Chapter 37 Chapter 9 Simkin's Dealing

In the dim light of early morning, the journey back from the furnace was a furtive, staggering, bone-chilling, mind-numbing weary journey.The strong wind had exhausted itself, and the rain had ceased, and the only sounds in the sleepy town were rain dripping from the eaves, and the half-awake bark of some not so conscientious house dog.The cold was still bitter.Even the cell seemed like a warm and peaceful paradise to Saryon, who staggered through the eerie, dark streets, held by Joram's arm.In addition to him, the young man also carried the Dark Sword, and the long sword was hidden under his cloak.

Joram and Saryon were both exhausted, drained and drained by excitement and fear, but now something came up that made them both suddenly terrified.The two had almost forgotten the chaos when the long sword was born.Something must have gone wrong, did the guard wake up and decide to investigate?Has Mosiah been caught?Is the black lock sitting and waiting for them like a cat waits patiently for mice?These fears intensify as the two get closer to the cell.When they reached the street lined with houses, the two stopped, huddled in the shadows, and watched the cell intently until they found the courage to move on.

Everything seemed peaceful, the guard's windows did not light up because of the discovery of the truth, and the windows of the cell were also completely dark. "It seems that everything is calm." Saryon breathed a sigh of relief, and walked forward. "This may be a trap," Joram warned, his hand resting on the sword. "I can't control so much now." The Catalyst Saint said wearily, but he stayed by Joram's side. Joram gripped the sword awkwardly, not sure how he would react if attacked.He continued to walk along the street, and again, the pleasant mood was gone, and he felt extremely tired and sleepy, and the familiar dark depression quickly overwhelmed his consciousness.

Nothing happened as he expected.The long sword was heavy and uncomfortable, and when he held it, he didn't feel the rush of power; except for the unaccustomed weight that made his wrist and arm sore, he tried to sharpen the long sword, but Those hands that could gracefully perform "magic" seemed clumsy and clumsy at this moment.He was afraid he had screwed up.The blade was uneven and full of stains, instead of being curved and sharp as he had seen in ancient books, and he even foolishly thought that this rough, ugly weapon could defeat Black Lock's sorcery.The ever-increasing dizziness swirled downward like a vortex, and he recognized the symptoms in darkness as he saw them.Forget it, so what, he thought dimly.let it comeHe achieved his goal, just like before.

He stole one last look at the window of the guard across the street, but there was no movement inside.Joram pushed the door gently, opened it and beckoned Saryon to go in. Mosiah fell asleep on the table, with his head buried in his arms, and when he heard the movement, he was startled, and with vigilance, he struggled to get up sleepily. "What's the matter—father!" The young man stepped forward and grabbed the catalyst saint who was about to kneel down with his knees limp. "My God, you look awful! What happened? Where's Joram? Is everything all right?" Saryon could only nod wearily as Mosiah helped him to the bed. "I'll get you some wine..."

"No need," Saryon murmured. "I'm going to spit it out, I just need to rest..." Helping the exhausted Catalyst to lie down, Mosiah took an old blanket over his shivering body, and turned his head as Joram closed the door behind him. "Saryon looks terrible, is he hurt? You don't look any better, what happened?" "It's okay, we're all fine, we're just tired. Is everything okay here?" Joram said through gritted teeth.Seeing Mosiah nod, he went to his bed, lifted the straw mattress, and stuffed something from under his cloak. Mosiah was on the verge of asking what it was, but resigned after recognizing the onset of depression on Joram's face, and he wasn't sure he wanted to see it anyway.

"It's all quiet here," he replied. "I didn't see anyone walking down the street. The storm last night was so bad it didn't stop until this morning, and I—I must have dozed off when the wind died down..." Mosiah closed his mouth when he noticed that Joram was clearly not hearing at all.Lying heavily on the bed, the young man's eyes were lax and he turned a blind eye to everything.Saryon had already fallen into restless sleep, his body convulsed and contorted, moaning and mumbling incoherently for a while.Mosiah felt lonely and restless, and a strange, irrational fear slowly rose in his heart, when he heard a nerve-wracking sound from outside.Walk softly to the other side of the room.

