Chapter 32 Chapter 4 Prisoners

"Father..." Startled, Saryon woke from some dark dream that would not let him go. "Father," said the voice again. "Can you hear me? How do you feel now?" "I can't see!" Saryon moaned, groping for the source of the sound. "That's because this filthy place is pitch black, Father," said the voice gently. "We were afraid that the light might disturb your rest. So, can you see it now?" The gentle light of a candle illuminated An Dun's kind face, which made the Catalyst Saint feel extremely at ease. Saryon lay back on the hard bed and put his hands on his heavy head. Something was blurring the vision of his left eye. He tried to remove it, but Anton's hand stopped him.

"Don't touch the bandages, Father," he directed, holding the candle over Saryon's head, examining him by its light. "It looks like it's going to bleed again. You'd better lie still for a few days, is there any other pain?" There was a hint of anxiety in his voice. "My ribs," the Catalyst Saint replied. "Won't the stomach and back hurt?" An Dun asked. Saryon shook his head wearily. "Thank you Emin." The old man murmured. "Now I have to ask you some questions. What's your name?" "Saryon," the Catalyst Saint replied. "But didn't you already know..."

"Your head is badly hurt, Father, how much do you remember of what happened before?" Those dreams, are they dreams? "I—I remember the village, that young deacon..." Saryon shuddered, covering his face with his hands. "He killed him, and I was an accomplice! What did I do?" "I don't want to make you sad, Father." Anton said gently.He places the candle on the ground at his feet and places his hand on the shoulder of the catalyst saint. "You did what you had to do. We didn't expect Heisuo to go so far, but forget about it, do you remember anything else, Father?"

"What happened to me?" Saryon asked. "Heisuo beat you up for disobeying him. His men...are too much. They almost killed you, if it wasn't for him." An Dun turned and looked towards the other corner of the dark room. Saryon gradually realized that his head was aching, and he followed Anton's line of sight.A young man sat in a chair by the rough window, his head resting on his arms, his eyes looking out at the night sky. Severe, surly seriousness; thick black eyebrows, tight-lipped, unsmiling mouth, dark curly hair that glows purple in the moonlight, tangled and scattered on the young man's broad chest.

"Joran!" Saryon gasped in surprise. "I must admit, I'm as surprised as you are, Father." Although the young man seemed completely oblivious to their presence, Anton lowered his voice. "Joran never cared about anyone before, not even his friends; even if I tried to convince him, he didn't fight against the evil deeds of the black lock, he said that the whole world didn't care about us, why should we care Anything that happens in the world." Anton shrugged helplessly, looking very dazed. "But according to Simkin, when Joram saw you being beaten, he rushed into your quarrel and wounded one of the guards badly. I believe that Mosiah also helped to save you."

"Mosiah...is he alright?" Saryon asked anxiously. "Yes, he's fine. There's nothing wrong with him, he's just been warned to mind his own business, that's all." "Where are we?" asked Saryon, surveying the bleak and dark surroundings as best he could with the pain in his head and the dim light in a small, dingy brick house no bigger than a single room. There was a window and a heavy oak door. "You and Qiao Lang are locked here. Heisuo locked you here together, and said there was some secret between the two of you, and he decided to find out the truth."

"This is the village prison..." Saryon vaguely recalled seeing it on a walk. "Yes, you're back in the village again. They brought you back with the stolen supplies in a boat along the river, hoping they'd choke to death." The old man muttered to himself. Saryon looked at him with some surprise. "My followers have sworn to me." An Dun said softly. "We're not going to eat the food they're looting from those less fortunate people. We'll starve to death soon." "It's all my fault..." Saryon murmured. "No, Father." The old man sighed and shook his head. "If it's anyone's fault, it's our Fairy Artisan's fault. We should have stopped him when he came here five years ago; Not really. Maybe looking back and saying it was all because we were afraid of him would make us feel better, but were we really afraid of him? I doubt it." Anton lifted his wrinkled hand from Saryon He moved away from his shoulders and played with the wheel pendant around his neck, fiddled with it absently.He gazed at the flickering candlelight on the stone floor at his feet. "I think, the fact that we welcome him, it's very satisfying to be able to fight back against the world that abused us." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Even if it's just to steal a few bushels of corn by night."

"His idea of ​​supplying dark craft weapons to Saraken was really a good thing at the time." There were crystal tears in Anton's eyes, and his eyes were flushed. "The legend speaks of the glory of our craft long ago, and all is not evil, and the Ninth Tribe created many good things; if we could have the opportunity to show others the wonders of construction, like It's how we can conserve magical energy to create something more beautiful, more incredible...ah, never mind, that's just our dream," he said wistfully. "And now, all of this has been twisted into a nightmare by this evil man! He led us to perdition, destroying that village is absolutely impossible to be acquitted, at least I think so. When I tell my story When I was scared, Heisuo laughed at me. Perhaps, it should be said that he didn't laugh at me, that person never laughed, but he really should, and I could see the contempt in his eyes.

