Chapter 29 Choose three cards in the first chapter
On a fine, warm day in late autumn, most of the men and boys of the Witchcrafter's village rode out to claim what they thought the world owed them.Anton watched them go, with hundreds of years of grief in his eyes, and he tried everything he could to stop them, but failed.They have to learn their lesson.he thought so.The old man only hoped that this lesson was not too painful, or costly.
The first few days of the journey were always sunny and cloudless.The days are always warm and pleasant, while the nights are chilly and cool, hinting at the coming winter.The members of Blacklock's band are carefree and cheerful, especially the young ones, who enjoy the break from the drudgery of furnaces, mills, mines, and bricklaying.The group was led by the dissolute Simkin, who again donned his Ranger costume for the occasion ("I call this color Mud and Compost.") The young men laughed and exchanged Joke or tease each other about the ugliness of riding the village shaggy half-wild horses.In the evenings, they tell stories around the blazing fire, or play some puzzle games with the older ones.They had bet badly on winter rations; it seemed they would have to wait until spring before they could eat again.
Even Joram, who had always been withdrawn, was in a much better mood with these changes, and Mosiah was taken aback by his willingness to talk to him when he wasn't playing pranks or jokes.But at this moment, Mosiah suddenly thought that this might have something to do with Joram coming out of one of his dark curses again.
But as the second week rolled on, the joy of riding was gone, and the cold rain fell from the yellowed leaves, soaked the cloaks, and ran down the backs.The soft splash of the raindrops and the tramp of the horses' hoofs combined into a monotonous melody.The heavy rain continued for several days in a row, and Hei Suo ordered them not to light any more fires; everyone has now stepped into the territory of the centaur, and the number of guards on duty has doubled, which means that many people will only have half a centaur. sleep at night.Everyone was miserable and complaining, but Mosiah couldn't help noticing that one of them seemed to be more miserable than the rest.
Apparently, Joram noticed too.Mosiah could see the hazy pleasure in Joram's black eyes, and the almost smile on his lips, all the time.Following Joram's gaze, Mosiah noticed that he was looking at the Catalyst Saint riding before them, shoulders slumped.Catalyst saints look downright pathetic on horseback.In the previous few days he had been stiff from shock, and now he was just stiff; every bone and every muscle in his body ached.Apparently, just sitting in the saddle is a painful thing.
"I really feel for that man," Mosiah said during the second week of their northward journey.He, Qiao Lang, and Xin Jin were cold and drenched all over, and they rode together on a continuous path wide enough for a regiment of six cavalry to gallop side by side.This path was pioneered by giants.Heisuo said so, and warned everyone to be vigilant.
"Who?" Joram asked.He'd been listening to Simkin detail how the Duke of Westshire had employed all the members of the Stoneshaper Guild, along with six Catalyst Saints, to complete the rebuilding of his magnificent residence in Merilon, converting the entire building from a crystal, to a green-striped spot Rose-coloured marble.
"It's unheard of for people at court not to be able to talk about anything else, come to think of it, Marble! It looks really... boring..." said Simkin.
"That catalyst saint. What's his name? I really sympathize with him." Mosiah said.
"Saryon?" Simkin looked confused. "Excuse me, dear boy, but what has he got to do with Rose Marble?"
"It doesn't matter at all," Mosiah replied. "I just saw the look on Joram's face, he looked like he was enjoying that poor man's pain."
"He's a catalyst saint," Joram replied abruptly. "And you are wrong. He has nothing to do with me."
"Hmm," Mosiah murmured, and he saw Joram's dark eyes darken even more as they watched the green-robed figure's back.
"You know, he's from your village," Simkin explained, leaning on the horse's neck and speaking in a whisper, loud enough for everyone in the procession to hear clearly.
"Be quiet! He'll hear us. What do you mean, he's from our village?" Mosiah asked in shock. "Why didn't you mention this before? He probably knew my parents!"
"I'm sure I said something," Simkin protested angrily. "When I told you he was coming for Joram—"
"Hush!" Mosiah hissed. "That's all bullshit!" The young man bit his lip, eyeing the Catalyst Saint longingly. "I don't know what happened to my parents? It's been so long..."
"Oh, go if you want to! Go and talk to him!" roared Joram, and his dark brows knit together and formed a deep, straight line across his face.
"That's right, go and talk to that old boy." Xin Jin said disinterestedly. "Really, he's not bad by the standards of the Catalyst Saints, and I have no reason to love them any more than you. My dark and gloomy friend, did I mention to you that they stole My brother? Nate Jr. Poor kid, failed the test, we hid him till he was five, but they found him anyway. A neighbor snitched it all out of jealousy of my mother , you know, Nate loves me the most, and the little one was still holding on to me when they dragged him out."
Two tears rolled down Simkin's cheeks and into his mustache, and Mosiah gave a heavy sigh of exasperation.
"I've had enough!" Simkin said, sniffling. "Forgive me for laughing at my pain and belittling my sorrow," he murmured, more tears dripping down his cheeks mixed with rain. "I'm going to mourn in private, you two go ahead. No, you don't try to make me feel better, not even a little bit..." Simkin muttered meaninglessly, and turned his horse away abruptly. After crossing the path, they galloped towards the far end of the team.
"Laugh at his pain! How many brothers did he suffer?" Mosiah snorted in disgust, looking back at Sim Jin as he wiped away his tears while rudely criticizing one of Heisuo's men. "Don't mention his many sisters who were captured by nobles or dragged away by centaurs, and don't count the sister who lost her family because of her obsession with giants, and the one who thought she was a swan and drowned in the fountain The aunt in it. And his mother, who died five times from different rare diseases, and once even died of a broken heart when Duke Xisi arrested his father for summoning the emperor's obscene phantom, all in a man lying in the sewer of Merilon On the orphan in the basket of rose petals that came out. He's a real liar! I don't see why you put up with him!"
