Shadow of the Evil God

Phils felt dizzy after hearing this, but she decided not to ask any more questions. "But the money..."

"Let them figure it out on their own."

Chapter 14: The One God Analik

......

To accomplish this, Cesar once again summoned the fake Libio. Unlike previous instances, she was captivated by the bloodstains on the ground. Her pupils dilated, and her breathing quickened. Her instinctive reaction further demonstrated her insatiable hunger. Had Cesar not insisted she maintain her identity, she would likely have revealed her true self.

He could smell the alcohol on her. She drank the wine provided by the temple and ate the meals that Libio usually ate, but it seemed that they could not satisfy her like fresh flesh and blood, and the wine could not make her excited, let alone drunk.

In general, her desires were for violence and bloodlust, with further tendencies towards pain and sadism. Perhaps some things were innate, he thought, just as people often longed to use their penis for mating.

"Where were you mercenaries before you changed careers?" Cesar asked the fake Libio. "What was your scale?"

"We used to be the Black Sword," Fake Libi'o said, stroking the top of his head. It was like a polished ostrich egg, reflecting candlelight and lamplight. "The captain wasn't in charge of fighting, but he was very good at business, and the various subcontracted jobs were very profitable. When we left, the group had over a thousand professional mercenaries, over two hundred servants, over six hundred women and children, and over five hundred horses. There was also a mercenary mage who was blind in one eye."

"Mercedes a wizard?" Cesar couldn't help but fall into fantasies about war spells.

"Things may not be as you think, Master. One-Eye was hired by the commander at a great expense. He only does logistical work and usually serves as his advisor. He analyzes dangerous tasks, unusual objects, or ominous omens, and tells them not to accept them even if paid well. He also acts as a merchant accompanying the troops, doing business with others and identifying any unidentified loot stolen by the soldiers. That's my impression."

"Huh?" He felt his fantasy go awry. "Is this one-eyed man special, or are all mercenary mages like this?"

"As far as I know, mercenary mages never go to the front lines," Fake Libio said sincerely, "If I can make the most money without going to the front lines, I definitely won't go."

"Okay." Cesar was deeply disappointed. "Are you still in touch with your old friend?"

"Very frequently," Fake Libio said. "Several of the best here are professional mercenaries who were injured and wanted to leave the Black Sword. The managers are all former team leaders, and they come from all corners of the country. Is there anything you need?"

"Find a way to contact them and have them send a few teams over," Cesar instructed. "Try to pay as much as possible. If paying more isn't enough, make up some excuse to lure them over. If that doesn't work, imply that your lives are in danger, and you can pay even more for it."

"It's not so easy to allow hundreds of armed troops into the city, Master." Fake Libio smiled abruptly. "First, the city lord must approve it."

"Should we let Sean know..."

"We need an employer of status here." Phils suddenly said, "I think the Orthodox Church in Xier can... Although I'm not sure they can do it,

A retired mercenary who has switched careers definitely won't do." She listened for a long time without reacting, then suddenly assumed the air of an expert, looking quite competent.

Invoke the Orthodox Church to use force to close down the illegally opened pleasure place?

Cesar carefully observed the fake Libio. According to this guy's original position, he

There was no way he would betray the source of his wealth, but now that he was a fake, the matter was different. Since he had already made up so many stories and wanted to fabricate an identity based on the rumors about the young Borgia, then one more story would be no problem.

Someone suddenly realized the teachings of the orthodox sect and felt that he was blaspheming God while enjoying himself. He then confessed his sins and decided to report himself and his accomplices. This incident has the temperament of a classic religious story.

On closer inspection, inviting the priests of the Xiel Temple to intervene in Noyen with armed forces was essentially exchanging an unpredictable underground priesthood and a group of retired mercenaries who trafficked in slaves for the power of the Orthodox Church. If the clergy they sent were even courteous to Thayen, Cesar would have a better opportunity to leverage this situation, perhaps even leaving the city openly.

By then, Cesar and Sean would be on the same boat, having to pretend to be blood enemies even though they knew it was a rumor.

As for Libio's identity, as long as the fake Libio is killed in public and sacrificed as a martyr, this fake identity can be discarded.

"This method is indeed better," Cesar said. "However, we need to discuss the specifics. Next, you may need to contact the Orthodox Church under the identity of Libio and report this place in the name of a devout believer. Group b6#9:6v999!999

To prove your piety and show that you have the channels and financial resources to hire armed forces, all you lack is the name of the church. Try to find a priest of great reputation to handle this matter, understand?"

