Chapter 30 Chapter Two Simkin's Cry
"Hi!" gasped the Spruce Tree. "You're going to kill me!" There was a slight flash of light around the little tree, and finally condensed to form Sim Jin lying prone on the ground.He was rolling on the ground clutching his stomach, his clothes were scattered, a few leaves were stuck to his hair and beard, and an orange silk scarf was wrapped around his neck.
"Sinkin! I'm sorry!" Joram tried his best to hold back the desire to laugh, and helped the young man to stand up unsteadily. "I'm sorry. I—I didn't know the tree...was you." Joram couldn't help laughing at last.But he recognized a hysterical tone in the laughter and forced himself to swallow it.Still, his lips quivered as he helped Simkin, whose legs were limp and bent over the pain, into the room.
"Emin bless!" Mrs. Rosamund met them in the hall. "What's the matter with you? Simkin! Are you okay? Oh, my God! Zelda just left!" Simkin panted pitifully, staring at Mrs. Rosamund with pained eyes, and said three words with difficulty. The word "brandy," before passing out and slumping sympathetically to the floor.
Together, Joram, Mosiah, and Prince Jarod lifted the unconscious Simkin - complete with red brocaded dressing gown, fur-trimmed collar, curved-pointed shoes, and all - into the living room.Mrs. Rosamund waved her hands helplessly and followed closely behind, calling Mary in a trance, almost waking up the whole family.
"What's the matter with him?" Prince Jarod asked, throwing Simkin on the couch without ceremony.
"I punched him," said Joram, gravely.
"Deserved it!" Mosiah muttered.
"I didn't mean to. He was standing in the garden pretending to be..."
"Ouch!" Simkin groaned, lounging on the sofa, and flung his arms over his head suddenly. "I'm going to die, ouch, I'm going to die!"
"You're not going to die!" said Jarod in disgust, leaning over the patient. "You're just beaten up. Sit up and you'll feel better."
Simkin waved his hand feebly, pushed the prince away, and motioned slightly to Joram to move closer.
"I forgive you!" murmured Simkin, looking wretched and panting like a freshly caught trout.
"After all, there is no such thing as murder among friends!" He looked around in a daze. "My dear lady! Mrs. Rosamund, where are you! My vision is so blurred that I can't see you! I'm leaving soon!" He stretched out a hand, groping forward, searching Lady Rosamund standing beside him.The lady glanced suspiciously at Prince Jarod, then at her husband, and took Simkin's hand.
"Ah!" He exhaled, and took her hand to his forehead. "The gentle touch of a woman can send a man to heaven very quickly! Bless you, Lady Rosamund. I offer you my last apologies...for soiling your living room with me...with my dead body .Farewell." He closed his eyes, dropped his arms, and threw his head back on the sofa cushion.
"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Rosamund turned very pale with fright, and threw Simkin's hand away.
Simkin opened his eyes and looked up.
"Don't bother—my last sacrament." He took Lady Rosamund's hand again. "It's not necessary. I've been living a saint's life...probably...I'll be a saint too. Farewell." Then he rolled his eyes up, his head fell back again, and his hands limply drop down.
"I've got the brandy, ma'am," said Mary softly as she entered the room.
Xin Jin opened one eye and swung his arms. A faint voice came from the depths of the sofa: "Is it local...or imported?"
