Chapter 35
Veris gave himself fifteen days, or half a month.
The task was to complete the revision and multiple trials of the church's publication of all magicians' hymns, to compose new hymns for the church's choir for the next quarter, and finally to document and archive the events involving Mercury.
His record was certainly not as superficial as that of the mission; his most important contribution was deconstructing Keith's magical anomalies and tracing their origins.
In comparison, writing the hundreds of scrolls required by the Papacy was the easiest task.
Fortunately, the hero team did not bother them for many days afterward.
Veris still maintained his old habit of going out to explore, but Mercury City was too big, and it was a long way from their house to the outside of the city, and Veris was unwilling to use the teleportation array.
After all, it's hard to explain if someone else discovers the teleportation array.
So he went to the house’s own flower garden instead. It was a bit small, but being surrounded by plants still made him feel happy.
Large swaths of fiery clouds spread across the sky, the evening breeze rustled through the flowerbeds, and the strings of the lute were plucked by slender fingers, a series of ethereal notes flowing from the fingertips. The poet sat in a rocking chair, eyes downcast, holding the lute.
He played a short piece, then stopped, frowning in thought.
The new poem has been completed today, but Veris hopes to create the corresponding score with it.
The golden-red rays of the sunset fell upon the earth, turning the young man's figure orange-red. The intermittent syllables rang out, but the young man was never satisfied.
"Is it a problem with the instrument?" he muttered to himself. The church choir's instruments certainly didn't include the lute; perhaps he should get a different instrument.
However, he didn't rush to change instruments. Instead, he plucked the strings a few more times and played a cheerful tune.
As the evening breeze grew cooler, the fiery clouds were swallowed by darkness, and the sky returned to a deep blue, like a deep sea overturned.
The attic was brightly lit, as bright as day.
A figure emerged from the doorway and stood behind the poet, looking down at him. The lute was expensive, and Veris rarely used it in Albion's tavern. At this moment, his fingers flew across the strings, and the tune that reached Sylvain's ears was unknown—to the general public.
Veris did not name the piece, but he would play it if the poem being performed was joyful or if it reached a pleasant part.
These light and cheerful notes, played on the lute, carried an inexplicable melancholy as night was falling.
The music suddenly took a sharp turn, and the slender fingers pressed on the strings, almost becoming afterimages.
The rapid syllables brought the audience's emotions to a climax.
It also puts the player's skills to the test. The complex and disordered notes require the player to be extremely familiar with the score. If even a single note is missed, the performance will be greatly diminished.
The poet's body trembled slightly from the rapid playing.
When performing in the tavern, the singer's fingers fly across the strings while reciting verses of varying lengths. Even the most absent-minded customers will be drawn to the scene. Those drinking will forget to raise their glasses, those chatting will forget to continue the next line, and even the waiters tidying up the counter will find themselves glancing over frequently.
The profession of bard was new to Veris, and he demanded of himself to do everything within his power, including this profession that was traditionally not valued by people.
Finally, the piece ended. Without looking up, Veris stroked the delicate strings and asked indifferently, "What is it?"
Sylvain paused for a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts.
Veris wasn't in a hurry. After a while, Sylvain finally said in a calm tone, "Something has happened to the Elven race."
"Hmm?" What could possibly be something that could be reported to him?
Sylvain: "The elven holy descendant is a fake. During the coming-of-age ceremony, the elven mother tree refused to acknowledge his bloodline. After the truth came out, the elven king was furious and arrested the holy descendant."
Veris looked up, feeling a throbbing sensation on his forehead: "Wasn't the selection of the Holy Bloodline confirmed by the Elven Mother Tree from the very beginning? And how come no one noticed the annual Great Baptism?"
The Holy Descendant of the Elven race is equivalent to the crown prince of the human royal family, the next Elven King.
Sylvain continued, "The three elders in charge of the Great Baptism are the masterminds."
"After receiving the news, Bishop Finney used the teleportation array to rush back to the Elven race overnight. There was internal strife there, but fortunately he returned in time, and things have now stabilized."
"They are only true descendants of the saints. According to their confession, they abandoned it as early as fifteen years ago. The location is roughly in the area near Milford City border in Lortheran."
Veris was puzzled: "Why are they doing these things?" The interests of the elves are intertwined. Doing this would cause internal strife and disrupt the elven tradition. Aren't those three elders elves?
Sylvain shook his head: "Bishop Finney said he suspects they have been corrupted by the undead."
He watched as the person holding the lute stood up and walked into the house, and followed, listening to the other person's slightly irritated voice: "Since when did the undead have such abilities? Although the Elven Mother Tree is old, it is still one of the purest and most sacred objects in the world. Can't it even distinguish the undead?"
Veris said coldly, "Things are not that simple. If we continue to investigate, we will also investigate the Elf King."
"yes."
