Chapter 34 Chapter 6 The Fall
"It won't work." Saryon looked up from the tome he was reading, his face pale and tense.
"What do you mean it won't work?" asked Joram, stopping his restless pacing to stand beside the Catalyst Saint. "Can't you read? Don't you understand math symbols? Is there something we're missing? Is there something we're missing? If so—"
"I say it won't work because I wouldn't do it," Saryon said wearily, resting his head on his hand and pointing to the tome. "I can understand what's inside," he added in a hollow voice. "I know all too well what's in there. That's why I won't do it!" He closed his eyes. "I won't do that."
Joram's face was contorted with rage, and he clenched his fists as if, for a split second, he would strike the Catalyst Saint.With obvious restraint, the young man controlled himself, forced himself to calm down, and turned around to leave the small underground chamber.
Saryon opened his eyes only after hearing Joram go away, and his longing eyes rested on the leather-bound classics that were neatly arranged on the wooden bookshelf.The form of the bookshelf is so rough that it looks like it was made by a child.This is an early form of woodworking without magic.Saryon thought so.He felt Joram's anger, radiating from him like furnace heat, and Saryon tensed, anticipating, waiting for an attack, verbal or physical, but nothing came. Did not happen.He would almost rather bear the outbursts, and yet it was scary to be so young and yet so coolly restraining his apparently turbulent nature.
Where does such a personality come from?Saryon thought.Certainly not from his parents, who, if the reports were right, bowed to lust and fell for it.Perhaps this personality is a kind of compensation.Joram's father stretched out his petrified hands to him... Or maybe there was another possibility, dark in Saryon's mind, the possibility from his wounds, the one he shut out and didn't want to think about again possibility……
Saryon shook his head angrily. This is nonsense, it must be because of the influence of this room, it must be.
Joram sat down in a chair beside him.
"Okay, Saryon," he said, his voice calm and unhurried. "Tell me what to do, and why you won't do it."
The catalyst saint sighed again, he raised his head, turned his gaze back to the tome on the table, and smiled sadly.His hand ran across the pages almost caressingly. "Do you understand the wonders hidden in these pages?" he asked Joram softly.
Joram's eyes hungrily at the Catalyst Saint, for every slight change in expression in the man's weary, lined face. "With this amazing knowledge, we can rule the world," he replied.
"No, no, no!" Saryon replied impatiently. "I mean wonder, the wonder of learning, the math..." He closed his eyes again with intense pain. "I'm the greatest mathematician of our time," he murmured. "They call me a genius, but in these books I find knowledge I have in the past that makes me feel like a baby crawling on my mother's lap. I haven't begun to understand them yet, and I can study a few Months, years..." The pained look on his face disappeared, replaced by longing, and he tapped the pages of the classics. "How happy I will be," he whispered. "If only I'd discovered this when I was young..." His voice trailed off.
Joram waited and watched, patient as a cat.
"But I didn't," Saryon said.He opened his eyes, and immediately removed his hand from the page, as one removes a hand from a burning brand. "I didn't discover them until I was very old, but my sense of good and evil was unbreakable, my morals were established, and maybe they were right," he added, watching Joram frown. "However, they are what they are, they are unbreakable in me, and trying to fight or fight them may drive me crazy."
"So you're saying, you understand what it says here—" Joram pointed to the tome. "You can still complete the necessary formalities, except that it violates your moral values?"
Saryon nodded.
"So, killing that young Catalyst Saint in the village also goes against your morals—"
"Stop talking!" Saryon growled in a low voice.
"No, I won't stop." Joram continued to retort cruelly. "You've preached well, Catalyst Saint. Go and preach to Black Suo. When he binds old Anton's hands behind his back on the whipping stand, let him know how evil he's done; you look at his Someone flogs the flesh and blood of that old man to the bone, and you watch and console yourself, maybe it's wrong, but it doesn't violate your morals—"
"Stop talking!" Saryon clenched his fists and glared at the young man angrily. "I don't want this to happen any more than you do—"
"Then help me stop him!" hissed Joram. "It's all up to you, Catalyst Saint! You're the only one who can stop him!"
Saryon closed his eyes again, covered his face with his hands, and shrugged his shoulders.
