Shadow of the Evil God

......

Days passed, and there was still no sign of the grassland people outside the city of Noien, and the priests of the temple of Xier showed no signs of taking action. Cesar had asked Gouzi to deliver the letter to the city, and he also delayed the new secret meeting planned by the mercenaries until it could no longer be delayed.

The matter has been delayed to such an extent that till now, there has been no follow-up feedback on these two matters.

As if he was just worrying about nothing.

Meanwhile, Cesar, having thoroughly mapped out the buildings of Lower Neuen, still had no idea how to escape. Count Thane had heavily guarded all entrances and exits to the city, and the warships at the harbor were watching closely, keeping a close eye on all incoming and outgoing ships.

Whether he liked it or not, the only thing he could do now was to practice martial arts and gain as much self-defense ability as possible. Training with Korini's sword-wielding guard, Byakugan, would have been a good option, but Byakugan had no idea how to teach, and Gouzi had to pretend to be Libio all day, so he could only swing his sword aimlessly.

To put it bluntly, this aimless sword swinging was actually destroying the weapons that Libiao had stored in his bedroom.

After more than a month, Cesar realized he had reduced Libio's sword to tatters, riddled with nicks and scars. If he continued to tamper with it, it might break. After much deliberation, he finally chose to carry a heavy mace slung across the back of his belt, wrapped in a thin cloth. He would usually flail around with a dagger, then, when trouble arose, he would pick up the mace and resort to brute force.

It's always more reliable than using a sword.

The so-called path wasn't smooth either, as Fils claimed that unless they earned enough money to buy enough materials from the Origin Society's mage base in Itris, there was absolutely no hope. Now, not only was he not making money, he was even spending other people's money. The only change was that spending Fils's money had become appropriating Libio's personal savings, which alleviated his subtle sense of guilt.

Yesterday, things finally changed. News arrived that the temple priests, with Sean's permission, had already arrived with mercenaries. While only a few small groups, they were said to be fully armed, equipped with muskets and ammunition. It was unclear when they would be deployed.

After nightfall, Cesar and Phils sat in their usual place in the attic, huddled by the window and watched the dignitaries filing into the pleasure room. Tonight was another dark, foggy night, and outside the window came gusts of damp, turbid air, filled with the smell of dead ferns, tar, soot, and rotten wood.

Servants, dressed in elaborate attire and wearing half-masks, greeted the guests. From this spot, the dim light of the kerosene lamps made them appear less than human. Both servants, male and female, had slender, graceful limbs, greased skin, and pale makeup. Their eyes held a frozen smile behind the sockets of their silver masks, and their red lips, against the pale makeup, looked as if they had been drenched in blood.

Cesar glanced at Fils and thought to himself that these people's makeup style was very similar to this guy's. He wondered where his aesthetic came from. She was of medium height, with small features, skin so pale it looked sickly, and an excessively thin body. Her eyes were always dark, as if she was dying. She exuded a sense of weariness and self-pity, but her blue eyes kept moving, like the faint shimmering of the night sea.

There was a psychedelic allure to it that drew people in, and sometimes stirred in Cesar strange emotions, strong enough that they could hardly be called serious.

Cesar slowly stirred the porridge with the fish chunks and divided it into two bowls: one plain, the other sweetened to suit Phils's taste. Even though this guy insisted on sweetness, even adding sugar to his meat porridge, it was still normal food. No matter how much he ate, it was better than consuming the corpses of recently deceased animals—the latter seemed like a sinister ritual.

From what he had seen, Firth would place fresh animal carcasses into the hieroglyphic circle she had drawn, staring intently at them while whispering dark phrases that sounded like a snake spitting its tongue. As the ritual continued, the carcasses would shrivel more and more, and her hunger, thirst, and even some of her physical ailments would recover.

However, it is obvious that the degeneration of the digestive organs is not within the scope of this recovery.

Firth dipped the sugar-sprinkled sweet bread into the porridge and put it in her mouth, making a smacking sound. Although she chewed smoothly, she still felt a little uncomfortable after swallowing, as if she was rejecting it. Over the past month, her stomach had gradually adapted to the porridge, but she still lacked more complete food.

"Slow down, okay?" Cesar swallowed a big mouthful himself. "I know you like overly sweet things, but with your severely degraded stomach...just eat the amount you'd feed a bird, okay?"

