Chapter 31 Chapter 3 Destruction

Like almost all aristocratic and upper-middle-class homes in Simharlan, Lord Samuels's had a family chapel.Though all chapels are generally alike in appearance, some differ greatly, among them the higher-than-average vault that shines brighter than the polished mahogany.In some homes the chapel is evidently the center of the house.Everyone in the family: master and mistress, children and servants (all are one in Emin's eyes, as everywhere), gather here daily to pray, led by the family saints .There was an air of magic in these chapels, the woodwork worn to a shine with age, and the stained glass windows, painted with the symbols of Emin and the Nine Tribes, gleaming in the morning light.At night, tiny magic lamps flood the chapel with a soft glow, allowing one to achieve complete spiritual relaxation and facilitate private prayer and reflection.It is easy to believe that living in such a peaceful and quiet environment makes it easier to talk to Him and listen to His teachings.

The owner of the house before Lord Samuels was the late Earl of Devon.He was a very religious man, and while he was alive, the church was filled with light and magic, and when the count died, the chapel, like the rest of the house, was closed.The lights were out, all the furnishings were covered in black cloth, and the beautiful stained-glass windows were shut.When Lord Samuels moved in, he opened the rest of the house to the outside world, but the chapel remained closed and locked.He didn't do it out of anger and pain over the loss of his daughter, and he wasn't the type to shake his fist at Emin and swear he would "never speak to you again!" He did it because, in his soul Something deep down is dead.When the servants asked him if he wanted to use the chapel again, he always replied: "What's the use?"

So, the chapel is still closed, its beautifully carved mahogany doors are locked, and the windows are dark and lifeless.The seal on the door was so magically powerful that Father Saryon managed to remove it with considerable mental effort, at last succeeding.He pushed the door open, and because he was not used to being overworked, he collapsed on the nearest seat, expending too much of his life force. The rows of pews in the chapel were covered with a fine layer of dust, and so was the floor, and everything in it was covered with dust.Saryon noticed, and wondered where the dust came from, so soft and delicate to the touch.Saryon raised the lamp in his hand, and the small flame hissed and burned in the spherical glass lampshade. Taking a closer look, the dust was red and smelled very sweet. Saryon's analytical thinking brain immediately became active, and at the same time excited Yu can use these irrelevant questions to relieve tension.He held the lamp high, barely making out the ceiling beams high above his head.These, he speculated, were cedars hewed into beams by magic.Unlike the rest of the timber in the chapel, these beams were still rough and unsanded, which must have intensified the smell.It seems that it is the wood ash that fell from these beams.

The problem was solved, Saryon breathed a sigh of relief, and involuntarily reached out to wipe his tired eyes, and immediately regretted it, because from the moment he suddenly felt sand in his eyes, he knew that he had rubbed wood dust into his eyes.He blinked a few times, tears flowed down, and he lifted his sleeve to wipe his eyes. You should have been in bed, he told himself.He was worn out, though he knew—remembering Zeldalar's warnings in the past—that he shouldn't be wasting his strength.However, he also knew that he could not sleep, he was afraid of sleep, and the fear gradually came to him, making him trembling and unable to move, just like the terrible spell cast on him in the past, which turned his body into The spell of the stone.It began again tonight, and that dreadful feeling came back when the great hand held him back and prevented him from dissuading Joram from going to the sept.

That was ridiculous and dangerous.Ge Wen is hopeless, the necromancers have all gone.Saryon doubted their ability to help her.He could have convinced Joram of that, and his persistence, combined with Garald's, would have convinced Joram beyond doubt not to risk his wife's life and his own. Extremely reckless risk. He must not go!absolute! He rested his head on the hand resting on the back of the chair in front of him, and suddenly he was frightened and trembled, just as he had analyzed the wood ash just now, he tried to analyze his fear again, trying to find its reason on a rational basis, But he couldn't find it.It was an unidentifiable, indescribable horror, and at the same time, the more he concentrated on bringing it into the light, the darker it became.Saryon had been terrified many times already, and he could still remember--with shudders--the moment when he first felt the numbing spell hit him suddenly. The terror he experienced, he remembered the terror of knowing his living flesh was slowly turning to stone.

But that was nothing, nothing compared to the fear that was gripping him now.He had never experienced such an overwhelming sense of loss and hopelessness.No, he came to himself and stared at the sweetly scented and softly lighted chapel.As the first frenzy of fear subsided, he felt himself bathed in peace and joy.Everything he did was right.He had seen his act of self-sacrifice move Joram deeply, and his love for him became a light that drove away the darkness in the boy's heart.This consciousness supported the catalyst saint through countless days and nights and endless torment.Although he has not been able to make peace with the Word of God, he has found peace within himself.

Or maybe he thought he had found peace.However, the dark sword shattered his stone body, and at the same time broke his tranquility. There was a pain in his hand, and when he looked down, he realized that he was clinging to the edge of the chair. He tried to relax, but the fear didn't go away. "It's because of the war tomorrow night!" he murmured to himself. "Everything depends on the final outcome of the war. Our lives! Our existence in this world! How terrible it would be if we lost!" "How terrible it would be if you won." Who is speaking?Saryon could hear it as clearly as anything he had ever heard in his life, but he was sure he was alone in the room.Trembling all over, he looked around and called out in a trembling voice, "Who's there?" No one answered.Maybe he didn't hear anything, there was really no one else in the room, and no one in the whole house was probably awake.

"I'm so tired," Saryon said to himself, wiping the cold sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe. "My mind is playing tricks on me." He tried to stand up.He ordered his body to stand up, but his body was still sitting, motionless, and the big hand held him down.Then, it pointed again, beckoning to him. Before his frightened eyes, Saryon saw clearly the end of the war: all the strangers lay on the ground, dead.Boalban dug a huge grave by magic, and threw into it all the corpses he could find that had not been eaten by the centaur, and the scooped up earth buried them.Every trace of their human existence—as husbands, fathers, brothers, friends—has been wiped away.A hundred years later, no one in their world still remembers them.

But Simharon remembered.On this huge grave, no trees, no flowers, no grass grows, but harmful and poisonous weeds are desperately sprouting and growing.In this land there is only one blotch of disease, and from this blot the disease, though slowly but surely, spreads from here to the whole world, until everything dies. "But, are there other options?" Saryon exclaimed. "Death? That's all, is it? We don't have a choice! Prophecy! Fulfillment of prophecy! You don't give us any choice!" Suddenly, the hand that was holding onto him was released, and Saryon felt the existence of an invisible force, huge and powerful, filling the entire chapel, and the surrounding walls would definitely burst due to the tension.Yet it was too small, too insignificant, to exist only in every tiny particle of dust that fell from the ceiling, to be both fire and water, to burn and cool him; He trembled with fear at the sight of it; it was loving, and he wished he could rest his weary head on its palm and beg for forgiveness.

Forgive what? Forgiveness becomes a card played by others in a massive world war game. Forgive the impotent catalyst saints who have been tortured, persecuted, and pushed over the edge of a cliff. The voice sounded again and said solemnly: "You don't understand, you won't understand God's thoughts." "No." Saryon gasped. "I don't understand! And I won't serve you anymore. I deny you! I deny you!" Saryon staggered to his feet and staggered out of the chapel.Once outside, he slammed the door shut and stood against it, gasping for breath.But as he stood there blocking the door with his body, he knew he would never be able to lock that force inside this room.He cannot deny his own existence, and likewise he cannot deny its existence.It, around him, everywhere...

inside him... Saryon held his heart, his fingers digging into the flesh.