Chapter 13 Chapter Eleven Joram

Jarod turned and walked towards the campfire, thinking about something with his head down.The Cardinal walked across the clearing into a silk tent summoned by a certain Dukexis by the hot springs.As Jarod walked back, he saw that the Catalyst Saint was watching him and the Cardinal carefully, and Saryon turned his gaze from them to Joram.Joram finally fell into a deep sleep, his hand still resting on his sword. Catalyst Saints love him, that's for sure.Thinking so, the prince looked down at Saryon as he approached.The affection must have been very hard, and he was clearly not reciprocated.Radisovik was right, there were deeper secrets.It seems that he will not leak the secret, but if you talk about the young man with him, he may unconsciously tell more things.And I want to find out about Joram.

"No, please don't stand up, Father," the prince said loudly, standing beside the Catalyst Saint. "If you don't object, I'd like to sit next to you for a while, unless you plan to rest." "Thank you, Your Excellency." The Catalyst Saint said, sitting back on the soft and fragrant grass, which had been magically transformed into a thick, soft and luxurious carpet for the palace. "I'd love to have you by my side. I...I find myself having trouble sleeping sometimes." The Catalyst Saint smiled wearily. "Looks like I'm going to lose sleep again tonight."

"Me too, I often can't sleep." The prince said as he sat down gracefully beside the catalyst saint. "My Zelda prescribed a glass of wine before going to bed." A crystal goblet appeared in the prince's hand, filled with ruby-colored liquor, reflected in the flickering and warm twilight of the campfire.He handed the glass to the Catalyst Saint. "Thank you very much, Your Excellency." Saryon blushed with excitement at this concern. "I wish you good health." He took a sip of the wine, which was delicious and reminded him of court life and his past at Merilon.

"I want to talk to you about Joram, Father." Garald reclined on the grass blanket peacefully.He stood up on one hand, turned his back to the campfire and looked directly at the face of the Catalyst Saint. "You're so straight to the point, my lord." Saryon smiled feebly. "This is my shortcoming sometimes." Jarod grinned annoyedly, and grabbed the blade of grass under his hand. "At least that's what my dad said about me, when he said I scared people and pounced on them when I should have been sneaking up on them from behind." "I am glad to tell you that I know young men, my lord," said Saryon, his eyes falling on the sleeping figure lying by the fire. "I've heard about his early life from other people, but I have no reason to doubt it."

The Catalyst Saint went on, talking about Joram's bleak and strange upbringing.The prince listened without saying a word, absorbed and fascinated. "Needless to say, Anya is crazy, Your Excellency." Saryon sighed softly. "Her ordeal was horrific, seeing her loved ones—" "Joram's father, the catalyst saint," said the prince. "Uh...yes, my lord." Saryon coughed a few times and had to clear his throat as he continued.Jarod noticed that he wasn't looking at him as he spoke. "The catalyst saint, she saw him being transformed. Have you ever witnessed the execution, Your Highness?" The catalyst saint now turned his attention to the prince.

"No," Jarod replied, shaking his head. "Emin testifies, I hope I don't have to watch it." "That is a good prayer, my lord," said Saryon, turning his eyes to the dancing flames again. "I have. I have, in fact, read the decree pronounced against Joram's father, but, of course, I did not know then how wonderful fate is..." He was silent for a long time, and Garald The prince touched his arm. "Father?" "What's wrong?" Saryon woke up startled. "Oh, yes." He shivered, and quickly wrapped his robe tightly around his body. "It's a terrible punishment. It is said that in ancient times, sinners were sentenced to death. We think the death penalty is barbaric, but I think the punishment of transformation is the same. Sometimes I feel that the death penalty is more serious than our civilized way." Feel better."

"I have seen a man exiled to the afterlife," whispered the prince. "No, wait, that was a woman. Yes, a woman. I was just a kid, and my father took me, and that was the first time I went through the teleportation corridor. I remember being so excited to travel, almost Not paying attention to the destination, although I'm sure my father must have wanted to prepare me mentally before then, but he couldn't." The prince moved uneasily, and instead of lounging comfortably, he sat up and stared at the flames.Memories cast shadows on his handsome face, clouding his bright brown eyes.

