Shadow of the Evil God

Come to think of it, he might have been the first to call the Frankish emperor that.

"My leg is also scratched." Milawa said, holding out his hand. "I'm not good at sword fighting. The Holy Father took me to study all over the place, and all I learned were the arts of war."

"I'm not good at it either." Cesar pulled him up, "But I've studied hard and I'm still not good at it."

Milava climbed onto the giant lizard's back, his steps wobbling, and he nearly fell, but he finally found his footing. "What should I do next?" he asked. "When I was little, the Holy Father never reached out to help me, as if that would make her less majestic. And then it seems... I don't think I ever reached out to help Arlanti either. No, it was old Milava who never did."

"Holy Father..." Cesar exclaimed, "I don't know how to defend her anymore. Does she really give you such a terrifying impression?"

"Then don't make excuses," he said, sitting sideways on the monitor lizard's back. "Everything I do from now on will be to step out of the Holy Father's shadow. And of course, everyone like her."

Cesar called the lizard using the Anarik Way, driving it slowly forward, following the path of the snake walker, not the path of Firiels, deeper into the tomb. Soon, a dark void lay beneath their feet. Milava sat sideways, leaning back to peer, his upper body tilted to overlook the darkness. Seeing that he was about to fall, Cesar instinctively reached out to hold his waist. He felt his right hand grasp his collar, then loosen.

"You're actually afraid that I'll fall." Milawa raised her eyes and looked at him.

“If Soler were here, she’d be afraid you’d fall, too,” Cesar said.

"No, the Holy Father would not," he denied.

"Falling to the ground is different from falling into the abyss." Cesar also denied it.

The young Emperor of France shook his head and continued to lean back, gazing at the darkness around him. Cesar had no choice but to hold his waist tighter. Until he almost lay down, his scattered hair flying in the endless darkness, he breathed a sigh of relief as if satisfying his unspeakable imagination.

"I understand why the Holy Father was able to travel so far alone," he said. "Standing in the cold wind at the edge of the abyss, one wrong step would plunge the entire world into the boundless darkness. But she knew that in the distant afterlife, something symbolizing hope held her tightly, telling her that the fate of the world was destined to move towards hope. At this moment, the entire world surrounded her. What she needed to do was not to struggle, but to complete this revelation that only she could fulfill."

"Despite this, she's been through a lot..." Cesar said.

"If I had this revelation, I wouldn't have ended up like old Milawa." Milawa suddenly straightened up, turned around and approached him, stretching out his arms and hugging him tightly in the endless darkness. "Yes," he whispered, "just like this..."

Cesar put his arm around his waist and patted his back. "But Solaire brought Alante with him, and she did guide you along the way."

"Alanthi is a liar, but I don't care anymore. Since Alanthi can't do it, it means that no one else can do it in that era. If no one can do it, I will find what the Holy Father has hidden and capture him."

Chapter 460: Selling Price: Nine Silver Coins, Purchase Price: Two Copper Coins

The young Emperor Fran couldn't help but hug him tightly, his arms clasped around his waist and his cheek resting on his chest, like a girl sleeping peacefully. Cesar felt that there was no point in saying anything. Ultimately, this matter still came down to how Soler would guide his descendants.

Arlandi's assessment of him as a child lacking love wasn't entirely wrong. His utterly arrogant attitude seemed more like a means of self-compensation, and as for what, it was, of course, the heavy pressure he endured from the Holy Father.

César had previously commented on Artinia, saying that power has no gender, but he never expected this to be most evident in Soler. The term "holy father" not only represents respect for Soler but also represents their perception of her. Thus, it's clear that Milava grew up without a mother, only with a father who was both imposing and terrifying.

After Milava discovered the secret that Soler had hidden, this compensation fell on him all at once.

Cesar watched his posture and felt that he had a glimpse of the past. He seemed to see the boy sleeping alone in the woods when he was still a child. Unable to fulfill the expectations of the Holy Father, he curled up in the cold darkness, his head tucked between his knees, his hands wrapped around his knees, and warming his small body with the residual heat of the weak campfire.

He touched his shoulder, but he did not raise his head, just breathed a few times and did not open his eyes, as if this place was as cold as the dark woods.

"Where did you come from?" Cesar asked him. "Although it's not appropriate to say this, everyone has their own biological father and mother..."