"I understand. Is there anything else you need, Master?"

"There is indeed one more thing..." Cesar thought of the grassland people. "Since we now have a channel, you should write a letter to the count and explain the situation in a dignified tone, especially explaining the matter of the grassland people."

Although they were not responsible for Noi'en, there were some things that only they knew, so it was better to tell them. Of course, there was no need to go into too much detail. The grassland sword dancer was the true and credible part, while Baiyan's life was the lie.

"Is this necessary?" Fake Libi'o asked, "Our own lives are in danger."

"We have to do something," he said. "Even if that old man sacrifices himself for a hundred years, the number of casualties won't be more than what it would be if the city was destroyed once. As for whether he believes it or not, and what judgment he will make, he is the city lord, that is his own business."

......

As a Sassulai, Musali shouldn't have felt sore all over and numb in his hips after riding for several days straight. But he had spent too much time as a traveling merchant in the Domini Kingdom, and too much time riding in carriages. His body seemed tamed by the soft velvet cushions. The cold wind pricked his cheeks like icicles, making him feel both painful and cold.

He needed to adapt quickly to the changing environment. As the son of a Khazar chieftain, he had little experience in bloody battles, but he was tasked with ruling the tribe on his father's behalf. He had to demonstrate appropriate authority and prove his ability to lead the tribe to prosperity.

He went on this trip to prove this point.

After this lengthy negotiation, Musali had already reached an agreement with the nobles of Dominion. Once Noien was captured, Dominion would remove the current Noien mayor and install a mayor willing to trade supplies and technology with the Sassulai people. At that time, all his efforts would be rewarded.

Musali led his horse team along the ridge of the southern passage, gazing out at the panorama of the Stoney Abyss. This bottomless chasm, like a scar on the world, carved into the earth, slicing the endless grasslands to the west and the dynastic kingdoms to the east. From the imperial borders to the desolate frozen permafrost to the south, there were only two passages open to human travel: north and south.

The Sasule people also call the Rocky Abyss the Sheltering Abyss because it has blocked many expeditionary invasions from the Kasar Empire, and even from the expeditionary invasions of those ancient dynasties in earlier times.

Musali reined in his gray horse and gazed down from the ridge. He saw only gray rocks and a pale sky, no vegetation in sight. The rolling hills were a hazy green, giving off a chilling, gloomy vibe. The vast, gray-black fog in the rift valley resembled a swamp, a desolate and eerie scene. To the northwest lay the steppes where he grew up, while to the northeast lay the path Musali had come from, a route that would likely remain a trade route for many years to come.

While lost in thought, Musali saw a tall rider coming towards him from the northwest of the ridge - looking closely, it was his mentor Iskrig, an ancient Kuna warrior.

On this desolate and terrifying stone mountain, Iskrig's ash-like hair was blown behind him by the wind, fluttering in the wind. Although his brow was furrowed, forming deep wrinkles, he was still unusually beautiful, with skin as white as porcelain and gray eyes that were cold and transparent, appearing mysterious and unfathomable. His whole person was like a wisp of ethereal smoke.

Musali knew that these cursed ancient Guna people were immortal, but over the millennia their memories had accumulated, long exceeding their souls' capacity to hold them. They were always forgetting, always meditating, and when they sat somewhere lost in endless reminiscence, they looked like lost and wounded souls in need of comfort.

That's how Iskerig and Musali's mother

The chieftain committed adultery with his third wife and had her give birth to a cursed monster. After that, he unsurprisingly forgot everything that had happened.

“Few Sasule people thought of going to that weak land and looking for pig pens

"I conspired with the more important animals in the village." Iskellig rode up to him. "You surprise me, Musali."

Like many tribes, Chieftain Musali's mentor was a Kuna warrior. These ancient humans were hermits on the western coast of the Endless Steppe, though more like wandering ghosts in the wilderness. They spent most of their time in meditation, remaining motionless like statues for years. When their meditations ceased, they wandered east of the Sanctuary Abyss, committing massacres as if praying to a god, stimulating their hearts with the silent blood and death.

It is said that this can awaken their souls that have decayed due to immortality and maintain their sanity, emotions and memories.

The Sasoulai, who had long-term exchanges with the ancient Kuna, knew that these remnants of the ancient empire viewed the eastern Franks as slaves who had betrayed their masters, sometimes contemptuously referring to them as livestock in a pigsty. They believed that killing Franks was justified, just like a master slaughtering a few pigs in a livestock farm.

