Chapter 5 Chapter 3 Removing Stains

"Joran?" Saryon asked hesitantly. The Catalyst Saint sat up and stared at the two young men standing in the middle of the cell.They suddenly appeared without anyone noticing, and Saryon didn't know if they were real people or illusions of his own imagination. But the voice that answered him was real, and so was the anger in the words. "Who the hell could it be?" Joram blurted out, and then walking to the table and picking up the jug further confirmed that he was real.He found ice in the jug, and put it back after an indignant curse. Before the yelling could be heard, a guard's face suddenly appeared on the prison window, causing the young man who appeared with Qiao Ran to scream loudly.

"My God! Run for your life! The monster is coming - oh, please forgive me -" the guard had already scowled. "It's not a monster, it's just one of Heisuo's subordinates. I read it wrong. The smell must have confused me." The guard cursed angrily and left, while Xin Jin covered his nose and panted loudly. Saryon ran across the cramped cell. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking at Joram with concern. The young man raised his head, there were tired dark circles under his dark eyes, and his well-defined face looked haggard.His clothes were torn, muddy, and something—Saryon was terrified when he found out it was blood.There were also streaks of blood on Qiao Lang's hands.

"I'm fine," Joram replied wearily, and sank down on the chair. "But..." Saryon put a hand on his muscular shoulder. "You look bad-" "I say I'm fine!" roared Joram, jerking away from Saryon's sympathetic touch.He glanced at the Catalyst Saint through a mess of glossy black hair. "We can see very well during the day, if..." "I hate this kind of talk!" Sim Jin said, and with a wave of his hand, he pulled out an orange silk scarf and touched his nose. "Please don't confuse me with inferior people like you."

Indeed, Simkin looked as if he had just returned from the Royal Gala.There was only one noticeable, and somewhat surprising, change in the dandy—his usually colorful clothes were now all black, down to the lace covering his wrists. Saryon walked away from Joram with a sigh.He rubbed his icy hands and tucked them into the sleeves of his battered robe, trying to warm them, but in vain. "You got into trouble when you came back last night?" Joram asked the Catalyst Saints. "No. The guards thought I was locked with...hei." Saryon choked on the name and coughed. "I told them he... released me after talking to me, and they locked me up without further questioning. But what about you?" The Catalyst Saint looked at Joram, then at Simkin, feel strange. "How did you get in? Where did you go? Did anyone see it?" He looked out the window involuntarily, to the locked guard quarter across the street, where they watched the prisoners.

"See us? Ugh, that's rude!" said Simkin contemptuously. "It's as if I'm ostentatiously dressed like this!" He raised his black sleeves contemptuously. "Now I wear this just because it looks right for the occasion." "But how did you get in?" Saryon demanded. "Using the teleportation corridor, of course." Simkin shrugged. "But...that's impossible!" Saryon gasped, almost incoherent in surprise. "Song Li, the operator of the teleportation corridor! The teleportation corridor should have been interrupted—because you don't have enough life force from the catalyst saint to give you or...or open it—"

"That's just a technical problem." Simkin waved his black lace-covered hand. He walked around the cell, admiring his black shoes, and continued, "When we came in, we stood between you and the window." I was talking about something in the middle of that vulgar face--by the way, that face completely spoiled my appetite for breakfast, and I've forgotten what I was going to say now, what was it?" "Joran." Saryon tried to ignore Simkin's words. "Where to-" "Oh, yes, I remembered." Xin Jin frowned and touched his forehead with one hand. "Buried the Baron as a dead man by mistake. He accepted the burial very gracefully, thinking it was a good joke. He did have a little trouble when he crawled out from under the marble lid. Nervous, we thought he was a vampire and drove a stake into his heart, but then found out he was flesh and blood and rushed to get Zelda to fill that hole in his chest. It couldn't be better , just an understandable misunderstanding. But as for the sad widow, it's another matter." Simkin sighed. "She will never forgive him for ruining the funeral."