"What a hit, I promise you!" Simkin said with emotion an hour later. "I was standing in the garden, enjoying the fresh night air, when suddenly there was a 'snap' and I was hit unexpectedly hard in the middle." Covered with Rosamund's own silk shawl, Simkin's With a fourth glass of brandy - imported - hanging within arm's reach in the air, he sat with his back propped against a number of pillows, clearly fully recovered from his "death episode". "I've already said I'm sorry," said Joram, and he didn't bother to hide his smile, the warm light of which infected those clouded eyes.Grinning sadly, he held out his hand to show the few scrapes and bruises at the knuckles from hitting the tree trunk. "I hurt as badly as you." "One might say that my squeal is worse than my bite!" replied Simkin, sipping his brandy. Joram laughed out loud, beyond everyone's expectations, so that after visiting Gwen, Father Saryon, who had just entered the room, looked at his friend intently in surprise.Simkin was lying comfortably on the sofa, and Joram, sitting in the chair beside him, seemed—for the first time since his return—to forget his troubles and become so lighthearted. "Please forgive the sin of the fool," said the Catalyst Saint, a priest who never gave up the habit of talking to a god he didn't believe in. "I accept your apology, dear boy." Simkin reached out and patted Joram's knee. "But that was a hard hit," he added, ordering another brandy to soothe himself. "Especially considering that I've come here specially to bring you good news!" "What news?" asked Joram lazily, winking at Prince Jarod, who shook his head with amused resignation and shrugged. At this moment, it is too late for night and too early for morning, depending on how each person sees it.Mrs. Rosamund, exhausted by the day's events, was served early by Mary to rest.Lord Samuels suggested that the gentlemen gather in Simkin's sitting-room (so as not to have to move the sick).Before going to bed, several people settled the bottle of brandy, and everyone temporarily stopped thinking about what would happen tomorrow. "What news?" asked Joram again, feeling the brandy warming his blood as a fire warms his body.Sleepiness creeps up on him unknowingly, its gentle hands caressing his eyes gently, humming a lullaby softly. "I've found a way to cure Gwendoline," Simkin said, as if announcing a great discovery. Startled, Joram sat up straight, splashing the brandy in his hand. "That's no joke, Simkin!" he said softly. "I'm not kidding at all—" "I think you'd better leave the subject alone, Simkin," Prince Garrod interrupted sharply, his eyes shifting from Joram to Lord Samuels, who had put his glass on the table with trembling hands. side. "I've suggested that we should rest tonight no matter what, and some of us are already asleep." He glanced at Mosiah who was asleep in the chair. "I'm absolutely serious!" Simkin retorted, as if wounded. Jarod lost patience. "We've had enough of your nonsense. Father, please—" "That's not nonsense." Simkin threw back the blanket and sat up on the sofa.Although he was answering Garald's words, he didn't look at Garald. His eyes stayed on Joram with a strange expression, half serious and half mocking, as if thinking, Joram would never dare Do not believe in yourself. "Then you will explain," said Joram succinctly, fiddling with the brandy glass. "Gwendelin talking to the undead is obviously an atavistic phenomenon of ancient necromancers." Xin Jin moved and changed to a more comfortable sitting position. "Now, by purest coincidence, the same pain befell my brother Nate, or was he called Nate? Anyway, he used to entertain every night with various ghosts and spirits, bringing my mother Endless worries, not to mention the constant toil of being woken up by rattling chains, crackling whips, and unbearable screams and howls, or Aunt Betsy and Uncle Ernest coming to join us On their honeymoon together?" "Anyway, let's keep talking." Seeing that Joram's face became more and more gloomy, Sim Jin quickly continued. "A neighbor suggested we take poor little Nate... Nate? Nate," he muttered. "I'm sure it was the name... Where did I go? Oh, got it. Yes, whatever his name was, we took the boy to the Necromancer." Joram, who had been impatiently contemplating his brandy glass, and merely listening absentmindedly, had his eyes fixed on Simkin now. "What did you just say?" "See, no one is listening to me," complained Simkin, in sad tones. "I'm saying we took little Nate to the Necropolis, which sits on the Holy Mountain, right at the top of the mountain. Of