Chapter 7 Chapter 5: From a slightly cold background

"I was there, I saw the whole thing, and I got caught up in it." Sim Jin deliberately lowered his voice to be intimidating. "If only our brooding friend hadn't thrust the shining sword into the throbbing body of the sorcerer." "That's good for Joram," said Mosiah grimly. "Ah, that's not exactly a shining sword." Simkin corrected himself, and with a wave of his hand, he created an elegant silver-rimmed hand mirror in the air.He held up the mirror to look at his face, and carefully smoothed his soft brown mustache with his fingers, curling the tail expertly. "It's literally the ugliest thing I've ever seen, if you don't count the fourth child of the Marchioness of Blacktown. Of course, the Marchioness herself isn't much of a thing either, and everyone knows her nose goes up at night." It’s not what it looks like when you go out in the morning.”

"what--" "You know, there's never the same nose twice. She's unskilled in magic. There are rumors that she's a living dead, but it's never been proven, and besides, her husband is a great friend of the Emperor's." .If she'd put in a little more work, who knows? She might be able to fix her nose." "Sinkin, I—" "I don't understand why she insists on having a baby, though, especially one that's so ugly. 'There should be a law against that.' I suggested it to the Queen, and she agreed with me." "What does that sword look like?" Mosiah interjected, taking advantage of Simkin's pause for breath.

"Sword?" Sim Jin looked at him blankly. "Oh, by the way, Joram's sword, what he calls the 'Dark Sword.' I might add, the name fits perfectly. What does it look like?" He wondered, snapping the mirror on the handle to disappear. . "Let me think. By the way, do you like my suit? I like the color more than black. I call it 'blood and gore' in honor of a dear friend who passed away." Mosiah glanced at the blood-red breeches, purple coat, and red satin shirt with disgust, and nodded. Simkin adjusted the lace of his cuffs - lace dyed red speckled for a "splash effect" - and sat down on the bed in the cell, cocking his long legs to show off the purple stocking.

"The sword," he continued. "Looks like a person." "Impossible!" Mosiah said contemptuously. "Really, as true as Emin's truth." Simkin retorted firmly. "A man made of iron. Note, it's a skinny iron man, but still human, like this..." Xin Jin stood up straight, put his feet together, and stretched out his hands to his sides. "My neck is the hilt of my sword," he said, trying to stretch his thin neck. "With a ball for its head." "You're the one with the ball in your head!" Mosiah laughed at him. "Take it out and have a look, since you don't believe me." Xin Jin suddenly collapsed on the bed, and he yawned. "Under the mattress, in the bag, like a baby."

Mosiah's eyes fell on the bed, and his hands trembled. "No, you can't," he said after a while. "As you please." Simkin shrugged. "I don't know if they found the body or not. Do you think it would be too vulgar to wear this dress to a funeral?" "What ability do you think the Dark Sword has?" Mosiah asked, staring at the bed obsessively.He stood up slowly, walked over, and stood by the bed, but dared not touch the mattress. "What did it do to the black lock?" "Let me recall," Simkin replied sleepily, lying down on the bed with his arms under his head.He looked at his shoes, frowning, trying to change them from red to purple. "You must understand that it is a little difficult for me to see. I was hanging on the wall with only a poor nail. I thought about turning into a wooden barrel. You know, they are much easier to see than pincers; I When turned into pliers, it usually has an eye on one side, which gives a wider field of vision, but I can't see anything in the middle. The barrel, on the other hand—"

"Oh, please get to the point!" Mosiah interrupted him impatiently. Simkin snorted and turned the shoes back to red. "Our hateful and ruthless leader is casting a deadly Tribe spell on our friend—by the way, have you ever seen it in action?" Simkin asked casually. "Nastly injures your nervous system, paralyzes your entire body, causes excruciating pain—" "Poor Joram," said Mosiah softly. "Yes, poor Joram," said Simkin slowly. "He was almost killed, Mosiah." The laughing tone suddenly became serious. "I really thought it was all over. Then I noticed a very strange thing. The green poisonous light emitted by the spell should have completely enveloped the opponent, but Joram's only hand holding the dark sword was not poisonous." light. And, slowly, from his arms, the poisonous light fades, and then the rest of his body fades. That's when our endearing old friend, the Catalyst Saint, walks Step forward to absorb the life force from the wizard. He also did a good job, very timely, otherwise even if the dark sword has some kind of counter ability to deal with the black lock's spell, it is obviously not fast enough to avoid it. Turn Joram into a green pudding that never stops shaking."