"Because he's an interesting liar," replied Joram, shrugging. "That sets him apart."
"Different?"
"Compared to the rest of you," said Joram, gazing at Mosiah from under his bushy black brows. "Why don't you talk to your Catalyst Saint," he suggested grimly, and Mosiah's face flushed with rage. "If what I've heard is true, he's had other harsher punishments besides the pain from the saddle."
With a hard heel kick on the horse's belly, he galloped forward, riding past the Catalyst Saint without looking.The horse's hooves kicked up the mud, and Mosiah saw the catalyst saint look up at the young man's back.The young man's long black hair flew freely in the restraint of the headband, and glistened in the rain like a bird with wet feathers.
"Why can I put up with you?" Mosiah murmured, gazing at his friend's back. "Mercy? You're bound to hate me for it, but in a way, you're right. I can see why you don't trust anyone, you've got more than just the scar on your chest. But One day, my friend, those scars will be nothing compared to the pain you get when you find out you have done something wrong! Nothing!"
Mosiah shook his head and rode forward until he was abreast of the Catalyst Saint.
"I'm sorry to disturb your contemplation, Father," said the young man hesitantly. "May I please—may I be with you for a while?"
Saryon raised his head in fear, his expression became very tense, and then it was clear that it was only a young man who spoke.He seemed to relax a little. "Okay, I'm actually glad you're with me for a while."
"You—you're not praying or something, are you, Father?" Mosiah asked a little confused. "I can leave you alone if you—"
"No, I'm not praying." Saryon smiled palely. "I seldom pray recently." He added in a low voice, trembling and looking at the surrounding wilderness. "I'm used to seeking Emin's solace in the promenade on the holy mountain, not here. I don't think he lives here."
Mosiah didn't understand Saryon's words, but seeing the opportunity to open the conversation, he said at once: "My father sometimes said the same thing, he said that Emin always dined with the rich and threw the crumbs to the poor. He didn't care about us, so we must live this life on our own honor and integrity. When we die, these will be the most important things we leave behind."
"Jacus is a very wise man," said Saryon, looking intently at Mosiah. "I know him, you're Mosiah, aren't you?"
"Yes." The young man blushed. "I know you know him, that's why I came here, that is, I didn't know about it before, otherwise I would have come here earlier, I mean King Kong just told me-"
"I understand." Saryon nodded heavily. "I should have come to see you a long time ago. I brought a message from your parents. But...I haven't been feeling well recently." It was the Catalyst Saint's turn to blush uncomfortably, his face distorted with pain.He moved in the saddle, looking at Joram's figure as he disappeared among the trees.
"My parents..." After a moment of silence, Mosiah nudged Saryon lightly with his elbow.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Saryon woke up with a start. "They are very good, and they entrusted me to pass on their love to you. They miss you very much." The catalyst saint said, and he saw a trace of longing flashing on the young man's face. "Your mother kissed me for you, but I guess I don't need to convey this to you myself."
"No, it's okay. Thank you, Father." Mosiah murmured with a blushing face. "Did they—did they mention anything else? My father..."
Saryon looked at the young man, his face became serious, and he didn't answer his question right away.
Seeing his expression, Mosiah suddenly realized. "That's it, isn't it?" he said bitterly. "Now you're going to start scolding me."
"Not a reprimand." Saryon replied with a smile. "He just said he'd heard a few things about these people and he didn't like it at all. He hoped the rumors weren't true, but if they were true, you'd have to remember everything you grew up believing, And he and your mother love you dearly, and they miss you all the time."
Saryon watched the young man and saw a blush on his smooth, slightly bearded cheek, but the shame—if that was why he was blushing—was gone in an instant, replaced by anger. "It's not true what he heard."
"Then how do you explain this raid?"
"These are all good men." Mosiah glared boldly at Saryon. "All they want is the same chance of survival as everyone else, yes." He continued immediately before Saryon seemed about to speak, "Maybe I don't like some of the things they do, and maybe I don't like it." Think it's right, but we have the right to live."
"By this action? By robbing others? Anton told me—"
Mosiah waved impatiently. "Anton's just an old man—"
"He told me that before the black lock appeared, the demon artisans could be self-sufficient." Saryon continued. "They farmed, using tools, not magic."
"There's no time, we're working so hard, we're going to have to eat this winter!" Mosiah retorted angrily.
"And so are the people we're going to plunder."
"We don't take much, Joram said so, we always leave them much—"
"This year is not the case. You now have me as a catalyst saint. This year, Black Lock can use me to strengthen his power. Have you ever seen what kind of magic a wizard can summon?"
"Then why are you here?" Mosiah asked suddenly, and he turned to look at Saryon with a stern expression. "Since you are full of impartial opinions, why do you come to the land of the outside world?"
"You already knew." The Catalyst Saint replied in a low voice. "I heard Simkin tell you why."
Mosiah shook his head. "Sinkin would have lied about telling you the time," he said contemptuously. "If you mean your bullshit excuse for coming after Joram—"
"That's not bullshit."
Mosiah stared at Saryon in amazement, calm though his face was pale and drawn with fatigue. "What did you say?" he repeated, not sure if he heard it correctly.
"That's not nonsense," said the Catalyst Saint. "Here I was sent to bring Joram to trial."
