Chapter 14 Chapter 12 Fencing Instructor
"stand up!"
A boot kicked Joram's breastbone not so gently.The young man sat up startled, bleary-eyed, heart beating fast, and he pushed the tangled black hair out of his eyes. "what--"
"I say, get up," said a calm voice.
Prince Jarod stood condescendingly beside Joram, eyeing him with a pleasant smile.
Joram rubbed his eyes and looked around.It was almost daylight, he thought, but the only sign of daylight was a gleam of light in the sky over the treetops in the east, and otherwise, it was still dark.The fire of the campfire was low and weak, and the companions were all sleeping around.Two silk tents were faintly discernible in the twilight of the morning light. They were set up on the edge of the open space, and the flags on the spires fluttered in the wind.There was no tent in that place yesterday, and this tent must have been where the prince and the cardinal spent the night.
In the middle of the clearing, by the dying campfire, stood Dukexis in black. Joram dared to say he had seen him standing in the same place last night.The wizard's face was hidden in shadow, his hands folded before him, but his hooded head was turned toward Joram, and so were the eyes which Joram could not see.
"What is it? What do you want?" asked Joram, his hand reaching for the sword under the blanket.
"'What do you want, sir.'" the prince corrected with a grin. "It resents you, doesn't it, young man? Yes, take up arms," he added.Joram had thought that his actions had not been noticed.
Embarrassed, Joram pulled the Darksword from under the blanket, but he did not rise.
"I said what do you want... Your Excellency." He said coldly, pursing his lips.
"If you want to use this sword." The prince glanced at the Dark Sword in disgust. "Then you'd better learn how to use it. I could have stabbed you like a skewer yesterday instead of just disarming you, no matter what that sword can do—" Jarod looked at the sword more intently. Glancing, "It won't do you much good if it falls on the ground ten feet away from you. Come here, I know a place in the woods where you can practice your sword without waking the others."
Joram studied the Prince uncertainly with black eyes, trying to see what motives lay behind his feigned concern.
He must be trying to find out what the sword is for, Joram thought, and perhaps trying to take it from me.What a powerful mage he is, almost as strong as Sim'jin.I was cheated by him last night, and I won't be fooled again today.If I can learn something, I will follow; if not, I will leave; if he wants to take the sword, I will kill him.
Thinking of the cold in the forest, Joram reached out to grab the cloak, but the prince stepped on the cloak. "No, no, friend," said Jarod. "You'll warm up very quickly, very warm."
An hour later, Joram lay flat on the icy ground, the air rushing out of his body, blood streaming from the corners of his mouth, and he never thought of his cloak again. The prince's blade plunged into the ground beside him, causing him to recoil in fright. "In the throat," Jarod said. "You didn't even see it..." "It's not fair," Joram muttered.He grabbed the prince's outstretched hand, jumped up, and swallowed a groan. "You tripped me up!" "My dear young man," said Jarod impatiently. "When you do draw your sword, it is—or should be—a matter of life and death. You live and your enemy dies. Honor is a very good thing, but it is useless to the dead." "That sounds good to you," Joram muttered, rubbing his aching chin, and spat out blood. "I can be aboveboard." Jarod shrugged. "I'm a trained swordsman, and I've practiced swordplay for many years. You, on the other hand, can't do it. Our time together is so short that I can't teach it, or I can fight swords I will teach you all the intricacies of time. All I can teach you now is how to survive the sword of a seasoned opponent long enough to allow you to use that sword's... er... ability to defeat him. "Okay." The voice sounded more energetic. "You try it. See, your attention is on the sword in my hand, so I can stick out my foot, hook your heel, throw you off balance, and hit your face with the hilt, like this— —” Garald demonstrated, stopping as soon as he touched Joram's bruised cheek. "Try it. Good! Good!" the prince was still shouting when he fell down. "You are fast and powerful, so make good use of it." He stood up, not caring that the best clothes were stained with mud. In a fighting stance, he raised his sword and grinned at Joram. "Again?"