"What crime has she committed, my lord?" "I'm trying to remember." Jarod shook his head. "It must have been an unforgivable crime, probably adultery or something, because I remember my father being vague and vague about details. She was a wizard, that's what I remember, and Albanara—a high-ranking figure in the palace. It's like using a charm spell to lure a man against his will." Jarod shrugged. "At least I thought that was talking about him." "I was a kid," he continued. "I thought it was just a game, I was so excited. All the members of the royal family were there, wearing beautiful clothes, and specially changed the color of the clothes to various shades of blood red for this occasion. Clothes smug, wanted to keep it, but father wouldn't let it. There we stood, on the border, under those tall living statues of guards..."

He stopped. "I didn't know then that those stone statues of men and women were still alive. My father never told me. I admired them very much. They were thirty feet long and stood tall, with firm eyes forever gazing into the darkness of the afterlife. A heavy mist. A man in a gray robe stepped forward, I think it was a Dukexis, though in retrospect he was dressed differently—” "It's the executioner, my lord." Saryon's voice tightened. "He lives on the Holy Mountain and serves the Catalyst Saints. His robes are gray—indicating judicial neutrality—and on the robes are the marks of the nine tribes, implying impartiality."

"I can't remember. He was memorable, I just remember this, he was a tall man, and he was tall to the woman tied up around him, and the stone statues were high to the rest of us The bishop—it must have been Vanya, and he has been a bishop for as long as I can remember—said a speech announcing the woman's guilt, and I'm afraid I didn't pay attention then." The prince smiled sadly. "I was bored at the time and wished something had happened. "Anyway, at the end of Vanya's words, he called on Emin to forgive the poor woman's soul. The woman stood silently and defiantly listening to the accusations. Rolling down to her waist. Her gown was also blood red, and I always remember how her hair looked so alive, glistening in the sun, that her gown looked so lifeless by comparison. But When the bishop called for her blessing, Emin fell to her knees and wailed, shattering my childish ignorance.

