Chapter 31
If the Hero Squad hadn't also been in Mercury City, Veris might never have made the trip himself.
The Duke's rebellion and the rebellious mages, no matter how powerful their methods, can be dealt with by sending a Grand Mage, in conjunction with the support of Milford City.
When Sylvain saw Veris's reply while he was at the Papacy, he knew that Veris was about to make his move.
...Even those maggot-like creatures could alarm him.
He gripped the scroll, veins bulging on the back of his hand, his fingertips turning pale.
There is only one possibility: to clear the way for the brave team and those people.
The noise downstairs reached his ears. He stared at the stiff smile on Veris's face. In his blurry peripheral vision, he saw the hero and the dragon descendant walking over. The blond boy was shouting something that made him feel nauseous.
Veris sighed, turned around, looked at the two people walking towards them, and smiled: "What a coincidence."
"It really is you! Veris, what are you doing here?" Arnold clenched his fist, his face full of surprise.
"A poet? That's not unusual anywhere," Veris replied dismissively.
Arnold blinked, quickly accepting the explanation. His attention was soon drawn to the young man staring at him with cold eyes: "Is this your friend?"
Veris, who had been smiling, couldn't help but twitch his facial muscles. Why did this idiot have to bring up such a sore spot? He had finally managed to subtly bring up topics about fathers and friends with Sylvain, and although Sylvain didn't seem to be very receptive, at least he had made a start.
How should I put it?
"This is my friend—"
"haven't seen you for a long time."
Alan suddenly spoke up, raising his hand and placing it on Arnold's shoulder, who had stepped ahead of him, a harmless smile on his face: "Sylvain."
Sylvain's cold gaze fell on this former mercenary of Albion, and he grunted in response.
Arnold was confused. He looked at Allen, who had followed him, and asked, "Hey? Allen, you two know each other?"
“This is Veris’s… child.” Allen paused, then said with a smile.
"ah?!"
Arnold looked horrified, turning to look at Veris, whose smile had vanished, then at Sylvain, whose face was grim. The two sat facing each other, and their relationship certainly seemed close, but, but—
He suddenly remembered that Allen had told him before that Veris was not as young as he appeared; at least ten years ago, Veris already looked like this.
But isn't Veris a bard? And in all the time he's been in Albion, I haven't heard of him getting married or having children.
The silver-haired youth looked to be about the same age as Allen. According to the timeline Allen mentioned, he must have been born before Veris came to Albion. But as a bard, Veris must have been a wanderer before living in Albion for a long time, right?
Did she actually have a child while she was homeless?
That's too, too dissolute!
Arnold's gaze gradually became unfocused as he looked at Veris with a sense of impending doom. Finally, he clenched his fist in deep sorrow, lost in some random, chaotic thoughts.
His eyes held a mixture of condemnation, admiration, deep respect, and even a sigh.
Veris felt his fist harden, and he looked at Allen with a forced smile: "Allen, you can't just say things like that."
"Haha, he's just an adopted son, isn't he still your child?" Allen still had a harmless smile on his face. Perhaps it was because they were in a public place, or perhaps it was because there was a hero standing next to him, but he looked like he was determined to take revenge on Veris for scaring him earlier.
Arnold breathed a sigh of relief: "I see. I knew it. Veris was even more shameless than I thought—"
Veris: "?"
"Hello!"
This idiot hero must have gotten his brain messed up from following Allen around all the time!
Just then, the waiter brought up a steaming hot dinner and, seeing Arnold and Allen standing in the aisle, asked in surprise, "Aren't you two going to find a place to sit down?"
Arnold quickly pulled Allen to sit down at an empty table and chairs nearby, with Veris and the others sitting diagonally opposite them.
The waiter placed the two dinners on Veris's table and then left with the trays.
The vegetable soup was still steaming hot, and the main dish was roasted meat with a crispy, charred crust glistening with hot oil. It was cut into small pieces and served with two slices of bread.
Veris glanced at the expression on the other person's face. Sylvain was eating silently, his movements were very graceful. Having been in the Papacy for so long, his manners were already first-rate.