Hour after hour passed, the sun had risen, and although the temperature was far from warm, both of them quickly took off their shirts. Their heavy breathing brought mist around them, and the ground under their feet soon seemed to have had a small battle.The sound of gold and iron resounded in the forest, and finally, both of them were exhausted, so they had to lean on their swords and gasp for breath. At this time, the prince called to stop and rest. The prince sank down on a large rock warmed by the sun, and beckoned Joram to sit beside him.The young man complied, panting, busily wiping his face.Blood oozed from numerous flesh wounds on his hands and feet, his jaw was swollen and sore, and several teeth were knocked loose, and he was so tired that he could barely breathe.But the weariness was pleasant, and he had been able to hold off the Prince in the last few blows, even knocking the sword out of Jarod's hand in one of them. "Water." The prince muttered, looking around, the water bag was lying next to their clothes - on the other side of the clearing.Jarod gestured wearily for the water bag.It did so, but the Prince was too tired to cast the spell, so the bag of water was dragged across the ground instead of flying swiftly through the air. "It looks as tired as I do!" gasped Garrod. When the water bag drew near, he took a few sips and handed it to Joram. "Don't drink too much," he reminded. "It will hurt my stomach." Joram drank the water and handed it back.Jarod poured some water into his hand and splashed it on his face and chest, shivering from the biting cold. "You... well done, young man..." Jarod took a few deep breaths. "Very...good. If...we don't die...by the end of the week...you should be...ready..." "This week?...Ready?" Joram looked at the hazy tree shadow in front of him, and he didn't have the strength to speak coherently. "I...go...Malilon..." "In a week." Jarod shook his head, and passed the water bag again. "Don't forget..." He grinned, put his arms on his knees, and panted with his head down. "Are you my prisoner. Or do you think...you can beat me...and Dukexis?" Joram closed his eyes, his throat was sore, his lungs were burning, his muscles were cramping, his wounds were stinging, and his body was covered with bruises. "I can't even... can't beat... Catalyst Saints... not now..." He admitted almost with a smile. The two just sat on the rock to rest, neither of them spoke, nor did they feel the need to talk.After resting for a while, Joram relaxed, and a warm and pleasant sense of tranquility crept into his heart.He looked around—a small clearing in the middle of the forest, probably created by magic, it was so perfect.In reality, Joram realized, the clearing had probably been isolated by magic before—the Prince's magic. Qiao Lang felt a little strange that he and the prince could get along alone.They'd made enough noise that he'd expected to see the meddling Catalyst Saint come to check any minute, at least Mosiah—even the curious Simkin.But Jarod had spoken to Dukes as they left, and Joram now thinks he must have told them not to let anyone in. "I don't mind," thought Joram. He liked it here—the peace, the quiet, the sun warming the stone on which he was sitting.To be honest, he couldn't think of a time before when he had felt so content.His restless thoughts slowed down his manic steps, and he walked briskly among the treetops, listening to his companion's regular breathing and his own heartbeat. "Joran," said Garrod. "What are you going to do when you get to Merilon?" Joram shrugged, wishing he hadn't spoken, wishing he had stayed quiet so as not to break such a spell. "No, we have to talk," Garald said, watching the face that had been expressing various expressions gradually darken. "Maybe I'm not feeling right, but I feel like 'Going to Merilon' is like some kind of fairy tale to you, and once you're there, just standing in the shadow of its floating platform, 'everything will be fine'. Listen Let me say, Joram—" The prince shook his head. "No such thing. I've been to Merilon, certainly not recently," he sneered. "When diplomatic relations are normal. I can tell you right now that you can't even enter the city gate. You are a barbarian from a land beyond culture, Duke Xisi will—" He snapped his fingers. "Let's deal with it like this!" The sun disappeared, thick clouds covered it, and a gust of wind came up, whistling sadly through the forest.Joram shivered, stood up and walked to the grass where the clothes were on the other side of the clearing. "No, stay here, I'll get it." Garald pressed Joran's shoulders, and with a wave of his hand, the two clothes grew wings and flew over like birds made of cloth. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that you are the living dead. There are very few living dead in Saraken, and I have never seen one like you." Qiao Ran straightened his face, and there was a sharp pain in his heart. Every time he mentioned the difference between himself and other people in the world, he felt uncomfortable.He glared at the prince angrily, thinking he was laughing at himself.But Jarod didn't see it, his head was still buried under his clothes. "I've always envied Simkin's ability to change clothes at will, let alone," the Prince muttered, pulling the fine thin shirt over his shoulders. "You can also change your appearance as you like, turning into a wooden barrel!" Jarod's head poked out of his collar, and he smoothed his hair, grinning as he thought about the past.Then, he changed back to a more serious expression and continued the previous topic. "Many dead people were born in Merilon, at least we heard so." The way he accepted the reality without hesitation slowly suffocated Joram's rising anger. "Especially in noble families. But they try to get rid of the living dead, kill the babies or smuggle them out of evolution. These people are already rotten from the heart—" His clear eyes cast shadows, shadows were The anger in his heart deepened. "If things go on like this, they will still infect the whole world with this disease. Fortunately—" He took a deep breath and shook off his previous thoughts. "They haven't done it yet." "We were talking about Merilon," interrupted Joram abruptly, sitting down on the ground, grabbing a handful of fine stones, and throwing them at a distant tree trunk. "Yeah, sorry," Jarod said. "Then, even if you enter the city—" "Come on." Joram interrupted impatiently. "Don't worry about such things! If you have to wear beautiful clothes to enter the city, we have them. The outfits Xin Jin left behind are enough for us to use for