course, it's out of use now, but in ancient times it used to be The center of the Necromancer Society. I heard that people who died in the past used to come from miles around to chat there." Joram pushed Simkin aside, and turned to Father Saryon, hope burning in his brown eyes, and the Catalyst hated himself for having to extinguish it. "You must put that thought out of your mind, my boy!" he said reluctantly. "Yes, the Necromancer Hall is there, but there is nothing there except for a few stone pillars and stone walls in the ruins, and even the altar is broken." "Is that so?" Joram sat forward eagerly. "Let me finish it!" said Saryon, in his unaccustomed, menacing tone. "It has degenerated into a wicked, unholy place, Joram! Catalyst saints tried to restore its sanctity, but according to reports, they were expelled and came back telling horrible stories, or worse, Some never came back! Finally, the archbishop announced that the church was under a spell, and no one was allowed to go there!" Joram ignored his words. "The sanctuary is on the holy mountain, right on the holy well—the source of all life force in this world! Its power must have been great once." "Once!" Saryon said with a pause.He put his hand on Joram's arm, feeling his tension and excitement. "My child," he said solemnly. "To be able to say this, yes, I would have given up everything if Gwendoline could find the help she needed in this ancient and terrible place. But it cannot. If there had ever been a power there, it would have been the same Those necromancers died together!" "And now a necromancer has returned!" Joram quietly but firmly withdrew his arm from Saryon's hand. "A warlock with no training!" Saryon argued despondently. "A—forgive me for saying so, Joram, mad warlock!" "It's a dreadful place, they say," said Lord Samuels slowly.Joram's hope was reflected in his pupils. "But I have to admit it seems like a good idea! We could take Duke Sis as an escort." "No! No!" said Simkin, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that at all. Those creepy wizards are more frightening than ghosts and ghosts. Joram and Gwen must go alone, or they can take this bald priest and deal with the dark forces that lie around." Might be able to make a difference. That'll do it, I promise. Poor little Nate, he's completely healed." Simkin sighed heartbroken. "At least that's what we speculated. We've never known for sure. He was dancing happily on the rocks, but suddenly slipped and fell down the side of the mountain!" Xin Jin took out an orange scarf and wiped his eyes, holding back tears with manliness. "Don't comfort me." He said choked up. "Nothing, I can stand it. You must go tomorrow at noon, when the sun is shining on the top of the mountain." "Joran, I object to this." Saryon continued to argue. "The danger in doing so is—" "Bah, nonsense!" Simkin snorted, yawned again, and lay down on the sofa cushion. "After all, Joram has the Dark Sword to protect himself." "Yes, the Dark Sword!" Joram glanced triumphantly at the Catalyst Saints. "If there is any evil magic in that place, Father, this sword can protect us!" "Absolutely. Tomorrow, before the war," repeated Simkin, playing with the blanket absently. "Why insist on tomorrow?" Jarod asked suspiciously. Simkin shrugged. "It has its own meaning, too. If Gwen happened to get rid of the rats in her attic—no offense, dear child—she might be able to connect with people she's long since left. Might be helpful to us. Also, come to think of it, for Joram to go into battle knowing that there's going to be one who - normally speaking - won't break the china cabinet again, love you What kind of comfort would it be if your wife welcomed you back from the battlefield." During Simkin's last tirade, Joram bit his lip and said nothing.He has a face that has experienced the pain and suffering of being sentenced.The others were silent, too, and the room was silent—an uneasy, restless silence that expressed the quiet tumult in silent words. Jarod stared intently at Simkin, frowning as if to look right into his lollingly bowed head.He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and closed his lips tightly. Father Saryon knew what the prince was going to say, and he wanted to say it himself: what tricks is Simkin playing?What is the bet?More importantly, what cards does he hold that none of us know? But despite his obvious desire to ask the question, he didn't say a word.It was a deeply personal matter, not only to Joram but to the poor girl's father as well.It would be well for Prince Jarod to remind