With her long, silvery-white hair and green eyes, her overall demeanor seemed completely out of place here.
Arnold's hushed voice could still be heard coming from the table behind him.
"Really? Veris can actually raise children?"
Allen: "Sylvain rarely comes out, but I've seen him go to the tavern to wait for Veris to go back together."
Arnold: "But I've never seen him in town."
Allen: "He left town a few years ago, so of course you haven't seen him." Arnold has only been in Albion for a short time.
"He looks terrifying."
Allen comforted him, "It's okay, I can't beat them anyway, so we can just take the beating together."
Arnold: ? ? ?
Allen glanced at Veris again. He didn't know where Sylvain had gone, but judging from the man's demeanor, he was definitely not from an ordinary place.
Moreover, he was raised by Veris... In Albion, Sylvan was actually not very noticeable, and Veris was intentionally trying to diminish Sylvan's presence.
Allen wasn't sure what Veris's true identity was, but he felt that Veris either came from the legendary Royal Academy or some other force.
Moreover, Veris is also very strong, having been able to easily defeat Keith. It's just unclear why he's willing to stay in Albion for so long; ten years is not a short time for an ordinary person.
Allen looked at Arnold across from him, his eyes flickered, and suddenly a thought struck him: Could it be that Veris has been in Albion for so long because of this hero in front of him?
The appearance of a hero is a big deal.
It's not impossible that he might have remained anonymous for many years in Albion, the path the hero must take, in order to wait for Arnold.
As for Sylvain, perhaps he was brought from within his own power base.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my face?" Arnold touched his cheek, puzzled, after being scrutinized by Allen's intense gaze.
Allen smiled and said, "It's nothing."
Arnold wasn't too bothered by Veris's matter. He remembered something else and muttered to his companion, "Speaking of which, where's Murphy? I was thinking of going to try and persuade him again."
He can't defeat the Demon King alone. He already has Allen in his team, but they still need many more people. With Murphy's outstanding talent, he will definitely become a pillar of the team.
Arnold was determined to get Murphy to join them.
Veris was eating absentmindedly, something seemed off.
He only breathed a sigh of relief after finishing the meal, paying the bill, and leaving the restaurant with Sylvain.
God knows how terrified he was that Arnold would come running over again and ask some random nonsense.
“You seem very reluctant to tell others about our relationship.” After walking a distance, Sylvain, who had been silent all along, finally spoke.
Veris turned his head and immediately denied it: "No, that's not it. Actually, you should really consider what I said."
Sylvain closed his eyes and simply said, "I know."
The evening breeze swept across the street, and the grocery store was about to close. Veris's eyes lit up, and without paying attention to the people around him, he quickly ran over and rushed inside before the owner got up to pack up.
He pointed to the shelf behind the counter and said what he wanted.
Some of the shops on both sides were already closed, while others still had their lights on. Not far ahead was a tavern, from which the aroma of wine wafted, accompanied by faint, intermittent strumming sounds. The flame on the lampstand in the general store flickered.
Sylvain stood at the entrance of the grocery store, watching Veris skillfully deal with the owner, carefully examining each item before placing it in a basket to the side.
That's it, he said to himself.
With things as they are now, what more could I ask for?
Whether for the sake of the hero or for that deceased best friend, as long as Veris has even a sliver of sincerity towards him, his flesh and blood will continue to linger, greedily drawing warmth from Veris's side that does not belong to him.
"Alright, alright, let's go back." Veris was in high spirits after successfully bargaining, and he came out carrying the basket, laughing with Sylvain.
Sylvain took the basket from him: "I'll do it."
“I’ll have someone organize the blank books later and I’ll go get them. There are also scrolls to write on. I’ll be writing magical materials all the time anyway, so I might as well get them all done at once…” The two walked forward, and Veris suddenly stopped talking.
It wasn't that he wanted to remain silent, but rather that a louder voice had overpowered his tone.
On the road ahead, a group of people emerged from the shops across the street, and then a fat figure was thrown out as well.
The fat man fell to the ground, his whole body covered in sores, trembling. His clothes looked expensive, but he didn't dare to get up and confront those people.