"So it can more or less counteract magic." Mosiah was taken aback.He stared at the bed, expecting and hesitating.He glanced over the grille, shivering with the cold.Even though it was mid-afternoon, the weather hadn't gotten any warmer, and the dim sunlight had completely disappeared behind the somber clouds, which looked and felt as if they were sinking across the village, slowly killing its life.The streets were deserted, there were no guards in sight, no villagers in sight, and even the noise of the furnaces had died down. Mosiah made up his mind and quickly walked to the bed. He knelt down and put his hands under the mattress.Gently, almost reverently, he removed the bag of rags.

Mosiah straightened up, unwrapped the sword, and stared at it.The young man's face—the frank and upright face of the serf mage—contorted. "Did I tell you?" Simkin turned sideways on the bed, leaning his head on one elbow to look over. "Unpleasant stuff, isn't it? I'd rather die than touch it myself, but I don't think it bothers Joram. Pick it up." Simkin went on jokingly, though Mosiah didn't laugh. : "You would rather die than take it?" Mosiah ignored him, he stared at the sword, both fascinated and disgusted, but couldn't look away.It's really rough and ugly.Once upon a time, a long time ago, the craftsmen of the demon craftsmen made swords shining and beautiful, with bright steel blades and hilts made of gold and silver. Magic swords were once engraved with symbols and spells like all kinds of treasures. .But after the Iron War, all Simharon's swords were destroyed.Wicked weapons—as the Catalyst Saints call them—are unholy artifacts of the dark craft of the Kinky Way.No one knew how to make iron swords, and the only swords Joram had ever seen were those depicted in books he had found, and although the young man had practiced metalworking, he was not yet proficient enough, nor had the time or patience. To forge a weapon to wear with pride like the ancients.

The dark sword Mosiah wields is forged from the Darkstone, a jet-black and inconspicuous ore.Brought to life by the flames of the furnace, and given life to magic reluctantly by the Catalyst Saint Saryon, the Dark Sword is still nothing more than a metal rod hammered and roughly sharpened by a novice like Joram. .He did not know how to forge the hilt and the blade separately, and fit them together, so that the sword was made of a single piece of iron, as Simkin said, in a human form.The place where the hilt is separated from the blade is a crosspiece, which looks like two arms stretched out.Joram added a bulbous pommel to try to give it some weight, to make it look more like a man turned to stone.Mosiah was about to shove the ugly, unnerving thing back under the mattress when the door slammed open.

"Put it down!" a harsh voice yelled. Mosiah was taken aback and almost dropped the sword to the ground. "Joran!" he yelled guiltily, turning around. "I'm just looking around--" "I said put it down," said Joram gruffly, kicking the door shut behind him.He leaped forward and snatched the sword from Mosiah, who didn't stop him. "Don't touch it again." He glared at his friend angrily. "Don't worry." Mosiah whispered, standing up and wiping his hands on the leather pants, as if to wipe off the metallic touch. "I won't, never!" He got angry and added.Mosiah cast a gloomy look at Joram, turned his back, and looked out of the window unhappily.