Joram of his duties as a king, and to his people.But Father Saryon knew that even if Jarod did, Joram would put it all behind him, both to heal his wife and to lessen his guilt. The Catalyst Saint looked at Lord Samuels, who sat with his head bowed, his face carefully expressionless, his brandy still in his hand. Saryon knew exactly what the Lord was thinking, so he was not surprised when Lord Samuels finally broke the silence when he looked up at him.He said, "You seem to know something about that place, Father. Do you think it's dangerous there?" "There is no doubt about it." Saryon replied emphatically.He knew what the Lord would ask next, and had already prepared his answer. "Is there... is there hope?" The Lord uttered a few words between his trembling lips. "No!" Saryon had every intention of answering.He was well aware that Joram was looking at him intently, and he was ready to answer firmly, whether Joram believed it or not. But when he opened his mouth, ready to drown out their hopes with cold logic, a strange feeling came over him, his heart pounding in his chest.When he tried to speak, his throat swelled, his lungs were flat, and the feeling of being turned to stone came over him again.This time, however, it wasn't a magical spell that was going to freeze him.Saryon had a horrible vague feeling that a large hand had reached inside him, strangling him, choking him, preventing him from telling a lie.Catalyst Saint tried desperately to get rid of it, but to no avail, the hand gripped him so tightly that he couldn't speak. "There is hope, Father!" said Joram, and he never flinched from Saryon's face for a moment. "You can't deny it! I saw it clearly!" The catalyst saint stared at him pleadingly, and even made a strangled sound, but it was too late. "I must go!" said Joram firmly, and then he added: "If you and Lady Rosamund agree, my lord." He heard Lord Samuels draw a shaky breath. . The Lord faltered and his voice changed suddenly, but he spoke with a calm dignity. "My daughter is now living among the dead, and what could be more tragic than this fate? Except to be one of them. If you will forgive me, I will go and talk to my wife Talk." He bowed and walked out of the living room quickly. "Then it is so decided," said Joram, rising, his brown eyes blazing with fire, and the dark, hard lines of sorrow and suffering stretched out on his face. "Are you going with us, Father?" There is no doubt about it.His life was bound to Joram's, the way it had been since he first held the small, doomed child... The big hand let go of Saryon, gasping for his sudden freedom, and at the same time shocked by the inexplicable experience, he could only nod in reply. "Tomorrow." Simkin repeated for the third time. "noon." It was too much for Prince Jarod to swallow in silence.Watching Simkin warily, he rose to stop Joram as he was about to leave the living room. "You have every reason to tell me that I have nothing to do here." "Then don't interfere," said Joram coldly. "I'm afraid I'll have to interfere," continued Jarod gravely. "I must remind you, Joram, that you have a duty to our world. My Emperor, we shall fight tomorrow! I insist that you reconsider." A sneer appeared on the corner of Joram's mouth. "The world might end—" he began. "—and the prophecy will be fulfilled!" Jarod continued. This sentence hit home.Suddenly Joram drew a sharp breath, his face turning blue, and his brown eyes burning with fire.Saryon shuddered, thinking of the young man who forged the Dark Sword.He was worried that Joram would go to fight Garrod, so he hurried forward to mediate, but in the end it was Xin Jin who slowed down the matter. "Hey, please have mercy, if you two want to fight, please change the place." He opened his mouth and yawned again. "It's been a tiring day, not to mention colic. I'm ready for bed. I'm going to turn off the lights." All the lights in the room went out in the blink of an eye, except for a few flickering kerosene lamps, burning and dying The flames were burning, and the surroundings were plunged into darkness. "Keep down the shouts of war." An orange silk nightcap came out of nowhere, floated in the air, and then fell on Simkin's head.The young man curled up on the sofa cushions and immediately - at least on the surface - fell asleep. Joram turned suddenly and walked towards the door. Jarod stood dazed, looking at Joram's back, obviously wanting to say something, but hesitating.He glanced at Father Saryon, saw him make a gesture of urgency, and followed Joram at once, placing himself between his friend and the