Veris narrowed his eyes and recognized the fat figure as the merchant who had set fire to the Mercenary Guild earlier.
The group of men looked burly and fierce, shouting curses. Seeing this, the surrounding shops closed their doors, not wanting to get involved.
A few heads peeked out from the tavern in front of them, peering curiously.
Veris stroked his chin, glanced at where the group had come from, and suddenly realized, "They're from the auction house."
"Look at that ugly face!"
"Damn Amberley water ghost, do you still dare to sell counterfeit goods?!"
"Even if we stripped all the money off him, it wouldn't be enough to cover our losses!"
"Ugh! What bad luck!"
The group kicked him several more times before finally walking arm in arm toward the auction house.
It was the back entrance of the auction house; no wonder the building was much taller and more imposing than the surrounding buildings.
The Amberley merchant was no longer the smug man he had been in Albion. He lay sprawled on the ground, only getting up after the crowd had receded into the distance. Seeing a group of people peering out from the tavern across the street, he forced himself to curse, "What are you all watching! You damned drunkards!"
One sentence enraged the onlookers in the tavern, and seven or eight people rushed out immediately. Seeing that things were not going well, the merchant turned around and tried to run away, but with his fat body and the beating he had already received, he could not run fast.
They were quickly overtaken. In recent days, the Duke's mansion had been taken over by the Royal Capital Vanguard, and there were fewer patrols by the guards in Mercury City, which was a period of uncontrolled operation.
The fat merchant was arrested yesterday by auction house staff for selling counterfeit goods, which resulted in a death. He was tortured for a day, and only learned this morning that his backer, Keith, had been killed by the church.
But he was used to being arrogant and domineering. When he saw those people rushing over, he didn't think about the patrolling police officers in the city. He was sure that when the patrolling guards came, they would arrest these damned drunkards and put them in jail.
Even after being beaten, he still kept shouting and yelling.
But as time passed, the sounds of armor clashing and orderly footsteps that he had imagined never came, and he realized something was wrong.
"Aren't you drunkards afraid of being arrested and sent to prison?!" he shouted, clutching his head.
One of the drunkards vomited on him: "You're still hoping the guards will save you! All those gentlemen were killed last night, not a single one spared, you Amberley water ghosts!"
Half of Amberley is bordered by the sea, and merchants from Amberley who commit crimes or get into disputes are often called Amberley water ghosts by the Mercurians.
After watching the commotion, Veris looked away and said to Sylvain, "This guy went to Albion before and had some friction with Webster. Do you remember Webster? He was there when they tested magical talent."
Sylvain followed him forward, paused upon hearing this, and then said, "I don't remember."
"Haha, Webster will be heartbroken if he finds out."
As Veris walked forward, he suddenly remembered something. The merchant had said he wanted to do something for Keith, but he didn't know the specifics. It didn't seem like anything important, so he didn't bother to look into the "secrets" hidden in Keith's mansion.
He turned his head and glanced at the auction house again. This time, his red eye flickered. Sylvain, seeing his movement, asked, "What's wrong?"
"Huh?"
Veris looked away; they had reached the corner and would soon turn it, leaving the auction house tower behind. Seeing that no one was around, he lowered his voice and leaned closer to Sylvain, saying:
"There seems to be the aura of demonic artifacts in the auction house."
“Mercury is far from the Demon Forest, so it’s not impossible for them to go south from the port of Daventry,” Sylvain said after a moment of thought.
Veris looked at him and smiled, but didn't say anything.
"Although the Demon King is still asleep, the seven guardians in the abyss beneath the Demon King's Forest are still ensuring the normal operation of the Demon King's City." Sylvan met those smiling eyes, his words faltering slightly, "...Is it a very powerful demonic artifact?"
Veris turned his head and finally continued walking towards the new house, his tone carrying a subtle smile: "Whether it's powerful or not doesn't matter, the main thing is that the thing is quite old."
He stroked his chin, in a good mood: "It should be something from the era of the Seven Great Gods. I didn't expect there to be something like this in the Demon King's Forest. Maybe I should find some time to go there."