The elves reside in the north, at the border of Lor'theran and Salem. The elven forests are fraught with taboos and have always refused unauthorized entry by other races.
The birth of a Holy Child must be through the Spirit Mother Tree; if the Holy Child dies, the Spirit Mother Tree will also change.
The whole thing seemed absurd to Veris, and he couldn't help but wonder if the elves had been living in seclusion for too long, and their minds had degenerated to the level of primitive gods.
The progenitor spirits were said to be so angry that they could be resurrected from the dead.
Dinner was again prepared by the Papacy. Veris didn't want to waste time preparing the food. The inner hall had been rearranged, and Sylvain arranged the plates in order, but Veris's displeasure was still obvious.
The plates rubbed together, making a soft sound. Sylvain said quietly, "The Elf King requests that the power of the Church be used to find the true descendant of the Holy One as soon as possible."
Veris frowned: "How did they conceal the appearance of the Holy Ones? The features of the Elves are quite obvious."
"The elder said it was forbidden magic, but the highest-ranking mage in the Elven race is only at the seventh rank." Elves have a natural affinity for wood-attribute magic elements, so many elves choose to become mages, and many also learn archery, and their archery skills are extremely outstanding.
Sylvain continued, "The Elf King said he was willing to offer the second Elf King's bow to the Pope."
The Second Generation Elf King is the third generation of elves after the Primordial Elf; the Second Generation Elf is the same as the First Generation Elf King.
Veris waved his hand: "What would I need that for..." He said, then, as if remembering something, looked at Sylvain, "Do you want it?"
Sylvain looked at him with a faint smile: "What if I wanted to?"
“Then just agree. Anyway, it’s a big deal. Finding a kid is nothing.” Veristho said, poking at a piece of steak with his fork between his fingers. “If you want it, I’ll give it to you later.”
The Pope's eyes and ears are everywhere the faith reaches, and that's no joke.
Those elves even knew to throw the Holy Descendant far away, probably because they've been secretly watching over him all these years. If the Holy Descendant died halfway through while the imposter was still alive, it would be really hard to explain.
Lortheran is near the border of Milford Sound... Isn't Milford Sound the next place the heroes are headed for?
Veris suddenly frowned. Sylvain pushed a plate of cut roast meat in front of him. He absentmindedly poked a piece and put it in his mouth. The rich aroma of spices and roasted meat instantly filled his mouth.
The new poem has been written, and the analysis and recording of Keith's magic was completed on the third day. Now, only the experimentation with the new spellbook remains.
"Have Arnold and the others left?" He put down his fork and looked at Sylvain.
Sylvain paused for a moment before saying, "They left Mercury City this morning."
“You seem to care more than I do.” Veris raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t dwell on it. He just casually mentioned it before turning back to the matter of the elves. “Send Clark and Garcia over there. I don’t think Finney alone will be able to handle it.”
Clark and Garcia are among the five great mages of the Papacy, and both are ranked as archbishops. Although their strength is slightly weaker than the other two great mages, they are both extremely shrewd.
Before joining the High Vatican, Clark orchestrated the chaos in the Demon King Forest, was caught by Veris, and then cried and begged to follow Veris.
Garcia, a prince of the previous royal family, successfully seized the throne after a struggle with more than thirty brothers and sisters. After reigning for two years, he found it uninteresting and joined the High Church to focus on the study of magic.
Veris often called these two idiots because they were birds of a feather.
These two people also held positions at the Papacy: one was the pastry chef at the restaurant, and the other was the sous chef.
Since breaking through to the eighth rank of magician, the two good-for-nothings have stopped studying magic, canceled their courses at the Royal Capital Academy, and given up on missions altogether. They spend their days squatting in the restaurant researching food.
At first, Veris was quite pleased, thinking that perhaps his recipes could finally be updated.
He was not until the two men brought him a pot of an unknown liquid made of horned wheat and rosemary.
They confidently declared it was incredibly delicious.
Veris felt he shouldn't doubt it so easily, so he tried it with some skepticism.
Actually, the taste was normal, but he always felt something was off. Would a normal person drink this kind of stuff?
Before long, Veris found that the two of them were making him perfectly normal meals. The desserts were sweet and creamy, and the dishes were delicious and visually appealing. He would sit in the restaurant every day, enjoying the food and praising each other.
He remembered that Clark was a skinny guy when he first arrived at the Papacy.
As a former king, Garcia was a robust man with the physique of a standard warrior, capable of wielding a greatsword with one hand and fighting monsters without any problem.
How fat did they get afterward?!
Some of the strange papal recipes that Veris sang before came from these two gluttons.
Before these two people's brains are filled with fat, let's squeeze out their last bit of value.
He thought to himself expressionlessly.
"Should we go find that descendant of the saint ourselves?" Sylvain looked up at him.
