Chapter 36 Chapter Eight My Poor Fool...

A muffled, muffled curse came from behind him. "Who's there?" Saryon looked up. "Who's talking? Is there someone? Help! Can you help me?" The voice seemed to come from the sanctuary. "Who's there?" Saryon cried desperately.In order not to disturb the seriously injured person in his arms, he turned his head to look.However, the shadows in the Necromancer remained motionless, dark and quiet, just like the kingdom they defended. Nothing, just my hallucinations.Who might be there?Saryon asked himself painfully.He glanced at Gwendoline, who was huddled near him on the path.She looked around expectantly, as if waiting for something.

Could it be her voice?Is she talking?She loves Joram!Still love him.So far as Saryon knew. "Gwendelyn!" he whispered tenderly, not to frighten her. "Come to me! Stay with Joram, I'm going to get help." Hearing Saryon's voice, she turned to him, her eyes resting on her husband, flitting over him like a butterfly's wings, and suddenly looking here and there at the lifeless plant stalks.The undead must have been stunned speechless, because Gewen's fear of them seemed to have disappeared, and she stood up slowly. It occurred to Saryon that they might be in danger themselves!Whatever had killed Joram in this mysterious, frightening way might be waiting to turn its whip-like crack on us.

"No! Ge Wen! Squat down!" Saryon yelled frantically.Maybe it was the fear and urgency in his voice that pierced through the fog of the afterlife that covered Gwen's mind, or maybe it was those invisible hands that grabbed her and prevented her from standing up.Saryon, who was in a state of agitation, intuitively felt that it was the latter. He scanned the sept again, then the gardens, then the paths, then the jagged edge of the hilltop, eager to spot their enemy. "I'm not worried about myself." The old priest hugged Joram, bent down deeply, and murmured, tears had already blurred his eyes.Although Joram was still breathing, he was unconscious.Gently, Saryon brushed Joram's thick black hair away from his deathly pale face. "I am tired of this life. I am tired of fear. I am tired of killing and dying. If Joram must die, I cannot find a better resting place than here."

Saryon shook his head mournfully, holding back his tears.If you are overwhelmed with despair, you die too, and so does Joram, and so does Gwendelyn!She must go to a safe place, but there must be such a place--the church!Once a sacred place, perhaps the blessings of God still exist. "Gwen, run to the church." Saryon ordered, forcing himself to speak to Gwen calmly and gently. "Hurry up, my child, and run to the church." Gwendelyn looked around motionlessly, still looking expectant, without any sign of her hearing. "Take her!" Saryon called hurriedly to Shadow in the empty garden. "Take her to the sept! Protect her there!" It was a cry of despair, but no one was more surprised than the Catalyst Saint when he saw Gwen rise to her feet with the help of invisible arms.

"Hurry up!" he whispered, waiting in fear for the deafening explosion. When pushing Ge Wen forward, the undead passed him by, and he could feel the evidence of their existence on his cheeks.When they took Gwen to the church, he saw it made Gwen's skirt flutter; Things held her up; and when she was about to step back, she was pushed forward again.Saryon watched her stagger up the nine stone steps that led to the Necromancer's Chapel, then disappear into the darkness. Catalyst Saints breathed a sigh of relief and didn't have to worry about her anymore.Now.he repeated to himself.I had to find help for Joram, for all of us.He looked at Qiao Lang in his arms again, and his heart sank.The cool, rational part of his mind told him that, for Joram at least, there was no hope.

"There must be a chance to save him!" Saryon shouted to the sky provocatively. At this moment Joram in his arms trembled, and a groan of pain came out of his mouth in answer.The Catalyst Saints clamped down on Joram, trying to hold back the soul that was oozing with every drop of blood. "If only I could know what happened to him!" he said emotionally to the cold open sky. "Put me down!" a weak voice said. "Let's separate!" Saryon was startled, his eyes slid from the sky to the ground, looking at Joran in his arms.Then gone was the serious face with high cheekbones and firm jaw; the thick black hair with a lock of white; The brown eyes, burning with a deep inner flame, disappeared.Instead, he saw a face of indeterminate age, with a pointed chin and a soft beard, eyes sizing him up with bewildered anger and a strange expression.

"Sinkin!" gasped Saryon. "In the body," Simkin said, breathing hard. "Even though... that part of me... is... very airy, I feel... a different wind... blowing around my waist..." "But where . . . where is Joram?" a confused Saryon stammered. "Here." Came a dark answer. A figure in a white robe and hood stood above them, holding the Dark Sword in his hand.Joram knelt beside Simkin, and though his voice was harsh, the hand that was extended to the wounded young man was gentle.An orange silk scarf fluttered between Joram's fingers, and it looked like it had been cut in two by a sharp knife.

"Ha, smart guy!" Sim Jin choked suddenly, and a stream of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. "You... escaped... my elaborate plot." He threw his head back and closed his eyes. "What's going on here?" Saryon asked softly. Joram put his sword on the path and carefully pulled Simkin's blood-soaked robes aside, inspecting the wound on his chest, then the other wounds on his stomach, and shook his head. Simkin groaned and twitched in pain. Qiao Ran's serious expression softened, he picked up the orange silk scarf, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and whispered, "My poor fool!"

"Is there anything else we can do?" Saryon asked. "Nothing will do. I don't know what kept him so long, unless it was his magic," answered Joram. I should pray, I should say something.Saryon thought confusedly.Though it was somewhat comical to think of sending Simkin up to heaven on prayer's wings. The Catalyst Saint gently placed Simkin on the ground, put his hand on his forehead, bowed his head, and read: "By this holy anointing, may God forgive..." "I said, bald head." The voice was weak and impatient. "Can you apply oil somewhere else? Damn, it's so noisy!"

"Why did you do this, Simkin?" asked Joram softly. "My God!" Simkin raised his burning eyes to Joram. "You're all... blurred." He grimaced. "It's a cruel game. Didn't... think... it would be like this. Where are you, dear little one? Everything is... black and dark... I'm afraid... black. Where? Where are you ...?" He was so angry that he let his hands hang down limply. Joram took the bloody hand and squeezed it tightly. "I'm here," he said. "It's dark because you put that stupid helmet on your head, the thing that makes you look like a barrel."

Simkin smiled, relaxed, and said, "I... like to be...a barrel. And a...fantastic one. They...actually, never suspected it, that's all I know... ..." "what do you know?" His eyes were out of focus, staring dreamily at the pale, cold sun in the distant sky. "Wonderful, the new world... I want to take you there! Not Xin Jin." A ray of life and spiritual light flickered in his eyes, and slowly, his eyes turned back to look at Qiao Lang. "So I...became you! It would have been a...great con. I could have...won the game." A spasm of pain contorted his face.With the last of his strength he squeezed Joram's hand and drew him closer. "Still, it's a happy time...isn't it?" he murmured. "Happy times--like...the Duchess of Longueville said...the last words before her last husband hanged her..." A smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, then it froze and stiffened instantly, his voice gradually faded away, and his hands drooped limply.Joram laid it gently on his chest, and tucked the corner of the orange scarf into the lifeless finger. "...Your sin. Amen." Saryon whispered. He reached out and closed his frozen eyes.