Chapter 4
The town of Albion was bustling all day long. The silence and unease of the past few days had finally erupted, and everyone had come out into the streets. The murderer had been identified, and everyone was discussing this horrifying incident freely.
Although the mayor said the murderer had escaped, it was common knowledge among the townspeople that the murderer, a pharmacist, was not in good health despite his potent poisoning abilities. Furthermore, the town was protected by mercenaries, making infiltration very difficult once the pharmacist left.
Everyone was still shaken, but business couldn't be shut down, and life had to go on.
Veris stayed up until almost dawn before falling asleep. When he woke up, it was already evening. He quickly washed up, slung his accordion over his shoulder, and went out.
Seeing that there were many more people on the street than a few days ago, I knew that the murder case had been solved. It seems that the mayor and his men solved the case quite quickly.
He had dinner at the restaurant, and when he came out, the sun had already set and the moon had climbed into the night sky. The tavern was just across the street, and he saw that it was already lit up and open for business. The rich aroma of wine and the voices of mercenaries wafted over.
The accordion, packed in a large backpack, weighed heavily on Veris's shoulders—a daily occurrence.
He strode toward the tavern, pondering that if the murders were over, the hero would likely leave Albion soon.
If we don't set off soon, by the time this kid finds the Demon King's lair, he'll probably be twenty years old.
Thinking this way, Williston suddenly felt that life was full of hope. The appearance of the hero had only temporarily disrupted his life rhythm, and things would soon return to normal.
"Mr. Poet!"
Veris paused, his face expressionless as he thought, "I knew I shouldn't have kept this in mind. Just what I feared has come to pass."
He turned around and saw Arnold, with his dazzling blond hair, waving happily at him: "I've finally found you!"
The boy ran over: "Uncle Quake said you wouldn't get up until evening, I've been waiting for ages!"
Veris: "What's wrong? I'm going to be late for work."
Arnold's eyes lit up, and he exclaimed excitedly, "I want to follow you!"
Veris's eyes revealed obvious doubt: "Follow me? Aren't you going to continue searching for the Demon King?"
"It's alright, I told you yesterday that I want to follow you! You can pretend I don't exist, Mr. Poet, I won't disturb your life!"
Veris's hands, hidden inside his robe, nearly clenched into fists. He looked at the sincere young hero before him, paused for a moment, and finally gave a faint smile: "Alright."
Then he turned and walked quickly toward the tavern.
He really is going to be late for work.
The tavern was packed with people, with only one young waiter at the counter collecting bills and moving jugs. The owner, Martin, was busy running around the tavern, and the noise was constant.
Veris came in through the back door; there was a small table in the tavern, which was his seat.
Sometimes people enjoy listening to his stories, and sometimes they just talk to themselves, exchanging information about recent major events with their companions. Veris doesn't care, as long as he gets paid.
Almost every tavern has a bard like Veris, a tradition that has been established for two or three hundred years.
If a newly opened tavern doesn't have bards playing music and singing, then it can never be considered an authentic tavern.
Even though he has walls full of fine wines, neat tables and chairs, affordable prices, and a hospitable owner, customers who drink always feel that something is missing.
As soon as the curtain to the back door was lifted, Martin's sharp eyes turned over, and after spotting Veris, he quickly walked past the tables toward him.
To be precise, I jogged there.
The previously noisy group immediately changed their topic, with someone loudly asking Veris what story they were going to sing today.
"Will you write about the recent murder cases?"
"Things haven't come to a conclusion yet, Veris, shouldn't we wait a bit longer?"
"Shh, listen to what Veris has to say!"
Suddenly, the tavern fell silent.
Everyone looked at the slender young man next to Martin. They had a high regard for Veris's abilities. After all, no other bard—by the measure of the wine they had drunk in the various taverns in the city—could have as many stories as Veris, even old tales, which Veris could always find a fresh twist on.
Veris lifted his eyelids and smiled at everyone: "Today I'm going to talk about the Devil's Ruins, a story I wrote in the last two days, it's a full forty pages long."
Forty pages! A newly written story!
Cheers erupted in the tavern. It seemed Veris wouldn't be jumping off the stage to drink as often tonight; they'd have a whole night of stories to listen to and chat with their companions for half a day—it was simply wonderful.
“But that’s only the first half of the story,” Veris added.
He even wants to drink during halftime.
However, everyone was still happy. In the first half, didn't that mean Veris would only be substituted once tonight?
When Arnold entered through the main entrance, he saw Veris being ushered onto the stage, carrying a somewhat old-looking accordion. The tavern was still bustling. He asked the waiter for a jug of wine, found a corner seat, and sat down, feeling a little embarrassed.
Oil lamps were lit around the tavern, and the ceiling in the center was a glowing ore. The lighting inside the tavern wasn't great, but it was definitely not bad compared to other taverns.
A young man with medium-length hair sat on a high chair, holding an accordion. His slender fingers pressed on the keys, and syllables flowed out. He seemed to be tuning the accordion, and intermittent syllables kept being produced.
Arnold discovered that even sitting in the corner, he could hear the sound of the accordion.
How amazing. He thought.
A young mercenary next to him struck up a conversation: "You're the new guy, right? What's your name...?"
“I am Arnold.” Arnold smiled at him.
The young mercenary sized him up: "You're new to Albion, aren't you? Your accent sounds like you're from Amberley. I heard from Quake that something happened in the Amberley Mountains. Are you here for fun, or are you fleeing?"
As he spoke, the man lowered his voice, clearly not intending to make a scene.
Arnold paused, a hint of sadness in his expression, as if he had just thought of something: "That's right, a monster riot broke out in the Demon Mountains. My village was invaded, and I was just out herding sheep when I survived."