several years..." "Then?" "And—then—" Joram shrugged impatiently. "What's none of your business... Your Excellency?" He curled his lips in disdain.He glanced to the side and saw Jarod looking at him gravely, his piercing eyes probing the dark side of Joram's soul, penetrating places that Joram himself didn't even dare to delve into.Joram stepped back immediately, leaning his back against the stone. "Why did you do that?" He asked angrily, making a gesture to pick up the Dark Sword at his feet. "Why do you care whether I am alive or dead? What are your plans for me?" Garald looked at Joram silently, then smiled slowly, sadly and regretfully. "It's all because of you, isn't it, Joram?" he said. "'What are you trying to do with me?' I've heard about your past from the Catalyst Saints, but it doesn't matter; Really, I pity you...and envy you." Joram turned his back to the eager gaze of those clear eyes, his own black eyes gazing at the tangled foliage of the dead tree. "I envy you." The prince continued in a deep voice. "You can discover things that have been lost for centuries. I envy your intelligence and perseverance. I know the courage needed to face the black lock, so I envy you for daring to resist. If not, I still owe you, although Inadvertently, but you have saved us from the perfidy of the sorcerers. However, I find this unsatisfying for you, and you want to know about my 'hidden intentions'." "Don't say you haven't," whispered Joram bitterly. "Very well, my friend, I've come to tell you 'what I have in mind for you'. You take the sword, what you call the sword of darkness, to Merilon. With, or without its power—" Jarod Shrugged. "Won your estate. You're hiding the fact that you're the living dead—you're good at that, and the Catalyst Saints are helping you. Never thought about that, did you? Think about it, A good idea. Until now, you haven't had the Catalyst Saints to give you life force. In the village of the Demon Artisan, there are no Catalyst Saints to help, but in Merilon, according to the custom, you have to use the Catalyst Saints. A family saint. With Saryon by your side, you can always pretend to have a life force. "Uh, where did I go? Oh, yes, you found your mother's family, convinced them to accept you, and the family reunited. Who knows, they may be quite sad, and the lost daughter hasn't waited for them to show concern and love. Forgiveness and ran away. Maybe that family has become extinct, and you can still show your identity and inherit the territory and title of this family." "It's okay." Jarod continued jokingly. "Let's imagine everything has a happy ending, and you become a nobleman, Joram. A Merilon nobleman, with a full life, title and lands and wealth. What can I expect from you, noble one Sir? Look at me, Joram." The young man couldn't help but respond to such a bold voice and turned around.There was no frivolity or banter in his tone. "I want you to go to Saraken," said the Prince. "I want you to fight with us with the Dark Sword." Joram stared at him in disbelief. "Why do you think I'd do something like that? As soon as I get back what I'm supposed to have, I'll just do nothing and just—" "—watching the world die?" Jarod laughed. "No, I don't think you would, Joram. You didn't do that at Heycrafter, and you wouldn't go up against a wizard if you were concerned for your own safety. Oh, I don't know the details, but—if it was This kind of situation - you could have run away by yourself and let others deal with him. No, you will fight him because deep down you feel that you have to defend those who are weaker than you. That is you By birthright, you are a born Albanara. Because of this, I believe that when you see Merilon, you will not be blinded by beautiful clouds like the people who live there. "You used to be a serf mage, Emin!" Garald said more and more excitedly, but Joram shook his head and turned his back again. "You lived under the tyranny of Merilon, Joram! Its rigid traditions and creeds saw your mother expelled and your father condemned, alive and dead! Of course the city you saw was beautiful, But its beauty belies its decay! There are even rumors that the Empress—” Jarod stopped abruptly. "Never mind," he whispered, clasping his hands. "I don't believe that's going to happen, not at all." The prince stopped and took a deep breath. "Don't you understand, Joram?" he went on, a little calmer. "You, a nobleman of Merilon, stand by our side, ready to fight to restore the ancient glory of our homeland. My people will be deeply moved, and, most importantly, you will influence Fairycraft. We would love to be allied with them, but if my father could point at you and say, 'Look, here's a man you know and trust, fighting for us!' I think the Fairycraft would Will follow my father's leadership more firmly. I think, the demon artisans really know you and like you?" the prince asked impromptuly. If Joram had ever seen a war of words, he would have known that the Prince was setting him a trap. "At least they know me." Joran just replied without thinking too much.He was pondering over the prince's words, imagining the situation when he went to Saraken: dressed in fine clothes commensurate with his noble status, and accepted the welcome of the king and prince.That's all well and good, but fighting with them?Pooh!All he cares about is... "Ah!" Jarod said casually. "When you say 'at least they know me', I think that means they know you, but they don't particularly like you. Of course, you don't care about that, do you?" Joram raised his eyes and immediately put them on the defensive, but it was too late. "You won't succeed at Merilon, Joram, and you won't succeed anywhere." "Then why... Your Excellency?" Joram asked contemptuously, completely unaware that the sharp edge of the words was on his heart. "Because you want to be an aristocrat, maybe you were born an aristocrat, but unfortunately, Joram, you don't even have a little bit of aristocratic temperament." Jarod replied mercilessly. The words hit the nail on the head, and Joram was stabbed, speaking clumsily as he tried to fight back. "Please understand my difficulties, Your Excellency!" Joram deliberately put on a whining tone. "I don't have fine silks and satins to wear like you, and I don't bathe in rose petals or powder my hair! No one calls me 'my lord' and begs to kiss my feet! Not yet! But someday it will!" His voice trembled with rage, and he sprang to his feet, turning to face Jarod, fists clenched. "By Emin's name, they will! Goddamn you too!" Jarod looked at the furious young man. "Yes, Joram, I should have realized that this is