Chapter 37 Chapter Nine will be born...a living dead

"Joran, I don't understand!" Saryon stared at Simkin in bewilderment, eyes full of pity. "What's the matter with him?" "Didn't you hear the deafening crackle before he fell?" "Got it! Terrible—" "The gunpowder exploded, just like what we read in the books, those ancient dark craft practitioners fired lead bullets." Qiao Ran squinted his eyes in the sun, scanned the surroundings, and asked, "Have you seen To whom? Where did the sound come from?" "I think it's from there." Saryon said hesitantly, pointing to the edge of the mountain. "It's hard to say exactly where, and I can't see anything." He paused, licking his dry lips. "Qiao Lang, whoever killed Xin Jin wanted to kill you."

"I know, I think we both know who this guy is." "Magician?" "That's him, he might still be hiding in the rocks on the other side of the cliff, but why would he use a pistol? It's not like his style..." Joram frowned, thinking. "Indeed, why?" he muttered. "Unless it's not him." "Who would that be?" "A man who fears both my emperorship and my dark sword, a cunning man who wishes to make things appear to be the work of the enemy." "It's Vanya!" Saryon's face turned pale. Joram pulled the hood down over his face, and within it he glanced quickly around. "You don't move." He reminded Saryon, pressing his hand firmly on the wrist of the catalyst saint. "We've got to think about this right now, before the other party -- whoever it is -- has figured out who I am."

"Maybe the killer is gone," Saryon said. "If he thinks he's got it..." "I suspect, after all, he has not achieved his purpose of coming here." Joram and the catalyst saint both looked at the dark sword lying beside the sacrificial stone. "He'll soon know he was wrong, and he'll do it again," Saryon said calmly.Now his fear was gone, replaced by a void where nothing mattered, as he had done in the fight with the sorcerer, and he watched himself dispassionately and coldly in this tragic farce. role played. "He won't come again for the time being. He saw me fall down, and then saw a man coming with a sword. This was unexpected to him. His plan fell through, and he will definitely reconsider!" Joe Ron jerked Saryon down onto Simkin's body. "Lower!"

"Why didn't he just kill us all? With that... weapon?" "He will--eventually he will. But he hasn't got his target yet, anyway, he's fired four times for a man, and he'll run out of bullets--buckshot--then he'll Had to reload, which means, if he did have more rounds than he had in his gun. He could be Duke, and that's a chance for us." "Then he is the executioner." Saryon speculated. "He's the only person Vanya can trust, but I don't understand how you're so sure it was done by a sorcerer!" "Because the magician wants me alive!" said Joram in a low voice, grabbing the Catalyst Saint with painful force in his hands as he spoke. "Simkin was hiding in the wizard's headquarters, and he heard them say they were going to take me to that new world—not with Simkin! He then believed that they were planning to capture me alive, or else He would never have thought of such a stupid plan! This morning he came to me, tricked me into a teleportation corridor, took me to a remote place, and put my hand on his nasty orange The red silk was tied up, and he pretended to be me!"

"He plans to go back to the wizard's world disguised as you, but why doesn't Simkin bring the dark sword?" "He can't take it because the sword would destroy his spells, and the wizard wants me alive - so that I can teach him how to use the sword, and where to find more Darkstones. Van Ya is the one who wants me dead, and he sent the killer." Joran moved over slowly and carefully, and picked up the Dark Sword. "What are you doing?" Saryon asked fearfully. "If the killer is a sorcerer, he's hiding under an invisibility spell right now, and I'm going to drain his life force and force him to appear where we can see him. If I don't drain his life force , he can attack us from any direction, as close as he wants. Then it doesn’t matter how bad his marksmanship is.”

"But if you're wrong!" Saryon grabbed Joram. "If it's not a wizard, if it's a magician trying to kill you—" "All for peace, Father." Joram replied with a serious expression.He raised his sword and sat cross-legged. Immediately the weapon, hungry for life force, began to drain its magic, and Saryon felt himself weaken, but only a little.As a catalyst saint, he possessed little magic to feed the sword's hunger, but his life was enough to send faint flickering blue lights that leaped across the gnarly, ugly sword. The power of the sword became stronger and stronger as it continued to absorb magic, and now it began to light up, shining with a scorching, slightly whitish blue light. Suddenly, a stream of light came from nowhere behind Saryon, like a Arcing across him hit the blade, the light hissed, and a ball of blue fire flew from the hilt to the point.Saryon turned around in amazement, and saw that the stream of light came from the sacrificial stone!The rock itself is glowing blue, and the symbols of the Nine Tribes are glowing white in comparison.One arc after another shot from the sacrificial stone.