"But...why? Why are you telling me this?" Mosiah asked in confusion. "You want something from me, don't you? Do you want me to help you? But I never will! You can't take Joram! He's mine—"
"No, of course not." Saryon interjected, shaking his head with a bleak smile. "I don't want anything from you. Whatever I want to do to Joram, I have to do it alone." He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "I'm only telling you because I promised your father that if I find out you're involved, I have to talk to you..." He waved his hand.
The two rode side by side in silence through the gloomy rain, and Mosiah could vaguely hear Simkin's shrill laughter behind them, over the clink of the saddle bridle and the tramp of the horse's hooves.
"You can preach to me without telling all the truth about yourself, Father, anyway, I don't believe what Simkin said at all, and no one believes it." Mosiah murmured, holding the rein with his hand, watching Tangled mane. "I don't know what you mean by taking Joram to trial, and I don't see how you're going to do it," he added, casting a contemptuous glance at the Catalyst Saints. "Of course I will warn Joram, but I still don't understand why you are telling me this matter. You must also know it, so you and I will become enemies."
"Yes, and I'm sorry," Saryon replied, huddling into his soaking robes. "But if it weren't for that, I'm afraid you wouldn't care too much about what I have to say. If you thought I was just spitting out, as the saying goes, then my 'sermons' wouldn't have much effect on you. At least for now, I hope You can take what I told you and think about it."
Mosiah didn't answer, still staring down at the horse's mane.His expression hardened, and his hands holding the rein tightened. "You should be worthy of your conscience now." He looked up and said. "You did what you promised my father, but when it comes to conscience, I didn't see any hesitation when you followed Heishuo's order to give him the power of life, and maybe you wanted to resist." Mosiah sneered.He recalled the punishment Joram had hinted at, anticipating the weak-looking Catalyst Saint shivering and recoiling from it.However, the young man was surprised to find that the other party met his gaze with dignity.
"That's my shame." Saryon said calmly. "Just like you, I must face my shame alone."
"I don't need to face—" Mosiah said angrily, but was interrupted by Simkin's brisk words over the sound of rain and hooves.
"Mosiah, Mosiah! Where are you?"
The young man turned angrily in the saddle, looked behind him, and waved his hands. "I'm going to stay here a little longer," he cried.Then he turned back to face the Catalyst Saint. "One more thing I don't understand, Father. Why did you tell Simkin about Joram? Did you preach to him too?"
"I didn't tell Simkin about it," said Saryon.He gave the horse an awkward kick with his huge, clumsy feet, and the weary Catalyst Saint spurred the horse forward. "You'd better go, they're calling you. Goodbye, Mosiah. I hope we can talk again."
"Didn't tell him! How did he—"
But Saryon just shook his head.He drew his hood down over his eyes and rode forward, leaving Mosiah alone, watching his back in bewilderment.
"You are so easy to deceive." "You weren't there," Mosiah muttered. "You didn't see the look on his face, he was telling the truth. Oh, I know how you feel about that—" He saw a bitter smile in Joram's dark eyes. "—But you have to admit, Simkin really told us that the Catalyst Saint came to you. If the Catalyst Saint claims that he never told Simkin about it, what the hell is—" "So what?" growled Joram impatiently, staring sullenly at the little flame that had just risen to dry the clothes.The group found a large cave in the mountainside by the river for their night shelter.Since it is very unusual to find an unoccupied cave in the Land of Transfiguration, Heishuo carefully walked into the cave with his catalyst saint.However, after investigation, the cave was empty.The wizard judged this place to be a safe place to live. The only drawback was a pile of garbage in a dark corner that emitted a foul smell; no one wanted to go close to check what was in the garbage.Although they burned the garbage dump, the smell lingered, and Hei Suo said that the cave may have been inhabited by trolls before. "Of course, to you, catalyst saints are irrelevant." Mosiah stood up and said unhappily. "Anything doesn't matter to you anyway..." Joram grabbed his friend's hand. "I'm sorry." He said in an awkward tone, the words coming out of his mouth with difficulty. "I'm very grateful to you... for coming to warn me." His lips twisted into a faint smile. "I don't take this middle-aged Catalyst saint seriously, but I'll be on the alert. As for Simkin—" He shrugged. "Ask him how he knows." "But you can't trust that fool!" said Mosiah angrily, and sat down again. "Fool? Did I hear someone misusing my name?" A sweet voice came from the darkness. Sighing in disgust, Mosiah drew back and covered his eyes.A gaudy figure in rich clothes stepped into the firelight. "Why, dear boy, don't you like this?" Simkin asked, raising his hand to show off the brightest side of his new robes. "I was so bored, dressed as a forest ranger, that I decided it was time to change myself. As the Duchess de Rongeville said when she married her fourth husband — or the fifth? That's not the point anyway, he's going to die like the other husbands before long. Never drink tea