According to Iskellig, when the Kunar empire was still prosperous, the Franks were just barbarians wielding bronze axes.

As for the ancient Sasulai, they lived far away in the endless grasslands, never bordering the ancient empire of the Kuna people's legends. Furthermore, the Sasulai provided them with shelter during their escape, which is why these men who kill like praying have long-term exchanges with the Sasulai.

Musali glanced at the head on Iskrig's belt. Like the other survivors, his mentor wore a thin, black satin robe, like an ascetic monk. Lined with a chain-link breastplate of indistinguishable material, his headdress was a crown inlaid with finger bones. The belt usually held a different head, supposedly that of the most memorable Frank resistance fighter. This head looked new, as the previous one was over a hundred years old.

"Is this knight from somewhere, Master?" Musali glanced at his belt.

"No, it was a farmer," said Eskrigg, his voice elegant and vaguely musical. "Through the pain I inflicted on him, I experienced something extraordinary."

"A man of extraordinary courage and will?"

"More than that." He made a sad, solemn gesture. "I admired him, so I peeled his skin from neck to toe, so that I could deepen the impression through listening and feeling. This head will allow the memory of that time to linger in my heart for a long, long time, making up for my increasing forgetfulness and decay."

"In that case, how much do you remember about those days, Master?" Musali gave a mischievous smile. "Those who shouldn't have died but died for you, and those who were born into this world because of you and are destined to endure criticism."

"You are still as fearless as you were back then, Musali," Iskrig said as he rode up to him. "But it's this feeling that attracts me. You remind me of... of..."

"Yilan," he said.

"Yes, Yilan, I remember. That's right, your mother Yilan and I had a child. You called her Ajiehe, a creature cursed by the One God." He turned his head to look in the direction of the prairie, his voice melancholy. "That catastrophic advent robbed all of our people of their normal fertility. I should have killed your half-sister. This is my responsibility."

Even after being deprived of their ability to survive, the remnants of the Kuna still referred to Analik as the One God. However, according to the common saying of the Sasule people, he should be called the Terror of the East. Analik is only a name given to the Franks, just as the One God is only a name given to the Kuna.

According to the oral history of the Sasoulai people that Musali knew, the Terror of the East was a strange, long, blood-red line in the eastern sky, far beyond the steppes. Initially, people thought it was some kind of astrological phenomenon. It was only over a month later that a shaman linked the infant's amnesia to it. Only after the Kuna fled to the steppes did the Sasoulai people learn of this bizarre deity.

As the greatest victims of that advent, the remnants of the Kunar people assert that it was the barbarian wizards who stole true knowledge, blasphemed, and summoned the one God whom mankind should forever revere. However, in the human world east of the Sanctuary Abyss, it is widely believed that it was the cursed Kunar who summoned Anarik. Various churches call the Kunar a sinful ancient race whose current extinction is their own fault.

Considering that the True Knowledge Spell and the Terror of the East were the fruits of years of research by the Kunar people—at least that's what Iskrig said—who should bear the blame? Musali believed they were all involved. Even if it was truly the Flan wizard who committed this crime, half of the blame should be borne by the Kunar people.

"You have already killed my mother who pursued love. You are not qualified to kill her posthumous daughter, mentor." Musali said bluntly.

"What caused your mother to die? I can't remember." Iskrig was a little confused.

"My father had her executed for adultery."

"What about your father?" He frowned. "I can't seem to find him lately."

"I challenged him to a duel according to the tradition of the Sasoulai people, and I am risking my life, Master."

Musali's tone was unusually calm. "Thanks to your martial arts guidance, I killed the most powerful warrior of the Khazar tribe in a duel of bravery. I stepped on my father's body and announced the next leader of the tribe.

None of my other twenty-one sons dared to challenge me again."

Iskrig paused. "Your calm and gentle exterior conceals a cruel and murderous heart."

He shook his head. "No, it's not cruelty or bloodlust. I respect him, admire his ability, and appreciate his decisiveness. For the sake of his authority and status, executing his unfaithful wife was crucial. But he should have known that someone might challenge his father's authority on behalf of his mother. If he couldn't resist, it would be nothing more than an insignificant change of leadership in tribal history."

"So, you killed a sword dancer who had undergone the ritual of the Kuna people."