"I said, open the door!" A cold, shivering sensation ran down Mosiah's spine as he heard an uncharacteristic strain in his otherwise carefree voice.He glanced at Joram and opened the door.Simkin rushed in. "Close the door quickly, and be good. I don't think anyone will see me." Simkin walked quietly to the window, hid in the shadows, and looked out.The stupid, unconcerned expression was gone, there was no blood in the skin under the beard, and his lips were pale. "All seems peaceful," he murmured. "Well, it won't last long, though." "What's wrong? What happened?"

"It's really bad news, I'm afraid," said Simkin, turning to Mosiah with a forced playful smile. "I checked the guard just now to see if he was rested overnight, and he was, very well, if you know what I mean." "Uh, I don't understand," said Mosiah grumpily. "Does it matter?" "You know," Simkin said, biting his lip. "It's actually like this. The great guard really doesn't understand others, so he died." "He's dead!" Mosiah opened his mouth.For a moment he was transfixed, staring at Simkin, and then he staggered across the room. "Joram!" he whispered eagerly, shaking him. "Joran! Please! It's urgent, I—we need you! Joram!"

Slowly Joram looked away from the ceiling, and Mosiah could almost see him struggling to rise from the darkness that engulfed him. "What's up?" "It's the guard, Simkin killed him!" Joram sat up with wide brown eyes and stared coldly at Simkin. "You should have drugged him to stun him." "That's exactly what I did," Simkin said aggrievedly. "What did you give him?" "Genie," Simkin murmured. "A fairy?" repeated Mosiah, terrified. "But it's a kind of nightshade! It's poison." "That's true for chickens," said Simkin, sniffling. "I didn't know it worked on Big Dumb too, although now that I think about it, that guy really stinks."