door. "Forgive me for continuing to dwell on this matter, Joram, I can fully imagine the pain you suffer every day." Joram put his hand on the prince's arm, ready to push him away. "Joran, listen to me!" Jarod snapped.Joram finally stopped, not because of the hand that was placed on him to stop him, but what frightened him even more was the caring and sympathy in this man's voice. "Think seriously about this!" Prince Jarod continued. "Why is Xin Jin so interested in Ge Wen's affairs, or your affairs, for what reason? He has never cared about anyone before, why does he insist on asking you to go, and why must it be tomorrow? " "That's just the way he does things!" said Joram impatiently. "And he helped me before this, even almost saved my life..." "Joran," Jarod interrupted firmly. "That could be a trap, and there could be something more waiting for you there than ghosts. You see, I've been thinking about this all day, how did Simkin know what the enemy said? That's impossible Yes, even if he used one of his 'talents', there's no way he'd know unless they told him what to say." The living room was dark, and the servants had extinguished their magic lamps before retiring to bed.In a cobwebbed corner of the foyer, several orbs glowed cold white and looked like stars or fireflies trying to fly around the room, only to get caught in a spider's web.In the distance—it sounded like it was coming from the living room—a whoosh could be heard, followed by a crash, and Father Saryon wondered at once if it was poor Lord Devon roaming the rooms. Joram was silent.Saryon looked at his face and saw that it was as pale and cold as the moon tonight.From the frustrated expression on Joran's face, it can be seen that the last point just now has at least left an impression on him.Jarod noticed this too, and wisely left. Saryon said nothing.He admitted that he dared not speak.The experience of losing his strength just now still left him with lingering fears. He didn't dare to say anything more. He could only hope that the seeds of doubt planted by Garald could be planted in Joram's heart and take root. It seemed as if it had been sown in fertile soil.Joram sighed deeply and prepared to leave.Suddenly, a voice—a muffled, furry voice—came from the depths of the sofa. "Trust your jester..."
"What a hit, I promise you!" Simkin said with emotion an hour later. "I was standing in the garden, enjoying the fresh night air, when suddenly there was a 'snap' and I was hit unexpectedly hard in the middle." Covered with Rosamund's own silk shawl, Simkin's With a fourth glass of brandy - imported - hanging within arm's reach in the air, he sat with his back propped against a number of pillows, clearly fully recovered from his "death episode". "I've already said I'm sorry," said Joram, and he didn't bother to hide his smile, the warm light of which infected those clouded eyes.Grinning sadly, he held out his hand to show the few scrapes and bruises at the knuckles from hitting the tree trunk. "I hurt as badly as you." "One might say that my squeal is worse than my bite!" replied Simkin, sipping his brandy. Joram laughed out loud, beyond everyone's expectations, so that after visiting Gwen, Father Saryon, who had just entered the room, looked at his friend intently in surprise.Simkin was lying comfortably on the sofa, and Joram, sitting in the chair beside him, seemed—for the first time since his return—to forget his troubles and become so lighthearted. "Please forgive the sin of the fool," said the Catalyst Saint, a priest who never gave up the habit of talking to a god he didn't believe in. "I accept your apology, dear boy." Simkin reached out and patted Joram's knee. "But that was a hard hit," he added, ordering another brandy to soothe himself. "Especially considering that I've come here specially to bring you good news!" "What news?" asked Joram lazily, winking at Prince Jarod, who shook his head with amused resignation and shrugged. At this moment, it is too late for night and too early for morning, depending on how each person sees it.Mrs. Rosamund, exhausted by the day's events, was served early by Mary to rest.Lord Samuels suggested that the gentlemen gather in Simkin's sitting-room (so as not to have to move the sick).Before going to bed, several people settled the bottle of brandy, and everyone temporarily stopped thinking about what would happen tomorrow. "What news?" asked Joram again, feeling the brandy warming his blood as a fire warms his body.Sleepiness creeps up on him unknowingly, its gentle hands caressing his eyes gently, humming a lullaby