with the Duchess de Rongeville, and if you do, make sure she The teapot used to pour you tea is not her husband's. Do you like this red color? I call it crushed cinnabar. What's the matter, Mosiah? You seem to be in a worse mood today than our black boy friend It's going to be bad." "It's nothing." Mosiah said vaguely, his feet bent, staring at the rough iron pot that was precariously resting on a layer of hot coals. "It smells like something's sticking to the bottom of the pan," Simkin said, bending over to sniff. "I said, why don't you go ask that old Happy Catalyst saint for a little life force? Just use our magic like everyone else since he came. Can I join you for dinner?" "No." Mosiah held up a stick, dismissing the suggestion of a catalyst saint, and he began to stir the bubbling contents of the cauldron. "Ah," Simkin said, sitting down. "Thank you. Tell me, what is it that's upset everyone? I see! You rode with Father Saryon today. Did he say anything interesting?" "Shh," Mosiah warned Simkin, pointing in the direction where Saryon sat, struggling alone to light the fire. "Why do you ask me? Maybe you know what we said better than either of us." "Perhaps I do," said Simkin cheerfully. "Look at this poor fellow. He's freezing to death. An old man like him shouldn't be wandering in the wilderness. I'm going to invite him to come and share our stew." The young man looked around beside his friend. "Should I do this? I think I will. Don't frown, Joram, you should see him, after all, he's come to get you. I say, Catalyst Saint!" Simkin's voice lingered in the cave, and Saryon started, turning around like everyone else in the cave. Mosiah reached out and yanked Simkin's sleeve. "Come on, you fool!" But Sim'jin waved and roared again, his red robes ablaze in the flames. "Here, Catalyst Saints, look, we've got a nice stewed squirrel..." Many people watched them, snickered or whispered behind their backs.Even Heisuo, who was playing cards with several of his subordinates, poked his head out and stared at them with cold, emotionless eyes.Saryon rose slowly, blushing and walking towards them, obviously just hoping to silence Simkin. "Damn it!" grumbled Mosiah, leaning towards Joram. "Let's go, I'm not hungry..." "No, wait, I want to meet him." Joran said softly, his dark eyes fixed on the catalyst saint. "Let me escort you, Father," Simkin roared, leaping to his feet and running towards the Catalyst Saint.With a graceful bow, he grabbed the embarrassed Saryon to the fire, square dancing all the way. "Come on dance, Father? One, two, three, dance, one, two, three, dance..." There was a burst of laughter, and now everyone in the cave was watching, very interested in this good show, except for Heisuo, who returned to his own game. "Can't dance, Father? There's still some dissatisfaction, isn't it?" Saryon struggled to get away from Simkin, but couldn't. Xin Jin was already over excited. "There's no doubt that Lord Pig will ban this just because he's jealous. I mean, 'one, two, three, jump' would be more like 'one, two, three, flick, flick,' to him. Bomb'." Simkin puffed out his cheeks and puffed out his stomach, imitating the bishop perfectly.There was a burst of laughter, mixed with sparse applause. "Thank you, thank you." Simkin put his hands flat on his chest, bowed, and then waved the orange silk scarf. He led the blushing Catalyst Saint to the campfire. "Come here, Father," he said, hastily dragging a rotten piece of wood toward him. "Wait! Don't sit down yet, I bet you're suffering from hemorrhoids. You're damned middle-aged, my grandfather died of hemorrhoids, you know? That's right," he went on sadly, Gently patted the trunk, turning the trunk into a velvet cushion. "Poor old gentleman, couldn't sit down for nine years, he tried once, and then there was a thud - fell to his knees, blood welling up in his -" "Please, Father, please sit down?" Mosiah hurriedly interrupted. "I—I think you haven't met Joram yet, this is God—Father—" Noticing Joram's silent gaze on the Catalyst Saint, Mosiah stuttered, and finally shut his mouth in embarrassment. Saryon sat on the cushion in a strange posture. He tried to greet the young man politely, but the cold contempt in Joram's brown eyes seemed to suck the air around him and the heart inside him dry. Words, only Xin Jin leaned against the stone with a calm expression.He put his arms on his bent knees, resting his hands on his mustache chin, and smiled maliciously at the three people in front of him. "I bet the squirrel is cooked," he said, reaching out and jokingly nudging the Catalyst Saint. "Don't you think so, Father? Or is it your goose we're cooking?" Saryon's face immediately flushed with fever, and he looked as if he was ready to find a hole to crawl into at any moment, and gave Simkin a hard look.Mosiah moved at once to the pan, and just as he grasped the handle to lift it, Joram caught his arm. "Careful it's hot," he said.Joram conjured a wooden stick out of thin air, inserted the stick horizontally into the handle, and lifted the iron pot from the fire. "The heat of the flame not only heats the iron pan, but also transfers to the handle." "You and your bloody technology," Mosiah muttered, sitting down. "I can open the transmission channel to you, and send some life force to you—" Saryon said, and then met Joram's eyes. "But that doesn't do me any good, does it, Father?" said Joram quietly, his bushy eyebrows raised and drawn in a