Mosiah sat down on the other side of Joram's bed and tried to think. "Are you sure he's er-er-dead? Maybe he's just been in a deep sleep..." "Unless he was as cold and stiff as a mackerel, or he was sleeping with his eyes open. No, no, he's really dead, I assure you, the bag of ale is still full, laying beside him, I Suspected that he might have collapsed after the first sip. But on second thought, did I mix up the sleeping potion with the Duchess of Longville's recipe? I have the impression they found her second He was in the same state when he was a husband—” "Shut up!" Mosiah yelled. "What should we do, Joram? We've got to think about it." He wiped cold sweat from his face. "I see! We can hide the body and drag it into the woods..." Joram said nothing, but sat on the edge of the bed, his face covered with his hands, and the dark shadows slowly surrounded him. "That's a very good idea, my dear boy," said Simkin, looking at Mosiah with admiration. "Really, I'm very moved, but—" He held up a hand as Mosiah jumped to his feet. "That wouldn't work, and when I made this little discovery, you know, next to me...uh... there was someone else, a black-locked thug named Zhuomle, holding a A bag of good wine stays with me." Simkin sighed heavily. "I'm afraid he was too worried about the unfortunate loss of his comrade, and he hastened to the wizard's house. It's really amazing, after all, he can run so drunk when he is so drunk. quick--" "You mean Heisuo already knew about this?" "Even if he doesn't know it now, I think he will know it soon." "Damn you!" Mosiah jumped up and threw himself on Simkin, grabbing him by the lace collar and pinning him against the wall. "You bloody idiot! What are we going to do now?" "Well, it seems to me that we'd better wake up the sleeping bald man," replied Simkin, brazenly adjusting the crumpled lace hem. "Though I can't figure out how he was able to sleep so soundly when you screamed. Then we had to wake our dark-skinned friend from his deep sleep..." "I'm all right. Wake up Saryon," said Joram, and when he saw Mosiah take another step toward Simkin, he stood up. "Stop! Calm down both of you, we didn't do anything wrong." "Don't we?" Simkin looked puzzled. "No! Go, Mosiah! Wake up the Catalyst Saint, we have to make his story sound flawless..." Mosiah shook his head, and immediately rushed to the bed, where the catalyst saint slept very restlessly. "Father!" He leaned forward, grabbing Saryon's shoulder and shaking. "Father!" "Now." Joram said calmly. "The Catalyst Saint and I—" He shut his mouth suddenly. Mosiah turned around, with his hand still on the shoulder of the catalyst saint, and saw the black-robed wizard appearing in the middle of the room.His hands were clasped as usual, his eyes hidden in a prominent black hood. "How are you and the Catalyst Saints, young man?" said the emotionless voice. "We haven't been out all night," continued Joram calmly. "You can ask your guards, but it might be a bit difficult now, unless you're a necromancer." "Yes, I think Xin Jin will tell you that the guard is dead." Heisuo said, looking at the bearded young man. "I assure you, I'm petrified," Simkin said, grabbing an orange silk scarf out of thin air and patting it on his forehead. "I feel weak, just like what Baron Isaac said last time after he accidentally turned himself into a mandolin, how do you think he died?" Simkin asked nonchalantly. "I mean the guard, and the Baron died in a very bizarre accident. The Baroness, a huge woman, sat on his box, and he was crushed to a heap of sawdust, but he died singing That's it. As for your guard, when I left him last night, he was the same big bum he always was, maybe he died of suffocation." Simkin put an orange silk scarf to his nose. "I know he really stinks to me." "He was poisoned to death." Heisuo ignored Simkin, turned his hooded head to Joram, and poked the young man's head with his eyes like fingers. "So you've been up here all night? What are you doing, frolicking in the fire?" Joram looked down at his wet clothes and skin, and shrugged. "I was too lazy to take a shower when I got home from the furnace yesterday." Heisuo didn't say a word, with his hands clasped together in front of his chest, he turned and walked towards Mosiah who finally succeeded in shaking the Catalyst Saints. "Were you here all night last night too, Father?" asked the wizard. "Yes—yes." Saryon raised his head and glanced at the black-robed law enforcement officer, blinking blankly.Although still half asleep and unable to comprehend what was going on, he could still sense the danger around him and tried in vain to shake his head to wake himself up.He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Black Lock reached for the blanket that covered Saryon. "The hem of your robe is still wet, Catalyst Saint? There's still soot and mud on it." "There's a hole in the chimney," said Mosiah sullenly. Heisuo laughed. "Give me the power of life to catalyze the saints." He said softly. Saryon shuddered. "I can't help it," he replied in a low voice, staring at the floor. "I don't have the power, I...didn't sleep well last night..." He read the irony in his words, and was horrified to realize that the sorcerer had figured it out too.Saryon was pale, absent-minded and exhausted, waiting for what would happen next. Nothing happened.Heisuo turned his back to the Catalyst Saints, took one last look at them, and then disappeared without saying a word. For a long time, the four of them stared at each other in silence, not daring to speak or even move. "He's gone," Saryon