision. Gradually, all Mosiah could see were the orange-red toes of Simkin's shoes and the bright orange on his green coat. red hat. "Ah, yes, the sorceress asked casually if I had seen Joram lately." "Joran!" Mosiah repeated in shock, and then he stood up nervously, approached Simkin, and put his hands on the couch in the forest, and he could touch these real things that made him feel ashamed. He felt a little comfort. "But...that doesn't make any sense...! Maybe you heard it wrong, or she didn't mean it at all..." "What I said was absolutely true. I fell to the ground in fright. Really, I fell through the air with a splash. 'There's a piece of fluff stuck in my ear.' I said to the witch-warlock. 'I can't hear you, but you probably asked me if I've seen Joram.'" "'That's right,' she replied. So direct, these dukes are real, never beat around the bush." "'Joran?' I asked again. 'Is that the lad with the great sword... er... who died about a year ago?'" "'it's him.'" "'Are we talking about apparitions here?' I continued, and I thought my voice must have been trembling.' In the middle of the night, with bones creaking, shackles clanging, and things banging, Jo Lang just hanging around the hall in his dressing gown?'” "She didn't speak, she just looked at me like this." Simkin imitated the dagger-like gaze of the sorcerer, and he imitated it so well that Mosiah trembled again, and just nodded repeatedly. "I understand." Mosiah said vaguely. "Go on." "And then she said: 'I'll be there.' That's what it said—to them—it's true, I swear." Simkin went on, trembling with seriousness himself, and this time The shivering was not entirely faked. "I did feel cold fingers fumbling around my ears..." "Stop talking about these ghost things!" Mosiah's forehead was beaded with sweat. "Especially not right now." He looked around. "I hate this fog! Do you hear anything?" He stopped and listened for a moment.A strange sound--a whispered chanting--came out of the fog. "What's going on? Why are we sitting here?" "Okay, of course you should understand, what does all this mean?" "I don't understand." Mosiah said sharply, raising his head, trying to identify the direction of the strange voice. "But I guess you'll tell me..." "That means, dear little one," said Simkin proudly. "Xavier didn't get the Dark Sword. Not only that, both he and Dukexis believed that Joram had returned. It was the prophecy that returned with Joram." Mosiah was silent.He never heard any sound again, so he thought that he must have hallucinated just now.He stared at the mist and shook his head. "You know, Xavier is right," he whispered reluctantly at last. "Joram did come back. I knew it when I walked out on the sand and saw Saryon lying there. Joram is the only one who can break the spell..." He paused, sinking Said: "We have to convince Jarod—" "Hush! The fog is gone!" cried Simkin, raising his head and standing up. There was a muffled rumble.A sharp and clear wind swept in, tearing the fog curtain hanging down to the ground into strands until it dissipated completely.The abundant noon sun fell on them. Blinking in the light, Mosiah felt the light set his blood on fire, and immediately picked up his bow and flung the quiver over his shoulder. "That's my army!" He pointed to a line of men under the command of one of the blacksmith's sons. "Not even twenty feet away! I'm not out of line! I'm here!" Mosiah yelled, waving his arms, when he heard another strange buzzing sound, this time closer , louder.He turned around and looked behind him. Mosiah gasped in horror.Fear thrust its sharpened point into him, pierced deep, sucking his strength.He couldn't move, couldn't think, and could only watch everything. "Singin!" Mosiah screamed, looking forward to encountering living flesh and blood, hoping to confirm the fact that he was still alive amidst the dizzying horror that came to him, such horror Thicker and thicker than the mist, more icy cold. "Sinkin!" he whimpered, frozen with terror. "Don't leave me! Where are you?" No response.