"Let's finish organizing the spellbooks first. There aren't many left. We'll wait for them to send another message." Veris quickly made his decision.
Based on his previous observations of hero teams, he believed that the descendant of the saint would likely encounter Arnold and his group, and then naturally join the hero team.
In the past, he wouldn't have been so certain, but Arnold's appearance made things different. He used the most standard hero team to observe, which helped him avoid many unnecessary misunderstandings.
After dinner, Sylvain cleaned up the mess and continued with the remaining experiments in the magic book.
Veris stood in the study, where a map hung on the wall—a map of the continent of Icarus.
A pale gold magic circle floated in his palm, with many characters hanging from it. The Pope raised his right hand, his brows furrowed, and in an instant, countless pieces of information flooded into his mind.
A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, making his already pale face even paler.
Sylvain, who was comparing the spells to the incantation beside him, looked up worriedly but did not make a sound to disturb Veris.
After a long while, Veris exhaled a breath of stale air, gathered his right fingers together, and the magic circle dissipated. His voice was slightly hoarse as he said, "Found it."
The magical elements in the air trembled, and some dark magical elements gathered together, quickly forming a sphere that floated cautiously around Veris.
Veris tilted his head, raised his hand, and touched the black ball with his fingertip.
A thick fog emerged from the black sphere, covering an area no larger than the palm of your hand. On the third count, a crow with jet-black feathers appeared, its pupils as black as its feathers.
“The Elf Forest is far from Milford City, so the people there can’t get the news immediately. However, since the Holy Descendant’s coming-of-age ceremony has passed and they haven’t received any news from their clan, they will definitely take action.”
The crow perched on the back of Veris's hand, tilting its head, and remained silent.
In the border town of Lortheran, there was an ordinary family of six: a middle-aged couple raising four children, three of whom were biological and one adopted.
That family ran a simple business, barely making ends meet.
Because of poverty, the adopted child did not have a good life. He was often bullied by his brothers and sisters, and the couple would often scold him. Afterwards, they would pretend to be remorseful and give the adopted child benefits in front of the other children.
The children grew even more resentful.
Fifteen years have passed, and the adopted son is now only sixteen years old, even thinner and smaller than Arnold, with an unremarkable appearance. No one would guess that he has any connection with the elves.
Autumn is drawing to a close, the nights are falling earlier and earlier, and the cold molecules in the air are stirring.
The Christians have been staying at home for two days, and during these two days they have not stepped out of the door. They look dazed, and Mrs. Christian, holding her three children, always looks flustered.
Christian sat in the corner of the room, pacing anxiously. They whiled away the time like this, and before they knew it, it was dark again.
The adopted son, Carlo, was also locked in the storage room. The cramped room had only one small window. He stood on tiptoe and looked at the people on the street, only able to see their shoes and a pair of trousers.
The dust kicked up came in waves.
He didn't know what had happened. Had his adoptive father incurred debts? Was there going to be a war? Or had something major occurred in the city?
So hungry...
Night fell, and the storage room was pitch black except for a few rays of light coming through the small window. Carlo's legs began to ache and go numb, and he had to return to his bed—if a broken wooden plank could be considered a bed.
The shadow of the window's iron bars fell on the open ground in front of him.
Carlo lowered his eyes, staring at the shadow. He sat in the darkness, lost in thought. His adoptive parents hadn't brought him food today, and his three older brothers and sisters hadn't come to the door of the storage room to tease him.
If I had known I shouldn't have come back that day, I would have just run away and left this family behind.
Suddenly, the shadow of the railing on the ground flickered. Carlo's head was throbbing from hunger. He focused his attention on the small patch of light and noticed a sudden shadow appear.
He opened his eyes wide and suddenly turned his head to look at the small window.
A black crow, its entire body black, with equally black eyes, stood by the small window, staring intently at him.
Crows don't have any other significance in the church, but in some backward areas, they are considered an ominous symbol.
For example, in this small town.
Carlo was somewhat frightened, wondering why the crow would perch on this street corner, near the small window close to the garbage heap.
Was it because he was starving and the crow smelled the rotting flesh?
He stood up unsteadily, walked to the small window, and laboriously stood on tiptoe.
He moved even closer, but the crow still stared intently at him, at the face so close to his.
It opened its sharp beak, and Carlo's eyes widened, thinking it was about to make a sound.
But at that moment, while his eyes reflected the crow, he thought to himself that if the crow didn't leave, he could reach out and grab it, eat it raw, and survive the day.
The thought spread like wildfire, quickly taking over his entire mind.
He extended his hand.
The crow was still staring at him.
The moment his fingertips touched the black raven feather, a scream rang out. Carlo paused, his heels landing back on the dusty ground. He turned to look at the closed doorway.
After hesitating for two seconds, he turned around, walked to the door of the storage room, and attached his ear to it.