said heavily.His muscles ached from fatigue, and his paralyzed mind couldn't cope with what was happening, constantly urging him to ignore everything and go back to sleep.The catalyst saint shook his head vigorously, struggled to his feet, walked across the icy floor, and plunged his face into the icy water in the washbasin. "How long do you think he was here before we found out?" Mosiah asked in a nervous tone. "So what?" replied Joram, with a absent-minded shrug. "He knew we were lying." "Then why doesn't he do anything!" Mosiah roared, nerves snapping. "What game is he playing—" "A game where you lose if you don't pull yourself together," said Simkin grimly. "Look at me!" He stretched out his lace-covered arms. "Look, I'm in such a state of mind that I just found the body. Speaking of the body, I doubt what they'll do with it. If they throw the body in the river, first of all I won't be bathing again for the next year It's-" "Corpse!" Saryon opened his eyes wide. "Explain to Briar what happened, will you? My dear boy, I can't go through this again, I'm exhausted, and by the way—" Simkin asked in a dull tone, and he Glancing at Joram. "Did everything go well last night?" Joram didn't answer, sinking into depression again, he lay back on the bed. "I said, you should at least tell me what you guys are doing, after all the trouble I've been through!" "Murder the guard!" Mosiah roared hostilely. "Well, if you're so uneducated that you want to say that. Anyway, I--God, you big fool!" The sudden opening of the gate nearly knocked Simkin down, causing a commotion.One of Heizuo's thugs cast a contemptuous glance at the angry young man and walked in just as Sim Jin was trying to leave. "I said, please let me go." Sim Jin said, covering his nose with a silk scarf. "I can't penetrate you, well, I guess I can, but you're not going to like me doing it..." "You can't go anywhere, it's an order! I'm here to deliver, unless—" "Oh, no, really, it's not good at all," Simkin said.Calmly walked past the guard, away from him, and wrinkled his nose. "I'm pretty sure you're mistaken. These orders aren't for me, are they? Only for these three people." "Well, I—" the thug stammered and frowned. "Okay, okay." Simkin patted the man on the shoulder as he walked out the gate. "Don't squeeze your brain, man, you're going to pass out." He waved the orange silk scarf again, looking back at the cell. "Goodbye, dear friends, glad to be of help, I have to go." "Help!" Mosiah murmured as the flashy, tacky figure closed the door, and thugs paced back and forth outside. He came to the window and saw the young man pretending to cross the street to the hut where the guard died. Two black lock men were carrying the corpse. Simkin followed closely behind them, holding an orange silk scarf to cover his nose. and mouth.At the same time, several guards stood guard in front of the window, their eyes fixed on the cell.Mosiah tapped on the edge of the window in disgust and turned around. "If it weren't for the clown and his nightshade, everything would be fine. He might as well just hand us over to Heisuo! Maybe you finally believe what I think of him, Joran, it's too much to say now." Too late, Joram." Lying on the bed, Joram didn't answer him, didn't even indicate whether he heard it, rested his head on his hands, and looked at the ceiling. Saryon wiped the water from his face with the sleeve of his robe, and came to the window to look at Simkin outside. He was leading a temporary funeral procession through the streets, and the guards behind him were all carrying heavy burdens. and heavier expressions.Simkin rubbed his eyes lightly as he delivered a speech of condolence to some of the townspeople who were awake and disturbed.There was no answer, and they stared at the corpse in blank horror, then moved away quickly, whispering and shaking their heads. madness?Saryon's mind went back to the forest outside Valen, the forest where he had first met Sim'jin. "It's a deep game we're playing now, man," said the young man. "Profound and dangerous." What the hell is Simkin up to? News of the guard's murder spread quickly through the small village, and people shuttled around discussing it in whispers of fear.Black lock goons seem to be everywhere, wandering the streets with stern, eager expressions, as if they know what the hell is going on and are expecting it.In the end, the villagers return to their various jobs, but do nothing, most leave work early, even the blacksmith closes the furnace before dark, happy to be home. It's been a long day for the blacksmith, long and unsettling.First of all, Heisuo's subordinates came over, searched around, searched, and asked some questions. "Did anyone work here last night?" "Have." "Who?" "I have no way of knowing right away." The thick shoulders shrugged. "Probably one or two apprentices. They're behind on their work. If we keep getting stopped and asking stupid questions, we'll keep falling behind." Finally, Heisuo's minions left and were replaced by Heisuo himself.The blacksmith wasn't surprised at all, although he was a little short-tempered, but for a man with a grown son, the blacksmith was cunning and observant.He hated the wizards very much, and the looting of the village made him sad and angry, and he supported Anton wholeheartedly, determined that he would rather starve to death than eat bloody bread.In fact, he would have even proposed drastic measures against the wizard if the old man had not begged him to remain calm for fear of drastic reprisals. The blacksmith reluctantly agreed, only because he