line across his forehead. "Am I a living dead, or do you not know about it at all?" "I know." Saryon said calmly.The flush had faded from his face, and his face was pale and composed.No one was watching them now, and everyone in the cave saw that the good show had come to an end, and they had already gone back to do their own things. "I don't want to lie to you, I was sent to take you back for trial, you're a murderer—" "Still a living dead." Joram roared suddenly, and threw the iron pot on the ground with a loud bang. "Be careful, I say," protested Simkin, leaning over hastily to salvage the pot, and spooning several large spoonfuls of the gray mixture into several rough wooden bowls. "I'm so sorry, I used tools, Father, but—" "Are you?" asked Saryon, staring at Joram. "I've been watching you, I've watched you use magic. For example, that stick you made out of thin air..." Saryon was surprised to see Joram's dark eyes light up, not with anger, but with terror.Saryon was so full of doubts that he forgot what he was going to say.The Catalyst Saint stared at him, his expression fleeting and then covered by a stone-like exterior, but Saryon was sure the fear had always been there. Joram took the plate from Simkin, sat down on the stone floor and began to eat, shoveling the food into his mouth with the tool, his eyes fixed on his plate.Mosiah also took his own plate, imitating it, clumsily using an ill-fitting spoon.Simkin also handed a plate to the Catalyst Saint, who took the plate and spoon, but did not move, but kept watching Joram. "I thought about it," he said to the frowning young man. "Since there is no record of your testing ceremony, it is very likely that Father Touben made some mistake because he was too excited at that time. Come back with me and take the test again. I also heard that you were involved in the murder case. In fact, it can be regarded as sympathetic, your mother—" "Don't mention my mother, let's talk about my father. Do you know him, Catalyst Saint?" Joram asked coldly. "Did you watch as they turned his body to stone?" Saryon picked up his bowl, but set it down again with trembling hands. "I say, Mosiah," said Simkin, chewing loudly. "Didn't this squirrel come in and die in your arms by chance, did it, my dear boy? If so, you should give him a proper funeral, I've been chewing on this piece of meat for ten minutes -" "No, no... I wasn't there when your father was executed," Saryon replied in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the stone floor. "I was a deacon at the time, and only the higher-ranking people in our sect—" "Are you qualified to watch this good show?" Qiao Lang sneered. "Water! I want water!" Xin Jin gestured, and a water bag hanging in the shade of the cave floated towards them. "I want something to drink, so that this old thing can be washed down." He took a sip of water, wiped his mouth with an orange silk scarf, and then yawned heavily. "I said, the conversation between you really bored me, let's play tarot." He stretched his hand into the air, conjuring a colorful gold-rimmed tarot card. "Where did you get this deck of cards?" Mosiah asked, grateful for the interruption. "Wait, isn't this Hei Suo's card?" "Of course not." Simkin looked hurt. "Didn't you notice that he's playing cards in the corner right now? As for this—" He spread the deck expertly on the ground. "——I got it from the court. This is the latest deck. The artist did a great job. There should have been portraits of all the members of the Merilon nobles on the court tarot cards. Sensation, I can assure you of that. Of course, they painted the Queen so beautifully, she doesn't look so attractive now, especially if you look closer. But the artist can't decide this. Have seen the sun Is that the pretty blue of the sky in the cards? Those are ground glass. No, really, I assure you, look at these king cards again. King with swords - Emperor Merilon, King with sticks - Jessie The Emperor of Er. The King of Cups is a notorious lover, Emperor Balzar, who is painted so beautifully; and the King of Coins, Emperor Saraken the Miser—” "We want to play, don't we, Joram?" Mosiah interrupted hastily, noticing that Simkin was about to introduce the Queen. "What about you, Father? Or playing tarot against your vows or something?" "Only three people can play," Simkin said as he shuffled the cards. "The Catalyst Saint has to wait until his turn." "Thank you," Saryon said, wrapping his robe around himself, ready to get up, leaving the untouched bowl of stewed squirrel on the ground. "We can play cards, but I don't want to interrupt your game, maybe another day..." "Go, Catalyst Saint." Joram pushed away his plate and stood up, his face grave and grave, but his eyes shone wildly and strangely. "I don't want to play cards, you can take my place." "Come on, Joram!" Mosiah whispered, anxious in his voice, and grabbed Joram's strong arm. "Okay," Simkin said cheerfully, cutting the deck quickly with his hand. "If Joram is going to go to bed with a gasp, let's all stop playing. Listen, let me help you predict the future, sit down, catalyst saints, I think you will find this interesting, you go first , Joram." Long ago, the sages of the Way of Time used tarot cards to allow themselves to see into the future.Brought from the dark world, these cards were originally cherished as artifacts, and it is said that only sages have the ability to decipher the complex pictures drawn on the cards.But the sages have already become extinct, and they all died in the battle of steel.These cards have been preserved because of their beautiful designs.And after some time it was remembered that they were used to play a game called Tarot, which became popular, especially among members of the nobility.The skill of fortune-telling has not been lost, but with the encouragement of the catalyst saints, it has gradually transformed into a harmless entertainment in banquets. "Come on, Joram, I'm really good at this, you know." Sim Jin said eloquently, and he tugged on Joram's sleeve until the young man finally sat down.