softly. "I've found a way to cure Gwendoline," Simkin said, as if announcing a great discovery. Startled, Joram sat up straight, splashing the brandy in his hand. "That's no joke, Simkin!" he said softly. "I'm not kidding at all—" "I think you'd better leave the subject alone, Simkin," Prince Garrod interrupted sharply, his eyes shifting from Joram to Lord Samuels, who had put his glass on the table with trembling hands. side. "I've suggested that we should rest tonight no matter what, and some of us are already asleep." He glanced at Mosiah who was asleep in the chair. "I'm absolutely serious!" Simkin retorted, as if wounded. Jarod lost patience. "We've had enough of your nonsense. Father, please—" "That's not nonsense." Simkin threw back the blanket and sat up on the sofa.Although he was answering Garald's words, he didn't look at Garald. His eyes stayed on Joram with a strange expression, half serious and half mocking, as if thinking, Joram would never dare Do not believe in yourself. "Then you will explain," said Joram succinctly, fiddling with the brandy glass. "Gwendelin talking to the undead is obviously an atavistic phenomenon of ancient necromancers." Xin Jin moved and changed to a more comfortable sitting position. "Now, by purest coincidence, the same pain befell my brother Nate, or was he called Nate? Anyway, he used to entertain every night with various ghosts and spirits, bringing my mother Endless worries, not to mention the constant toil of being woken up by rattling chains, crackling whips, and unbearable screams and howls, or Aunt Betsy and Uncle Ernest coming to join us On their honeymoon together?" "Anyway, let's keep talking." Seeing that Joram's face became more and more gloomy, Sim Jin quickly continued. "A neighbor suggested we take poor little Nate... Nate? Nate," he muttered. "I'm sure it was the name... Where did I go? Oh, got it. Yes, whatever his name was, we took the boy to the Necromancer." Joram, who had been impatiently contemplating his brandy glass, and merely listening absentmindedly, had his eyes fixed on Simkin now. "What did you just say?" "See, no one is listening to me," complained Simkin, in sad tones. "I'm saying we took little Nate to the Necropolis, which sits on the Holy Mountain, right at the top of the mountain. Of course, it's out of use now, but in ancient times it used to be The center of the Necromancer Society. I heard that people who died in the past used to come from miles around to chat there." Joram pushed Simkin aside, and turned to Father Saryon, hope burning in his brown eyes, and the Catalyst hated himself for having to extinguish it. "You must put that thought out of your mind, my boy!" he said reluctantly. "Yes, the Necromancer Hall is there, but there is nothing there except for a few stone pillars and stone walls in the ruins, and even the altar is broken." "Is that so?" Joram sat forward eagerly. "Let me finish it!" said Saryon, in his unaccustomed, menacing tone. "It has degenerated into a wicked, unholy place, Joram! Catalyst saints tried to restore its sanctity, but according to reports, they were expelled and came back telling horrible stories, or worse, Some never came back! Finally, the archbishop announced that the church was under a spell, and no one was allowed to go there!" Joram ignored his words. "The sanctuary is on the holy mountain, right on the holy well—the source of all life force in this world! Its power must have been great once." "Once!" Saryon said with a pause.He put his hand on Joram's arm, feeling his tension and excitement. "My child," he said solemnly. "To be able to say this, yes, I would have given up everything if Gwendoline could find the help she needed in this ancient and terrible place. But it cannot. If there had ever been a power there, it would have been the same Those necromancers died together!" "And now a necromancer has returned!" Joram quietly but firmly withdrew his arm from Saryon's hand. "A warlock with no training!" Saryon argued despondently. "A—forgive me for saying so, Joram, mad warlock!" "It's a dreadful place, they say," said Lord Samuels slowly.Joram's hope was reflected in his pupils. "But I have to admit it seems like a good idea! We could take Duke Sis as an escort." "No! No!" said Simkin, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that at all. Those creepy wizards are more frightening than ghosts and ghosts. Joram and Gwen must go alone, or they can take this bald priest and deal with the dark forces that lie around." Might be able to make a difference. That'll do it, I promise. Poor