As Veris finished tuning, the melodious music echoed in the tavern. His pale fingers pressed on the keys, his medium-length hair hanging down, obscuring half of his face, but his pale chin was clearly visible. He sat in a high chair, and Arnold could see him with just a turn of his head.
The light emanating from the mineral above fell upon him, while the drunkards around him became layers of shadows, prostrating themselves at his feet.
His clothes weren't exactly fancy, just neat, with buttons fastened meticulously all the way up to his throat, making one wonder if he could breathe in that way in this season.
Perhaps because of his poverty, he was thin and had a remarkably good posture. No one here had ever dealt with nobles, yet they all felt that Veris's demeanor was even more astonishing than that of the noble lords.
Arnold hadn't heard many stories; most of them were church stories he heard when the priests came to preach, about the seven gods and His Holiness the Pope.
He stared at the high chair and suddenly remembered a page in a tattered storybook, a legend about angels.
An angel who has lost her wings, under the moonlight, plucks the strings of a magnificent harp with her fingers, weeping as she tells... of her grievances and pain.
To whom again...?
The alcohol he had just swallowed seemed to be working; his mind was a little foggy.
The young mercenary beside him spoke again: "Veris is the greatest bard of this age."
Arnold turned his head, his eyes widening as if shocked by his statement.
The mercenary sitting next to him was only nineteen years old. Judging from the badge on his chest, he had been working for three years. That is to say, when Arnold was his age, he had already followed the team deep into the Amberley Mountains to hunt magical beasts.
"Why?" Arnold asked, just as he had expected.
The young mercenary turned his head to look at Arnold. He had curly brown hair, round eyes, and freckles on his face, though they were not very noticeable. He smiled at Arnold, a very harmless smile.
He said, "Because Veris has been here since I was born."
“He’s older than you, that’s not—” Arnold said instinctively, but the next second, he instantly remembered what Veris had said to him when they first met yesterday.
For a moment, it felt as if he had been pricked by a needle.
"Deep in the remote Amberley Mountains..."
"It possesses the eye of a god—"
Veris's casual singing reached my ears; his voice was so distinctive that it clearly pierced through the crowd and filled the not-so-large tavern, even amidst the surrounding noise.
The young mercenary turned his head back, staring intently at the high chair in the crowd. He rested his chin on his hand, listening attentively to Veris's newly written story, and murmured, "Is there really such a thing?"
The mercenary beside him listened with great interest: "This wasn't in the old stories. Wasn't the Celestial God the last god to die? How could his eyes fall on the Demon Mountain Range?"
Allen, the young mercenary, smiled and said, "Didn't the church's storybook say that His Holiness the Pope gouged out the left eye of the god and casually threw it away? The god's left eye fell into the continent of Icarus like a star, but it didn't mention exactly where it was located."
The surroundings were still noisy. Some people were discussing the new poem that Veris had recited, some were debating how the apothecary killed people, and others were already drunk, collapsing onto the table to the accompaniment of melodious music.
Arnold was also listening intently.
The young man who called himself a bard seemed to be full of secrets. The dark red stone he hid under his clothes caught the other man's eye, but Veris quickly looked away.
Judging from the reactions of those around him, Veris seemed to have never mentioned the story of the Eye of God.
Veris's singing was very pleasant to listen to, like the tunes of church choirs, but also somewhat different, though it sounded similar.
—The Eye of God is hidden in the ruins of the demon.
—On a starry night, perhaps in the past, perhaps in the future, someone will obtain this unparalleled treasure.
—From then on, he had the power to distinguish between all justice and evil in the world, and the spirit of the gods guided him to find the place where the gods were buried.
He will become the god of the new era.
With the final line, the long poem unknowingly comes to an end. The various legends of the Demon Mountain Range, mixed with the story of the first of the seven great gods from the previous century, form the main body of this poem.
Veris added many previously unheard-of details.
The poem's ending elicited gasps of surprise from the tavern patrons, followed by a heated discussion.
Allen put down his wine bowl, turned to look at the blond boy beside him, and gave him an ambiguous smile.
“Arnold, you seem very excited.”
Arnold turned his head to meet the young man's eyes, his face still bearing that innocent and harmless expression: "A very interesting story. I'm also very curious about the legend of the Eye of God."
Allen smiled and said, "Veris's poems seem to have a kind of magic. Everyone goes crazy for them. Although most of what the bard says is a lie, the young people who hear his stories for the first time can't help but get excited."
"Yes, he is a very good bard."
“But Arnold, your heartbeat is different from that of all other teenagers.”
Allen's voice suddenly lowered as he leaned closer to Arnold, his round eyes reflecting the boy's slightly tense face as he approached: "It's as if your secret has been exposed."
He had just finished speaking when a series of hurried footsteps came from outside the door, and shouts grew louder as they approached. It was just a brief moment after Veris finished playing his instrument, and the tavern was much quieter, making the shouts all the more clear.
"Monsters have invaded! Mercenaries! Come out and defend Albion!!"
Allen straightened up, raised his bowl, and downed the wheat beer in one gulp. Almost all the mercenaries around him did the same. They didn't say anything, silently finished their drinks, and then walked towards the door.
The group of people, aged between eighteen and forty, were warm and kind when drinking, but now, their figures constantly moved around Arnold, carrying a hint of menace.
Soon, the mercenaries were gone from the tavern, leaving only a few customers who had come to drink.
There's also Veris, sitting on a high chair, wiping the piano keys with a handkerchief.
The young man raised his eyes, looked at Arnold from afar, and a smile appeared on his face.
"Aren't you going, Arnold?"
A note from the author:
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Xiao Wei, who only wrote four pages, is blatantly lying.
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