Chapter 180: Obvious

Nova watched the changes in expression on the brown-haired young man's face expressionlessly. Few people could keep secrets under his gaze, no matter whether it was "voluntary" or not.

Extreme shock mingled with solemnity, but not to the point of panic. Besides his personality, this level of misjudgment was still within the other party's acceptable range—why? Why did he have the confidence to believe that the arrival of a Lord's Prayer-class warlock and a group of powerful additional combatants would still not cause a devastating blow to their plans?

Another point is, how does Greven plan to solve the problem of the black blood mark of slaves throughout Hong Kong?

If slaves disobeyed, the searing pain caused by the Black Blood Mark would render them worse than death. Furthermore, the authority to exercise this mark wasn't limited to just one or a few individuals; it could be freely transferred. In other words, all the "higher classes" in the port, and even the wealthier commoners, were slave owners who needed to be rebelled against.

According to a certain savior, "the wind told him" that Talon had gone to the Temple of Night. It is not ruled out that the other party was deliberately deflecting trouble, but combined with the information he asked Ole Asachi to investigate, the always mysterious Temple of Night was also involved.

With this information, it was truly worth pondering. Numerous previous speculations were rapidly denied and overturned in Nova's mind, and the final correct answer gradually became clear.

"Mr. Ghost, thank you very much for the information you brought."

Greven thanked him gently and distantly. He had come to know him these past few days as a steady and thoughtful man, a stark contrast to the silent and brutal general of his previous life.

But Nova didn't expect to become a close friend within a few days, given his personality. First, he had concealed his identity, and whether he would reveal it remained to be seen. Second, this wasn't his forte—a tyrant was more accustomed to using a chilling analysis to shatter any arrogance, then using various threats and inducements to coerce others into following his prescribed path, becoming his docile pawns.

In other words, he doesn't know how to coax people.

After a few days, Maxine had become quite comfortable with the group. He had seen her several times sneaking into the boiler room where Ashes was located with cheap alcohol, knocking down the guards, and then drinking happily with the slaves. This was a sign of talent, so Nova simply quietly fostered the opportunity for cooperation between the two parties.

Perhaps Azuka could do the same, but he was too clingy and seemed to have no intention of interfering with his power and territory, as if he were isolated from this world. Aside from a few particularly important anchors, such as his tribe, friends, and his "object of pursuit," and his intense desire for revenge to find the truth and avenge the gods, he actually didn't care about many things that ordinary people would care about.

His intuition told him that within this perfect shell of gentleness and friendliness, this person had a strange, quietly spreading madness - but he himself accepted this well and believed that he was normal, so he could not let him go for too long.

Fortunately, although this man appears to be indifferent to worldly fame, wealth and power, the "savior" qualities engraved in his bones still make him express sadness and compassion for the poor and weak, and sarcasm and disgust towards injustice. This neutralizes the other party's indifferent "divinity" and makes Nova believe that, at least for now, this "God of Resistance and Change" will never become hateful because of his identity as a god. He is just... retired, like a hero who died in an epic poem summoned from Valhalla.

"...Mr. Ghost?"

Nova came back to his senses and met Greven's inquiring gaze. He had been distracted during a serious matter, and someone had noticed. The black-haired young man frowned almost imperceptibly and scolded himself in his heart.

"It's just a normal cooperation. You don't need to thank me." He said calmly, "I just hope you can pass this news on to your real partner. Duke Kamu must have a sorcerer proficient in magic circles."

Who could possibly help them resist such a widespread Black Blood Mark? After discussing this with the two warlocks in the group, Nova had only one option: a forbidden magic circle, one large enough to encompass the entire Port Morris. Such a large-scale circle would likely require three lords or a saint-level warlock to complete.

There is a saint in the open in Port Morris at this moment.

Greven was silent for a moment, then suddenly felt the urge to smile wryly—he suspected nothing could be hidden from this man. The dark-haired young man before him was still young, yet possessed a razor-sharp, almost horrifying, acumen and intelligence. His demeanor revealed a well-educated background. Why would such a brilliant young man come to the Crimson Bazaar, concealing his identity and associating with a bunch of filthy, lowly slaves?

Although their attitude towards these slaves was cold, it lacked the condescending disgust and disdain. Greven had seen this kind of emotion so often in the eyes of those important figures that he could not fail to distinguish it.