the nobleman you want to be, and that is why you will never be a real nobleman. I am beginning to think that I have misjudged you, and that you deserve to stay in Merilon , because your thinking is exactly the same as those people!" The prince looked to the east and said in the direction of the distant city: "But they will soon find out that they are wrong." He continued seriously: "But the lesson will be learned. Make them pay dearly, and you too." The Prince turned his attention back to the trembling young man before him. "Emin taught us: whether a person is really noble does not depend on the blood of his birth, the key is how he treats his companions. Strip off the luxurious clothes, remove the gold powder of perfume, you and your friends, and those serf mages, There's no difference. We're all the same when we're naked - food for maggots after all. "I said before that glory is useless to the dead, and nothing is useless to the dead. To them, what are titles, wealth, and blood? We may take different paths in this life , but all lead to one place - the grave. As traveling companions, we are more blessed than others, and it is our duty - no, our privilege - to do what we can to make the road smoother and happier .” "Well said!" Joram retorted angrily. "You climbed fast enough from 'my lord' to 'your lord'! I don't see you wearing peasant clothes yourself, I don't see you rising at dawn and working in the fields all day long, with your soul Shriveled like a seed in your hand!" He pointed at the prince. "You can talk sweetly! You are dressed in beautiful clothes and full of beautiful words, and live in a silk tent with bodyguards! That's all I have to say about you!" Joran made an obscene gesture, laughed loudly, and turned to leave. Jarod reached out and grabbed his shoulders, turning him hard.Joram flung his hand away, and he punched Garald hard, his face contorted with rage. The prince dodged it easily, and seized Joram's arm, and with a deft twist of his wrist he forced the young man to his knees.Joram couldn't cry out in pain, struggling to stand up. "Stop! It's useless to fight with me, I can dislocate you with a word!" Jarod shouted rudely, and immediately restrained him. "Damn you, you—" Joram swore dirty words. "You and your spells! If I had a sword, I'd—" He hurried back for the sword. "I will give you the cursed sword." The prince scowled. "You can do what you want, but first you have to listen to me. In order to do my life's work, I must dress and act accordingly. Yes, I wear beautiful clothes, I shower and comb my hair, and I watch you Before going to Merilon, I would do the same thing. Why? Because it shows that you care about other people's opinions. Since I have a title, people call me 'My lord' and 'Your Excellency' to show respect for my status, but I hope this also Shows that they respect me personally as well. Why do you think I didn't force you to call me 'Sir'? Because that word means nothing to you, and you don't respect anyone, Joram. You don't care about anyone but yourself !" "You're wrong!" said Joram hoarsely, still looking for the sword, but he couldn't see it, angry that the green pool of blood was blinding his vision. "You're wrong! I care about—" "Then you should show yourself!" Jarod shouted.The Prince took Joram by his long black hair, and forced the young man to look up at him.Qiao Lang had no choice but to do so, but the eyes that stared at the prince were full of pain, arrogant and provocative, and had deep hatred. "You would have given your life for Mosiah last night, wouldn't you?" Jarod continued relentlessly. "However, you treated him like a mongrel dog curled up at his feet. And that catalyst saint—a gentle scholar who spent half his life in peace doing his beloved research. He could have given you to The church, but to fight witches with you, and now follow you through the wild mountains, tired and aching. What is this for, have you ever wondered? Ah, of course, I forgot, he There is a 'hidden plot', he wants something from you! What is it? Insult, ridicule, or contempt?" "Fuck you!" Jarod let go of Joram, who lay face down on the cold ground.Joram looked up, saw the Dark Sword right in front of him, and rushed to grab it. He got up and turned to face the enemy.Garrod stood where he was, looked at him coldly, the corners of his mouth twitched, feeling amused. "Do it! Damn it!" Joram yelled, throwing himself on him. At the sound of the prince's call, the sword jumped from the ground into his hand, shining silver against the dark sky. "Use your magic against me!" Joram challenged, his speech was slurred, and the corners of his mouth were covered with foam. "Anyway, I am the living dead! Only this sword keeps me alive! I want you to die!" Joram intends to kill, he wants to kill, he will be satisfied to see the sword cut through the flesh, see the blood flow all over the ground, see this proud man prostrate at his feet, watching his eyes gradually lose their vitality... Jarod looked at him calmly for a while, then sheathed his sword. "You are indeed a living dead, Joram," he said softly. "You stink of death! You have forged a shadowy sword, as lifeless as yourself. Come on, kill me, killing is your solution!" Joram tried to move forward, but he couldn't see, a thin veil was over his eyes, and he blinked to see around. "Learn how to live, Joram." Jarod urged him earnestly, and the prince's voice sounded far away, coming from beyond the blood-red mist around Joram. "Learn how to live, swing your sword for life, for survival! Otherwise you may turn the sword against yourself, and shed every drop of noble blood here, at least it will give life to the grass." The last words had a tone of disgust. The prince turned his back on Joram and walked out of the open space calmly. Joram threw himself at him with sword in hand, trying to kill the arrogant man, but he was completely blinded by rage, and he staggered a few steps and fell to the ground. He let out a wild, piercing roar, and struggled to his feet, but the flames drained his strength, leaving him as helpless as a baby.Desperately, he used the Darksword as a crutch, trying to prop himself up, but the sword sank deep into the ground, and Joram sank to his knees. Grasping the hilt of the sword buried in the ground in front of him, Joram slipped and fell to the ground, tears slowly seeping from his eyes.Anger and frustration poured out, and he felt like his heart was going to explode. A sob of pain tore through his chest and relieved him, and Joram hung his head, weeping.Never since childhood had pain or suffering made him cry like this.