Leaning back in his chair, Joram watched and waited.The Catalyst Saint raised a haggard face. "According to the classics, I must bestow the power of life...to the dead things that don't have the power of life."
Joram's face darkened, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?" he pursed his lips. "Not to me—"
"No." Saryon took a deep breath and looked back at the classics.He moistened one finger and turned the fragile parchment pages with gentle reverence. "You fail for two reasons: You don't mix the alloys in the correct proportions. According to this recipe, this is very important, and a few drops can make or break. Then, when you take the alloy out of the mold, the metal must be heated to extremely high temperatures—"
"But in this case, it will melt and lose its original shape." Joram retorted.
"Wait..." Saryon held up a hand. "This second heating is not done with the flames in the furnace." He licked his lips, paused for a moment, then continued slowly and reluctantly: "You have to heat it with magic flames..."
Joram stared at him in bewilderment. "I do not understand."
"I have to open a transmission channel, absorb the magic power from the world, and inject it into the metal." Saryon looked at Joram steadily. "Don't you understand, young man? I have to give the life force of the world to dead things created by human power. This is completely contrary to everything I believe in. This is really the darkest dark craft."
"So what are you going to do, Catalyst Saint?" Joram leaned back in his chair, looking at Saryon smugly.
Saryon had been in this world for over forty years, years of nurturing and getting to know himself, but he had lived so long anyway.He was not the fool Joram thought he would be, and would only approach the edge of the cliff, his eyes fixed on the sun shining on him above his head, not the real world he was in now.No.Saryon looked into the abyss, and he saw that he would fall if he took a few more steps forward.He could see it because it was a familiar path he had walked, a path he had trod, though it was a long time ago.
A soft knock on the secret door above made them stand up in panic.
"Well?" said Joram firmly.
Saryon watched him, saw the desperate longing on his face, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and jumped off the cliff. "Okay." He replied silently.
"I'm An Dun." A whisper came. "The guards are looking for you. You'd better go back."
"Put the ladder down."
A rope ladder fell at the sound, and Joram grabbed hold of it.
"The Catalyst Saint..." he motioned.
"Okay." Saryon held up his robe and stood under the rope ladder, but took a last, hungrily look at the treasure storage room next to him.
"Should we take the book with us?" asked Joram, turning to pick it up.
"No need." Saryon said wearily. "I've memorized the recipe, but you'd better put the book back where it was."
Joram hastily put the book back on the shelf, and blew out the candle.Thick darkness immediately flooded the chamber, and ancient tomes lay in their tombs, giving off a musty smell.
Do the spirits who wrote them also live here?By the dim light of candles Anton held above their heads, Saryon thought about that question as he fumbled on the rope ladder.Perhaps my spirit will return here after my death.The catalyst saint thought.He clambered noisily up the rope ladder with Joram's impatient help, unable to resist the urge to look back.Of course here, I can be happy for hundreds of years.
"Come, Father, hold out your hand."
Joram grabbed his wrist from above, and Anton pulled him through the secret door.With Anton's help, Saryon crawled into the mine tunnel that sprawled beneath the house. "Hold the candle," the old man said to him, handing him the candle in the iron candlestick, and Saryon took the candle, its shadow dancing and dancing on the stone wall.
Joram climbed up easily, and Saryon looked enviously at the strong, muscular arms.The young man stooped to make sure the secret door was firmly shut, and then he and Anton fastened it with what the old man called a lock.A strangely shaped piece of metal was thrust into the door and rattled and turned.Anton put the key back in his pocket, took a step back, and nodded to Joram after a cursory inspection.
The young man placed his hand on a large rock, and slowly pushed the stone onto the secret door effortlessly, completely hiding the secret door.
Anton shook his head. "It usually takes two grown men to move this stone," he said to Saryon, and smiled admiringly at Joram. "At least that's what I remember from my youth. The stone hadn't been moved for years, until this young man insisted on looking at the ancient tome." He sighed. "There's no need to move the stone, there's no need to go down there, none of us could read them, not in my father's day. I've only seen a stone moved once before, I guess It's just to make sure that the books are still intact."
"They are well preserved," murmured Saryon. "The room is very dry. If there is no problem, they should be preserved for hundreds of years."