Seeing that she was having difficulty swallowing and unable to speak, he had no choice but to get a bottle of water, hold the back of her head, and then put the bottle mouth to her mouth and feed it in. She swallowed a small sip, then another, barely feeling a little better, but then she started coughing uncomfortably again.

To ease the embarrassment, Fields looked around the attic room with a wandering gaze and a cough: the wooden bed for the servants, the old wooden cabinet, the wooden box filled with miscellaneous items, the square wooden table with candlesticks, the loose wooden chairs, and the mace hanging on the wall.

The place was nothing special, just a relatively spacious attic room with a ceiling that sloped down towards the windows. They chose this as their bedroom for a simple reason: no one except the two of them would come in.

Phils finally looked out the window.

"Are those the mercenaries we recruited?" She was stunned for a moment before asking, "There are more than a hundred people gathered at the alley entrance, some of them

Some carried muskets, some carried swords and shields, and some carried long spears that were inconvenient to enter... The thugs stopped them, why? "

Cesar also looked down and saw that the mercenaries were standing at the entrance of the alley.

The thugs faced each other. The front few rows could barely be seen, all wearing battlefield-ready helmets and breastplates, their cold gleam gleaming in the foggy night. Someone from the mercenary group attempted to negotiate, but it didn't seem to be going well. "No one should have stopped us," he said with a frown. "Only Libio knew the true situation. Even Sean only received the news a short time ago. Everyone else assumed the manager had invited the brothers to come over and had already prepared the guest rooms."

“So it can only be those people,” she said.

"The priest who opened the pleasure room should have realized that something was wrong, and the people who work for him should probably take action now." Cesar said after thinking for a while.

Phils subconsciously lowered her voice and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I think we should turn off the lights first," she whispered.

Just as she finished speaking, footsteps were heard in the corridor. A faint red candlelight shone through the crack in the door, casting a shadow on the floor. She let out a long breath, put her mouth close to his ear, and whispered so softly that it was barely audible, "You're not a servant of this house. Your steps are too light."

Cesar felt a soft heat on his ears and face, which made him feel itchy, not only in his ears, but also in his heart.

Of course, getting back to the topic, based on his observations in recent days, the servants really shouldn't come at this time, especially not to the attic.

There were two of them, one pretending to be Gouzi, the other her attendant. Fils had given up on leaving the city on her own, spending her days in the attic, studying her doublethink. To the uninformed, she looked like a hysterical lunatic, meditating in bizarre postures while uttering strange, fragmented noises. As for Sassel, he spent most of his time at the house destroying Libio's weapon collection. When he did go out, it was to follow the Gouzi dummy around.

In this place, the two of them were just Libio's young lover and new follower, and there was nothing worth paying attention to. Even the things that should be left to the servants were done by Cesar himself.

The attic was located on the fourth floor of the mansion, and the person in the corridor had gone upstairs without making a sound and was now standing in front of the door. Turning off the lights was a good idea, but it was too late. The red light of the candle still flickered in the corridor, and Phils's eyes expressed her confusion.

"The people outside deliberately let us know there was someone outside the door." Cesar said in a low voice, "I was wondering, if it was the priests of Xiel, why would they send people to look for Libio's lover and followers? Gouzi, pretending to be Libio, is clearly in the midst of pleasure."

"Maybe everyone who knows about this must die." Her voice was gloomy, and it sounded like she was cursing him.

Chapter 16 I Speak Honestly

"No, I think it's more likely a personal vendetta," Cesar denied. "Before, with Libiou around, it was impossible to resolve this personal vendetta. Now, if we're sure Libiou is going to die, there's no need to worry about it."

"It's been over a month since that happened, hasn't it?" Firth questioned. "Besides, don't you think that Gray Hair is just a brilliant actor? He doesn't really hate you, nor does he really want to cause you any trouble."

"If actors get too deeply involved in a role, they can easily have mental problems, especially losing the ability to distinguish between truth and falsehood. He's been playing Gray Hair for so long that he might have lost track of who he really is and what emotions he should be feeling," he said. "These past few days, every time I've seen him, his expression has been so gloomy. The last two days, I felt like he wanted to kill me."

"You really think so? I find this idea bizarre. Is it really that hard to tell who you are?"