"Perhaps it's precisely because I haven't yet accepted that painful ritual that I can gamble my life with him." Musali stared at Iskrig intently. "Yilan's death is the most significant reason, enough to shape a young man who has lost his mind. Moreover, my physical fitness is far inferior to his. If I don't accept this duel initiated by my heir, people will continue to question his fears from the past until his authority is completely undermined."

"You are more calculating than your father."

"Now you remember your past with my father, Forgotten One? What's next? Praise his bravery?"

"Our oblivion isn't truly forgotten. It's simply that life has been too long, and memories have accumulated layer upon layer, like scattered pages piled together, making it difficult to find the index." Iskrig shook his head and said, "Let's not talk about this. Your Sassulai tribes are gathering for your triennial competition. If you want to convene a meeting to persuade them to go to Noien, this will be your only chance in a few years. Also, the Frank slave you specifically took as your personal property has asked me to pass this book on to you."

Musali took a parchment scroll from his mentor and flipped through it. It contained a lengthy report. First, there was a report on the personnel—elderly deaths, newborn babies, new marriages, minor skirmishes with other tribes, and the wounded from those skirmishes. Which wounded were healable, which were permanently disabled, and which were beyond repair and needed to be prepared for burial.

Frankish slaves were indeed quite useful, not only as smelters and various craftsmen, but also skilled accountants and arithmeticians. When they captured the outer city, they could use the captives to replenish the much-needed slaves. It was much like scavenging the most useful livestock from the stables.

Chapter 15: All those who know must die

Secondly, there are some daily trivial matters. The losses in the herd have decreased compared to the previous year. They are all due to death from illness and accidental loss, and there are no wolf attacks. Some of the war horses have died of old age, but they have been replaced by new trained herdsmen in the herd. With the reduction of wolf attacks, the output of cheese, cream and various dairy products has increased. The tanning and nitration of animal hides and their storage conditions are relatively stable. The grass in the pasture is decreasing. Unless the elderly and the injured who cannot work are abandoned, the current food reserves are likely to be insufficient for the winter.

Next, there is the migration route mapped out by the Khazar tribe. Are the roads along the way safe? Considering that each tribe has insufficient food for the winter, is there a possibility of being robbed and attacked by other tribes along the migration route? Are there signs of flooding in the shallows along the route? What is the distribution of the swamps that need to be bypassed?

Finally, there is the preparation for the competition, including horse racing, shooting, dancing, music, fighting and most importantly, fencing. In fact, the ancient Sasoulai people did not have the custom of fencing. The reason why it is important today is that it is a custom passed down by the Kuna people and represents the friendship between the Sasoulai people.

The participants in the sword duels were all young men, and the Kuna warriors who served as judges would select the best ones to provide guidance. Musali himself was the winner that year.

"What's going on with this pack of wolves?" Musari was deeply puzzled.

"Your cursed kin led packs of beasts to attack other hostile tribes," said Iskraig. "You know what this means."

This meant that Ajiehe could at least distinguish between friendly and enemy tribes, that she still couldn't suppress her animal instincts, and that she lived better among the beasts than among humans. Musali considered the gains and losses the tribe would suffer due to her presence, and then remembered Yilan's dying instructions.

"No," he said, "forget it. I don't want to publicize Ajeh's problem."

"What is the situation in that city?" Iskrig asked nonchalantly. "If you go to the games with nothing but empty promises from the Franks, you may not be able to convince anyone or any tribe."

"I understand it perfectly." Musali raised a hand and clenched it into a fist. "The outer wall is twenty yards high, with a watchtower every hundred yards, five yards above the outer wall, estimated to be able to accommodate ten crossbowmen and one heavy weapon. The inner wall is forty-two yards high, wide enough at the top for two war horses to ride side by side. It has twelve towers, each capable of accommodating a large number of personnel, allowing for more than twenty crossbowmen to fire simultaneously, and a full team of mechanics to operate and maintain the city defense equipment. Blind spots can be cross-protected by the two towers. And because the inner city is located at a higher elevation, the city defense cannons mounted on the wall can fire from the inner city to the gentle slope leading to the outer wall."

Iskrig nodded. "Sounds like you don't stand a good chance," he said.

"These are almost all the achievements of the previous generation of city lords in building defenses." Mu

Sarri shook his head and said, "What I want to tell you is that this generation of city lords have made as many mistakes as the mountain in terms of city defense, and their relatively old-fashioned military system. You should know that the reputation of the Earl of Sean for making money has spread to Dominic.

The royal city, and these wealth accumulation results have not been used in the right place."

