Chapter 58 Memories
If Orel were asked to describe the "tyrant" in detail, he would only sneer and then tell everyone that he was a cruel, cold-blooded, insidious, cunning, and inhuman madman, and he almost wanted to inflict all the curses he had encountered since he was a child on the other party.
Ole Asaqi felt he would never forget his "first encounter" with that man. He and Marshilin had painstakingly broken into the Royal City Prison, and through layers of magic circles and various torture instruments, they saw his dying friend. He looked tortured, with not a single piece of healthy flesh on his body. His blond hair was stained with blood, its original color barely visible. The only difference between him and a corpse was a few faint breaths.
They say you are an unbeliever and that you, the blasphemer, will be publicly executed in Kite Heart Square tomorrow - this is a lie, this is slander, this is an attempt to sow discord... He swallowed all those questioning words because his friend looked like he was about to die, but he was still struggling to open his eyes, his withered lips were torn, and drops of bright red blood fell to the ground.
Get out of here! My friend screamed at them silently.
Of course, he didn't leave alone. They were soon surrounded by the Royal City Legion, who even dispatched a high-ranking Lord's Prayer warrior. Perhaps it didn't seem like much to Orel now, but at the time, he sincerely believed the three of them would die together on that eerily bright moonlit night.
But as if they were blessed by the god of luck, Alanbe, although everyone was injured and the precious teleportation scroll was destroyed, they actually survived and successfully shook off the pursuers temporarily and hid in a warehouse that seemed to have been abandoned for a long time.
However, after his friend had formed a wind wall at the critical moment of life and death and withstood an attack from a warrior of the Lord's Prayer level for them, he now looked no different from a dead body.
While Maxlin tended to his friend's injuries, he released ravens to try to monitor the pursuit. The night would protect those who died, but if they couldn't escape the city before sunrise and reunite with the Shadow Chasers tasked with escaping, it would only be a matter of time before the city's army captured them.
"...What is this?" The red-haired girl suddenly asked in a low voice with a serious expression.
She carefully pulled out a dirty, torn piece of paper from the cracks in the dusty floor. It looked like a corner torn off from a piece of letter paper. On it was written a line of broken, curse-like words in a careless, sloppy handwriting with sharp little hooks.
【Three dead souls rest here.】
"My...neck..." The dying patient lying on the ground suddenly ordered in a breathy voice.
He and Maxine exchanged a bewildered glance. Perhaps fearing the man wouldn't make it to dawn, a bandage had been hastily wrapped around his neck, blood seeping through it. Maxine carefully unwrapped the bandages, one by one, and they were horrified to discover a thin, blood-stained piece of paper nestled among them. It looked like another fragment of the scraps they'd found on the floor of the long-abandoned warehouse.
Ole pieced the pieces of paper together and read softly: "Kill Mani Baartman, or... three souls will rest here."
Marquis Mani Bateman, Minister of the Exchequer, was the infamous proponent and enforcer of the "Thirteen Taxes," which had resulted in civilian taxes accounting for 30% or more of total revenue. This was a brutal extortionate measure, sparking widespread resentment and even riots in remote areas. While Ole had no problem killing this thief who exploited the people's wealth, his death would undoubtedly cause a huge stir throughout the nation, marking a decisive battle with the Empire.
"...It's not safe here anymore. Let's go!" Ole suddenly stood up and lifted his companion onto his back. He subconsciously shattered the ominous notice that had appeared out of nowhere, not even having time to ponder the terrifying meaning behind it.
...How did that person know how many people were coming to rescue us, and how did he know where they would choose to hide in this huge royal city? Was his friend's inexplicable arrest also orchestrated by him?
Since someone was still unconscious and unable to cast the spell of confusion, after a brief negotiation, they decided to disguise themselves as deformed beggars that could often be seen on the streets, and staggered into the crowded black streets, trying to search for the place where smugglers in the city often met all year round, and maybe they could find a chance to leave the city.
Ole's nerves were on edge the entire way, and everyone he saw looked like the owner of the note, lurking in the shadows and spying on them. Fortunately, nothing happened along the way, and he successfully "inquired" about his destination. But just as he relaxed a little, a blind old beggar lying on the side of the road suddenly grabbed the corner of his clothes and kept muttering something strange to himself.
"Casa Strait Morris, where does the ocean end...Casa Strait Morris, where does the ocean end..."
Aure's expression suddenly changed, and Maxine's face also turned extremely grim. Port Morris was the origin of the Shadow Chasers, and the Kasa Strait was Maxine's hometown, where her parents and siblings had lived all year round.
As for where the end of the ocean is... Orel looked at his companion on his back with a complicated expression.
