Chapter 3

Veris originally only intended to rinse his hands, since his hands had been purified by cleaning magic and there couldn't be any residual dirt. He was just a little disgusted with it.

"Ah, is it done?" He came to his senses, and Sylvain had already taken out a handkerchief to wipe his hands clean.

The young man in front of him was almost taller than him, and Veris couldn't help but sigh. Sylvain, at his age, probably still had a long way to go.

He withdrew his hand, turned and walked into the small building. Sylvain followed behind him, his magnificent white robe embroidered with gold thread trailing on the ground, and the jeweled chain at his waist swaying with his movements, making him seem out of place in the entire pavilion.

But Sylvain is very familiar with this place.

To be precise, he grew up here. The dark and gloomy attic, the scrolls and books piled up everywhere, the smell of ink mixed with the stench of decaying paper, and the newly added cobwebs in the corners all formed his childhood memories.

Veris found his desk, pulled out a chair and sat down. The room was as bright as day, all thanks to Sylvain's light magic.

He accurately pulled out one of the scrolls from the pile of messy scrolls on the table and handed it to Sylvain across from him.

“A new hero has emerged,” he said succinctly.

Sylvain's expression changed slightly, and the scroll in his hand seemed to have doubled in weight. He pursed his lips, his displeasure clearly visible: "The previous generation has only been dead for less than a month, how could this be..."

If someone else tells him that a new hero has appeared, Sylvain will smile slightly and remain noncommittal.

But now, it is Veris who tells him that a new hero has appeared.

His blue-green eyes reflected Veris's figure. Suddenly, he seemed to realize something and lowered his voice, "You have the aura of someone else on you. Logically speaking, even if you work in a tavern, it shouldn't be this strong. Are you a hero?"

Veris felt that what he said was a bit strange, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. In the end, he attributed it to the messy etiquette taught by the bunch of incompetent people at the High Papacy.

Damn it, what kind of monsters have he raised these kids to be!

While inwardly cursing the bishops of the Papacy, Veris remained calm and began to recount the events of the evening.

However, Sylvain's attention was completely diverted: "Have you forgotten about low-level magic? I'll go and copy down the spells right now. They're long and complicated; I rewrote quite a bit of them last year..."

Veris: ...

“No, I don’t need this.” He interrupted Sylvain, indicating his refusal. “This was just an accident.”

Sylvain looked worried: "Once something happens, it can't be defined as an accident. I'd better stay with you..."

Veris refused decisively this time: "No, you're going back to the Papacy in a bit."

A thin mist instantly enveloped those forest-like eyes, and Sylvain's low voice rang out: "I understand, Father."

The focus is clearly on the new generation of heroes, so why has the topic veered off to Sylvain and then come up with him again? Veris felt a slight ache in his temples.

But after raising children for so many years, he also knew that Sylvain's various displays of weakness were actually... not worth paying too much attention to.

His expression was serious: "When you get back, contact the astrologer and see if the hero's destiny star array has changed. I suspect he suddenly became the hero."

Judging from Arnold's age, the previous hero was still alive when he was born, which is absolutely contradictory.

It is impossible for two heroes to emerge in the same era, even if the previous generation is on the verge of death.

A shadow of gloom flashed across Veris's eyes. The appearance of a new generation of heroes often meant that humans and demons were about to go to war again.

Sylvain lowered his eyes and said softly, "I know. Are you going to go with him?"

"It depends," Veris said calmly.

The Holy Son, standing on the other side of the table, suddenly looked up, seemingly surprised that he actually intended to follow the Hero, even though Veris had only given an ambiguous answer. But once Veris had this idea, it meant that he would not stay in Albion any longer.

"Knock, knock, knock," a knocking sound suddenly rang out. Veris turned to look at the tightly closed door and stood up.

"Someone is coming. You should return to the Papacy first."

Sylvain lowered his head and replied "Yes." A light golden magic circle appeared beside him as he spoke, and his expression turned cold the moment he stepped into the circle.

Even through the barrier and the wooden door, he could feel a familiar aura emanating from Veris—the lingering, nauseating aura of the hero.

With Sylvain gone, the attic returned to darkness. Veris ignored it and easily reached the door, then opened it and looked at the brave young man outside.

"Is there something you need?"

A smile appeared on his face.

Arnold was a little nervous, and upon seeing him, he immediately bowed deeply, saying that the questions he had asked in the evening were not intentional.

Veris said gently, "It's alright, many people have been curious about my eyes."

The brave young man's eyes instantly welled up with tears, and he exclaimed, "Poet, you are such a kind and good person!!"

“Mr. Quirk also asked me to tell you that the tavern opens tomorrow, so you should remember to come to work.” As he said this, his tone softened again.

Because the smile on Veris's face disappeared again.