"Has corruption reached this point?" Iskrig's tone was strangely melancholic. "In their quest for power, would the Frankish nobles reveal military secrets to the Sassulai?"

"As I always say, nothing is untouchable," Musali said with a smile. "They've made many concessions to create enough opportunity to force the city lord to step down. We can plunder freely after breaching the outer walls, and we can also deal with most of the 80,000 residents of Lower Noien. Once we've secured enough food for the winter shortage and enough metal from the mines, we can also capture Noien's population to replenish our tribal slaves, especially acquiring a batch of smelters and craftsmen."

"Aren't they worried about not having enough staff to keep the city running?"

Musali knew this was a special time. While the Dominis might have cared in the past, they certainly wouldn't now. "The northern Qasar Empire is shattered, and large numbers of refugees are flocking south. Once the housing here becomes available, Domini will have a perfect place to house those fleeing from the north. As long as they don't damage the city's vital infrastructure, the Sasulai won't be breaking their promise," he said.

Iskrig lowered his head, lost in thought. The Guna often fell into endless musings, sometimes lasting for months, and the longer the musing, the more likely they were to forget what they were thinking about in the first place.

When Musali thought he had forgotten about it, he suddenly raised his head and said, "Can these things also bring down a powerful military nobleman?"

The Sasoulai people all knew that communicating with the ancient Kuna people, known as the Forgotten Ones, always required a lot of patience. However, in order to get what he wanted, Musali always had more patience than others.

This may not be a unique kind of fun.

"Not enough." Musali raised his chin, looking back the way they had come. "Once the defenders of Noien are forced to retreat into the inner city, at night I will send a raiding party to cooperate with the outside forces inside and outside to tie up the old, money-loving city lord and tie him naked to a donkey. As his brother requested, we need to parade him outside the inner walls of Noien. Then we need to drive the donkey into the heart of Domini and force it to make the long journey towards the royal city. Once this is done, the people there will naturally have their own way to deal with this humiliated idiot."

In fact, there had recently been news that the old city lord had an illegitimate son. On Musali's return journey, Domini had already sent him a precise portrait drawn by a spy, instructing them to find the man and behead him when they broke into the city, then send the head to the messenger to ensure his death.

Although this matter is not important, Musali will still pass it on for the sake of the alliance, so as to avoid letting people who should not be let go escape during the siege.

"You always seem to take things too simply, or rather, you take too many chances," Eskrigg said calmly.

Musali waved his arms, denying his mentor's opinion.

"I don't consider this a gamble. On the contrary, I consider it timid not to take advantage of this rare opportunity. Besides, I'm not overthinking things. During my travels in Domini, I've been learning about military technology developments around the world. I have a deeper understanding of the Neuen Fortress's defenses than even its lord."

"You are indeed more adept at learning than the other tribesmen," his beloved mentor commented slowly, "just as you used the knowledge you acquired to kill your father... not only about swordsmanship, but also about the history of our Kuna people's power struggles. So, what have you learned now?"

"Nothing much," Musali said. "It's just that the city is exactly the same as it was two hundred years ago. The bastions so prevalent in the north today don't exist in Noien. The military strength and equipment that should have been expanded have disappeared amid the city lord's wealth-making activities, and are now being used in unknown places. It's obvious that they are still living in the past, believing that the Sassulai are just horseback raiders, grabbing the grain and livestock that can't be harvested outside the city and then returning to the grasslands."

"At this point, will things be different because of you?"

Moussari placed his hand over his heart, a gesture of solemnity. "Someone has to stand up and point out that we can change, rather than just cling to old customs. I mentioned that the Noyon only have a few more cannons than they did two hundred years ago, but I didn't say this—the Sassulai haven't changed at all from a few hundred years ago."

"The Stone Abyss separates the two worlds, and you can't stay here for long. Your only option is to plunder eastwards in the early winter and return before early spring. Even if you capture the city, it will be difficult for you to cross the mountains south of the prairie to provide long-term support." said Iskrig.

"That's why we need a reliable trade route," Musali said. "If this city lord isn't capable, then let's find a viable one."

Iskrig stared at him motionlessly for a moment, then he too looked in the direction of the Norn Fortress. "And what about hatred?" he asked.

"Hatred?" Musali smiled. "As long as people are alive, there will be hatred. Of all the reasons people want to kill you, hatred is always the least significant. It's like a buzzing fly; it annoys you, but it's actually insignificant."