"'They'd never dare come to us,' he told me." "Maybe he's right." Saryon murmured, remembering what Bishop Vanya had said.The number of demon craftsmen keeps growing. Although we can easily eliminate them, if we go there and take that young man away by force, it will definitely lead to armed conflict.This will leave many talking, worrying and unfounded.We must not let this happen, at least not now, the political situation at the court is in a very fragile state of equilibrium. "What is his plan?" The catalyst saint shuddered.It was cold in the cell, and a small flame flickered in the stove at the other end of the room, giving little warmth.

"He plans to have us work all winter to make weapons, and in the meantime, he will continue negotiations with Saraken." Anton shrugged. "Sarakon will come to our rescue if we are attacked. That's what he said." "But that means war anyway," said Saryon thoughtfully, looking back at Joram.Joram still stared at the moonlight outside the window, and he heard what Van Ya said again: So you understand the importance of capturing this young man alive.Then use his trial to reveal the demons for what they really are: a group of murderers and black-hearted demon craftsmen who distort the dead by giving them the power of life.In doing so, we will be able to show the people of Saraken that their Emperor is allying with the dark and bring him down.

But this is definitely not the demon craftsmen.He turned his gaze back to Anton, an old man who dreamed of bringing waterwheels into the world so magic could be used to create rainbows instead of rain.He looked at Joram again, and now he saw the young man differently, now, he understood him. He is not the offspring of demons I imagined.Confusion, bitterness, unhappiness, sure, but wasn't it the same way I was when I was younger?He committed murder, all right, but where am I?Saryon closed his eyes and shook his head.Am I not responsible for the death of the young catalyst saint?If I take Joram back as I bid, will I bring ruin to these people?what should I do?Where can I go for assistance? "I'm leaving now, Father," said Anton, picking up his candle and standing up. "You are tired. I selfishly let you worry about my troubles when you already have enough troubles. We will trust Emin with all our hearts and pray for his help and guidance..." "Emin!" Saryon repeated bitterly, sitting up. "No, I'm fine, I'm just a little dizzy." He swayed his feet to the edge of the bed, waved his hands to refuse Anton's help, and deliberately ignored his objections. "You speak as if you knew Emin himself!" "But I know him, Father." Anton replied, looking at the catalyst saints with some embarrassment.The old man placed the candle on the rough wooden table in the middle of the cell, knelt down and fanned the flame as best he could, using his magical powers to add a little more heat. "I know we should communicate with Him only through you, and I hope I don't offend you, but we haven't had a catalyst saint speak to Emin on our behalf for many, many years .He shared many troubles with me, He is our refuge in these turbulent times, His guidance, made us swear not to eat food that has been obtained through blood and fire." Saryon stared blankly at the old man. "He speaks to you? Does he answer your prayers?" "I know I'm not a catalyst saint." Anton said humbly. He stood up and fiddled with the pendant hanging around his neck. "But, yes, He communicates with me. Oh, it's not through words, I don't hear His voice. When I make a right decision, I feel a sense of peace that fills my soul, every day That's when I knew I had His guidance." A sense of calm.I have experienced religious zeal, ecstasy, intoxication, but never peace, Saryon thought despondently.Has he spoken to me?Have I listened? The Catalyst Saint grunted, he had a headache and his body ached, memories of flames danced in his vision, and he could clearly see the fear on the face of the young deacon until the black lock— "May Emin grant you peace." There was a soft voice as the door was gently closed.Saryon shook his head, trying to clear himself of the dizziness, but he immediately regretted doing so.It just turned the pain into a sharp pain, and when he was finally able to look around, he saw that Anton had left. Saryon staggered to his feet, staggered across the room, and slumped in a chair by the table.He knew he should probably lie down, but he was terrified, he was afraid to close his eyes again, he was afraid of what he was going to see. A water jug ​​made him understand how thirsty he was.He reached out with unsteady hands, trying to fight the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.As he was about to pour water into the glass, a sound startled him. "They're going to starve this winter, these fools." Saryon nearly dropped the jug, and turned to Joram, who remained completely silent as Anton stayed in his cell. Even as the catalyst saint got up from his bed to the other side of the room, the young man never left his seat by the window.His back was to Saryon now, but Saryon could imagine those brown eyes staring into the moonlight, and that serious face. "Also, the Catalyst Saint." Joram continued coldly, still without turning around. "I didn't save your life. They could beat you beyond recognition, and I wouldn't lift a finger to stop them." "So, what happened? Why—" "Simkin lied again," said Joram, shrugging his shoulders. "The soft-hearted Mosiah rushed to save your precious life, and then I went to rescue him. This had