Shadow of the Evil God

They continued to move forward and came to a workshop where weapons were polished and ground. Whether it was artillery equipment or soldiers' armor and weapons, they all had to go through this process, otherwise a pile of waste products covered with metal burrs would be produced.

For physical strength and endurance

Due to concerns about the environment, children are employed in the workshops here, and women with children oversee their work. The work is relatively simple compared to other workshops—just apply the abrasive, attach the component to the hydraulic flywheel, and wait for the polishing to be completed. The problem is that the entire workshop is filled with choking dust and metal powder, which not only makes breathing difficult but also irritates the eyes.

"The workers here work in shifts," the officer said. "Even though they come out with tears on their faces, once they've recovered, they can still take turns working."

Cesar felt that if he continued like this, when there were spontaneously organized labor unions among the people, he would be the first person to be knocked down and hanged.

"Go to the priests of Xiel and ask them what protective measures are in place." He shook his head and said, "Write this down. Later, you and I will go to the city center to meet the temple monks. During the war, we protected against the plague of corpse eaters, so there's no reason we can't protect against this polishing dust."

"Actually, the workshop that makes leather armor for soldiers is in terrible shape, too," the officer said cautiously. "You can't imagine the horrible smell of that leather. The vats where it's soaked are filled with a black, putrid substance. Recently, the people working there started a small riot because many felt they were living in purgatory and would rather die fleeing."

Chapter 359 I also have the Eye of the Furnace

Cesar found this official rather odd. Considering his class, he spoke too much and his biases were too obvious. Although the official had tried to be as tactful as possible, he could still hear the bias and innuendo in his words. Furthermore, the official had approached him far too quickly. He had only been in Sodoris for a short time and hadn't even met any of the local administrators, yet this man came up to him as if he had been waiting for something.

He thought carefully and couldn't help but recall the documents Diana had piled on his desk last night. Among the piled documents, the one concerning Sodoris merely mentioned a lack of transportation capacity. However, after taking him along the riverbank, the officer turned around and headed straight for the weapons polishing workshop. Next, he seemed to want to lead the way to the leather workshop.

Cesar found it quite interesting. No matter where this man came from, no matter what he was trying to achieve, since he had climbed to the position of administrative officer, where he could talk to him, it meant that he was either quite influential, quite capable, and very courageous.

He beckoned Gouzi over and told her to get a pen and paper. "Write down everything the officer says, word for word. We'll take it back and carefully review it later." Cesar turned back after seeing Gouzi start transcribing from the officer's initial remarks. "Let's continue," he said. "I've got a general idea of ​​the leather workshop. Anything else?"

The officer stared at the Faceless One, watching her write down all his previous words with precise accuracy. He seemed a little horrified, and sweat broke out on his forehead.

Seeing that he was nervous, Cesar pointed to a large gray workshop to their right. "I remember this was the armory workshop. I didn't pay much attention to it when I took over Sodoris. Has it changed in any way now?" he asked.

"Arsenal," the officer repeated subconsciously, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve, trying to wipe away the sweat that had fallen on them. It was indeed a hot and stuffy place. "It's also... a hell of a place," the man continued. "Too much dust. People know that after spending even a morning in the armory, the vomited mud would pile up into a small hill. There's a joke that the polishing of ordnance here is all done with the blood-stained grit vomited by the armory's craftsmen. At least it's more than enough for polishing artillery parts."

"Beyond the jokes?" Cesar asked him. "I want to hear something practical."

"Quite a few people have died of illness," the officer said cautiously, but his brows twitched as he watched Gouzi meticulously record the situation. "Besides the dust," he said, "the noise has also deafened some people. There are three shifts a day, and the noise is constant. Many people can hardly hear each other talking now. Then there's the heat. It's already incredibly hot here in Sodoris, and the forging area is even more terrifying. Some people, too thirsty to bear it, scoop up the quenching water to drink. People are constantly dying from it."

"Always?"

"The foreman is completely helpless," the officer told him. "Some people still want to drink even when they know they'll die. After a while, they can't stand it anymore. They say the heat and thirst are so intense that they'll drink even if the water is poisonous. I have a friend who's been in the workshop for quite a while and doesn't like to talk about these things, but whenever someone brings it up, he sighs."

"Your friend must be very patient," Cesar said.

The officer shrugged nonchalantly. "He thinks he's very patient, but I guess patience is always earned."