即使是沙里昂也迟疑起来，他入迷地凝视着卡片，好像他们正要揭开埋藏在迷雾中的未来一样。 “女皇实在是太溺爱我了。现在，乔朗，用你的右手——最靠近你心脏的那只手——选三张卡。过去、现在，还有未来，这是你的过去。” 辛金翻开第一张牌，一个全身黑衣的人影骑着一匹苍白的马，狰狞的骷髅脸孔凝视着他们。 “死神。”辛金柔声说道。 除了辛金以外，沙里昂忍不住打了个冷颤，他迅速地瞥了年轻人一眼，但乔朗注视着卡片，却只露出一抹浅浅的微笑，一抹几乎可以视为冷笑的微笑。 第二张卡上面画着一个人穿着贵族长袍，坐在王座上。 “持剑国王，喔，不！”辛金笑着说道。“或许你真的注定要和黑锁争权，乔朗，妖艺工匠们的皇帝！” “闭嘴！别拿这种事情开玩笑！”莫西亚说道，他紧张地望向在山洞角落玩牌的黑锁和他的手下们。 “我只是开玩笑而已。”辛金用忿忿不平语气说道。“我在这方面真的很厉害。奥思波尼公爵曾经说过——” “翻开第三张牌。”乔朗咕哝道。“然后我们就上床睡觉去。” 辛金顺从地翻开牌。看到牌之后，乔朗的眼睛饶富兴味地眨了一下。 “两张完全一模一样的牌！我早该知道你这副牌有问题。”莫西亚憎恶地说道。然而沙里昂注意到，当莫西亚见到乔朗脸上狂野的表情逝去之后，语气中似乎松了一口气。“算命！给你自己翻一张愚人牌吧，辛金，然后我就相信你。来吧，乔朗，晚安，神父。”两人离去，走向自己的睡袋。 “晚安。”沙里昂心不在焉地说道，他的注意力转向正迷惑地看着卡片的辛金身上。 “这不可能。”辛金皱眉说道。“我很确定上次我检查这副牌的时候，它完全正常。我记得很清楚，我跟陆森侯爵说他会碰到一位高大、全身黑衣的陌生人，他还真的碰到了，第二天执法官把他给抓了起来。嗯，实在很奇怪，喔，算了。”再度耸肩，他将橘色丝巾盖在牌上，然后敲了敲，整副牌消失不见。“我说，你打算吃你的炖肉吗，秃头老兄？” “什么？喔……不。”沙里昂回答道，他摇摇头。“你拿去吃吧。” “我实在不愿意浪费食物，虽然我希望莫西亚能够再敬老尊贤一点。”辛金说道，他拿起碗，舀了满满一大勺松鼠塞进嘴里。他躺在丝绒坐垫上，开始认命地咀嚼着。 沙里昂没有回答。触媒圣徒走向山洞中阴暗的角落里，用他的长袍和毛毯裹住自己。他躺在冰冷的石头上，尽可能让自己舒服一点，但他无法入眠，而是一直想着摊在石头地上的牌。 第三张牌还是死神，虽然这一次，狞笑的身影是倒过来的。
"You are so easy to deceive." "You weren't there," Mosiah muttered. "You didn't see the look on his face, he was telling the truth. Oh, I know how you feel about that—" He saw a bitter smile in Joram's dark eyes. "—But you have to admit, Simkin really told us that the Catalyst Saint came to you. If the Catalyst Saint claims that he never told Simkin about it, what the hell is—" "So what?" growled Joram impatiently, staring sullenly at the little flame that had just risen to dry the clothes.The group found a large cave in the mountainside by the river for their night shelter.Since it is very unusual to find an unoccupied cave in the Land of Transfiguration, Heishuo carefully walked into the cave with his catalyst saint.However, after investigation, the cave was empty.The wizard judged this place to be a safe place to live. The only drawback was a pile of garbage in a dark corner that emitted a foul smell; no one wanted to go close to check what was in the garbage.Although they burned the garbage dump, the smell lingered, and Hei Suo said that the cave may have been inhabited by trolls before. "Of course, to you, catalyst saints are irrelevant." Mosiah stood up and said unhappily. "Anything doesn't matter to you anyway..." Joram grabbed his friend's hand. "I'm sorry." He said in an awkward tone, the words coming out of his mouth with difficulty. "I'm very grateful to you... for coming to warn me." His lips twisted into a faint smile. "I don't take this middle-aged Catalyst saint seriously, but I'll be on the alert. As for Simkin—" He shrugged. "Ask him how he knows." "But you can't trust that fool!" said Mosiah angrily, and sat down again. "Fool? Did I hear someone misusing my name?" A sweet voice came from the darkness. Sighing in disgust, Mosiah drew back and covered his eyes.A gaudy figure in rich clothes stepped into the firelight. "Why, dear boy, don't you like this?" Simkin asked, raising his hand to show off the brightest side of his new robes. "I was so bored, dressed as a forest ranger, that I decided it was time to change myself. As the Duchess de Rongeville said when she married her fourth husband — or the fifth? That's not the point anyway, he's going to die like the other husbands before long. Never drink tea with the Duchess de Rongeville, and if you do, make sure she The teapot used to pour you tea is not her husband's. Do you like this red color? I call it crushed cinnabar. What's the matter, Mosiah? You seem to be in a worse mood today than our black boy friend It's going to be bad." "It's nothing." Mosiah said vaguely, his feet bent, staring at the rough iron pot that was precariously resting on a layer of hot coals. "It smells like something's sticking to the bottom of the pan," Simkin said, bending over to sniff. "I said, why don't you go ask that old Happy Catalyst saint for a little life force? Just use our magic like everyone else since he came. Can I join you for dinner?" "No." Mosiah held up a stick, dismissing the suggestion of a catalyst saint, and he began to stir the bubbling contents of the cauldron. "Ah," Simkin said, sitting down. "Thank you. Tell me, what is it that's upset everyone? I see! You rode with Father Saryon today. Did he say anything interesting?" "Shh," Mosiah warned Simkin, pointing in the direction where Saryon sat, struggling alone to light the fire. "Why do you ask me? Maybe you know what we said better than either of us." "Perhaps I do," said Simkin cheerfully. "Look at this poor fellow. He's freezing to death. An old man like him shouldn't be wandering in the wilderness. I'm going to invite him to come and share our stew." The young man looked around beside his friend. "Should I do this? I think I will. Don't frown, Joram, you should see him, after all, he's come to get you. I say, Catalyst Saint!" Simkin's voice lingered in the cave, and Saryon