An hour later, Joram lay flat on the icy ground, the air rushing out of his body, blood streaming from the corners of his mouth, and he never thought of his cloak again. The prince's blade plunged into the ground beside him, causing him to recoil in fright. "In the throat," Jarod said. "You didn't even see it..." "It's not fair," Joram muttered.He grabbed the prince's outstretched hand, jumped up, and swallowed a groan. "You tripped me up!" "My dear young man," said Jarod impatiently. "When you do draw your sword, it is—or should be—a matter of life and death. You live and your enemy dies. Honor is a very good thing, but it is useless to the dead." "That sounds good to you," Joram muttered, rubbing his aching chin, and spat out blood. "I can be aboveboard." Jarod shrugged. "I'm a trained swordsman, and I've practiced swordplay for many years. You, on the other hand, can't do it. Our time together is so short that I can't teach it, or I can fight swords I will teach you all the intricacies of time. All I can teach you now is how to survive the sword of a seasoned opponent long enough to allow you to use that sword's... er... ability to defeat him. "Okay." The voice sounded more energetic. "You try it. See, your attention is on the sword in my hand, so I can stick out my foot, hook your heel, throw you off balance, and hit your face with the hilt, like this— —” Garald demonstrated, stopping as soon as he touched Joram's bruised cheek. "Try it. Good! Good!" the prince was still shouting when he fell down. "You are fast and powerful, so make good use of it." He stood up, not caring that the best clothes were stained with mud. In a fighting stance, he raised his sword and grinned at Joram. "Again?"
Hour after hour passed, the sun had risen, and although the temperature was far from warm, both of them quickly took off their shirts. Their heavy breathing brought mist around them, and the ground under their feet soon seemed to have had a small battle.The sound of gold and iron resounded in the forest, and finally, both of them were exhausted, so they had to lean on their swords and gasp for breath. At this time, the prince called to stop and rest. The prince sank down on a large rock warmed by the sun, and beckoned Joram to sit beside him.The young man complied, panting, busily wiping his face.Blood oozed from numerous flesh wounds on his hands and feet, his jaw was swollen and sore, and several teeth were knocked loose, and he was so tired that he could barely breathe.But the weariness was pleasant, and he had been able to hold off the Prince in the last few blows, even knocking the sword out of Jarod's hand in one of them. "Water." The prince muttered, looking around, the water bag was lying next to their clothes - on the other side of the clearing.Jarod gestured wearily for the water bag.It did so, but the Prince was too tired to cast the spell, so the bag of water was dragged across the ground instead of flying swiftly through the air. "It looks as tired as I do!" gasped Garrod. When the water bag drew near, he took a few sips and handed it to Joram. "Don't drink too much," he reminded. "It will hurt my stomach." Joram drank the water and handed it back.Jarod poured some water into his hand and splashed it on his face and chest, shivering from the biting cold. "You... well done, young man..." Jarod took a few deep breaths. "Very...good. If...we don't die...by the end of the week...you should be...ready..." "This week?...Ready?" Joram looked at the hazy tree shadow in front of him, and he didn't have the strength to speak coherently. "I...go...Malilon..." "In a week." Jarod shook his head, and passed the water bag again. "Don't forget..." He grinned, put his arms on his knees, and panted with his head down. "Are you my prisoner. Or do you think...you can beat me...and Dukexis?" Joram closed his eyes, his throat was sore, his lungs were burning, his muscles were cramping, his wounds were stinging, and his body was covered with bruises. "I can't even... can't beat... Catalyst Saints... not now..." He admitted almost with a smile. The two just sat on the rock to rest, neither of them spoke, nor did they feel the need to talk.After resting for a while, Joram relaxed, and a warm and pleasant sense of tranquility crept into his heart.He looked around—a small clearing in the middle of the forest, probably created by magic, it was so perfect.In reality, Joram realized, the clearing had probably been isolated by magic before—the Prince's magic. Qiao Lang felt a little strange that he and the prince could get along alone.They'd made enough noise that he'd expected to see the meddling Catalyst Saint come to check any minute, at least Mosiah—even the curious Simkin.But Jarod had spoken to Dukes as they left, and Joram now thinks he must have told them not to let anyone in. "I don't mind," thought Joram. He liked it here—the peace, the quiet, the sun warming the stone on which he was sitting.To be honest, he couldn't think of a time before when he had felt so content.His restless thoughts slowed down his manic steps, and he walked briskly among the treetops, listening to his companion's regular breathing and his own heartbeat. "Joran," said Garrod. "What are you going to do when you get to Merilon?" Joram shrugged, wishing he hadn't spoken, wishing he had stayed quiet so as not to break such a spell. "No, we have to talk," Garald