was secretly hiding many weapons until the time came.He wasn't sure if the time had come, but judging from Anton's worried expression and some mysterious events he noticed in the furnace, the time was coming. "Did anyone work last night?" Heisuo asked. "Have." "Who?" "I told you, I don't know," growled the blacksmith. "Could it be Joram?" "It could be, or it could be, any of the apprentices, ask them." Without interrupting his work, the blacksmith answered these questions briefly, the loud tap of the hammer emphasizing his answers.He struck with such force that it sounded as if he had bound the wizard to his anvil, but he answered the question anyway.The blacksmith turned his eyes away from the figure in the black robe. His hatred for Heisuo was not as great as his awe and fear for him. The blacksmith watched him out of the corner of his eye, watching his every move in the furnace as he searched the grounds with the black lock; he rarely touched anything, but watched every shadow, every crack and corner with sharp eyes.Finally he stopped, raised one booted foot, and idly rummaged through a pile of trash in the far corner, crouched down, and picked something up. "What's this?" he asked, flipping the object in his palm, studying it nonchalantly, his face as expressionless as ever. "Crucible," grumbled the blacksmith, continuing his hammering work. "What is this for?" "Melting the rough stone." "Is there anything strange about these residues in your opinion?" Blacklock held out the cauldron to the blacksmith, and held it, displaying it in the light of the searing furnace. "No," said the blacksmith, looking at the cauldron indifferently, and then returned to his work, but when he thought the wizard was not looking, he looked at the cauldron again.His eyes intersected with the black locks, his face blushed, and then he stopped his eyes on his work again, and the force of the hammer became stronger. With the cauldron in hand, the wizard stared intently at the blacksmith, his eyes under the black hood glowing red in the reflection of the furnace flames. "You don't have to work in the furnace at night, master blacksmith." He said coldly, and disappeared in mid-air as easily as smoke rising into a chimney. Recalling his instructions and his eyes, the blacksmith trembled again just like this morning.He also possesses some magical powers, though not as powerful as the others, but is intimidated by the power of sorcerers.The wit of the sorcerer frightened him even more, a dangerous combination.he thought so.Suddenly, his buried weapons looked meager and useless. "Witches can turn them all into molten iron when they start attacking," he said darkly to himself, preparing to pack up and go home for the night, when he heard a loud noise. "What?" he called hesitantly, thinking that perhaps Heisuo had returned. "Who's there?" There was a loud bang, followed by a curse, and then a melancholy voice from deep in the shadows of the cave. "I said, I'm stuck here and can't move, can you help me? I didn't really point to my whole hand, just to remind you." The voice added hastily. "Marquis Di Dong loves to make this kind of disgusting joke. He twisted his hand from the wrist. The same old joke has been repeated year after year. I told the emperor that he would stop as long as no one laughed. Yes, but—” "Sin'jin?" said the blacksmith in surprise, hurrying past the furnace to the back of the cave.He saw the young man trying in vain to free himself from the pile of tools and instruments that weighed on him. "What are you doing, boy?" "Hush," Simkin whispered. "Don't let anyone know I'm here..." "It's too late for that now, isn't it?" said the blacksmith gravely. "You should have woken up the whole town by now—" "It's not my fault," said Simkin impatiently, looking sternly at the pile of tools. "I just—oh, never mind." He lowered his voice. "Has Heisuo been here today?" "Yes," growled the blacksmith, looking around nervously. "Has he found anything, or has he taken something? I'm anxious to know." Simkin looked anxiously at the blacksmith. The blacksmith hesitated and frowned. "Well." He said after a pause. "I want to tell you that it doesn't matter. He didn't keep it a secret. He found a cauldron." "Crucible?" Simkin raised an eyebrow. "That's it? I mean, I think you've got this stuff all over the place." "Well, yes, but he found this thing and took it away? Now, you better be honest with me, how did you get in, and why didn't I see you?" Blacksmith pressed, he eyed Sim Jin suspiciously. "Oh, I'm someone who is easily overlooked." The young man waved his hands gracefully, his bright clothes shining brightly in front of the high flames of the furnace. "And speaking of the cauldron, there's nothing weird about it, is there?" The blacksmith's eyebrows furrowed even deeper, and with his lips tightly shut, he led Simkin to the front of the cave. "For example, there is a strange thing in it," added the young man nonchalantly, a cast causing him to stagger. "I don't know." The blacksmith said coldly, and they finally reached the front of the cave. "Also, you can tell anyone who's interested that there won't be any more night shifts, at least not for a while, and probably never." The blacksmith shook his head gloomily. "Night duty?" Xin Jin repeated, shrugging his shoulders and showing a weird smile. "Ah, I think you're wrong, there will be a night shift in the future, but it's none of your business," he said reassuringly to the startled blacksmith, who, after giving him a stern look, shut the furnace and sealed it with a magic spell.