Anton's face softened with sympathy, and he put his hand on the catalyst saint's arm. "I'm sorry, Father. I can imagine how you feel." His eyebrows were furrowed in displeasure. "I tried to tell Joram—"
"No, don't blame him." Saryon said calmly. "I made the decision to come here and I don't regret it."
"But you look depressed..."
"So much knowledge...lost," replied the Catalyst Saint, his eyes moving to the boulder, and his thoughts wandering to the bottom of the stone.
"That's right," Anton agreed sadly.
"It is not lost," said Joram, drawing closer, his eyes brightened by the candlelight. "Not lost..." he repeated, rubbing his hands together.
"On my honor, it's pretty cold in here. Am I contradicting myself? I'm sure you'll forgive me," said Simkin, slipping into a thick fur cloak conjured up with a casual wave. "But my lungs are a little weak. My sister died of pneumonia, you know. Of course not always. She fell off a stage in Merilon and broke her bones, but she wouldn't have fallen if she hadn't had hallucinations from pneumonia and fever." It's gone. Anyway—" "Don't make trouble now," growled Mosiah, who was sitting next to the young man at the table. "We can't stay for too long, the guards don't want us to come in at all, but Xin Jin made Heisuo agree. What do you want us to do?" "I need your assistance," said Joram, and sat down next to the young man. "Oh, I say, a conspiracy! That sounds terribly horrible, and I'm all ears, and I could really have ears all over myself, you know." Simkin had a sudden flash of inspiration, and added: "If this If it helps." "Mouth all over the body is more appropriate, shut up." Mosiah muttered. "I won't say a word." Simkin covered his eyes with fur, shut his mouth politely, and stared at Joram gravely, but was interrupted by a big yawn. "I'm so sorry," he said. Huddled and shivering in a corner, Saryon snorted in disgust as he got as close to the faint flame as he could.Joram shot him a grumpy glance, made a gesture that seemed to reassure him, and turned to look at his friends. "The Catalyst Saint and I have to get out of here tonight..." "Are you going to run away?" Mosiah asked eagerly. "I'll go with you—" "No, listen!" said Joram angrily. "I can't tell you what we're going to do, and it's best if you don't know anyway, in case something goes wrong. We have to get out of here and come back without the guards knowing. And, most importantly, we have to To be able to do whatever we want...to do what we're supposed to do without being interrupted." "That should be easy." Mosiah looked disappointed. "You went to Anton's house last night—" "And the guard accompanies us to and from the forge, just as he accompanies me to the furnace every day," said Joram sternly. "In other words," Simkin said calmly. "You want the guard to sleep sweetly while you two carry out your treacherous, evil plans; and you want him to wake up in the morning to find you two sleeping peacefully in your cot." Saryon looked at Simkin, moving uneasily.The young man's joking guess was very close to the truth, and the Catalyst Saint didn't want to drag these two people into the water at all.He didn't want to drag Mosiah into the water because it was too dangerous, and he didn't want to drag Simkin into the water because he was Simkin. "Also." The young man dressed in fur continued uninterestedly. "There's one person in particular you don't want to be bothered with - our blond evil leader, my dear boy." Simkin curled up comfortably in his cloak. "It couldn't be easier, leave everything to me." "What are you going to do?" Saryon asked hoarsely. "I said, dude, you've got a cold, haven't you?" Simkin asked anxiously, turning to take a good look at the Catalyst Saint. "It may have been a little dangerous for you in your old age, and Lord Moriah was killed within a few days. He was as old as you, and sneezing and his head fell off, no exaggeration. His head fell, fell shattered in custard. Oh, and Duke Sebulon said it was just a little joke he made, some kind of after-dinner sideshow, and of course he didn't really want his Catalyst Saints to say Seriously, and endowed him with so much life force. But we were all wondering, he and the baron had an argument in the swan park just the day before, and it seemed to be about cheating or something. At least all the guests were amused Well, it's been talked about for weeks, it's really fashionable, and then, if you want to get the duke's dinner invitation—" "I don't have a cold!" shouted Saryon, finally able to interject. "Glad to hear you say that," Simkin said sincerely, leaning over and clapping the Catalyst Saint's hand. "Let's go on," Joram said impatiently. "Where are the guards and the black lock?" "Ah, yes. I knew we were talking about