"My father felt that I was shaking and understood why. He put his arms around me and held me tight in his arms. The executioner grabbed the woman and pulled her to her feet. His arms wrapped in his robes moved, So she came forward... oh my god!" The prince closed his eyes. "Into the dreadful fog! The woman took a step into the swirling mist and knelt down again. She screamed for forgiveness, screamed her heart out. Crawling back towards us in the sand! Crawling on hands and knees!" Jarod fell silent, staring straight at the flames, his lips pursed into a line. "Finally." He resumed the topic. "The executioner lifted and kicked and kicked her to the brink of the afterlife. Mist engulfed his robes, engulfing them both, and we lost sight of them. We heard a final horrific wail... Then there was silence. The executioner came back...alone. Then we went back to Merilon's palace, and then I fell ill." Saryon said nothing.Jarod looked at him, startled to find him pale. "It's all right, Your Excellency." Facing the prince's concerned greeting, Saryon replied. "It's just... I've seen executions a few times, and the recollection of them makes me uneasy. It's always been like that, as you say. Of course, some people go by themselves. Proud, contemptuous, heads held high. Executions The officer accompanied them to the border, and then they walked into the mist, as if they were just going from room to room. But—" Saryon's throat clenched. "There's always a last cry from the mist stream—a cry of terror and despair that makes the bravest flinch. I don't know what they see—" "Okay!" Jarod wiped the cold sweat off his face. "We're going to have nightmares any more. Let's go back to Joram." "Okay, my lord. I'd love to, but." The Catalyst Saint shook his head. "His story is not the type that can make people sleep peacefully at night. I won't tell you the details of the punishment of transformation, just say that the executioner completes the task. If I can choose my own execution, I will choose to live in the fog It is better to live the last moment of fear than to be a living stone statue for the rest of your life." "Yes." Garrod muttered. "You were talking about the young man's mother." "Thank you for the reminder, Your Excellency. Anya had to watch her lover be transformed from a living person into a living stone, and then she was taken back to the Holy Mountain, where she gave birth to... gave birth to their child." "Continue." The prince urged, seeing that the catalyst saint's face turned pale, and he looked away. "Their children..." Saryon said again, confused. "She... took that... baby and escaped from the Holy Mountain to a remote place, where she found a job as a village sculptor. In the village, she raised her child—raised Joram." "This Anya, is from a noble family? Are you sure? Joran does have noble blood?" "Aristocratic blood? Ah, yes, Your Excellency! At least, Bishop Fanya once told me so." Saryon hesitated. "Father, you seem to be getting more and more uncomfortable." Garald said with concern, and found that the catalyst saint's lips were ashen, and sweat dripped from his bald head. "We can talk another time..." "No, no, sir," Saryon said hastily. "I'm... glad you're interested... in Joram's business, and... I have to speak out! It's... a big psychological burden on me..." "Very well, Father." The prince stared calmly at the catalyst saint. "Go ahead, that kid was raised to be a serf mage." "Yes, but Anya told him that he was born a nobleman and he was never allowed to forget it. She isolated him from the other children, and according to the saint in the village, Joram was not allowed to leave the village unless he was accompanied by his mother." The hut where he lived. The child was not even allowed to talk to anyone after that. He stayed at home while she was working in the fields and was alone all day long. Anya was Albanara. She was very magical , she put a protective spell on the hut to keep the child out, and no one else to go in, though no one tried to get in," Saryon went on. "Nobody likes Anya. She's cold and distant and always teaches the kid that he's above everyone else." "She knew he was the living dead?" "She never admitted it, not to him, not to herself, but I think that's another reason why she kept him from everyone else. But when he was nine years old, she understood that he had to go to the fields to earn Household - all children are like that, and that's when she taught him to use illusions and tricks to hide his inability to magic. Needless to say, she learned this in the palace, which was meant to be a game for fun She taught him to read and write, too, with books she must have stolen from her own house. And—" Saryon sighed again. "She took him to see his father." Jarod eyed the Catalyst Saint suspiciously. "That's right. Joram never mentioned it, but the saint in the village told me that he helped Anya open the teleportation corridor. We can only guess what happened there, but the saint in the village said that the child Pale as a corpse when he came back. His eyes were as vacant as those stone statues that gaze upon the mists of the afterlife and the realm of death. Joram himself had been stone since he had seen his father's statue. Cold, Distant, ruthless, rarely seen laugh, never seen cry." The prince's eyes wandered to the young man lying by the fire.Even in his sleep, that stern face still did not relax, and his eyebrows were still drawn into a gloomy and dignified line. "Go on," said the prince calmly. "Joram was good at deception, and hid for years that he was the living dead. He once told me that he always wanted magic power. Anya said he was a late development like many Albanaras, and he believed it. Of course he believed it because