started, turning around like everyone else in the cave. Mosiah reached out and yanked Simkin's sleeve. "Come on, you fool!" But Sim'jin waved and roared again, his red robes ablaze in the flames. "Here, Catalyst Saints, look, we've got a nice stewed squirrel..." Many people watched them, snickered or whispered behind their backs.Even Heisuo, who was playing cards with several of his subordinates, poked his head out and stared at them with cold, emotionless eyes.Saryon rose slowly, blushing and walking towards them, obviously just hoping to silence Simkin. "Damn it!" grumbled Mosiah, leaning towards Joram. "Let's go, I'm not hungry..." "No, wait, I want to meet him." Joran said softly, his dark eyes fixed on the catalyst saint. "Let me escort you, Father," Simkin roared, leaping to his feet and running towards the Catalyst Saint.With a graceful bow, he grabbed the embarrassed Saryon to the fire, square dancing all the way. "Come on dance, Father? One, two, three, dance, one, two, three, dance..." There was a burst of laughter, and now everyone in the cave was watching, very interested in this good show, except for Heisuo, who returned to his own game. "Can't dance, Father? There's still some dissatisfaction, isn't it?" Saryon struggled to get away from Simkin, but couldn't. Xin Jin was already over excited. "There's no doubt that Lord Pig will ban this just because he's jealous. I mean, 'one, two, three, jump' would be more like 'one, two, three, flick, flick,' to him. Bomb'." Simkin puffed out his cheeks and puffed out his stomach, imitating the bishop perfectly.There was a burst of laughter, mixed with sparse applause. "Thank you, thank you." Simkin put his hands flat on his chest, bowed, and then waved the orange silk scarf. He led the blushing Catalyst Saint to the campfire. "Come here, Father," he said, hastily dragging a rotten piece of wood toward him. "Wait! Don't sit down yet, I bet you're suffering from hemorrhoids. You're damned middle-aged, my grandfather died of hemorrhoids, you know? That's right," he went on sadly, Gently patted the trunk, turning the trunk into a velvet cushion. "Poor old gentleman, couldn't sit down for nine years, he tried once, and then there was a thud - fell to his knees, blood welling up in his -" "Please, Father, please sit down?" Mosiah hurriedly interrupted. "I—I think you haven't met Joram yet, this is God—Father—" Noticing Joram's silent gaze on the Catalyst Saint, Mosiah stuttered, and finally shut his mouth in embarrassment. Saryon sat on the cushion in a strange posture. He tried to greet the young man politely, but the cold contempt in Joram's brown eyes seemed to suck the air around him and the heart inside him dry. Words, only Xin Jin leaned against the stone with a calm expression.He put his arms on his bent knees, resting his hands on his mustache chin, and smiled maliciously at the three people in front of him. "I bet the squirrel is cooked," he said, reaching out and jokingly nudging the Catalyst Saint. "Don't you think so, Father? Or is it your goose we're cooking?" Saryon's face immediately flushed with fever, and he looked as if he was ready to find a hole to crawl into at any moment, and gave Simkin a hard look.Mosiah moved at once to the pan, and just as he grasped the handle to lift it, Joram caught his arm. "Careful it's hot," he said.Joram conjured a wooden stick out of thin air, inserted the stick horizontally into the handle, and lifted the iron pot from the fire. "The heat of the flame not only heats the iron pan, but also transfers to the handle." "You and your bloody technology," Mosiah muttered, sitting down. "I can open the transmission channel to you, and send some life force to you—" Saryon said, and then met Joram's eyes. "But that doesn't do me any good, does it, Father?" said Joram quietly, his bushy eyebrows raised and drawn in a line across his forehead. "Am I a living dead, or do you not know about it at all?" "I know." Saryon said calmly.The flush had faded from his face, and his face was pale and composed.No one was watching them now, and everyone in the cave saw that the good show had come to an end, and they had already gone back to do their own things. "I don't want to lie to you, I was sent to take you back for trial, you're a murderer—" "Still a living dead." Joram roared suddenly, and threw the iron pot on the ground with a loud bang. "Be careful, I say," protested Simkin, leaning over hastily to salvage the pot, and spooning several large spoonfuls of the gray mixture into several rough wooden bowls. "I'm so sorry, I used tools, Father, but—" "Are you?" asked Saryon, staring at Joram. "I've been watching you, I've watched you use magic. For example, that stick you made out of thin air..." Saryon was surprised to see Joram's dark eyes light up, not with anger, but with terror.Saryon was so full of doubts that he forgot what he was going to say.The Catalyst Saint stared at him, his expression fleeting and then covered by a stone-like exterior, but Saryon was sure the fear had always been there. Joram took the plate from Simkin, sat down on the stone floor and began to eat, shoveling the food into his mouth with the tool, his eyes fixed on his plate.Mosiah also took his own plate, imitating it, clumsily using an ill-fitting spoon.Simkin also handed a plate to the Catalyst Saint, who took the plate and spoon, but did not move, but kept watching Joram. "I thought about it," he said to the frowning young