other things, Guard, and I'll deal with him," Simkin said. "How?" Mosiah asked suspiciously. He glanced at the Catalyst Saint. Obviously, he and Saryon had the same evaluation of the bearded young man. "A little sleeping pill, a recipe that only me and the Marchioness of Lenroni know. She has fourteen children, and so does the guard. Now, speaking of black locks, I'll be busy playing tarot with him tonight anyway. , he will not disturb you, on my honor." "Honor!" Mosiah sneered. "I will go with you." "Oh, no, it can't be," said Simkin, yawning again, and stretching his feet toward the fire.He lolled back in the chair at an angle that seemed impossible, shifting positions until he made himself perfectly comfortable. "Not that I'm ruthless, but you're kind of a redneck, my dear boy. I mean, I wouldn't dare take you anywhere in high society, your table manners are abysmal. Other than that," he said. Ignoring Mosiah's glare, added. "Someone has to stay in this dilapidated wooden house to maintain the illusion that the Father and Son are still inside." "That's a good idea indeed," said Joram, laying his hand on Mosiah's clenched fist. "What is he going to do?" "Nothing," Simkin said, shrugging his fur-clad shoulders like a graceful bear. "Raise the fire a bit, and shake it in front of the window so his shadow can be seen. I say, Mosiah." He yawned so much that his jaws clicked, and added, "I can even put Your hair has become the same as Qiao Lang, as long as our friends who give you the power of life help a little, your shawl hair will be the envy of all women in the village in no time, long, thick, and shiny..." Mosiah turned to Joram. "He's a clown," said the young man quietly. "You're betting your life on this idiot!" On Simkin's bearded face, the expression of boredom gave way to a very sly and keen look.For a split second, Saryon could have sworn a stranger was sitting before him.Mosiah turned his back to the young man, and Joram was looking down at Mosiah. No one except the catalyst saints saw this expression, but before he understood it, the expression disappeared, and it was replaced by a smirk. smile. The fur cloak disappeared, as did the silk breeches and waistcoat, and a blur of color appeared.Then in an instant, Simkin changed into a clown costume.He was all wild and incongruous colors, with ribbons fluttering and bells jingling.Simkin slid down from his chair and crawled on his hands, then knelt on the floor in front of Joram, his legs crossed, and he shook the bell on his hat. "A fool, yes, I am a fool," bellowed Simkin gleefully, waving his arms joyfully, and the streamers swirled around him like a swirling, multicolored fog. "I'm Joram's jester, remember the tarot divination results? The king with swords is the card that represents you! One day you will become emperor, and then you will need a jester, right? Joram?" Simkin leaned forward, folded his hands, and pretended to pray. "Make me your jester, sir, you'll need one, I assure you." "Why, fool?" asked Joram, with an almost invisible smile in his dark eyes. "Because only one jester dared to tell you the truth," said Simkin softly. For a short breath, Joram watched Simkin in silence, then grinned at the bearded face.He raised one booted foot and planted it firmly on the young man's chest, pushing him back.Simkin rolled his head against his ankle, laughing maniacally.He did a graceful somersault and rose to his feet. Mosiah ignored Simkin, who was dancing about the room, and put his hand on Joram's shoulder, shaking him almost solemnly. "Listen to me," he said eagerly. "Forget about it! Forget about the cards, forget about any thought of your challenge to the black lock. Oh, please, Joram! I know you! I heard you say that if I can't understand, I'm really The idiots. Let's take our chances and escape! Let Simkin drug the guards, then we escape to the Outlands to try our luck. We'll make it, we're young and strong, and there's a Catalyst Saint Give us the power of life. You will come, won't you, Father?" Saryon could only nod his head, the wilderness was suddenly very attractive, as long as there was someone leading the way, he would definitely rush out of the gate immediately. Qiao Ran didn't answer right away, Mosiah looked at the thoughtful expression on his friend's dark face, mistakenly thought that Qiao Ran was moved, and hurriedly urged: "We can go north to Saraken, where we can find Work, no one knows us. It's dangerous, but it's not as dangerous as staying here, and it's not as dangerous as fighting a black lock—" "No." Joram said quietly. "Joran, think about it—" "Think about it!" Joram said.Fire burned in brown eyes as he slapped Mosiah's hand away from his shoulder. "Do you think Heisuo will let his catalyst saint