"Is the water supply here a problem?"

"The river water here is not very drinkable." The officer said tactfully.

"Go on," he said.

Cesar and the officer walked through the entirety of Sodoreth, listening to his descriptions of the various workshops. It had to be said that what this man provided him was actually a perspective that he could no longer perceive, or rather, was extremely lacking.

Leaving the slums of Dog Hole was a matter of no return. Before that, Cesar could barely be considered alive in it. After that, no matter how compassionate he was to the civilians, whether he was questioning laborers by the scaffolding or polishing some decent weapons with tools, as long as he couldn't experience and observe them for a long time, all he could gain would be a series of fragmented and meaningless feelings.

This is certainly due to his prior perspective. In many things, Cesar is naturally able to see further than others, but his skepticism about the status quo is also a very important part.

To some extent, this was actually him correcting himself.

Being ahead of others not only brings benefits, but also the inevitable side effects of the means he uses. Because of this, the first thing he bears the brunt of is not making fun of those ignorant people - such as making fun of Clifford's ignorance of economic theory, or making fun of the old man's complete trust in their banker, Ms. Rolaisa - but rather experiencing firsthand the words he has only read in books.

Cesar needs to clarify how they manifest in reality and remedy every possible problem.

It was impossible to return to the slums. Not only did he not have such high moral sentiments, but the complexity of the world also did not allow him to focus only on the workers. This was completely unrealistic. Accordingly, it was extremely important to find and seize every opportunity and every person.

After walking all over Sodoris with the officer, and only reaching the hospital in the center of the city, Gou Zi had already written down their conversation on a thick stack of paper.

Given the limited conditions, many methods were unrealistic. Appealing to empty morality was also impractical in an age where human life was worth less than paper. Therefore, Cesar tended to seek reasons and methods that better served their interests. His goal was to complete the next step while other factions were still groping for the opportunity to build the workshop.

The officer wanted to say goodbye to Cesar at the temple's hospital, as it was not under his control, but Cesar asked him to stay for a while. He looked through the conversation recorded by the dog on the side of the road and confirmed the situation again.

"Let me ask you this," Cesar said, "If I can solve most of Sodoris's problems one by one, even at the expense of the workshop's own efficiency and supply costs, are you capable of going to other large towns to observe the operation of workshops there and find ways to establish relationships with local craftsmen?"

"I don't quite understand what you mean, sir," he said cautiously.

"I'm saying, give those artisans who are silenced by the pressure of war another option, do you understand? Find a secret place to hold a meeting and gather all the disgruntled workshops in other cities. First, exaggerate the harm of those trades and show them the disabled, the dying, and the dead you've found. Then, point out to your people that they have other ways to survive. With your eloquence, this shouldn't be difficult, right? Once the meeting reaches a certain level, contact our people to meet them and send them all over here. Honestly, we're desperately short-handed here, and we'll take as many as we can."

The officer was silent for a moment, then said, "If your Excellency can demonstrate results, then I, too, can become a spy and a speaker and agitator in other territories."

Cesar studied him for a moment. "Did you have anything to do with the previous riot?"

The officer immediately shook his head. "That's just what happens when things get tough," he said. "I'm just a bystander."

"You mean you knew about it beforehand?" Cesar asked him.

The steward swallowed. "You're making me a little nervous, your Excellency."

"I don't mind if you start a riot in some areas of the south and take advantage of the chaos to escape here with the people you organized," Cesar said to him. "You know what I mean. Besides, who are you from? I don't think a local craftsman can have your insights and abilities."

"I'm just an exile." The agent told him more carefully, "Because the previous order of Sodoris was destroyed, many people were needed. I climbed to this position by chance."

They stared at each other for a long time. "Which god do you believe in?" Cesar suddenly asked him, because he discovered that many mysterious people in this world were monks, and there were even more monks from branch sects.

"Sagaros," the steward whispered.

Cesar raised his eyebrows. Considering his own relationship with the Grand Temple of Sagaros, this guy definitely wasn't a monk from the Grand Temple. "Which sect?" he asked.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you that..."

"I have a grudge against your Great Temple. Once, a man with a molten shell fell from the Crucible's Eye and tried to kill me."

"I'm from the Exiled Sect!" the monks of Sagaros shouted immediately. "We are a sect that is not tolerated by the Grand Temple. The Eye of the Crucible has no will. Even if the Grand Temple can use it, it doesn't mean it has any conflicts with you!"