Veris took a slight breath: "Is there any progress in the investigation of the murder?"

Arnold nodded, then shook his head: "Mr. Quake said there's been new progress on the priest's side. The murderer is probably the apothecary in town. The mercenaries have already gone there, and the tavern can open tomorrow."

"Okay, I understand. You should head back early too," Veris said, seeing him off.

The small wooden door closed, and Arnold's eyesight was quite good. Although Veris's figure occupied most of the space and the background was still a dim darkness, he could still see the piles of books and scrolls in the attic just from the light shining through the moonlight outside.

And when Veris opened the door, the smell of ink and the scent of books wafted out.

"The poet must be a very learned man," Arnold thought to himself. He walked along the path back to the Mercenary Guild, where the lights were still on in the small buildings on both sides. It was the exception that Veris's buildings turned off their lights at night.

But as he said, he was a poor poet who didn't know how to save money. He would enjoy himself as soon as he received his salary, and it would be strange if the lights in his attic were on all night long.

Another important reason is that Veris spent most of his nights working at the tavern during the month.

I advise you to stay away from him.

The sudden voice in his head startled Arnold, and he instinctively asked, "Why?"

The voice was more somber than ever before: "If you want to defeat the Demon King, don't deal with him."

Arnold's curiosity was completely piqued, but no matter how much he pressed for answers, the voice in his mind never reappeared.

Across the street is the Mercenary Guild. The main door on the first floor is wide open. The mercenaries who haven't rested yet have all been taken by the mayor to surround the murderer's house, which is now empty.

The blond boy stood in the shadows. He reached out and pulled out the black rope around his neck. His fingers pinched the dark red stone tied to the end. There was no change on it; it was exactly the same as when he had first tied it on.

He pondered for a moment, then strode toward the Mercenary Association, his face once again displaying the same bright smile as during the day.

Since he wouldn't tell him, he might as well go with the poet tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Veris was completely unaware that he was about to be entangled. After closing the attic door, he returned to his table and sat down. He had to go to work tomorrow, but he had been so busy wandering around these past few days that he hadn't written any new poems. He decided to catch up on his work tonight.

Damn, my wonderful holiday is over so fast. I should have slept in longer. Veris sighed.

The darkness had no effect on him. He picked up his quill, filled it with ink, and spread out a sheet of paper.

What should I write about?

Let's write Amberley's story instead. It's a bit old-fashioned, but if we write something different, the audience will definitely love to hear it.

Veris's eyes flickered slightly, and the dark red gem he had seen earlier that day—the one around the neck of the young hero—suddenly came to mind.

If he wasn't mistaken—

The pen tip rested on the paper, and Veris's overly ornate handwriting fell.

"Amberley, not far from Albion,"

“There is a whole mountain range,”

"After crossing the stream and going over the hillside, you can see the undulating silhouette of the mountains,"

"There lies the treasure of the gods from a hundred years ago,"

“And the ruins of demons,”

"Adventurers, do not set foot there lightly,"

"You will have your ears pecked off by an eagle and your heart bitten away by a snake,"

"You will also see the eyes of the gods..."

Veris acted quickly, and a series of verses were soon written down. The legend of the Amberi Demon Mountains spread widely in the southern part of the continent, attracting countless mercenaries and adventurers who were trying to find ancient treasures or join forces to hunt high-level magical beasts and sell them for a good price.

The history of the entire continent is divided into two periods, with the founding of Lortheran as the dividing line. Before Lortheran was the era of the Seven Great Gods. After the gods fell, the ancestors of all races also perished one after another, including the elves, dwarves, dragons, and demons, none of whom were spared.

The ancestors of the demon race, the demons, died in the Amber Mountains in legend. Their corpses transformed into the ruins of the demons, giving birth to countless magical beasts. The Amber Mountains are also the place with the most magical beasts besides the Central Great Forest.

Legends about the ruins of demons are not uncommon in the southern part of the continent, and have spawned countless versions, each with a slightly different version told by a bard.

Simply mentioning the ruins of a demon is not enough to convince anyone.

Veris wrote for four whole pages before stopping. While waiting for the ink to dry, he gazed at the dark attic, where he couldn't remember how many books were piled up, or what they contained—it was all stored in his mind.

Few people know that the ruins of the demon also bury the eyes of the legendary gods.

As the first ancestor of his race to die, the demon was defeated in battle, and the terrible magic shattered the land after his body fell. Although it was later repaired by the god of the earth, it also formed the twisted terrain deep in the Amberley Mountains.

Deep within the mountains teeming with monsters, perhaps the ruins of demons truly lie.

However, one thing is certain: the Eye of God definitely exists.

and--

It has already been obtained by someone else.

A note from the author:

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The hero's personal old man (?)

Little Wei, who writes diligently [starry-eyed]

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