Cesare shook his head, pulled the dagger from under his pillow, and tucked it at his waist. He then removed the mace from the decorative stand and hid it under the covers at the foot of the bed. "It's hard to explain this to you, but if I'm going to play the young Borgia, you'll have to cooperate. Do you remember the rumors? The Count's illegitimate son fell in love with a young witch and eloped with her."

"Uh...are you serious?"

"Not really, but you can try to feel it." Cesar said, removing her hand from his shoulder and cupping it in his own. He lowered his head and gently kissed the tip of her index finger. When his lips touched, he felt her soft, delicate skin. Her fingers were slender and light as feathers, and her blood flowed through them, carrying the vitality of her life.

Her fingers felt a little weak.

"It's like this." He shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. "Pretend to be aristocratic. Because we are both barbarians from outside. I am a barbarian from the outside world, and you are a wild wizard from the countryside."

Firth's gaze had been wandering, its evasive gaze subconsciously drifting off into the distance. Hearing this, she found a way to overcome her emotions. "You're a barbarian from the Outlands, but I'm a mage from the Soholi School," she muttered, her eyes fixed on the door, though less intense than usual.

"You're right, Miss Mage." Cesar stood up from the wooden chair in the attic. "Go back to your bed and cover yourself with the blanket. If anyone sees your face, they'll know something's wrong."

Phils said nothing, crept into the bed and covered herself tightly.

She was wrapped tightly, with only her dark eyes glaring at him.

"If the situation is not right, I will perform the surgery depending on the circumstances, but don't expect any actual lethality," she said.

It seems that I have been waiting for too long. The person who came actually used the key

He inserted his finger into the keyhole and unlocked the door. It seemed the servant had either surrendered the attic key or was dead. The always impatient gray-haired man pushed open the attic door, shoved Libio's hired servant in with a shaved fist, and then slowly stepped inside. He was still tall and lean, but his beard was completely shaved, his hair was cropped short, and he was dressed in a fine dark blue robe, giving him the air of a philosopher delivering a speech.

Grayhair's face was calm and gentle. He came in front of the two of them, bringing with him a scent of incense.

"Lebio really dotes on you and your little niece," Grayhair said as he placed the candlestick on the wooden table. "You're making a good living selling your bodies, aren't you?"

"That's true," Cesar said nonchalantly, "but you look different now. Why?"

"You ask why?" Gray Hair said as he looked at Fils, who was covered in the quilt. "You are very sharp today, my friend, but this sharpness comes at an untimely moment."

Cesar took a step towards Firth and put her behind him, on the one hand to cover up the signs of her using magic, on the other hand to express the emotions that Gray Hair thought he would have. The more people feel that the situation is still under their control, the easier it is to relax their guard.

"We are Lord Libio's personal property." He raised his voice and added nervously, "Do you think you have the right to trespass into his mansion?"

"Well, really? I didn't realize I was violating his personal property. But why can't I offend him, can you tell me?"

"Because Master Libio looks down on you," Cesar's voice became sharp, and he adopted the annoying attitude of someone who took advantage of his master's power to mock others. "Everyone in that place can make fun of you."

Grayhair frowned slightly. "So, what right do you have to make fun of me, huh?"

"You said I was making fun of you?" Cesar shouted even more harshly. "All I know is that Master Libio asked us to speak honestly, so I spoke honestly. Is telling the truth also making fun of you, Grigga?"

"Okay, I understand. So, honestly, who is this guy next to you?"

Cesar shrugged, about to act the arrogant, powerful villain, but he realized his expression was too exaggerated, unlike the foolish newcomer he had been. Was this acting stunt with this guy relieving his stress? He'd been feeling very anxious lately.

Despite this, Cesar opened his eyes wide, showing his excitement. "Are you asking about my niece?" he asked back, "My niece is now my distinguished mistress!"

Grigga fell silent, blinking, as if questioning the purpose of his visit. What was the point of bothering a lowly, powerful man—an idiot who had sold his niece to get to the top? But after a moment, he smiled, and curiosity brightened in his always impatient gray eyes.

He turned to the servant he had brought forward and said, "I was thinking, we have received so much wealth, which should be used to better serve our lord Hierer, and yet a man like Libio is spending it on something like this. (Qun'6#999 4:936'1!999) Do you think it is appropriate for such an uneducated person to enjoy the wealth dedicated to the gods on such a sacred occasion?"