said, watching the face that had been expressing various expressions gradually darken. "Maybe I'm not feeling right, but I feel like 'Going to Merilon' is like some kind of fairy tale to you, and once you're there, just standing in the shadow of its floating platform, 'everything will be fine'. Listen Let me say, Joram—" The prince shook his head. "No such thing. I've been to Merilon, certainly not recently," he sneered. "When diplomatic relations are normal. I can tell you right now that you can't even enter the city gate. You are a barbarian from a land beyond culture, Duke Xisi will—" He snapped his fingers. "Let's deal with it like this!" The sun disappeared, thick clouds covered it, and a gust of wind came up, whistling sadly through the forest.Joram shivered, stood up and walked to the grass where the clothes were on the other side of the clearing. "No, stay here, I'll get it." Garald pressed Joran's shoulders, and with a wave of his hand, the two clothes grew wings and flew over like birds made of cloth. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that you are the living dead. There are very few living dead in Saraken, and I have never seen one like you." Qiao Ran straightened his face, and there was a sharp pain in his heart. Every time he mentioned the difference between himself and other people in the world, he felt uncomfortable.He glared at the prince angrily, thinking he was laughing at himself.But Jarod didn't see it, his head was still buried under his clothes. "I've always envied Simkin's ability to change clothes at will, let alone," the Prince muttered, pulling the fine thin shirt over his shoulders. "You can also change your appearance as you like, turning into a wooden barrel!" Jarod's head poked out of his collar, and he smoothed his hair, grinning as he thought about the past.Then, he changed back to a more serious expression and continued the previous topic. "Many dead people were born in Merilon, at least we heard so." The way he accepted the reality without hesitation slowly suffocated Joram's rising anger. "Especially in noble families. But they try to get rid of the living dead, kill the babies or smuggle them out of evolution. These people are already rotten from the heart—" His clear eyes cast shadows, shadows were The anger in his heart deepened. "If things go on like this, they will still infect the whole world with this disease. Fortunately—" He took a deep breath and shook off his previous thoughts. "They haven't done it yet." "We were talking about Merilon," interrupted Joram abruptly, sitting down on the ground, grabbing a handful of fine stones, and throwing them at a distant tree trunk. "Yeah, sorry," Jarod said. "Then, even if you enter the city—" "Come on." Joram interrupted impatiently. "Don't worry about such things! If you have to wear beautiful clothes to enter the city, we have them. The outfits Xin Jin left behind are enough for us to use for several years..." "Then?" "And—then—" Joram shrugged impatiently. "What's none of your business... Your Excellency?" He curled his lips in disdain.He glanced to the side and saw Jarod looking at him gravely, his piercing eyes probing the dark side of Joram's soul, penetrating places that Joram himself didn't even dare to delve into.Joram stepped back immediately, leaning his back against the stone. "Why did you do that?" He asked angrily, making a gesture to pick up the Dark Sword at his feet. "Why do you care whether I am alive or dead? What are your plans for me?" Garald looked at Joram silently, then smiled slowly, sadly and regretfully. "It's all because of you, isn't it, Joram?" he said. "'What are you trying to do with me?' I've heard about your past from the Catalyst Saints, but it doesn't matter; Really, I pity you...and envy you." Joram turned his back to the eager gaze of those clear eyes, his own black eyes gazing at the tangled foliage of the dead tree. "I envy you." The prince continued in a deep voice. "You can discover things that have been lost for centuries. I envy your intelligence and perseverance. I know the courage needed to face the black lock, so I envy you for daring to resist. If not, I still owe you, although Inadvertently, but you have saved us from the perfidy of the sorcerers. However, I find this unsatisfying for you, and you want to know about my 'hidden intentions'." "Don't say you haven't," whispered Joram bitterly. "Very well, my friend, I've come to tell you 'what I have in mind for you'. You take the sword, what you call the sword of darkness, to Merilon. With, or without its power—" Jarod Shrugged. "Won your estate. You're hiding the fact that you're the living dead—you're good at that, and the Catalyst Saints are helping you. Never thought about that, did you? Think about it, A good idea. Until now, you haven't had the Catalyst Saints to give you life force. In the village of the Demon Artisan, there are no Catalyst Saints to help, but in Merilon, according to the custom, you have to use the Catalyst Saints. A family saint. With Saryon by your side, you can always pretend to have a life force. "Uh, where did I go? Oh, yes, you found your mother's family, convinced them to accept you, and the family reunited. Who knows, they may be quite sad, and the lost daughter hasn't waited for them to show concern and love. Forgiveness and ran away. Maybe that family has become extinct, and you