"Joran! Where have you been? What happened?" Saryon hurriedly asked when Sim Jin stopped to catch his breath. "Where is the Dark Sword?" Joram asked suddenly. "Where you hid. I brought it back as I promised, and no one found it." Saryon added, seeing Joram's dark eyes watching him with sudden suspicion, "It's like You said, I can't destroy what I worked so hard to create." Joram stood up. "Simkin, watch the window," he ordered. "Does it have to be me? I'm going to throw up if that idiot gets close, I promise—"

"Just look at the window!" snapped Joram. Xin Jin pressed the silk scarf tightly to his nose and mouth, and moved closer to the window to look out. "Suspicious idiot go talk to fellow idiot across the street," he reported back. "They all looked distraught and nervous, wondering what's going on?" "They may have noticed that the black lock is gone," said Joram, walking toward the bed, where he knelt, and with his hands under the dirty mattress, pulled out something wrapped in a cloth.He hastily opened it, glanced at the long sword inside, nodded in satisfaction, and then looked back at Saryon.The pale sunlight cast a gray light on the face of the older man, who was looking at Joram with a solemn and heavy expression.

"Thank you," Joram said reluctantly. "Don't thank me. I'd rather see Emin than this sword lying at the bottom of the river!" Saryon became excited. "Especially after tonight!" he pleaded, throwing up his hands. "Think again, Joram! Destroy this wicked weapon before it destroys you!" "No!" Joram avoided the sad eyes of the Catalyst Saint, and angrily shoved the cloth bag back under the bed. "Throughout last night, you saw the power it gave me. You really believed I'd give it up? It's my business, not yours, man!"

"It's about me." Saryon said softly. "I'm right there! I'll help you plan..." The catalyst saint stopped talking and aimed at Xin Jin. "It's okay." Joram stood up. "Singin knows." Of course he does, Saryon thought bitterly.Simkin somehow always knew everything.The Catalyst Saint felt that the truths that would lead him out of his predicament only left him struggling in the predicament. "Actually." Joram continued, sitting down on the bed. "You should thank him, Catalyst Saint. I would never have done what you call 'last night' without him."