escape like this, and won't try his best to get him back? And his sphere of influence is very wide. What is Duke Xisi training for? To hunt and find people !He understands extraterrestrials! We don't! And when he gets us, he'll kill you and me. What are we after all? But what about the Catalyst Saints? What do you think he'll do to him? " "Cut off his hands," Simkin said, and he waved off his clown attire for the dazzling clothes he was accustomed to, and conjured up a fur cloak, which he draped gracefully over his shoulders. "As far as I know, they did this a long time ago." He gave Saryon an apologetic look, and continued: "It doesn't affect their use, you know." Mosiah frowned at Joram. "What if he catches us now?" "He will not." Mosiah turned around. "Please," he said to Simkin. "We've been here too long. The guards will start to get suspicious." "Yeah, it's time for us to go," Simkin said, adding, "I think my nose is completely plugged up, and I—ha-choo! Look, what I told you! The Catalyst Saints put his The cold is contagious to me! I——Hajiu! What a trouble!" The orange silk scarf waved in the air.He brought the silk scarf to his nose and sniffed melancholy. "I still have a rough night, Heisuo cheats, you know." "No, he won't, he's too powerful. You're the one who cheats." Joran said dryly. "Because he always wins! Even if I cheat, it never seems to win. Wait, dear boy, I have to pick some beautiful flowers to make a potion." Simkin blinked. "Get ready, you'll hear me..." Simkin nodded to the guard on the porch of a house across the street, and strolled away from the cell. "What about you?" asked Joram, stopping Mosiah on the porch. "Maybe, maybe not." Mosiah replied without looking at him. "Maybe I'll go off on my own before you all get caught." "Then...good luck to you." Joran said coldly. "Thank you." Mosiah gave him an aggrieved and bitter look. "Thank you very much. Good luck to you too." He slammed the door hard and left hastily. Saryon looked out the window and could see him walking away with his head bowed. "He cares about you very much," said the Catalyst Saint quietly, turning from the window to look at Joram who was stirring the porridge on the coal fire. The young man didn't answer, he didn't even hear. Saryon walked past their small, cold cell, lying on the hard bed.How long has he not slept?Really restful sleep?Can he still get a good night's sleep?Or would he keep seeing the terrified expression on the young deacon's face, like seeing death in the eyes of a sorcerer? "Do you trust Simkin?" Saryon asked, looking up at the rotting beams on the ceiling. "I trust him as much as I trust you, Catalyst Saint," Joram replied.
Notes:
"On my honor, it's pretty cold in here. Am I contradicting myself? I'm sure you'll forgive me," said Simkin, slipping into a thick fur cloak conjured up with a casual wave. "But my lungs are a little weak. My sister died of pneumonia, you know. Of course not always. She fell off a stage in Merilon and broke her bones, but she wouldn't have fallen if she hadn't had hallucinations from pneumonia and fever." It's gone. Anyway—" "Don't make trouble now," growled Mosiah, who was sitting next to the young man at the table. "We can't stay for too long, the guards don't want us to come in at all, but Xin Jin made Heisuo agree. What do you want us to do?" "I need your assistance," said Joram, and sat down next to the young man. "Oh, I say, a conspiracy! That sounds terribly horrible, and I'm all ears, and I could really have ears all over myself, you know." Simkin had a sudden flash of inspiration, and added: "If this If it helps." "Mouth all over the body is more appropriate, shut up." Mosiah muttered. "I won't say a word." Simkin covered his eyes with fur, shut his mouth politely, and stared at Joram gravely, but was interrupted by a big yawn. "I'm so sorry," he said. Huddled and shivering in a corner, Saryon snorted in disgust as he got as close to the faint flame as he could.Joram shot him a grumpy glance, made a gesture that seemed to reassure him, and turned to look at his friends. "The Catalyst Saint and I have to get out of here tonight..." "Are you going to run away?" Mosiah asked eagerly. "I'll go with you—" "No, listen!" said Joram angrily. "I can't tell you what we're going to do, and it's best if you don't know anyway, in case something goes wrong. We have to get out of here and come back without the guards knowing. And, most importantly, we have to To be able to do whatever we want...to do what we're supposed to do without being interrupted." "That should be easy." Mosiah looked disappointed. "You went to Anton's house last night—" "And the guard accompanies us to and from the forge, just as he accompanies me to the furnace every day," said