The dreary atmosphere of the street poured into the cell and settled around the three of them like an invisible fog.Joram slipped the sword into the rough leather buckle copied from the scabbard in the book.He squinted at Mosiah, wanted to say something, but didn't say it.He pulled a bag from under the bed and started stuffing some clothes into it, along with a bit of food from the cell.Mosiah heard the noise he made, but didn't look back.Even Simkin was silent, staring at his shoes, trying to make one red and the other purple.Just then, there was a soft knock on the door, and the door opened. Saryon walked in.No one spoke.The Catalyst saint looked at Joram's flushed scowl, then at Mosiah's pale face, sighed, and closed the door carefully behind him. "They have found the body." He told everyone in a low voice. "Brilliant!" exclaimed Simkin, sitting up and dangling his colored feet beside the bed. "I've got to see—" "No." Joram said suddenly. "Stay here. We've got to make a plan, we have to get out! Tonight!" "What nonsense are you talking about!" Sim Jin wailed in panic. "Miss the funeral? I worked so hard—" "I'm afraid I'll miss it," Joram said indifferently. "Here, Catalyst Saint." He handed Saryon a rough chain with black stones hanging from it. "Your 'lucky' charm." Saryon sadly took the chain, holding it for a while, staring down at it, his face growing paler and paler. "Father?" Mosiah asked. "What happened?" "Too many." The Catalyst Saint replied softly, and then, with the same solemn expression, he hung the Stone of Darkness around his neck, and carefully gathered the stone under the collar of his robe. "Heisuo's subordinates have sealed off the town and are not allowed to enter or exit." Joram cursed harshly. "Damn it!" Simkin exclaimed suddenly. "Damn! He will be buried for the second time. The most exciting part of this year's local event—" he continued dejectedly: "The villagers will definitely seize the opportunity to clean up the subordinates of the black lock. I really want to take part in it It's a group beating of idiots." "We must get out of here!" said Joram grimly, and he tied the cloak about his neck, and drew the folds of the garment over the sword and hid it. "But why are we leaving?" Mosiah objected. "As far as Xin Jin said, everyone thought that Heisuo was killed by a centaur, even his subordinates thought so, and they wouldn't spend too much time investigating. Xin Jin was right, I've seen villagers What kind of face do you use to look at those scumbags. This is the reason why Heisuo's men want to blockade the village. They are afraid! And they should be afraid! We will deal with them! Drive them out, and you don't have to worry about what will happen to anyone in the future— —” "Yes, there are still things to worry about," Saryon said, still holding the amulet in his hand. "Bishop Fan Ya has contacted me." "I dare say he'll come to the funeral," said Simkin angrily. "Shut up, fool," Mosiah yelled. "What do you mean, Father, 'contact'? How can he do it?" Saryon spoke hastily, looking towards the window frequently, and told these young people about his conversation with the bishop, except for the part where he already knew Joram's true identity. "We have to go in the evening," Saryon concluded. "Once Bishop Fanya can't contact me or Heisuo, he will know that something is wrong. By evening, Duke Xisi may be here." "Look? Anyone will come to the funeral," said Simkin angrily. "Dukesis is here!" Mosiah's face turned pale. "We have to warn Anton—" "I just got back from Anton." Saryon interrupted him with a sigh. "I want him to understand the situation, but I'm not sure if I've convinced him. To be honest, he's not half as worried about Duke Xisi as he is about the villagers going to fight Heisuo's men. If Duke Xisi really comes , I don’t think they will trouble the demon artisans.” Saryon saw through Mosiah’s thoughts and added. "We can now imagine that the religious order often contacts Hei Suo. If they really want to destroy the village, it will take only a few minutes to bulldoze it a long time ago. They are looking for Joran and the Dark Stone , if they find out he's gone, they'll come after us, they'll come after us..." "But these people are my friends, like my family," Mosiah insisted. "I can't leave them behind!" He looked out the window worriedly. "They are my friends too," said Joram suddenly. "We're not trying to run away, the best we can do for them is leave." "Believe me, if we stay, we may not be able to do anything except bring more harm to them." Saryon said gently, putting his hand on Mosiah's shoulder. "Bishop Fanya once said to me that he wanted to avoid attacking demon artisans as much as possible, because it would be a hard battle. No matter how the church blocked the news, there would always be rumors and people