he wanted to believe it, as he still believes all the stories Anya told about the beauty of Merilon. He worked in the fields with the others and no one suspected him. Tricked the serfs Mage is easy," said Catalyst Saint. "A boy of his age would not be given the power of life, for obvious reasons." "This way the supervisor can maintain control over them." The prince said with a sullen face. "Yes, sir." Saryon blushed slightly. "Young men do the hardest labor, such as clearing the fields, which requires no magic. Joram was fortunate once, that when he was growing up, the village overseer was a good man, and he tolerated Joram's melancholy and gloomy. He could understand, after all he knew how the child was brought up. Anya's madness was known by then - I'm sure even Joram knew about it, but he closed himself off from everyone else , except for Mosiah." "Ah, I doubt it," remarked the Prince, looking down at the other young man sleeping next to Joram. "A strange friendship of some sort, my lord. Joram, of course, never fostered it, as far as I have heard, but he grew closer to Mosiah, as you saw, and in fact he was willing to protect his friend with you. The first battle. And Mosiah is also close to him, although I think he often asks himself why he bothers, but next..." Saryon rubbed his eyes. "The day came--sooner or later--that Joram found himself the living dead. The old overseer was dead, and the new overseer who took his place took Joram's sullen indifference as a personal attack, and he took it As a sign of rebellion, it was decided to break the spirit of the boy. "One morning, the overseer ordered the saints in the village to give Joram the power of life, asking him to float on the farmland and help sow the seeds like other serf mages. The catalyst saint gave him the power of life, but it was like giving a piece of Stone. Joram is like a breathing corpse, unable to fly. The Catalyst Saint—I'm afraid not a very bright member of our order." Saryon shook his head. "He yelled that the young man was the living dead. The overseer was, of course, very pleased, and asked for Dukes to come. "At this moment, Anya completely lost what little reason she had. She transformed herself into a tiger man and threw herself at the supervisor's throat. He reacted instinctively and opened up the magic barrier. The magic barrier was too strong , the fired energy fireball hit Anya, and she fell dead at his feet. Her son watched helplessly." "The name of Emin." The prince prayed devoutly in a low voice. "Joram picked up a heavy stone." Saryon continued without wavering. "Hit it at the overseer, who didn't see it. The stone broke his head, and Joram committed a double death—first as a slipping dead man, and then as a manslaughter. "He escaped into the Abyss, was attacked by centaurs and was left to die. The Black Locks have been monitoring those who enter the Abyss, especially those who might be persuaded to join their evil cause, they Found the young man and brought him back to the village. The witch craftsmen took care of him and put him back to health to work in the furnace, but he didn't join the black lock gang. I don't know why, unless it's because he hates all symbols of authority , which you have seen." "The furnace... Did he know the secret of the Dark Stone there?" "No, sir." Saryon swallowed again. "This is a secret that even the demon craftsmen themselves don't know. It was lost centuries ago—" "Someone made us think so." "However, Joram found books—ancient texts—that the Witchcrafters took with them when they fled. Over the years, the Witchcrafters have lost their ability to read, poor people, and all they can do is Struggling to survive day in and day out. But of course Joram could read the books, and in one of them he found a recipe for extracting the metal from the Dark Stone Rough, and from that recipe he forged the sword. " The Catalyst Saint no longer speaks.He found Jarod's intent gaze upon himself, and he lowered his head, nervously smoothing out the wrinkles in his tattered robes. "You didn't say something, Father." The prince said indifferently. "I have a lot to say, Your Excellency." The Catalyst Saint only replied, raising his head and looking directly at the prince. "I know I'm not capable of lying, but the secrets in my heart don't belong to me, and it will bring danger to those who know, so it's best for me to bear it alone." Although the middle-aged man was dressed in rough and shabby clothes, Garrod was impressed by a certain calm and noble demeanor on his body.He is also very sad, as if the burden is too heavy to bear, but he still has to carry it on his shoulders until he falls.The man lost his faith.The cardinal said.This secret is all he has... The secret, and his pity and love for Joram, were all he had. "Tell me about the Dark Stone," said the Prince, reassuring the Catalyst Saint that he would not press further.Saryon smiled and thanked, relieved. "I know very little, sir," he said. "There are only descriptions read in those ancient documents, and those descriptions are very incomplete. The author seems to think that the basic knowledge of the original stone is already known, so only the advanced technology of forging is mentioned. There is such an ore based on a natural physics Law: Every action has a corresponding or relative action. Therefore, in a world that sheds magic, there must also be a force that absorbs it." "The Stone of Darkness." "Exactly, my lord. This is a kind of ore. Its shape and properties are very similar to iron ore. It is an ideal material for weapons. Especially swords, which are the weapons favored by ancient demon craftsmen. Sword bearers can use swords to protect Unaffected by any magic, then use it to pierce the