"What are you talking about? Who taught you this?!" Marshilin had already grabbed the old beggar and asked in a low voice.
He ignored her, looking completely mad. He just chuckled and kept repeating his poetic lines, his voice growing louder and louder. Passersby cursed him in disgust, saying that this old lunatic had been ranting for over half a month and still hadn't died.
Ole jerked the corner of his shirt out of the other's hand. The old madman raised his hand, put it to his nose and sniffed exaggeratedly, and suddenly started to grumble loudly and indistinctly. Ole was worried that this would attract more unnecessary attention, so he was about to knock him out, but the other man stuffed a wrinkled and dirty paper ball into his palm.
"Take it... take it... this belongs to you..." The old beggar mumbled incoherently, his cloudy, blind eyes trembling nervously. The paper ball seemed to have been hidden by him for a long time. It was a little damp and had a strange smell that was exactly the same as his own.
Ole was silent for a moment, with a growing sense of foreboding in his heart. He carefully unfolded the note. On the front of the note was written these words in an extremely familiar, damning handwriting: [You didn't make the right choice.]
There was another line of sharp and scribbled small words below: [Turn it over and don't tear it off.]
Ole couldn't describe the immense fear that washed over him, his hair standing on end and his body sweating profusely. It was as if something indescribable, hanging high in the sky, had glanced down at him. He was terrified, and subconsciously flipped the paper over, only to see a line of succinct yet bloody, cold warning: [One person, or more.]
Then the note suddenly burned to ashes in his palm, leaving no trace.
Orel didn't want to recall what happened later. He swore that he and his companions hadn't been subjected to any infernal spells, nor did they carry any tracking magic tools. But no matter where they fled, the Royal City army seemed to gradually grasp their movements, slowly forming an ever-tightening encirclement. The effective time of each crow's message became shorter and shorter. They had no time to gather more information, and death was approaching.
Once again, they narrowly escaped the pursuit and perhaps would be caught red-handed next time. At this time, his friend briefly regained consciousness and told them to do as the letter asked and kill Mani Batman.
"...It's too late. From the moment we entered the Royal City Prison, we were completely powerless to break free." The other party closed his eyes tiredly and said weakly, "It's better to do it than to die here."
"That's easy for you to say," Orel scolded him angrily. "Who knows where Mani Bateman is? You look like you're about to die. How can Marshilin and I break into the Marquis's mansion and kill a noble surrounded by servants and guards when we're surrounded by the Royal City Army?"
"……neck."
"ha?"
Ole was silent for a moment, then peeled off the gauze again. This time, he finally spotted an address written in tiny handwriting on the inside. It looked like a brothel. He didn't know if it was a coincidence, but it was nearby. After the gauze was completely removed from his companion's neck, it also spontaneously combusted without wind and quickly turned to ash.
Everything felt like a nightmare infested by the abyss. The only constant was the skeletal moon hanging high in the sky. In a dimly lit room with a strange smell, a prostitute, wrapped in a blanket and hiding in a corner, was knocked unconscious. A headless corpse in a nightgown collapsed to the ground with a thud. Almost at the exact moment, panicked screams echoed outside the door. It sounded like the Royal City Army had entered the area to search. In the panic, they found another scroll of teleportation among the scattered robes, and thus escaped safely.
Later, Orei sneaked back to the royal city and tried to find the blind old beggar, but he only got the news that he had died of madness. He killed him to silence him and no trace of him could be found.
Tyrants are always like this: they kill those who stand in their way, those who betray them, and those who are useless. Their only constant is their endless ambition and desire. Even someone they just collaborated with one moment ago can be exploited and mercilessly pushed into the abyss the next. The unfortunate prey may never realize until their death that they have already been entangled in a web from which they can never escape.
Even though those stepping stones made of bleeding corpses were all powerful figures, Orel sometimes couldn't help but feel sympathy for his own kind. At the same time, he also remembered one thing deeply: in order to avoid being calculated by this person, he should be an extremely pure fool who doesn't listen or see anything. Maybe there is still some faint hope of breaking the deadlock.
And the friend before him was clearly a "smart man" who had been deceived and persecuted by a tyrant. Ole glared at him with a look of disappointment, wanting to shake his shoulders and roar at him.
Then the guy was silent for a while, suddenly took out a piece of letter paper from his pocket and stuffed it into his palm.
Ole Asachi: "..."
This familiar scene, which was exactly the same as the one in the depths of his nightmare, almost made him jump up in response and once again smash the notice from the devil into pieces.
"Given by Tyrant. Read it, Ole."
A certain insane bastard stared at him expressionlessly: "--If you dare to tear it apart, I will tear you apart right now."
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