can still show your identity and inherit the territory and title of this family." "It's okay." Jarod continued jokingly. "Let's imagine everything has a happy ending, and you become a nobleman, Joram. A Merilon nobleman, with a full life, title and lands and wealth. What can I expect from you, noble one Sir? Look at me, Joram." The young man couldn't help but respond to such a bold voice and turned around.There was no frivolity or banter in his tone. "I want you to go to Saraken," said the Prince. "I want you to fight with us with the Dark Sword." Joram stared at him in disbelief. "Why do you think I'd do something like that? As soon as I get back what I'm supposed to have, I'll just do nothing and just—" "—watching the world die?" Jarod laughed. "No, I don't think you would, Joram. You didn't do that at Heycrafter, and you wouldn't go up against a wizard if you were concerned for your own safety. Oh, I don't know the details, but—if it was This kind of situation - you could have run away by yourself and let others deal with him. No, you will fight him because deep down you feel that you have to defend those who are weaker than you. That is you By birthright, you are a born Albanara. Because of this, I believe that when you see Merilon, you will not be blinded by beautiful clouds like the people who live there. "You used to be a serf mage, Emin!" Garald said more and more excitedly, but Joram shook his head and turned his back again. "You lived under the tyranny of Merilon, Joram! Its rigid traditions and creeds saw your mother expelled and your father condemned, alive and dead! Of course the city you saw was beautiful, But its beauty belies its decay! There are even rumors that the Empress—” Jarod stopped abruptly. "Never mind," he whispered, clasping his hands. "I don't believe that's going to happen, not at all." The prince stopped and took a deep breath. "Don't you understand, Joram?" he went on, a little calmer. "You, a nobleman of Merilon, stand by our side, ready to fight to restore the ancient glory of our homeland. My people will be deeply moved, and, most importantly, you will influence Fairycraft. We would love to be allied with them, but if my father could point at you and say, 'Look, here's a man you know and trust, fighting for us!' I think the Fairycraft would Will follow my father's leadership more firmly. I think, the demon artisans really know you and like you?" the prince asked impromptuly. If Joram had ever seen a war of words, he would have known that the Prince was setting him a trap. "At least they know me." Joran just replied without thinking too much.He was pondering over the prince's words, imagining the situation when he went to Saraken: dressed in fine clothes commensurate with his noble status, and accepted the welcome of the king and prince.That's all well and good, but fighting with them?Pooh!All he cares about is... "Ah!" Jarod said casually. "When you say 'at least they know me', I think that means they know you, but they don't particularly like you. Of course, you don't care about that, do you?" Joram raised his eyes and immediately put them on the defensive, but it was too late. "You won't succeed at Merilon, Joram, and you won't succeed anywhere." "Then why... Your Excellency?" Joram asked contemptuously, completely unaware that the sharp edge of the words was on his heart. "Because you want to be an aristocrat, maybe you were born an aristocrat, but unfortunately, Joram, you don't even have a little bit of aristocratic temperament." Jarod replied mercilessly. The words hit the nail on the head, and Joram was stabbed, speaking clumsily as he tried to fight back. "Please understand my difficulties, Your Excellency!" Joram deliberately put on a whining tone. "I don't have fine silks and satins to wear like you, and I don't bathe in rose petals or powder my hair! No one calls me 'my lord' and begs to kiss my feet! Not yet! But someday it will!" His voice trembled with rage, and he sprang to his feet, turning to face Jarod, fists clenched. "By Emin's name, they will! Goddamn you too!" Jarod looked at the furious young man. "Yes, Joram, I should have realized that this is the nobleman you want to be, and that is why you will never be a real nobleman. I am beginning to think that I have misjudged you, and that you deserve to stay in Merilon , because your thinking is exactly the same as those people!" The prince looked to the east and said in the direction of the distant city: "But they will soon find out that they are wrong." He continued seriously: "But the lesson will be learned. Make them pay dearly, and you too." The Prince turned his attention back to the trembling young man before him. "Emin taught us: whether a person is really noble does not depend on the blood of his birth, the key is how he treats his companions. Strip off the luxurious clothes, remove the gold powder of perfume, you and your friends, and those serf mages, There's no difference. We're all the same when we're naked - food for maggots after all. "I said before that glory is useless to the dead, and nothing is useless to the dead. To them, what are titles, wealth, and blood? We may take different paths in this life , but all lead to one place - the grave. As traveling companions, we are more blessed than others, and it is our duty - no, our privilege - to do what we can to make the road smoother and happier .” "Well said!" Joram retorted angrily. "You climbed fast enough from 'my lord' to 'your lord'! I don't see you wearing peasant clothes yourself, I don't see you rising at dawn and working in the fields all day long, with your soul Shriveled like a seed in your hand!" He pointed at the prince. "You can talk sweetly! You are dressed in beautiful clothes and full of beautiful words, and live in a silk tent with bodyguards! That's all I have to say about you!" Joran made an obscene gesture, laughed loudly, and turned to leave. Jarod reached out and grabbed his shoulders, turning him hard.Joram flung his hand away, and he punched Garald hard, his face contorted with rage. The prince dodged it easily, and seized Joram's arm, and with a deft twist of his wrist he forced the young man to his knees.Joram couldn't cry out in pain, struggling to stand up. "Stop! It's useless to fight with me, I can dislocate you with a word!" Jarod shouted rudely, and immediately restrained him. "Damn you, you—" Joram swore dirty words. "You and your spells! If I had a sword, I'd—" He hurried back for the sword. "I will give you the cursed sword." The prince scowled. "You can do what you want, but first you have to listen to me. In order to do my life's work, I must dress and act accordingly. Yes, I wear beautiful clothes, I shower and comb my hair, and I watch you Before going to Merilon, I would do the same thing. Why? Because it shows that you care about other people's opinions. Since I have a title, people call me 'My lord' and 'Your Excellency' to show respect for my status, but I hope this also Shows that they respect me personally as well. Why do you think I didn't force you to call me 'Sir'? Because that word means nothing to you, and you don't respect anyone, Joram. You don't care about anyone but yourself !" "You're wrong!" said Joram hoarsely, still looking for the sword, but he couldn't see it, angry that the green pool of blood was blinding his vision. "You're wrong! I care about—" "Then you should show yourself!" Jarod shouted.The Prince took Joram by his long black hair, and forced the young man to look up at him.Qiao Lang had no choice but to do so, but the eyes that stared at the prince were full of pain, arrogant and provocative, and had deep hatred. "You would have given your life for Mosiah last night, wouldn't you?" Jarod continued relentlessly. "However, you treated him like a mongrel dog curled up at his feet. And that catalyst saint—a gentle scholar who spent half his life in peace doing his beloved research. He could have given you to The church, but to fight witches with you, and now follow you through the wild mountains, tired and aching. What is this for, have you ever wondered? Ah, of course, I forgot, he There is a 'hidden plot', he wants something from you! What is it? Insult, ridicule, or contempt?" "Fuck you!" Jarod let go of Joram, who lay face down on the cold ground.Joram looked up, saw the Dark Sword right in front of him, and rushed to grab it. He got up and turned to face the enemy.Garrod stood where he was, looked at him coldly, the corners of his mouth twitched, feeling amused. "Do it! Damn it!" Joram yelled, throwing himself on him. At the sound of the prince's call, the sword jumped from the ground into his hand, shining silver against the dark sky. "Use your magic against me!" Joram challenged, his speech was slurred, and the corners of his mouth were covered with foam. "Anyway, I am the living dead! Only this sword keeps me alive! I want you to die!" Joram intends to kill, he wants to kill, he will be satisfied to see the sword cut through the flesh, see the blood flow all over the ground, see this proud man prostrate at his feet, watching his eyes gradually lose their vitality... Jarod looked at him calmly for a while, then sheathed his sword. "You are indeed a living dead, Joram," he said softly. "You stink of death! You have forged a shadowy sword, as lifeless as yourself. Come on, kill me, killing is your solution!" Joram tried to move forward, but he couldn't see, a thin veil was over his eyes, and he blinked to see around. "Learn how to live, Joram." Jarod urged him earnestly, and the prince's voice sounded far away, coming from beyond the blood-red mist around Joram. "Learn how to live, swing your sword for life, for survival! Otherwise you may turn the sword against yourself, and shed every drop of noble blood here, at least it will give life to the grass." The last words had a tone of disgust. The prince turned his back on Joram and walked out of the open space calmly. Joram threw himself at him with sword in hand, trying to kill the arrogant man, but he was completely blinded by rage, and he staggered a few steps and fell to the ground. He let out a wild, piercing roar, and struggled to his feet, but the flames drained his strength, leaving him as helpless as a baby.Desperately, he used the Darksword as a crutch, trying to prop himself up, but the sword sank deep into the ground, and Joram sank to his knees. Grasping the hilt of the sword buried in the ground in front of him, Joram slipped and fell to the ground, tears slowly seeping from his eyes.Anger and frustration poured out, and he felt like his heart was going to explode. A sob of pain tore through his chest and relieved him, and Joram hung his head, weeping.Never since childhood had pain or suffering made him cry like this.