little Nate, he's completely healed." Simkin sighed heartbroken. "At least that's what we speculated. We've never known for sure. He was dancing happily on the rocks, but suddenly slipped and fell down the side of the mountain!" Xin Jin took out an orange scarf and wiped his eyes, holding back tears with manliness. "Don't comfort me." He said choked up. "Nothing, I can stand it. You must go tomorrow at noon, when the sun is shining on the top of the mountain." "Joran, I object to this." Saryon continued to argue. "The danger in doing so is—" "Bah, nonsense!" Simkin snorted, yawned again, and lay down on the sofa cushion. "After all, Joram has the Dark Sword to protect himself." "Yes, the Dark Sword!" Joram glanced triumphantly at the Catalyst Saints. "If there is any evil magic in that place, Father, this sword can protect us!" "Absolutely. Tomorrow, before the war," repeated Simkin, playing with the blanket absently. "Why insist on tomorrow?" Jarod asked suspiciously. Simkin shrugged. "It has its own meaning, too. If Gwen happened to get rid of the rats in her attic—no offense, dear child—she might be able to connect with people she's long since left. Might be helpful to us. Also, come to think of it, for Joram to go into battle knowing that there's going to be one who - normally speaking - won't break the china cabinet again, love you What kind of comfort would it be if your wife welcomed you back from the battlefield." During Simkin's last tirade, Joram bit his lip and said nothing.He has a face that has experienced the pain and suffering of being sentenced.The others were silent, too, and the room was silent—an uneasy, restless silence that expressed the quiet tumult in silent words. Jarod stared intently at Simkin, frowning as if to look right into his lollingly bowed head.He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and closed his lips tightly. Father Saryon knew what the prince was going to say, and he wanted to say it himself: what tricks is Simkin playing?What is the bet?More importantly, what cards does he hold that none of us know? But despite his obvious desire to ask the question, he didn't say a word.It was a deeply personal matter, not only to Joram but to the poor girl's father as well.It would be well for Prince Jarod to remind Joram of his duties as a king, and to his people.But Father Saryon knew that even if Jarod did, Joram would put it all behind him, both to heal his wife and to lessen his guilt. The Catalyst Saint looked at Lord Samuels, who sat with his head bowed, his face carefully expressionless, his brandy still in his hand. Saryon knew exactly what the Lord was thinking, so he was not surprised when Lord Samuels finally broke the silence when he looked up at him.He said, "You seem to know something about that place, Father. Do you think it's dangerous there?" "There is no doubt about it." Saryon replied emphatically.He knew what the Lord would ask next, and had already prepared his answer. "Is there... is there hope?" The Lord uttered a few words between his trembling lips. "No!" Saryon had every intention of answering.He was well aware that Joram was looking at him intently, and he was ready to answer firmly, whether Joram believed it or not. But when he opened his mouth, ready to drown out their hopes with cold logic, a strange feeling came over him, his heart pounding in his chest.When he tried to speak, his throat swelled, his lungs were flat, and the feeling of being turned to stone came over him again.This time, however, it wasn't a magical spell that was going to freeze him.Saryon had a horrible vague feeling that a large hand had reached inside him, strangling him, choking him, preventing him from telling a lie.Catalyst Saint tried desperately to get rid of it, but to no avail, the hand gripped him so tightly that he couldn't speak. "There is hope, Father!" said Joram, and he never flinched from Saryon's face for a moment. "You can't deny it! I saw it clearly!" The catalyst saint stared at him pleadingly, and even made a strangled sound, but it was too late. "I must go!" said Joram firmly, and then he added: "If you and Lady Rosamund agree, my lord." He heard Lord Samuels draw a shaky breath. . The Lord faltered and his voice changed suddenly, but he spoke with a calm dignity. "My daughter is now living among the dead, and what could be more tragic than this fate? Except to be one of them. If you will forgive me, I will go and talk to my wife Talk." He bowed and walked out of the living room quickly. "Then it is so decided," said Joram, rising, his brown eyes blazing