nothing to do with us at all, after all, you were stupid enough to resist the black lock, and then Simkin—but, so what?" "What does Simkin have to do with this?" Saryon asked, trying to pour water into the cup, but most of it spilled on the table. "And what is Simkin to you?" Joram replied. "It doesn't matter at all, it doesn't matter at all. He got Mosiah out, and that's more than the fool deserves." Joram slung his arms lazily on the back of his chair and turned to face the Catalyst Saint. "What does it matter to me? Am I a dead man, a catalyst saint, or have you forgotten? Actually—" He opened his arms. "This is your great opportunity, we are here... There is no one around, no one can stop you, open the teleportation corridor. Call Duke Xisi over." Saryon slumped on a chair, feeling his power drain, and murmured, "You can stop me." He had just been thinking the same thing, and found the young man prying so deep into his heart. Make him timid. "Even the living dead have enough magic to stop a catalyst saint, I know, I've seen what you can do..." For a long time, Joram watched Saryon quietly as if he was thinking about something.Then he stood up suddenly, approached the table, and leaned over it, looking straight into the pale, distorted face of the Catalyst Saint. "Open a teleportation channel for me," he said. Saryon recoiled in bewilderment, unwilling to give the young man any extra strength. "I do not think so--" "Come on!" Joram ordered sternly.The muscles in the young man's arms twisted, the veins under his dark skin bulged as he gripped the edge of the table with both hands, and his dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Bewildered by the young man's hasty, fanatical eyes, Saryon hesitantly opened a teleportation channel to him...but he couldn't feel anything.Magic power filled his whole body, pulsating in Saryon's flesh and blood, but it didn't flow anywhere; there was no pleasure after transferring the power, no energy current between the two bodies... Slowly, the magic power began to flow. Streaming from him, he stared at Joram in disbelief. "But it's impossible," he said, shivering uncontrollably in the cold cell. "I've seen you use magic..." "Have you?" Joram asked.He let go of the table and stood up straight, hands folded over his chest. "Or have you seen me do this before?" With a quick movement of his hand, he conjured a rag and began to wipe up the spilled water, before clapping his hands to make the rag disappear.It was all normal to Saryon, until he saw the young man pull the soaked rag from a cleverly concealed pocket in his shirt. "My mother called it stealing," said Joram coldly, seeming to be enjoying Saryon's bewilderment. "Have you heard of it?" "I saw it at court," said Saryon.His head rested on his hands, and the dizziness passed, but the pain in his temple made it harder to think. "It's a...game..." He waved feebly. "Young people...have fun with it." "I wonder where my mother learned that," said Joram with a shrug. "Anyway, this game saved my life. Maybe I should say this game is my life. According to Simkin, life is just a game." He stared down at the catalyst with a certain bitter triumph. saint. "Now you know my secret, Catalyst Saint, you know what no one else knows about me; you know the truth, something that even my mother couldn't face: I'm a living dead, pure dead, There are absolutely no magical fluctuations in my body. If we believe the legendary ancient necromancers who have the ability to communicate with the souls of the dead, we will know that the magical fluctuations in my body are less than a dead body." "Why are you telling me this?" Saryon forced the question out of stiff lips that could barely speak.A memory floated in his aching heart, a memory about another undead; pure undead, who had failed the most utterly in the test ritual no matter before or after... Joram leaned toward him again, and the Catalyst Saint found himself cowering from the young man's touch as he had avoided the flesh of the dead. No!Saryon told himself, watching the young man in horror, his mind unable to handle the wave of thoughts, the wave of destruction that nearly overwhelmed him.Catalyst saints try to feel themselves overwhelmed, banish them, block them.No, it's impossible, Van Ya said the child was dead. That child is dead.The child died. Seeing the confusion of the catalyst saint, Joram moved a little closer. "I'm telling you this because it's only a matter of time before you find out the truth. Catalyst Saint, the longer I stay here, the more dangerous it will be. Oh—" He waved his hand impatiently. "We've got living dead walking around among us, but they still have some magic, and I'm different, totally, unspeakably, horribly different! You know, Catalyst Saint, if Black Lock and these People—even the demon craftsmen of the ninth tribe, what will happen to me when they find out that I am purely the living dead?" Saryon couldn't answer, he couldn't even understand what the young man was saying, the door in his heart was closed, and he refused to let these dark and terrifying thoughts enter. "You must make a decision, Catalyst Saint." Joram was speaking, his voice enveloping Saryon like a cloud of black mist. "You have to make a choice: take me to the law enforcement immediately, or stay and help me." "Help you?" Saryon blinked in astonishment, the words brought his aching brain back to reality. "Help you with what?" "Stop Heisuo," said Joram coldly, an almost imperceptible smile shining in his dark eyes.