"And to be precise, it's not even considered a demon's thing."
Moonlight bathed the street, casting long shadows of the two men. Sylvain looked ahead, slowing his pace slightly, and Veris was ahead of him again.
Just ahead is their new home.
He carried the basket of odds and ends in one hand, the woven rattan handle digging into his palm, while Veris continued to cheerfully discuss tomorrow's plans.
If it's not from the demon race, then it must belong to another race.
Something from the era of the Seven Great Gods... Sylvan clenched his fingers. The fact that Veris was so happy made him uncontrollably recall a being that had once appeared in his mind.
—Verissa, his deceased best friend.
"Is it related to your former friends?" Sylvain's tone softened as he asked softly.
They had arrived at their new home. As Veris opened the gate to the yard, he replied, "Probably. We'll have to go to the auction house tomorrow and see the actual items before we can be sure."
He hadn't used his right eye in a long time; he had only used it to look at things earlier because he was worried that what Keith had left behind would harm more people.
I never expected such a pleasant surprise.
The attic was pitch black. Veris waved his hand, and a golden flame flew from his fingertip, instantly illuminating the area it passed through as if it were daytime, leaving a glowing trail on the ceiling.
“This is the reconstruction magic,” Veris said as he walked inside. “By combining the two basic magic spells, ‘fire’ and ‘light’, we can create ‘light flames,’ which are very advantageous for killing demonic creatures.”
At this point, Veris simply felt that the "flame of light" was a suitable replacement for the lampstand.
For ordinary magicians, reconstructing the "Flame of Light" requires the medium of magical incantations.
That is, the power of language and writing.
He took the basket from Sylvain's hand, intending to go upstairs to make some arrangements. Standing at the top of the stairs, he smiled at the people and said, "Why don't you go and take a look at my notes first? The pen and ink are all in my trunk."
After saying that, he ran upstairs.
Only after the figure had completely disappeared down the stairs did Sylvain turn his gaze away and head deeper into the inner hall.
The books were still piled up in the corner. He stood in front of the messy books, squatted down, and picked one up and opened it.
While in Albion, Veris was still wary of strangers entering the attic, so the books were completely blank.
But now, those yellowed pages are filled with Veris's dense handwriting.
Perhaps to remind himself, Veris left the title page blank, only indicating the grade of the magic record, such as first-tier magic record, second-tier magic record.
But there were still many that even he couldn't decide on, so the label on the title page changed to: relatively simple, somewhat difficult, suitable for geniuses...
The task of simplifying the complex was enormous. Veris had been researching it intermittently for decades, limiting the scope to magic up to the seventh tier. Magic books after the seventh tier tended to be simpler, so there was no need to put too much effort into them.
In the magic books compiled by the church, there is a category for collecting magic spells, which contains as many as 50,000 spells, ranging from magic apprentices to seventh-level magicians. The lower the level of the spell, the longer it is, and some can even take up an entire page.
Sylvain hung his head and set aside the books whose titles were marked with their grade. Some of the books were too old, and sometimes the attic was damp, so the writing had become blurry. The quality of the paper was not good to begin with, so they needed to be placed carefully.
Veris's poor placement also bears a large part of the responsibility.
Another tattered-looking book was pulled out from the bottom. Sylvain carefully opened the title page. It was a record of third-tier magic. His gaze paused, and he changed the angle of the book. He saw a folded piece of paper in the interlocking pages.
He pursed his lips, pulled out the paper, placed the book aside, and looked down at the folded paper in his hand.
Some ink blew through the back of the paper, revealing neat and orderly writing, completely different from densely packed notes.
Sylvain's eyelashes trembled slightly. Veris hadn't come down yet; he was probably washing up.
He pursed his lips, his heart pounding a little, and opened the paper.
The first thing that catches the eye is a date. Veris, who studies magic or something else, doesn't have the habit of recording dates. If he were writing poetry, he might have noted the date along with it.
In addition, when recording major events that needed to be kept in the Papacy, he would write the date on them.
The content on the paper is not it.
Orlando calendar: Year xx, winter.