That was the conflict between Sagaros and Analik, how could there not be a conflict? However, Cesar thought, as long as he didn't throw himself into the furnace, there really was no conflict.

Since God is without will, He responds to all believers of all times equally, regardless of whether they are orthodox or not, orthodox or not, and even a rural peasant may suddenly receive a response from God. Furthermore, even the Eye of the Crucible is without will, so why can't the sects He supports call upon and use the Eye of the Crucible?

Cesar had long wanted to use the sight of the Eye of the Crucible to burn away the darkness that sheltered the abyss.

If they could afford the expense of summoning the Eye of the Forge, and the sect he supported was more responsive to the gods' expectations than the Great Temple of Sagaros, then why was Sagaros's Great Temple the only legitimate one? Since he had the support of the Great Temple of Hiel, why couldn't he support a branch sect to rival Sagaros's Great Temple, or even replace it?

It's time to make that old guy who has been chasing him all the way pay a heavy price.

Chapter 360: The Troubles of the Headless Horseman Isri

......

While waiting for the interview in the barracks, Isley felt bored and exhausted. The world in her third perspective seemed even more bizarre and unreal, as if the real world had been sprinkled with vibrant colors. She wanted to tease the guards, but she couldn't, as her head was sealed in a glass container and her eyes were covered with a cloth.

She waited outside the tent for a long time with her arms folded. The soldiers were probably curious that she didn't sag her head and rest it on her chest due to exhaustion. But she knew that if her helmet fell down, her strange neck fracture would be exposed to everyone.

"General Garcia wants to see you," said the messenger.

Isley remained silent, but she couldn't say anything. This was undoubtedly a tragic dilemma. The thought of Cesar mocking her efforts was like hitting him on the back of the head with a spoon. Besides being annoying and pointless, she felt an inexplicable irritation. Was everything she had done so far truly meaningless?

She didn't believe it, or didn't want to believe it.

The herald led her into the tent, through a series of curtains, and past a series of compartments housing the military's highest echelons. Compared to her other uncle, Uncle Garcia's expedition was far more than a grand affair. They were prepared not only to suppress the noble rebellion but also to confront the invasion of Clefas's army from the north. Although the latter had failed, without Clefas's support, the rebellious noble army would not have been able to hold out for long.

Garcia's compartment, furthest inward, was truly gloomy. The dim oil lamp didn't reveal much, save for a long wooden table covered with a map and the general's impassive face, like a mask hanging alone in the gloom beneath the light.

"Hello, Isley," he said. "I heard you couldn't speak."

Isley took out the manuscript and started writing, then handed it to Garcia. "Can I sit down first, Uncle Garcia?"

"Of course," Garcia said. "You don't have to ask me what you want to do. Also, do you need some soup? I heard you haven't had any water or food lately."

Yes, she couldn't eat normally with her body. She could only pour water, soup, and liquid food that didn't need to be chewed into her throat, and she couldn't taste it. But doing this in front of others? She didn't want to do it. Stuffing something into a severed neck was weird enough.

She was just hiding from doing it.

Isley picked up his pen again and handed the manuscript to Garcia. "I have suffered severe facial trauma, Uncle. Please forgive me for not being able to see anyone. I wear a helmet and mask everywhere. I can't even look at myself in the mirror."

"Well, that's your business," Garcia said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the wooden table and interlacing his fingers. "But I heard you made some big mistakes and came back a failure. Is that true?"

Isley continued writing, "Nothing, it's just that my beloved Uncle Cesar has interfered with the siege of Clefas." She didn't even want to write his name. Even if she did, she would have felt the urge to stab it with a dagger. It took a lot of effort for her to suppress it.

"So, your own business is simply helping General Cleves hinder your Uncle Cesar," Garcia said. "And every time you've had an accident lately, it's been because you've stumbled on your own path to revenge, leaving yourself bleeding. Now, you've even sustained a serious injury that you can't heal. Tell me, what am I going to do with you, Isley?"

She looked at him. "I want to be in the army," she wrote half a sentence and gave it to Garcia, then took it back, wrote the rest, and gave it back again. "I will fight honestly against all enemies we face now and in the future."

"Just stay in the main camp and await orders, Isley." Garcia shook his head. "Your uncle Saino is too fond of strange schemes. He always throws you around like a cannonball. But now I'm in command, so there's no need for that. I don't want to waste my time searching for your remains among the corpses on the ground to piece you together. I've lost something."