with fire, and the dark, hard lines of sorrow and suffering stretched out on his face. "Are you going with us, Father?" There is no doubt about it.His life was bound to Joram's, the way it had been since he first held the small, doomed child... The big hand let go of Saryon, gasping for his sudden freedom, and at the same time shocked by the inexplicable experience, he could only nod in reply. "Tomorrow." Simkin repeated for the third time. "noon." It was too much for Prince Jarod to swallow in silence.Watching Simkin warily, he rose to stop Joram as he was about to leave the living room. "You have every reason to tell me that I have nothing to do here." "Then don't interfere," said Joram coldly. "I'm afraid I'll have to interfere," continued Jarod gravely. "I must remind you, Joram, that you have a duty to our world. My Emperor, we shall fight tomorrow! I insist that you reconsider." A sneer appeared on the corner of Joram's mouth. "The world might end—" he began. "—and the prophecy will be fulfilled!" Jarod continued. This sentence hit home.Suddenly Joram drew a sharp breath, his face turning blue, and his brown eyes burning with fire.Saryon shuddered, thinking of the young man who forged the Dark Sword.He was worried that Joram would go to fight Garrod, so he hurried forward to mediate, but in the end it was Xin Jin who slowed down the matter. "Hey, please have mercy, if you two want to fight, please change the place." He opened his mouth and yawned again. "It's been a tiring day, not to mention colic. I'm ready for bed. I'm going to turn off the lights." All the lights in the room went out in the blink of an eye, except for a few flickering kerosene lamps, burning and dying The flames were burning, and the surroundings were plunged into darkness. "Keep down the shouts of war." An orange silk nightcap came out of nowhere, floated in the air, and then fell on Simkin's head.The young man curled up on the sofa cushions and immediately - at least on the surface - fell asleep. Joram turned suddenly and walked towards the door. Jarod stood dazed, looking at Joram's back, obviously wanting to say something, but hesitating.He glanced at Father Saryon, saw him make a gesture of urgency, and followed Joram at once, placing himself between his friend and the door. "Forgive me for continuing to dwell on this matter, Joram, I can fully imagine the pain you suffer every day." Joram put his hand on the prince's arm, ready to push him away. "Joran, listen to me!" Jarod snapped.Joram finally stopped, not because of the hand that was placed on him to stop him, but what frightened him even more was the caring and sympathy in this man's voice. "Think seriously about this!" Prince Jarod continued. "Why is Xin Jin so interested in Ge Wen's affairs, or your affairs, for what reason? He has never cared about anyone before, why does he insist on asking you to go, and why must it be tomorrow? " "That's just the way he does things!" said Joram impatiently. "And he helped me before this, even almost saved my life..." "Joran," Jarod interrupted firmly. "That could be a trap, and there could be something more waiting for you there than ghosts. You see, I've been thinking about this all day, how did Simkin know what the enemy said? That's impossible Yes, even if he used one of his 'talents', there's no way he'd know unless they told him what to say." The living room was dark, and the servants had extinguished their magic lamps before retiring to bed.In a cobwebbed corner of the foyer, several orbs glowed cold white and looked like stars or fireflies trying to fly around the room, only to get caught in a spider's web.In the distance—it sounded like it was coming from the living room—a whoosh could be heard, followed by a crash, and Father Saryon wondered at once if it was poor Lord Devon roaming the rooms. Joram was silent.Saryon looked at his face and saw that it was as pale and cold as the moon tonight.From the frustrated expression on Joran's face, it can be seen that the last point just now has at least left an impression on him.Jarod noticed this too, and wisely left. Saryon said nothing.He admitted that he dared not speak.The experience of losing his strength just now still left him with lingering fears. He didn't dare to say anything more. He could only hope that the seeds of doubt planted by Garald could be planted in Joram's heart and take root. It seemed as if it had been sown in fertile soil.Joram sighed deeply and prepared to leave.Suddenly, a voice—a muffled, furry voice—came from the depths of the sofa. "Trust your jester..."