Saryon looked at Joram to see if he noticed it, but Joram had his back to the sacrificial stone and held the sword in front of him, so he turned to face this way, watching with burning eyes. In the empty air around him, he searches for his enemy. Then the air he saw was no longer empty, it shone and darkened, and a man appeared, hooded in a gray robe.He was walking down the path toward them under the cover of his invisibility spell, standing not ten feet away.When he saw Joram's eyes fixed on him, he realized he had been spotted, and the executioner raised his hand. "Father, be careful!" Joram yelled.

Before Saryon could move, or even blink his eyes, there was a crackling sound in the air.Joran stumbled back, gasping for breath in pain, the sword fell to the ground, and a bright red bloodstain leaked from the white sleeve on his right arm. The sorcerer flung himself at the sword, but Joram was quicker, snatching it up and leaping at the executioner, but the sorcerer, with the coolness and quickness of mind of a well-trained man of his type, returned to him. In the magic, he jumped up with his remaining magic power, rose into the air, flew to the pile of rocks on the side of the mountain at the speed of the wind, and disappeared.

Joram grabbed Saryon and hurried him to the other side of the sacrificial stone, forcing him to lie flat on the ragged road. "Get down!" he ordered. "You are hurt!" "That guy's marksmanship is higher than what I gave him." Joran said with a serious expression.He lowered the sword and caught his wound, crimson blood gushing from between his fingers. "This scoundrel must have been up practicing all night! The bullet's still in my arm!" he cursed under his breath. "I can't move my hands." "Let me see—" Saryon said, about to sit up.

"Damn it! Father! Don't look up!" Joram ordered angrily. "Don't move!" He looked back at the pile of stones, looking in the direction where their enemies disappeared. "We are safe for the time being, but we can't stay here for long. He will come around, use those stones as cover, and then target us one by one from another angle." Joran nodded towards the church. "We'll be safer in there." "Gwen's still in there!" said Saryon suddenly, realizing with regret that in the chaos and danger he'd forgotten her. "Gwen!" Qiao Lang stared at the Catalyst Saints. "You brought my wife here? Did you ask Simkin to bring her?"