"That's right." Simkin turned happily from the window. "He's going to dump the body somewhere clichéd. Of course, that's totally not going to work. I mean, don't you want it to look like a centaur killed dear black lock boy? On my honor Well, the sorcerer—sorry, the late, no-sighed sorcerer—has his minions stupid, but, I have to ask you, are they really that stupid? " "Come to think of it, they found the ex-officer lying under some tree, with a bloody hole in his stomach, and no footprints or murder weapon around. Do you think they could just jump to conclusions and say, 'Damn it! Looks like dude Black Lock got killed by a maple tree!' Your Aunt Minnie wouldn't believe that! They'd probably run back here and line everyone up in the square and say 'You Where between ten and twelve o'clock?' 'What do the watchdogs do at night?' and that sort of thing. So, to avoid that, we arranged the dead bodies - certainly very beautiful - in a certain A unique pose lying in the middle of a small clearing, with a few touches added to complete it." Saryon suddenly felt sick.He remembered the sorcerer's dead body on Joram's shoulders as he left the forge, and Blacklock's limp arms dangling behind his back.The Catalyst Saint's knees gave way.He sank back in his chair and could not help but stare in horror at Joram, at the bloodstained shirt. Joran followed the eyes of the catalyst saints to look at him, curled his lips. "Does that make you sick, man?" "You should take it off," Saryon said calmly. "In case the guards see it." Joram stared at him for a long moment, then, shrugging, tore off his shirt. "Singin," he ordered. "Fire—" "Dear boy!" Simkin protested. "That's a waste of a good shirt. Throw it over and I'll get the gore off in one go. The Duchess of Longueville taught me—you've heard of her, all her husbands die unexplained." , she is also an expert in blood stains. 'Nothing washes off like dried blood, Simkin, dear.' she said to me. 'Most people make a fuss when they see blood.' You have to The only thing is—" Xin Jin caught the clothes thrown by Joram, shook them off, and rubbed the blood stains with the corner of the silk scarf.Once wiped, the blood mark disappeared. "Look, what did I tell you? It's as pure and white as fresh snow. Well, not counting the dirt on the collar." Simkin looked at the shirt with a contemptuous smile. "What happened to the corpse?" Saryon interjected hoarsely. "'Added a few strokes' what?" "Century horseshoe print!" Xin Jin laughed proudly. "It was my idea." "Hoofprints? How did you get them?" "Why, of course I turned myself into a centaur," replied Simkin, leaning back against the wall. "It's fun, I'll relax like this every once in a while. I'll stomp around and dig the turf like I've had a nasty fight. Seriously consider killing myself and laying the body next to the black lock .It must have been that way in a real fight, though," he sighed. "You can only do so much for camouflage." "Don't worry, Catalyst Saint," Joram interrupted angrily. "No one will doubt." He took the shirt from Simkin, and was about to put it on, but couldn't make up his mind, and threw it on the bed.Joram yanked a battered leather bag from under the bed and pulled out another dress. "Where is Mosiah?" He frowned and looked around and asked. "I... I don't know," Saryon replied, suddenly realizing that he hadn't seen the young man yet. "He was already asleep when we left, the guard must have taken him somewhere!" He stood up straight alertly, and walked towards the window. "He may have escaped," Simkin said nonchalantly. "Those idiots can't even stop a chicken that just wants to hatch, and you know, Mosiah said he would go to the wilderness by himself." Simkin yawned so much that his jaw almost dropped. "I said, Saryon, old chap, you don't mind if I use your bed, do you? I'm so sleepy. Witnessing a murder, hiding a body—full day, thanks." Without waiting for an answer from Saryon, Sim Jin walked through the narrow cell, lay down on the bed and stretched comfortably. "Pajamas." As soon as he finished speaking, he immediately changed into a long white linen pajamas full of lace.The young man winked at Saryon, then straightened his beard, brushed it up, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.Before counting to three, he snored contentedly. Joram scowled. "You don't think he would do that, do you?" he asked Saryon. "What? Leave? Go alone?" The catalyst saint rubbed his sore eyes. "Why not? Mosiah must have thought there was no one here to help him." He cast a bitter glance at Joram. "Do you think it matters?" "I hope he's gone," said Joram flatly, busy tucking his shirt into his trousers. "The less he knows about it, the better. It's for him...and it's for us." Qiao Lang was going to lie down, but after thinking about it, he walked back to the table.He took the jug, broke the ice cubes in it, and poured the water into a thick bowl.Then, making a miserable face, he buried his face in the icy water.He washed off the black ash from the furnace, wiped his face with his sleeve, and brushed the tangled wet hair with his hands.Even though he was shivering in the cold of his cell, he was determined to scrub his hands, rubbing the dried blood off his fingers with ice cubes. "You're going out, aren't you?" Saryon asked suddenly. "Go to the furnace and work," Joram replied.He dried his hands on his trousers and began to part his thick, tangled hair into three strands and braid it as usual, wincing in pain every time he tugged impetuously at the lustrous black lock in his hands. "But you'll fall asleep standing up," Saryon objected. "Besides, they won't let you out. You're right, something's brewing." He pointed to the window. "Look over there, the guards are very nervous..." Joram glanced out the window and continued to braid his hair expertly. "For us, it's better to act as if nothing happened. After I leave, you can see if you can find any clues to the whereabouts of Mosiah." Joram threw the cloak over his shoulder and walked towards the window impatiently. He slapped the window bars.The chaos of guards in the street turned suddenly, and one of them, after conferring with the others, walked towards the cell, unlocked the door, and opened the door. "What do you want?" the guard barked. "I'm going to work," said Joram sullenly. "The order of the black lock." "Heisuo's order?" The guard frowned. "We haven't received any orders yet—" He stopped talking as soon as he opened his mouth, and bit his tongue and swallowed it. "Go back to the prison!" "Okay." Joram shrugged. "As long as you can tell that wizard why I am not in the furnace, they are working overtime to make weapons for Saraken." "What's going on?" Another guard came over.Saryon noticed that all the guards seemed nervous and anxious.Their eyes have been wandering between each other, and they are constantly paying attention to the pedestrians on the street and the black lock house on the mountain. "He said he was going to the furnace, and he has orders." The guard pointed to the house on the mountain with his thumb. "Then take him," another guard said. "But yesterday we had orders to lock them up here, and Black Lock didn't—" "I said take him." The guard later roared, looking at his colleagues with meaningful eyes. "Come here, then," said the first guard to Joram, giving him a sharp push. Saryon watched Joram and the guard cross the street.The nervousness of the guards spread to the villagers.The Catalyst Saints saw men heading to work cast sullen glances at Heisuo's men, who glared at the former with equal hostility.Women who should have gone to the market or washed clothes by the river looked out of the windows of their homes, and children who wanted to go out to play were dragged home.Did the demon craftsmen already know about the disappearance of the black lock, or were they just reacting to the nervousness of the wizard's subordinates?Saryon could not guess, nor dared to ask. The Catalyst Saint, mind numb with fatigue and worry, sank into the rickety chair, resting his head on his hands.A loud voice woke him up, but it was only Simkin's dream about playing cards, apparently playing tarot in his dream. "Finally, we need to plan to bring down the sword-wielding king..."