Isley nodded silently and sat obediently on the bench.

"And," Garcia continued, "whether you understand the current situation or not, I want to tell you about the upcoming war."

She responded by writing: "I'll write it down, uncle."

Garcia pointed his index finger at the location of their military camp on the map and said, "Let's not talk about the Queen's personal grudges or the succession to the Northern throne for now. Let's just talk about the situation. It seems your Uncle Cesar has already gathered forces far more drastic than the noble rebellion. First, there's a massive mercenary army, including a branch of the Black Sword. Then there's a large number of clergy from the Shawl Order, who have even attracted the leadership of the Grand Temple of Hiel. Finally, there's an entire school of magic. The Yestren School, originally stationed in Anglan, vanished overnight, reappearing in the area surrounding Fort Gural."

Yisili thought for a moment, then quickly wrote. "He's been planning this for a long time. He has the Northern Princess and the designated heir to the Yesterlen School of Thought in his hands."

"I know you well," Garcia said, looking at her manuscript. "Although there are still personal grudges, it is no longer important. The Prime Minister not only provided financial and material support, but also sent his army and commanders to assist us in the battle. At first, He Anlia wanted to borrow a knife.

He wants his princess to die in the defense of the city. Now he probably believes that there will be a battle. This conflict is so complicated that I am afraid I can't avoid it even if I want to.

"Is it complicated?" she wrote and asked him.

"Conflicts over the throne, wars between schools, feuds among temples, and rebellions among nobles," Garcia recounted them one by one. "Although your Uncle Cesar helped us resolve the problems of the Beastmen moving south and Clefas leading his army, he himself has become the core of the trouble. He and his supporters are like thorns in every area from Gular Fortress to Gonzales."

Isley had known all this for a long time, and she had returned to Garcia's army to continue her revenge. No matter how difficult it was, it had to be done.

At least this time it will be a real territorial war, not a siege where only border fortresses need to be defended.

"At first..." Garcia frowned. "At first, Evered IV was a little hesitant, but after meeting the many refugee nobles who came to him to complain, he probably made up his mind. The war hasn't even ended yet, and Cesar has effectively controlled such a large area of ​​territory. He has not only driven out the original local nobles, but also recruited so many different forces. What will happen after the war ends? You have to remember that he had just escaped from the slums many years ago and had to borrow money from me to find a swordsmanship teacher."

Chapter 361 Call Me Mother

Do people lose track of time as they age? It was only two or three short years, Isley thought, incredibly short, as if it had passed in the blink of an eye.

On reflection, everything about Cesar was absurd beyond imagination. In such a short time, even graduating from the Kingdom Military Academy would have been a prestigious achievement, yet he had risen from a bastard child of mixed descent from a remote city-state to such a high position. However, she then considered that Cesar seemed to be God's chosen one. In that case, the most absurd thing wasn't the timing, but the fact that he was God's chosen one.

Still a barbarian chosen by God.

......

Cesar watched the monk from Sagaros leave and then fell into deep thought. This matter would take quite some time from the start to the harvest. Before that, it was more important to settle the affairs of the territory and then go to the territory of Clifas to meet with banker Rolaisa.

In the coming days, if the situation didn't ease, he would have to deal with more than just defending the fortress. Logistics were barely sufficient, so the most important thing was money. Maintaining mercenaries and the war expenses required money, and hiring more mercenary corps also required money. No matter where he was, money was always the most scarce commodity.

Cesar entered the alderman's residence, now completely converted into a hospital. Arriving at the main hall on the first floor, he found Brother Levita still in charge, the clergy, new to Sodoris, all following his orders. He stopped asking questions. He didn't intend to inquire too much about the temple's hospital, simply observing it briefly. He then headed to the top floor, intending to view the existing books in the small library Brother Mira had reconstructed.

As he climbed the spiral staircase, he spotted a mage from the Yestren School at the corridor's entrance. Though he nodded, the thought of the mage who had nearly eaten him like a book lingered in his heart. Honestly, he'd rather have been by the side of a mage from the Xisai School. While the City Burners' reputation was terrifying, it was still far superior to the mysterious Soul Flayers.

Cesar looked at Fils. "What's your impression of their leader?"

"She was a very frail woman," she said. "She didn't seem to have much strength, and her voice was very soft."

"Are you serious?" He was quite confused.