He heard a familiar voice. That familiar voice used to always speak vulgar and offensive language, mostly directed at him. But now, a mixture of rough and high-pitched voices, along with a slightly childish voice, was crying loudly.
The curses came from near and far because hunger had made him dizzy and disoriented.
But his ears seemed glued to the door, ignoring the crows watching him from behind, and he listened almost greedily to the painful screams of his adoptive parents.
The stench of blood seeped through the gap in the door and wafted to Carlo's nose.
It smelled even better than the freshly baked bread he had smelled when he passed by a bakery.
What happened?
Is he a thief in the wild? Or a murderer?
No matter who it was, it excited Carlo's brain, draining his remaining life force. He hated that the iron gate blocked his view; he wanted to see the miserable state of those people with his own eyes, even if it meant dying there himself.
The smell of blood assaulted his senses, and for a moment he felt that he was probably not human, so indifferent to the death of his fellow human.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps.
They're heading to the storage room.
The boy's pupils constricted, almost to the size of pinpoints, and he trembled as he took two steps back.
The footsteps had reached the outside of the storage room.
He could hear clearly that there were two people walking on the dusty ground in Christian's yard. The sound of their thick boots was not as loud as he had imagined, and the shoes must have been very expensive.
Who is it?
"Dudu".
He used two fingers together to knock on the rusty storage room door.
"It's locked, let's unlock it first."
It was a very pleasant voice, completely different from the shrill voices of the Christian family. The man's enunciation was so enchanting that it made you want to kneel down and beg him to say a few more words, even just half a word.
Carlo's eyes were wide open; he wished he could spit them out. He didn't even want to blink. As he listened to the sound of the latch opening, his heart pounded, and his adrenaline surged to new heights.
Her breathing became rapid, and her face flushed, all because of that heavenly voice.
The light fell on his face.
Accompanied by the creaking sound of the old iron gate opening.
The storage room was too small; it could only accommodate Carlo and countless odds and ends.
Spiderwebs multiplied rampantly in the corner, and the smell of dust rose again after settling. Suddenly, a glimmer of light appeared, instantly illuminating the entire storage room.
The soft light was just right, not enough to hurt the boy's eyes.
A hand with distinct knuckles and pale skin reached out, and a young man's clear voice rang out: "Need a helping hand?"
It's like a dream.
-
Christian's family was more foolish than Veris had imagined. Even though they sensed something was wrong, they didn't dare to run around and instead locked themselves in their drafty house, trembling with fear.
They couldn't even care that the descendants of the saint were starving.
When the crow arrived at the window, Veris sighed after seeing Carlo's condition through its eyes. He thought that by the time Arnold finished dealing with Milford City and found Carlo, the boy would probably have already starved to death.
Of course, it's also possible that Christian might suddenly remember the descendants of the saint and come to deliver dry, hard black bread.
However, Veris felt that it was foolish to try to guess people's intentions instead of doing what one should do within one's capabilities.
So he came.
After sending this family to knock on the door of hell, they took away the descendants of the saint.
Looking at the boy who had collapsed in the storage room, he was speechless with emotion. He reached out and pulled the boy out, then sighed as he destroyed the evidence.
A pale golden light surrounded Carlo, ensuring he wouldn't die immediately.
The fire destroyed Christian's family home, and the neighbors quickly got up in fear, only to find that the fire had gone out after it had burned down their house.
People whispered among themselves that the Christian family had angered the gods, which was why they were being punished by heaven.
In the main city of Mercury, hundreds of miles away from this small town, the residents gradually drifted off to sleep as night deepened.
In an attic on a certain street, an invisible magic circle isolates it from outside prying eyes. To outsiders, it appears to be just like any other house, where the lights are turned off and people rest at a certain time after nightfall.
In fact, the inside was brightly lit, as bright as day.
Sylvain watched Veris leave in a hurry. Several hours later, he returned with another person in his arms, his handsome face grim.
Veris placed the person on the sofa in the living room, thought for a moment, and then explained to his displeased friend, "I saw he was starving to death, so I went to take care of that family and brought him back along the way. He is, after all, a holy descendant of the Elven race; we can't let him suffer forever."
"Did you kill someone?" Sylvain stared intently at Veris, sensing the brief whiff of blood in the air when he returned. "Why didn't you take me with you?"
Upon hearing this, Veris paused, his face unusually serious: "You can't kill people."
"At least, you can't kill anyone while I'm around."
-----------------------
Author's note: Veris: Are you elves out of your minds?
A new character has appeared; their true form is likely blond hair and green eyes.
A filthy offspring was born from a pure race.
-
[Seven Mysteries 6+7]
6.
Veris once owned a black-haired, green-eyed kitten.
Sylvain said he's allergic to cat fur. (Serious face)
Veris: ?
7.
Veris's hair used to be white.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