"Then who are you?" Cesar said rudely. "Do you think I don't know that you only dare to brag in dark corners and are actually a rat in the gutter? You can only brag to servants in private, but you dare say this in an orthodox church?"

Grigga took a step forward with a curious smile, then took a large step back, pulled out his dagger with his left hand, and twirled it between his fingers. It was only for bluffing, but honestly, he didn't know how to wield it any other way. Unless he was swinging it around like a mad dog, that counted.

"What do you want to do?" Cesar shouted with his eyes wide open. "Do you think Lord Libio won't hold you accountable?"

"Your Libio is too dead for this," Grigga whispered. "I really want you to see how everyone dies, you stray dog."

Before Cesar could react, he found his left wrist broken at the root. His left hand and the dagger clattered to the ground, but the fake former mercenary merely raised his sleeve. He caught a glimpse of a cold light from the corner of his eye. Was this guy hiding a sharp blade in his sleeve?

A moment later, intense pain ripped through his nerves from his severed wrist, causing his limbs to twitch and his stomach to cramp. He stumbled backward until he collapsed at the foot of the bed. His face paled. Not only was the excruciating pain unbearable, but an indescribable pressure enveloped him—the curse of Analik. That pressure tightened around him like a vise, tearing apart his human form and revealing the horrific truth within. Every serious injury was a torment to his soul.

Cesar wanted to vomit and throw up his intestines.

Grigga ruffled his short, cropped hair and kicked the severed hand away with an irritated expression. He clutched his forehead, surveying the victim's plight with a shifting gaze. What was he irritated about? Was he irritated that after so many years of playing the manic idiot, he'd lost track of who was truly himself?

The servant covered his mouth, trying not to scream. Cesar forced himself to concentrate and think. He noticed that Grigga's eyes were gradually turning into a cold and fierce one.

This person behaves completely indifferently towards the victim, like a hunter routinely sizing up a trapped

Small animals in the trap.

This guy has lost his patience, Cesar thought. From beginning to end, his focus hadn't been on the two people in the room, but on himself, who had been forced to play the clown for so many years. The more Cesar acted like a lowly villain who had become arrogant after gaining power, the more he felt worthless and psychologically unbalanced.

Seeing Griga take a step toward him, Cesar immediately feigned panic and dodged to the side. He trembled and fell clumsily to the ground, completely abandoning the courage to protect his niece, making a truly disgraceful scene. With this retreat, Griga's expression darkened even further, even taking on an uncontrollable hatred, as if Cesar, a villain who had triumphed, had condensed decades of his regret.

He didn't even bother to care about the servant who took the opportunity to escape in a hurry.

Grigga took another step forward, and at that moment, Firth suddenly threw back the covers and pointed a finger at him. Grigga glanced at the girl, who had been covered in the covers the entire time, with a gloomy expression, probably expecting to see a lowly little whore who had gained power. Then his eyes suddenly widened.

"You are--"

Beams of light poured out of her eyes and mouth, like dazzling sunlight piercing through the darkness. Even with his eyes closed, Cesar still felt like crying, and even his eyelids were red from the sunlight.

While Firth's long-awaited spell blinded the man, Cesar stretched out his right hand to open the blanket, picked up the long-buried mace, and held it tightly in his palm. He struggled to stand up, lunged forward, and swung the mace at Gregor with all his strength.

Amidst a blazing, dazzling halo, Gregor strode backward. Panicked, he raised a one-handed sword emblazoned with the temple's insignia, attempting to block the incoming attack. However, the radiating hammerhead first bent his blade, then struck the inner lining of his breastplate, denting it.

Grigga was hit hard, spitting out large mouthfuls of dirty blood, staggering, and his body fell limply backward.

Without waiting for the halo to dissipate, or for the other man to utter a single word, Cesar swung his hammer through the bloody mist, aiming for his face, but he stumbled and dodged. A strange, eardrum-piercing rhythm rose from Cesar's back, and then, a gray arc shot out from Phils's fingertips, piercing Grigg's chest. His expression suddenly became hazy, and he sank into a state of trance-like confusion. His fingers, which should have been gripping the hilt tightly, loosened slightly.