"What else would you have me do, Joram?" Saryon asked. "He was you! He was you 10 years ago! Hateful, arrogant, determined to get your own way." "You forget that I've changed—" "Forgive me, Joram," said Saryon falteringly. "But I see you changing back again, and I see the darkness growing on you every day." Joram leaned back against the gleaming blue sacrificial stone and sighed.Sweat broke out on his brow, his face turned pale, and the muscles in his jaw tensed.He took a deep, trembling breath, and glanced at Saryon, a wry smile on his lips. "You're right, Father. You're right. I did it myself. After all, Simkin was only imitating what he thought was best, and I was changing...maybe for the worse." His face paled. Hei, in his eyes, the casting fire flickered again. "But it seems like I have to go back to my old self to save this miserable world." He fell silent again, leaning back against the stone. "Joran!" Saryon shook him, fearing that he would faint, and the Catalyst saints felt eyes on them, and he had a premonition that at any moment he would hear the terrible explosion. "Joram," he called eagerly. "We can't stay here! We must go to the shelter over there." Joram raised his head in a daze, and nodded wearily. "You have to take the sword, Father." Saryon's first thought was: If we leave it here, maybe the executioner will pick it up and take it away.The words came to his lips, but he swallowed them back.No, this sword is my responsibility, I want to give it the power of life. Saryon picked up the sword. Joram stood up slowly, stabilized his feet, and leaned against the stone for support. "I'll go first and divert his firepower. Don't argue, Father, you have to shoulder the burden of this sword." Those black eyes full of pain looked at the catalyst saint with burning eyes. "If I fall, you must promise me that you will keep going without stopping. No, listen, my old friend, if anything happens to me, it's up to you , you must destroy this Dark Sword." "Destroy it? How?" Saryon asked involuntarily. "How do I know!" Joram said impatiently, the pain making him gasp.He closed his eyes and leaned against the stone again. "I don't know." He said calmly, his lips pale and bloodless. "Throw it off the hill, melt it." He gave another sullen, twisted half-smile. "Anyway, it's what you've been trying to do since I built it. If I fall, you keep going, you swear, in God's name." "I swear...in the name of God," Saryon muttered.He fastened the robes around him so that he could run better, and in doing so he would not have to look at Joram and say the oath. "Good!" Joram sighed. "Now." He took a deep breath. "Let's run. Keep your body low, ready?" Joran looked at Saryon suspiciously, the catalyst saint nodded reluctantly, and Joram stumbled away. Though Joram had agreed to let Joram go first, Saryon followed him before he had gone far.He has only a vague sense of what it means to "draw the fire," and being around his friends is something that feels more natural to him. And what about not stopping to help him if he falls? Well, it was an oath to God, and to Saryon it was nothing more than an empty oath, and his eyes were fixed on the white figure stumbling across the uneven ground ahead. The distance from the sacrificial stone at the center of the axle to the sanctuary on the south side of the axle was insignificant in Saryon's eyes—but at this moment he knew that his survival depended on whether he could cross this distance as quickly as possible. some distance.Suddenly, the sanctuary and its surrounding walls seemed to take an unnaturally large step back. Saryon ran forward as hard as he could, but he couldn't go fast enough.He hadn't quite recovered his strength since his illness, and with the drag of the heavy Darksword and robe flapping around his ankles, he hadn't run a few steps before he could hear his own breath in his lungs. Huff up.The trail is also dilapidated and full of potholes, making it more difficult to run.More than once, Saryon felt a paving stone twist underfoot.He had to slow down for fear of losing his balance and falling.But the whole time he kept his eyes on his friend. Joram did, however, fall, tripping over a cracked piece of marble, and instinctively stretched out his wounded arm for support.Then, under his own weight, his arm broke, and he collapsed on the ground, rolling in pain. Ignoring Joram's yelling orders to leave him alone, Saryon grabbed Joram and dragged Joram up with the strength he couldn't believe remained in his old and tired body, and the two of them together Continue to run, and finally reached the nine steps. A sharp whistling sound, like the buzzing of an angry hornet, flew past Saryon's ear, so close that he almost dared say he felt the hornet's wings. Less than a second later, part of the colonnade of the sanctuary exploded, and some rocks flew everywhere.The catalyst saint was still in a dazed and exhausted state, unable to figure out what it was. The two struggled up the steps.Thank goodness they had slipped beneath the shady protective walls of the high walls of the sanctuary.Joram fell to the ground like a dead man, turned over on his back, eyes closed, short of breath and weak, the sleeve of his right hand was soaked with blood.Saryon dropped his sword and crouched down beside him.Only then did the Catalyst saint remember that the buzzing sound just now was made by a lead bullet that would kill people, and he was now past the point of fear, the blood was buzzing in his ears, and he was dizzy I can barely see clearly. Panting heavily, he looked around the interior of the church's courtyard wall. "Gwen?" Saryon called softly. No one answered, but the Catalyst Saint saw her in no time.Barely seen among the moving shadows, she was sitting calmly on a rotting altar at the back of the church, watching them with - for her - unusual interest. Seeing that she was clearly unharmed, and considering that Joram had fainted, Saryon stooped to examine his wound, and Joram flinched when he touched him. "I'm fine!" Joram pushed Saryon's hand away and tried to sit up. "I think the bleeding has stopped." Saryon said hesitantly. "The clothes are stuck to the wound, don't touch it! Where is Gwen? How is she?" Saryon was about to answer, but another voice—an unfamiliar one—answered for him. "Your charming wife is safe, Joram, as mad as ever, but safe. And you are safe, at least for now." "It is true, Joram," continued the strange voice, in Simharlan's tongue. "I'm very impressed with you. Once again, you returned from the dead. Did you think of anything on that messianic lifeline?"