The stars changed again, and I suspected that the heavens were lying to me. I wandered around Albion and Amberley for a long time but couldn't find anyone.
On the fifth day of cursing God, I went to the Amberley Mountains again. It was very cold, the villagers wouldn't go into the mountains, and the mercenaries had also suspended their hunting activities. The mountains were quiet.
I said, my good friend who's dead, if you have any pity for me, an old man still wandering around here, then let me catch you soon.
Fortunately, I didn't leave empty-handed this time. Guided by the remaining traces, I circled half a mountain range and finally found him in a small town.
How pitiful, so pitiful, even more pitiful than when we first met.
You can continue calling him Sylvain.
Sylvain clutched the paper, feeling as if his blood had frozen. Distant memories struggled to resurface. He lowered his head, his silver hair reflecting a beautiful luster under the brilliant flames above.
He closed his green eyes in a fluster, and with trembling fingers folded the yellowed paper, but did not put it back into the notebook.
A bard arrived in the town; he was handsome and could chat with anyone.
This had nothing to do with Sylvain. He went to work at the blacksmith's shop as usual, and then at other shops. The malnourished child couldn't do heavy work. It was very cold, and he planned to spend the winter there before leaving.
He was a homeless child; he had no name, and the bosses simply called him "Little devil."
Being too good-looking can bring endless trouble. Sylvain made himself look slovenly, his face was always dusty, and his eyes were full of vigilance, like a hedgehog with its quills raised.
One day, as the sun was setting, the bard stopped him and said with a smile, "Would you like to come with me?"
At that time, he was falsely accused of stealing by the blacksmith's son and was kicked out.
This wasn't the first time the bard had spoken to him, but he sensed ill intentions and remained cold and indifferent.
But this time, he looked up at the nonchalant poet and smiled mockingly: "You can't even support yourself, where are you taking me?"
The poet raised an eyebrow, his smile becoming even more genuine. He crouched down to meet Sylvain's gaze, his voice clear: "Don't worry, I will give you the best things in the world."
He was all alone, and usually looked disheveled. He couldn't understand what the poet was after.
Forget it, at worst we can just run away. This guy looks thin, he probably can't run fast.
The poet took him away that very night. He was responsible for carrying the zither that the poet had brought. The man led him to the outskirts of the town, took his hand, and drew a line on the ground with his hand.
In the pitch-black night, the cold wind stung his cheeks, but he couldn't care less. What caught his eye was a beautiful and magnificent light gold magic circle, with countless magical elements dancing in the air, wanting to approach the poet, yet afraid of something.
The moon overhead no longer seemed lonely and cold. The poet's fingers were warm. He turned around with a smile and said, "Don't you have a name? Then you can be called Sylvain."
Sylvan, Sylvan, Sylvan—
He could barely breathe, his face was deathly pale, and he forced a grotesque smile.
I see.
Even this name is not unique to him, but belongs to someone who has long since died.
Those two sincere feelings also developed spiderweb-like cracks. For seven years, Veris called that name affectionately time and time again, but what he was thinking of was the real Sylvain, who had died hundreds of years ago.
His eerie green eyes were filled with a chilling light, and Sylvain clenched his fists.
Now that he knew that person's name, he was no longer wandering aimlessly. He didn't believe that there wasn't a single word about that person in the ancient books of the Papacy, the Royal Academy, and the Royal Treasury.
He wanted to see what kind of person Veris could still remember after hundreds of years, even after his ashes had turned to dust.
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Author's Note: So much nutrient solution! [Let me see!] Thank you everyone, random little red envelopes will be given out~
Sylvain's corruption progress bar is related to the main storyline.
I don't plan to go into detail about the Seven Gods era.
So I made a little skit [dog head holding a rose] and included some related settings in it.
【The Seven Mysteries Part 1】
From a human perspective, Sylvain is actually Veris's elder.
However, Veris was unhappy that Sylvain was his elder and refused to acknowledge it, even making Sylvain call him "brother" in a wicked way.
Sylvain didn't understand, but he did as he was told.
He's happy if Veris is happy.
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