"Of course I'm serious. Is there any need to lie about this? Haven't you seen her?"

"Diana didn't tell you about Bernadette?"

"No, she's not very willing to talk about her mother, but I've seen it all myself, so why should I tell you more? If you have the time to ask me, you should go and see her yourself."

Cesar hesitated. Was everything related to the Yesterlen School shrouded in a strange mystery? He clearly remembered that person, a snow-elf-like being shrouded in frost. According to Diana, it was the potion that had triggered the foreign substance that the school had introduced into their ancestors' bloodlines thousands of years ago.

He arrived at the small library and wandered around for a while, realizing that most of the books in the collection were the ones Diana had sorted out from Sister Mira's library of thought, so he stopped reading. When he reached the quiet room, he noticed a chill seeping through the crack in the door, a rare sight in a hot and humid place like Sodoris. If nothing unexpected happened, it must be Diana's mother.

Cesar stood at the doorway for a moment. He hesitated at first, wondering if his sudden meeting with Bernadette was too abrupt. But then, seeing Phils staring at him, he wanted to prove that what he had seen in the conference room was true. Someone had to be lying, and could it be him?

As he'd guessed, he knocked gently on the door and heard Bernadette's voice, a chilling chill. After receiving her consent, he peered through the crack in the door and saw the same fey-like creature with almost translucent skin. The quiet room was excessively quiet, and the furnishings were unusually simple, with nothing but a wooden chair and a small table.

César pushed the door open and placed his hand on Phils's head, hoping she would see him more clearly. But as soon as his fingers touched, as if some unimaginable force had twisted the course of reality, something completely unimaginable happened. The hoarfrost surrounding Bernadette didn't just dissipate like smoke; it vanished completely. She was a completely different person. Not only had her translucent skin vanished, but the color and texture of her long hair were now identical to Diana's.

He removed his hand from Firth's head and immediately saw the ice fairy. He put his hand back and saw someone he had never seen before. Given Firth's other-dimensional identity, or rather, Firth's existence, such a glimpse into the truth was understandable. What he hadn't expected was that Bernadette, Diana's mother, hadn't suffered from the erosion of her memory or personality, but rather, had nestled in her own eggshell like a fledgling.

"Do you mind if I talk to the other one?" Cesar asked the ice-covered fey.

She glanced at him sideways and nodded slightly. This person's eyes were cold and transparent, like ice, and he felt that her gaze was chilling.

Just as Cesar had suspected, the moment he held Phils's hand, he saw the person who existed only in Diana's memories. She was indeed a frail woman, dressed in the same clothes as her other self: a snow-white gown with cuffs made of fine white silk with wavy patterns. A long ribbon was tied around her waist, and her light green hair fell to her waist like waterweed.

It can be said that her temperament is perfect with this quiet room.

She sat down at the wooden table, like a pale water lily beside a small wooden boat, drifting on the water in the desolate moonlit forest. When she saw Cesar approaching, her face remained calm, as if she had become accustomed to the fact that she could see the other but only let her other self speak.

"I heard Diana talk about you," Cesar said. "I always thought you were gone."

She looked at him, still unresponsive, as if she had lost her way, or perhaps didn't understand what he was saying. He pulled Fils over to the desk and stared at her, lost in thought. He pondered the fragments of words Diana had said about Bernadette, trying to see if they would evoke any reaction.

While she was thinking, Bernadette kept looking at Cesar with curiosity, as if she knew his identity and background. Seeing that he was silent, she actually propped herself up on the wooden table and reached out to touch his face.

The hand was white, warm, and slightly damp, and felt incredibly delicate, making him inexplicably nervous. It wasn't until she took a strand of light green hair from his ear that he realized it was Diana's hair that had fallen into his hair.

Bernadette looked at the hair in her palm, a sudden smile spreading across her face. Then she looked up at him again. Perhaps it was her unabashed gaze, or the elusive smile on her face as she observed him, or perhaps it was the fact that she and Diana were so similar, yet their temperaments were so different. Touching his cheek felt like touching a child. Whatever the reason, Cesar felt he had fallen in love with her.

It wasn't a very moral thing to say, but he did love her in a way that was inexplicable.

As Bernadette searched his hair for the next strand of Diana's, he lowered his head so she wouldn't have to lean forward any further. Only then did she realize he was talking to her. "If you want to find all your daughter's hair," Cesar said, "you can tell me so I can help you."