enemy's magical barrier, and finally end the enemy's life with the sword." "That's why Joram forged the Dark Sword after he knew about it." "Yes, Your Excellency, he... forged the sword with my assistance. There must be a catalyst saint who bestows the raw stone with the power of life." Jarod's eyes widened. "You see, I am also destined to be punished." Saryon said calmly. "I broke the sacred precepts of the order and bestowed the power of life on... a... dark thing. But what can I do? Heishuo discovered the Dark Stone and intends to use it to achieve his own evil purposes. At least, we Believe it, I found out too late that he was serving the Church..." "That wouldn't make a difference," Garrod said. "I firmly believe that when he understands the power of the Dark Stone, he will definitely betray the church's trust and use it for his own self-interest." "There is no doubt that you are right." Saryon lowered his head. "But how can I forgive myself? You know, Joram slew him. The sorcerer fell weak at his feet, and I took his life force, and the Dark Sword sucked his magic. We... I originally wanted to hand the wizard to... Duke Xisi, leave him in the teleportation corridor, and then let out a scream..." Saryon could not go on, he was at a loss for words.Jarod put a hand on his shoulder. "As I look around." The Catalyst Saint whispered fearfully. "Seeing Joram standing next to the corpse, the dark sword was covered with blood. He thought I was going to betray him and hand him over to Duke Xis, and I told him I didn't..." Saryon sighed. "But Joram doesn't trust anyone." "He hid the body. That morning, Bishop Vanya contacted me and ordered me to bring Joram and the Dark Sword back to the Holy Mountain." Saryon raised his eyes full of pain. "How can I, sir?" He wet his hands with tears. "How can I take him back...to the realm of the afterlife! The last place he should go is Malilong! But I can't stop him! You can, Your Excellency." Saryon suddenly shouted excitedly. "Persuade him to go to Saraken with you, he might listen..." "What am I going to tell him?" Jarod asked back. "Come to Saraken to be nobody? And he could have found his name, his place, and his line of succession in Merilon? That's a risk any man would take, and a right thing to do. I won't stop him. " "His inheritance..." Saryon whispered again, distressed. "what?" "It's nothing, my lord." The catalyst saint rubbed his eyes again. "I think you're right." But Saryon looked sad and distraught, and Garrod added kindly, "I'll tell you what I'm going to tell him, Father. I'll do what I can to help that young man, at least to give him some Opportunity to achieve the goal. I will teach him how to protect himself if he is in trouble, or at least help him. This is what I owe him. After all, he saved us from the actions of black lock double agents. We owe him one Affection." "Thank you, Your Excellency." Saryon was somewhat relieved. "Then, with my liberty, my lord, I think I may sleep now..." "Please go ahead, Father." The prince stood up and helped the catalyst saints up. "Sorry to disturb your rest, but this is a fascinating topic. As an apology, I have prepared a bed, the finest silk sheets and blankets. But perhaps you prefer a tent? I can—" "No, it's good to sleep by the fire, to be honest, much better than I usually sleep, sir." Saryon bowed wearily. "In addition, I was suddenly very tired, and I probably didn't know whether I was lying on goose feathers or pine needles." "Well, Father, good night. And, Father." Jarod put his hand on the elder's arm. "Forget the sting of conscience that Black Lock's death has caused you. He was an evil man, and if he had been left alive, he would have killed Joram and taken the Dark Stone. Joram's actions were Emin's will, Joram. Lang's treatment is Emin's justice." "Perhaps." Saryon smiled feebly. "In my mind, it's still murder. It's getting easier for Joram to kill—too easy. Now that he's flawed in his magical abilities, he sees killing as his way of gaining power. I wish you, too. Good night, sir." "Good night, Father." Garald carefully considered his words, and then said, "May Emin protect you." "I hope so." Saryon murmured, and turned to leave. Prince Saraken didn't go into the tent to rest, he didn't go to bed until the morning stars came out.In the cold night, he has been wandering on the grass, wrapped in a fur coat that he conjured up unintentionally.Strange dark stories filled his mind, of madness and murder, of life and death, of magic and destroying magic.At last, when he found himself tired enough to shake off those stories and enter the realm of sleep, he cast his eyes down on the sleeping procession that fate had thrown them in his path. Is it really fate? "This is not the way to go to Merilon." He was talking to himself, and suddenly remembered this matter. "Why are they traveling this way? There are other roads to the east that are closer and safer..." "Who is their guide? Let me guess, three who have never traveled, and one who has been everywhere." He looked at the figure in white pajamas.No child sleeps better in its mother's arms than Simkin, with the fringe of his nightcap slipping to his mouth, where he might suck it into his mouth and swallow it any moment before dawn. "What the hell are you up to, old friend?" Jarod murmured. "Certainly not the Tarot. I can understand all the shadows that fell on that young man, but why your shadow, the darkest one?" The prince groaned, and returned to the tent to rest, letting Duke Xis, who was motionless and monitoring everything, ruled the night. But Jarod's sleep was not as undisturbed as he had expected, and more than once he woke up from his dream, thinking he heard the cheerful laughter of a wooden barrel.