man. "Since there is no record of your testing ceremony, it is very likely that Father Touben made some mistake because he was too excited at that time. Come back with me and take the test again. I also heard that you were involved in the murder case. In fact, it can be regarded as sympathetic, your mother—" "Don't mention my mother, let's talk about my father. Do you know him, Catalyst Saint?" Joram asked coldly. "Did you watch as they turned his body to stone?" Saryon picked up his bowl, but set it down again with trembling hands. "I say, Mosiah," said Simkin, chewing loudly. "Didn't this squirrel come in and die in your arms by chance, did it, my dear boy? If so, you should give him a proper funeral, I've been chewing on this piece of meat for ten minutes -" "No, no... I wasn't there when your father was executed," Saryon replied in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the stone floor. "I was a deacon at the time, and only the higher-ranking people in our sect—" "Are you qualified to watch this good show?" Qiao Lang sneered. "Water! I want water!" Xin Jin gestured, and a water bag hanging in the shade of the cave floated towards them. "I want something to drink, so that this old thing can be washed down." He took a sip of water, wiped his mouth with an orange silk scarf, and then yawned heavily. "I said, the conversation between you really bored me, let's play tarot." He stretched his hand into the air, conjuring a colorful gold-rimmed tarot card. "Where did you get this deck of cards?" Mosiah asked, grateful for the interruption. "Wait, isn't this Hei Suo's card?" "Of course not." Simkin looked hurt. "Didn't you notice that he's playing cards in the corner right now? As for this—" He spread the deck expertly on the ground. "——I got it from the court. This is the latest deck. The artist did a great job. There should have been portraits of all the members of the Merilon nobles on the court tarot cards. Sensation, I can assure you of that. Of course, they painted the Queen so beautifully, she doesn't look so attractive now, especially if you look closer. But the artist can't decide this. Have seen the sun Is that the pretty blue of the sky in the cards? Those are ground glass. No, really, I assure you, look at these king cards again. King with swords - Emperor Merilon, King with sticks - Jessie The Emperor of Er. The King of Cups is a notorious lover, Emperor Balzar, who is painted so beautifully; and the King of Coins, Emperor Saraken the Miser—” "We want to play, don't we, Joram?" Mosiah interrupted hastily, noticing that Simkin was about to introduce the Queen. "What about you, Father? Or playing tarot against your vows or something?" "Only three people can play," Simkin said as he shuffled the cards. "The Catalyst Saint has to wait until his turn." "Thank you," Saryon said, wrapping his robe around himself, ready to get up, leaving the untouched bowl of stewed squirrel on the ground. "We can play cards, but I don't want to interrupt your game, maybe another day..." "Go, Catalyst Saint." Joram pushed away his plate and stood up, his face grave and grave, but his eyes shone wildly and strangely. "I don't want to play cards, you can take my place." "Come on, Joram!" Mosiah whispered, anxious in his voice, and grabbed Joram's strong arm. "Okay," Simkin said cheerfully, cutting the deck quickly with his hand. "If Joram is going to go to bed with a gasp, let's all stop playing. Listen, let me help you predict the future, sit down, catalyst saints, I think you will find this interesting, you go first , Joram." Long ago, the sages of the Way of Time used tarot cards to allow themselves to see into the future.Brought from the dark world, these cards were originally cherished as artifacts, and it is said that only sages have the ability to decipher the complex pictures drawn on the cards.But the sages have already become extinct, and they all died in the battle of steel.These cards have been preserved because of their beautiful designs.And after some time it was remembered that they were used to play a game called Tarot, which became popular, especially among members of the nobility.The skill of fortune-telling has not been lost, but with the encouragement of the catalyst saints, it has gradually transformed into a harmless entertainment in banquets. "Come on, Joram, I'm really good at this, you know." Sim Jin said eloquently, and he tugged on Joram's sleeve until the young man finally sat down.即使是沙里昂也迟疑起来，他入迷地凝视着卡片，好像他们正要揭开埋藏在迷雾中的未来一样。 “女皇实在是太溺爱我了。现在，乔朗，用你的右手——最靠近你心脏的那只手——选三张卡。过去、现在，还有未来，这是你的过去。” 辛金翻开第一张牌，一个全身黑衣的人影骑着一匹苍白的马，狰狞的骷髅脸孔凝视着他们。 “死神。”辛金柔声说道。 除了辛金以外，沙里昂忍不住打了个冷颤，他迅速地瞥了年轻人一眼，但乔朗注视着卡片，却只露出一抹浅浅的微笑，一抹几乎可以视为冷笑的微笑。 第二张卡上面画着一个人穿着贵族长袍，坐在王座上。 “持剑国王，喔，不！”辛金笑着说道。“或许你真的注定要和黑锁争权，乔朗，妖艺工匠们的皇帝！” “闭嘴！别拿这种事情开玩笑！”莫西亚说道，他紧张地望向在山洞角落玩牌的黑锁和他的手下们。 “我只是开玩笑而已。”辛金用忿忿不平语气说道。“我在这方面真的很厉害。奥思波尼公爵曾经说过——” “翻开第三张牌。”乔朗咕哝道。“然后我们就上床睡觉去。” 辛金顺从地翻开牌。看到牌之后，乔朗的眼睛饶富兴味地眨了一下。 “两张完全一模一样的牌！我早该知道你这副牌有问题。”莫西亚憎恶地说道。然而沙里昂注意到，当莫西亚见到乔朗脸上狂野的表情逝去之后，语气中似乎松了一口气。“算命！给你自己翻一张愚人牌吧，辛金，然后我就相信你。来吧，乔朗，晚安，神父。”两人离去，走向自己的睡袋。 “晚安。”沙里昂心不在焉地说道，他的注意力转向正迷惑地看着卡片的辛金身上。 “这不可能。”辛金皱眉说道。“我很确定上次我检查这副牌的时候，它完全正常。我记得很清楚，我跟陆森侯爵说他会碰到一位高大、全身黑衣的陌生人，他还真的碰到了，第二天执法官把他给抓了起来。嗯，实在很奇怪，喔，算了。”再度耸肩，他将橘色丝巾盖在牌上，然后敲了敲，整副牌消失不见。“我说，你打算吃你的炖肉吗，秃头老兄？” “什么？喔……不。”沙里昂回答道，他摇摇头。“你拿去吃吧。” “我实在不愿意浪费食物，虽然我希望莫西亚能够再敬老尊贤一点。”辛金说道，他拿起碗，舀了满满一大勺松鼠塞进嘴里。他躺在丝绒坐垫上，开始认命地咀嚼着。 沙里昂没有回答。触媒圣徒走向山洞中阴暗的角落里，用他的长袍和毛毯裹住自己。他躺在冰冷的石头上，尽可能让自己舒服一点，但他无法入眠，而是一直想着摊在石头地上的牌。 第三张牌还是死神，虽然这一次，狞笑的身影是倒过来的。