Joram sternly. "In other words," Simkin said calmly. "You want the guard to sleep sweetly while you two carry out your treacherous, evil plans; and you want him to wake up in the morning to find you two sleeping peacefully in your cot." Saryon looked at Simkin, moving uneasily.The young man's joking guess was very close to the truth, and the Catalyst Saint didn't want to drag these two people into the water at all.He didn't want to drag Mosiah into the water because it was too dangerous, and he didn't want to drag Simkin into the water because he was Simkin. "Also." The young man dressed in fur continued uninterestedly. "There's one person in particular you don't want to be bothered with - our blond evil leader, my dear boy." Simkin curled up comfortably in his cloak. "It couldn't be easier, leave everything to me." "What are you going to do?" Saryon asked hoarsely. "I said, dude, you've got a cold, haven't you?" Simkin asked anxiously, turning to take a good look at the Catalyst Saint. "It may have been a little dangerous for you in your old age, and Lord Moriah was killed within a few days. He was as old as you, and sneezing and his head fell off, no exaggeration. His head fell, fell shattered in custard. Oh, and Duke Sebulon said it was just a little joke he made, some kind of after-dinner sideshow, and of course he didn't really want his Catalyst Saints to say Seriously, and endowed him with so much life force. But we were all wondering, he and the baron had an argument in the swan park just the day before, and it seemed to be about cheating or something. At least all the guests were amused Well, it's been talked about for weeks, it's really fashionable, and then, if you want to get the duke's dinner invitation—" "I don't have a cold!" shouted Saryon, finally able to interject. "Glad to hear you say that," Simkin said sincerely, leaning over and clapping the Catalyst Saint's hand. "Let's go on," Joram said impatiently. "Where are the guards and the black lock?" "Ah, yes. I knew we were talking about other things, Guard, and I'll deal with him," Simkin said. "How?" Mosiah asked suspiciously. He glanced at the Catalyst Saint. Obviously, he and Saryon had the same evaluation of the bearded young man. "A little sleeping pill, a recipe that only me and the Marchioness of Lenroni know. She has fourteen children, and so does the guard. Now, speaking of black locks, I'll be busy playing tarot with him tonight anyway. , he will not disturb you, on my honor." "Honor!" Mosiah sneered. "I will go with you." "Oh, no, it can't be," said Simkin, yawning again, and stretching his feet toward the fire.He lolled back in the chair at an angle that seemed impossible, shifting positions until he made himself perfectly comfortable. "Not that I'm ruthless, but you're kind of a redneck, my dear boy. I mean, I wouldn't dare take you anywhere in high society, your table manners are abysmal. Other than that," he said. Ignoring Mosiah's glare, added. "Someone has to stay in this dilapidated wooden house to maintain the illusion that the Father and Son are still inside." "That's a good idea indeed," said Joram, laying his hand on Mosiah's clenched fist. "What is he going to do?" "Nothing," Simkin said, shrugging his fur-clad shoulders like a graceful bear. "Raise the fire a bit, and shake it in front of the window so his shadow can be seen. I say, Mosiah." He yawned so much that his jaws clicked, and added, "I can even put Your hair has become the same as Qiao Lang, as long as our friends who give you the power of life help a little, your shawl hair will be the envy of all women in the village in no time, long, thick, and shiny..." Mosiah turned to Joram. "He's a clown," said the young man quietly. "You're betting your life on this idiot!" On Simkin's bearded face, the expression of boredom gave way to a very sly and keen look.For a split second, Saryon could have sworn a stranger was sitting before him.Mosiah turned his back to the young man, and Joram was looking down at Mosiah. No one except the catalyst saints saw this expression, but before he understood it, the expression disappeared, and it was replaced by a smirk. smile. The fur cloak disappeared, as did the silk breeches and waistcoat, and a blur of color appeared.Then in an instant, Simkin changed into a clown costume.He was all wild and incongruous colors, with ribbons fluttering and bells jingling.Simkin slid down from his chair and crawled on his hands, then knelt on the floor in front of Joram, his legs crossed, and he shook the bell on his hat. "A fool, yes, I am a fool," bellowed Simkin gleefully, waving his arms joyfully, and the streamers swirled around him like a swirling, multicolored fog. "I'm Joram's jester, remember the tarot divination