He helped them determine the distribution of troops in the Gold Market, provided valuable intelligence, and even offered a few casual pointers, helping Zhuona, the rescued Daba girl, track down the remaining eight Daba people, whose fate was unknown after they had been sold by slave traders. This included their companion, the red-haired girl, who was surprisingly kind, even the usually defensive Ashes couldn't help but praise her profusely.

...It's a terrifying ability, but it only does good things. Including now, suddenly appearing, saving him, exposing his past, healing his injuries, and then standing in front of him in a daze.

Warriors always rely on their intuition. Greven vaguely felt that the other party didn't seem to be a bad person. Maybe he just... uh, had a weird temper. He couldn't help but feel a little curious about life.

Greven had seen many people with strange tempers. The precarious, bloody and cruel life had forced many slaves to become particularly numb and eccentric, but he was still able to make these slaves trust him, to make them believe in the tiny hope that could disappear at any time in a future overwhelmed by despair.

"I wish you could tell us the true nature of our cooperation," the brown-haired young man suddenly whispered, "You're helping us, yet only accepting a pittance in return. That's illogical."

The other party narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at him calmly, his expression a bit like... a vigilant cat?

"The Temple of Night," Greven replied calmly, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "The force assisting us is the Temple of Night."

——Why not exchange trust for information that will be discovered sooner or later? And the ghost gentleman didn't seem surprised, maybe he knew it a long time ago.

"I advise you to stay vigilant against the Temple of Night." The black-haired young man looked at him mysteriously, and the words that came out of his mouth were not pleasant.

"Of course I understand. If they had nothing else to gain, why would those powerful figures come to help a bunch of lowly slaves struggling to survive?" Greven wasn't angry. He just sighed and smiled wryly. "But we slaves, who might die tomorrow, have nothing. What is there to fear? We have no choice but to keep moving forward blindly, wishful thinking. No one knows if these feeble struggles have any meaning."

He was showing kindness, but he was also revealing vulnerability.

"Nothing? No, the resistance of slaves is itself an invaluable value. You are doing the right thing."

Greven was startled. Those smoky gray eyes seemed to penetrate his thoughts. There was an inexplicable, resolute certainty in his words, as if he had seen the distant future. "Besides, 'having nothing' means you can 'do anything,' and 'no choice' means the other party has 'no choice' either. Conflict breeds struggle, which is the driving force and condition for the development of events. Although the process may be long and tortuous, there is no need to underestimate yourself."

"...You are very good at comforting people." Greven couldn't help but murmur, and the inexplicable sense of familiarity made him subconsciously breathe lighter.

"It's not consolation, it's the truth." The black-haired young man glanced at him coldly: "I won't make any emotional judgments, not to mention that I want you to succeed."

...and also very arbitrary.

"Your words remind me of a great scholar." The brown-haired young man suddenly couldn't help but whisper, "I wonder if you've ever read a newspaper called 'The People's Daily'?"

“…”

"Perhaps you've heard of, or read the works of, Mr. Nova, the editor-in-chief of the 'People's Daily.'" Under the starry sky, Greven gazed earnestly at the dark-haired young man's face—a pale, youthful face devoid of emotion. "He speaks for the poor, for the slaves, for... the 'oppressed and exploited.' Everyone likes him."

"…But he was sentenced to death by the Vatican, imprisoned in the Inquisition, and never appeared in public again."

The brown-haired young man's voice gradually deepened. "Many people say that the signed articles still being updated in the Limin Daily are just his only remaining manuscripts, published by his students. He died under the torture of the Judge long ago, but the Vatican dared not disclose his death."

Greven looked carefully into those smoky gray eyes and asked softly, word by word, "Tell me, is Mr. Nova still alive?"

"I am just a slave now." The other party emphasized again and again with an expressionless face.

"...I see." Greven closed his eyes in disappointment. It seemed his intuition had been wrong—yes, that man was just an ordinary person, but why would he escape the Inquisition and come to Port Morris for no apparent reason?

"But if you want to know how I became a slave," the other party suddenly spoke again, his smoky gray eyes so clear that they seemed to be glowing in the starlight.

"—Because I'm a fugitive on death row."