A Scroll of Infinite Glory

In the early hours of the morning, the waning crescent moon, the last vestige of September, hung in the sky, its face pointing east.

By the end of the month, there was only a waning moon, but after the light rain this evening, the starlight and moonlight were exceptionally clear, and even in Guangzhou, the weather finally brought a touch of coolness in the latter half of the night.

Dimon Seymour sat in the courtyard arranged for him by the general's mansion, a bandage on his nose making his originally handsome face look somewhat comical, but his eyes had calmed down.

This was not the first time failure had befallen him in his life.

In fact, most of the British nobles of this era still retained the custom of sending their younger generation to the army, and the education they received was at the other extreme compared to the decadent lifestyle of the Manchu nobles.

Therefore, there are rumors that after a fierce battle, the group with the most deaths was even young British officers.

Dimon Seymour grew up in that environment and experienced far more pain and setbacks than outsiders can imagine, which is why he was able to earn the attention of his elders.

His experiences over the past few years have inflated his confidence, which is why he behaved so poorly when he was hit again.

The story begins several years ago.

Dimon Seymour's uncle was the first commander of the Eight-Nation Alliance. After the battle, he looted a huge amount of cultural wealth from the Far East and brought it back to Britain.

When Dimon Seymour came of age, he was given permission to enter the family's inventory and randomly select a few items as gifts for himself. There, he inadvertently discovered an ancient painting that had not been properly preserved.

Hidden within the scroll was another fragment. As Dimon Seymour's gaze met that of the mythical creature on the fragment, a strange chill swept over him, covering the fragment with frost and freezing it to dust.

The ancient magical scene, reminiscent of something from an epic poem, shocked him. But after quickly confirming that he had no adverse effects and had instead received some kind of "blessing," he immediately decided to keep it a secret and took the scroll with him.

Afterwards, under the pretext of his love for Far Eastern culture, he visited many scholars with outstanding reputations in this field and consulted various ancient books looted from the Forbidden City by British nobles, piecing together the origin of the painting.

That was a portrait painted by a great artist from the Far East a thousand years ago, specifically for his student, with the intention of hiding one of his student's posthumous works.

Lu Lengjia, a disciple of Wu Daozi, painted several murals of eminent monks traveling to the temple in the early years of the Qianyuan era. Later, he painted at the three gates of Zhuangyan Temple, where his inspiration was greatly stimulated and his work was quite exquisite.

When Wu Daozi saw Lu Lengjia's paintings in his later years, he felt that Lu had made great progress and that his brushwork was very similar to his own. So he exclaimed in amazement, "This boy's brushwork was not as good as mine at that time, but now it is like mine. This boy has exhausted his essence and spirit in this painting."

However, one of his most accomplished disciples, who had received such praise, died after exhausting his energy because he dreamt of a bluebird fighting a dragon in the mountains. He spent over a month painstakingly painting the scene from his dream.

When Lu Lingjia's family was sorting through his posthumous works, they all fell seriously ill after looking at the painting, experiencing alternating chills and fever, and were bedridden. When Wu Daozi heard about this, he lingered outside the door for half a day, "not daring to look directly at it," and saw the painting out of the corner of his eye, and said to the Lu family.

"Could it be the will of the gods, using the exquisite brushstrokes of human painters to preserve its spirit and form?"

No one can truly appreciate this painting. If it were preserved intact, it would likely cause endless harm. However, because it was created by his beloved disciple, Wu Daozi could not bear to destroy it. So he devised a plan to divide the painting in two, and painted two new paintings himself, hiding the fragments in the two paintings so that they could be passed down to future generations.

It took Dimon Seymour two years to track down the line, during which time he had come to deeply appreciate how wondrous the blessing he had received was.

His memory became exceptionally good, his eyesight allowed him to see the flapping of an insect's wings 600 feet away, his sense of taste allowed him to distinguish the difference in taste between milk stored for two hours, and his physical abilities naturally rose from the level of an ordinary gunman officer to the level of a top fighter.

During one assassination attempt, he even discovered that the cool sensation could cover his entire body, resist close-range shots from small-caliber pistols, and make him immune to deadly poisons thrown at banquets.

Even with his most fundamental aspects hidden, his reputation has spread far and wide within aristocratic circles solely based on his outward appearances, earning him the admiration of many of his peers and the favor and fear of truly high-ranking figures.

This improvement is ongoing.

In Seymour's mind, he was like a knight-hero from British legend, bathed in dragon's blood or blessed by fairies, perhaps destined to become a king.

It was precisely for this reason that his desire for the other half of the map grew stronger and stronger. After eliminating many possibilities, he set foot on the land of the Far East with his guards.

After searching high and low, they entered through Guangdong, only to be caught again in Guangdong, and then came the crushing defeat just a few hours ago.

"It's alright."

Under the cover of night, Dimon Seymour gave himself this advice.

"Don't be discouraged or panicked. Even the eternal king of the Celts experienced the setback of the sword in the stone breaking. My failure is just a test."

"I am a rising star in the British Empire, and even someone like Maple is not an irreplaceable option for me."

"And yet, he was hated and hunted by the very kingdom he was born into, and in our very first encounter, he lost an important comrade-in-arms..."

Dimon Seymour stood up straight and whispered in the courtyard where he was all alone, "Yes, that's it. It's like a scene from a Neapolitan opera. After the initial encounter and the damage to each other, it's all about escape and pursuit."

As he thought about it, he became more and more confident. "No matter where he runs to next, no matter how dangerous the place he hides with my treasure, I will definitely catch up with him, kill him, take back my treasure, and start the most brilliant new chapter of my life."

"Before that, I need to figure out how to bring out my true strengths, regardless of whether it's poisonous smoke, gunfire, or explosives..."

The starlight and moonlight were cold, and the dim light of the kerosene lamp illuminated a corner of the courtyard, casting a yellow glow on Dimon Seymour's profile.

He learned to let go of his previous pointless composure and arrogance, and started planning what useful items he should bring next time to hunt down that person.

So you're the blue-faced devil? Run away, wait, wait for me to come after you again...

Bang bang bang bang bang bang! ! ! ! !

The piercing, scattered gunfire interrupted Dimon Seymour's reverie and startled the entire General's Mansion, which was in the quiet atmosphere of the late night, into a state of agitation.

Jin Yuehe, Zhu Changshou's eldest disciple, let out a long roar from a remote corner of the General's Mansion, a roar that could startle the entire mansion and echo through all the gardens and houses.

"There's an assassin!!"

The roar abruptly broke off, like a cold and ferocious knife slashing at the hearts of everyone in the night.