results? The king with swords is the card that represents you! One day you will become emperor, and then you will need a jester, right? Joram?" Simkin leaned forward, folded his hands, and pretended to pray. "Make me your jester, sir, you'll need one, I assure you." "Why, fool?" asked Joram, with an almost invisible smile in his dark eyes. "Because only one jester dared to tell you the truth," said Simkin softly. For a short breath, Joram watched Simkin in silence, then grinned at the bearded face.He raised one booted foot and planted it firmly on the young man's chest, pushing him back.Simkin rolled his head against his ankle, laughing maniacally.He did a graceful somersault and rose to his feet. Mosiah ignored Simkin, who was dancing about the room, and put his hand on Joram's shoulder, shaking him almost solemnly. "Listen to me," he said eagerly. "Forget about it! Forget about the cards, forget about any thought of your challenge to the black lock. Oh, please, Joram! I know you! I heard you say that if I can't understand, I'm really The idiots. Let's take our chances and escape! Let Simkin drug the guards, then we escape to the Outlands to try our luck. We'll make it, we're young and strong, and there's a Catalyst Saint Give us the power of life. You will come, won't you, Father?" Saryon could only nod his head, the wilderness was suddenly very attractive, as long as there was someone leading the way, he would definitely rush out of the gate immediately. Qiao Ran didn't answer right away, Mosiah looked at the thoughtful expression on his friend's dark face, mistakenly thought that Qiao Ran was moved, and hurriedly urged: "We can go north to Saraken, where we can find Work, no one knows us. It's dangerous, but it's not as dangerous as staying here, and it's not as dangerous as fighting a black lock—" "No." Joram said quietly. "Joran, think about it—" "Think about it!" Joram said.Fire burned in brown eyes as he slapped Mosiah's hand away from his shoulder. "Do you think Heisuo will let his catalyst saint escape like this, and won't try his best to get him back? And his sphere of influence is very wide. What is Duke Xisi training for? To hunt and find people !He understands extraterrestrials! We don't! And when he gets us, he'll kill you and me. What are we after all? But what about the Catalyst Saints? What do you think he'll do to him? " "Cut off his hands," Simkin said, and he waved off his clown attire for the dazzling clothes he was accustomed to, and conjured up a fur cloak, which he draped gracefully over his shoulders. "As far as I know, they did this a long time ago." He gave Saryon an apologetic look, and continued: "It doesn't affect their use, you know." Mosiah frowned at Joram. "What if he catches us now?" "He will not." Mosiah turned around. "Please," he said to Simkin. "We've been here too long. The guards will start to get suspicious." "Yeah, it's time for us to go," Simkin said, adding, "I think my nose is completely plugged up, and I—ha-choo! Look, what I told you! The Catalyst Saints put his The cold is contagious to me! I——Hajiu! What a trouble!" The orange silk scarf waved in the air.He brought the silk scarf to his nose and sniffed melancholy. "I still have a rough night, Heisuo cheats, you know." "No, he won't, he's too powerful. You're the one who cheats." Joran said dryly. "Because he always wins! Even if I cheat, it never seems to win. Wait, dear boy, I have to pick some beautiful flowers to make a potion." Simkin blinked. "Get ready, you'll hear me..." Simkin nodded to the guard on the porch of a house across the street, and strolled away from the cell. "What about you?" asked Joram, stopping Mosiah on the porch. "Maybe, maybe not." Mosiah replied without looking at him. "Maybe I'll go off on my own before you all get caught." "Then...good luck to you." Joran said coldly. "Thank you." Mosiah gave him an aggrieved and bitter look. "Thank you very much. Good luck to you too." He slammed the door hard and left hastily. Saryon looked out the window and could see him walking away with his head bowed. "He cares about you very much," said the Catalyst Saint quietly, turning from the window to look at Joram who was stirring the porridge on the coal fire. The young man didn't answer, he didn't even hear. Saryon walked past their small, cold cell, lying on the hard bed.How long has he not slept?Really restful sleep?Can he still get a good night's sleep?Or would he keep seeing the terrified expression on the young deacon's face, like seeing death in the eyes of a sorcerer? "Do you trust Simkin?" Saryon asked, looking up at the rotting beams on the ceiling. "I trust him as much as I trust you, Catalyst Saint," Joram replied.
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