Cesar knew that this spell could effectively kill plants, but it would only make living people weak and dazed, so he didn't waste time. He just raised his right arm diagonally upwards like a builder hammering a nail and swung it down at him.

A hammer struck Grigg's face from the upper right to the lower left, sending him careening into the floor. With a resounding bang, his head exploded like a watermelon, his blurred facial flesh and shattered skull sinking into the hole in the floor. Red and white mud splattered everywhere, coating everything around him in a sticky, slippery mess, like a large, radiating expanse of colorful oil paint.

It's considered dead.

Cesar shook his dizzy head and stood up straight. He felt his chest heaving, and the blood that had splashed on his skin seeped in like a sponge. His vision was blurry, the room kept spinning, and the whole world seemed to be shaking.

After standing for a moment, he couldn't help but collapse to the ground, breathing hard. He watched as Fils carefully picked up the severed hand from the corner of the wall and walked towards him.

"Can the hand be reattached?" he asked. "I don't want to be disabled yet."

"Actually, I can't reattach anyone's arm, nor can I heal injuries." Firth knelt down, holding the severed hand, still muttering, "But you're special. With a little more blood and some rotten herbs, I can keep you alive, and any injuries will slowly heal. Maybe you should find a doctor who really knows how to do it."

Cesar watched as she used rags to mend his severed hand, then took a bottle of blood from Grigga and poured it over his broken wrist, which actually healed the surface crack a little. It was a strange scene, like glueing a puppet together.

"You put it so easily," he said with difficulty. "Is there anyone else besides you who can make me explain what I really am?"

"Well, it's true that many church scriptures mention your abnormality. If they find out..."

After catching his breath for a while, Cesar stood up, not caring that his hands and wrists were covered in blood. He walked to the attic window and looked down. At the entrance of the alley, the leading mercenary was conferring with someone, obviously being delayed. Onlookers crowded on both sides, and only a noisy whisper could be heard.

"Why are these guys still blocked at the alley? Don't they know how to force their way in?"

"Maybe he's observing the situation," Firth muttered. She held his broken wrist tightly, her eyes fixed on the slowly healing flesh, as if observing a mysterious natural phenomenon. "Can I stick my fingers in your wrist and stir it a few times? Or maybe use tweezers to take some flesh and blood?"

"No."

"Okay, so what do we do next?" she asked, not even looking up.

"Of course we have to find a way to force them in," he said.

He turned around and walked towards the remains of Grigga's body. While he still had strength, he used his right hand to pull Grigga's feet and pulled his body out. The feeling was very sticky, just like pulling a carrot out of a mud pit. Because the guy's head was too stuck to the floor, Cesar broke the body's neck when he pulled him out.

The blood plasma had originally formed a pool in the messy empty skull, and when it was pulled out, it splashed out and spread all over the ground.

Cesar swung his mace to smash the window open and threw the headless corpse out of the window. The rain of blood splashed all over the heads and faces of the spectators below, leaving everyone stunned.

"Go inside!!"

With a loud shout from the crowd, the mercenaries gathered into a tide and rushed forward, overcoming the blockers and pouring into the pleasure room secretly opened by Lower Noien.

Now, this place is in complete chaos.

......

This was a rare opportunity. The mercenaries were rushing from the alley into the courtyard. The thugs, who were enjoying themselves, were called out to block them, relaxing the security inside the building. Taking advantage of his familiarity with Libio, Cesar, pulling the hooded Phils along, took advantage of the chaos and ran into the courtyard, which was supposed to be heavily guarded.

They entered the corridor in the darkness, then pushed open the third door and stepped into the hall where the ceremony would take place. Now that it had already happened, they should reunite with the impersonator, otherwise things would be difficult. Libio usually handled matters at the end of the corridor on the first floor, but tonight was different. He had a more distinguished guest to entertain, so he would be waiting in the rooms reserved for distinguished guests on the upper floor.

There are stairs leading to the upper floors in the ceremony hall.

The hall was wide but low, with statues of goddesses scattered everywhere, and the smoke from burning incense wood shrouded it in shadowy silk curtains. These curtains depicted paintings of religious stories in a distinct style. They were pasted very closely together and hung from rails on the ceiling, forming a network of narrow passages.

Lights flickered in the private spaces on both sides of the passage, and you could vaguely see a number of expensive wooden beds and wealthy local people leaning on them.