would panic. This is what the black lock guards The reason here is to lead the demon craftsmen to self-destruction, and destroy Saraken together. Van Ya still hopes to carry out his original plan, he has no other way." "But Anton certainly won't let them go to ruin, since he knows—" "It's not our problem anymore!" Joram interrupted immediately. "It's none of our business. At least, it's none of my business." He wrapped the cloth bag tightly and threw it over his shoulder. "You and Simkin stay if you like." "Then let you and this bald man wander alone in the wilderness?" Simkin said angrily. "When I think about it, I can't sleep at night." He changed his clothes with a wave of his hand, and his red clothes turned into an ugly greenish brown. Climbing up his legs and taking shape, a tall hat with long, slender, curving pheasant feathers appeared on top of his head. "Walk back to 'stinky mud'." He said despondently. "You won't come with us!" said Mosiah. "Us?" Joram said again. "I don't know where we're going." "You knew I'd follow," Mosiah retorted. "I'd love to know about it," said Joram softly. Mosiah heard the unexpected warmth in his friend's voice, and blushed with joy, but the happy mood didn't last long. "Of course I'm going," Simkin insisted haughtily. "Who else can show you the way? For many years, I have been able to go back and forth in the Outlander without incident. What about you? Do you know the way?" "Maybe I don't know." Mosiah looked at Xin Jin threateningly. "But I do think it's better to get lost in the land of alienation than to go where you plan to take us. I don't want to end up being the husband of the fairy queen!" When he said the last sentence, he looked at the catalyst saint . Speaking of this, Saryon seemed to be frightened when he remembered his near-disaster journey when Simkin led the way, and Joram stepped in at this moment. "Singin has to go," he said firmly. "Maybe we can pass through the land of alienation without him, but only he can get us where we want to go." The catalyst saint looked at Joran worriedly, and when he realized where the young man was going, he suddenly shivered.But before he had time to say anything, Joram continued, "Besides, Sim'jin's magic can help us avoid the black locks." "That's nothing to worry about!" Simkin said contemptuously. "After all, there is always a teleportation corridor." "No!" Saryon shouted, his voice hoarse with fear. "Are you going to run straight into Duke Xisi's hands?" "Oh, then, I can turn us all into rabbits," Simkin suggested after a moment of serious consideration. "Bouncing around when I went out, and—" "Father?" A trembling voice came from outside the prison window. "Father Saryon? Are you there?" "Settle down!" the Catalyst Saint shouted, pulling the door open. "In Emin's name! What happened?" The old demon artisan was about to fall down on the spot, his hands trembled, his usually gentle eyes became frantic, and his clothes were disheveled. "Joran, bring a chair," Saryon said, but Anton shook his head. "There's no time!" He panted heavily, and only then did the others know that he had come all the way. "You have to come here, Father." The old man grabbed Saryon. "You have to tell them not to cause trouble! It's been so many years! They can't fight!" "Settle down." Saryon said in a deep voice. "Calm down, you're only going to make yourself sick. That's it, take a deep breath, okay, tell me what happened." "It's a blacksmith!" An Dun's thin chest rose and fell more slowly. "He's going to attack the Heishuo people!" The old man wrung his hands. "He and his gang of grumpy boys are on their way to the wizard's house! Thank goodness I found—" The old man looked sadly at Joram and Mosiah. "You are not among those people." "I don't think I can help, my friend." Saryon had just said something sad, and Joram grabbed the catalyst saint's arm. "We're going with you, Anton." He cast a meaningful glance at Saryon. "I'm sure you'll figure something out, saint," he said, nudging Saryon with his elbow. "This is an excellent time for you to preach." He leaned closer to Saryon and whispered roughly, "This is our chance!" Saryon shook his head. "I don't think—" "We can get away in the chaos!" Joram hissed furiously.He gave Mosiah and Simkin a quick wink, and they immediately understood his plan.At this moment, screams and shouts came from the direction of the furnace, a child howled out of nowhere, windows were slammed shut, and doors were hastily closed. "It's started!" Anton yelled in panic.He ran out the door, stumbling into a run.Joram and Mosiah followed and rushed out the door.The Catalyst Saints had no choice but to pull up their robes and run as fast as they could, hoping to keep up with them. "Ah, ha." Xin Jin from behind swept out happily. "Maybe I'll make it to a funeral after all."