"That was the secret that old Milawa discovered after his faith collapsed," Milawa replied. "Many years ago, the god's priests went to the tribe to search for qualified children, so my father sold me for nine silver coins. Others warned him at the time that the selection of the chosen ones would drive people mad and die, but it was more important to survive the difficult days."

"It sounds like this further exacerbated his breakdown."

"I understand," he said. "At that time, when the war was suffering one defeat after another, old Milava wanted to find any hope he could grasp, and wanted to question every detail that supported his beliefs. In the end, he found that everyone from Alanti to himself was fake, both actors on the stage, one aware of the other's own identity and the other not."

"My selling price in the Neuen slums is also nine silver coins." Cesar thought for a moment and said.

Milawa looked up at him, her eyes narrowed beneath her long lashes, a questioning look that undoubtedly indicated she was trying to get to the bottom of this matter. He was also concerned about this matter. "Really?" he asked.

"fake."

"Is it fake..."

"The one selling it for nine silver coins is a faceless spy disguised as an exiled noble. I'm selling them together. Also, her purchase price was actually two copper coins," Cesar said.

"Sell it to the temple?"

"Sold to slave traders, and then resold to people who will pay a high price for the exiled nobles."

"Isn't selling it to the temple better than to a slave trader?" Milava gazed into the dark abyss beneath the giant lizard. "Perhaps I too would have ended up in a wealthy noble's home, used as a solace from childhood, tied to the headboard of a bed draped with curtains and covered in red silk... Perhaps this is the strangeness of fate."

Before Cesar could comprehend the specificity of these words, they saw the sword tremble, a chill emanating from it. Milava seemed to react, his eyes widening as he grasped the sword of Arlante before Cesar could. His fingers trembled slightly, evidently fearing that his future queen would reveal a secret he wished to conceal.

"You are..."

"It's old Milava." The young Emperor Fran seemed about to deny it, but then he sighed, as if giving up. "Well, perhaps it has something to do with me. Sooner or later, you will continue your conversation with Alanti in this sword, and then you will know that the Chosen One Milava holds the unquestionable initiative in all relationships, treating others as nothing. But when it comes to the private affairs of the Emperor and Empress, he is always passive. Later, he would even be tied up with strips of cloth and blindfolded, allowing her to do whatever she wants."

“That’s a bit…”

"Stupid? I guess so. People have the most initiative in places where the sun shines, but in dark places where no one is around, they become more dependent. I don't really want to talk about that."

"I should apologize."

"Why? Because you initially thought I was hopelessly arrogant, or because you just now thought I was a fragile little bird? Neither is entirely true, nor is it entirely false. But I think your passion for judging people must be true."

This guy was truly insightful, Cesar thought, a wry smile forming on his face. He wrapped Milava in an old Frankish knight's cloak, keeping her warmer, and cradled her in his arms as gently as possible. Although he had no intention of becoming a mother, the child seemed to be dreaming of a nonexistent mother comforting him. With her eyes closed, she curled against his chest, looking even more like a pitiful little bird.

"Your name shouldn't have changed, right?" Milawa suddenly asked, "It's still he, not she, right?"

"You don't have to keep asking..."

The young Emperor of France raised his face again and stared at him. His cheek tilted slightly, and his silky hair fell from his ears and stuck to his narrow shoulders.

Honestly, Cesar had tried his best to address him as such, but now, his delicate features, as finely carved as white jade, cast against this abyss, looked more like a girl, like the moon in the night. His slightly upturned nose could only be described as exquisite, his eyelashes long and thick, and his eyes gleamed with a mysterious radiance in the darkness. His lips parted, occasionally exhaling puffs of white mist, the water-stained lip lines thin and soft, like flowing moonlight.

Milava's waist seemed even thinner, not only could one hand hold it, but it felt so soft that he couldn't let go. In the silence, he had already reached up and hugged his neck without a word, as if he truly treated him as his nonexistent mother. He rested his chin on his shoulder, his fingers on his back. Cesar felt that Milava had treated this endless darkness as a blurry dream, a dream about her mother.

Cesar patted his back and felt his breathing lips approaching his ear. He bit his ear between his lips as if looking for nutrients, and a few drops of blood came out.

"I won't bite too hard, teacher." He whispered, "I promised you not to feel any pain, so please indulge me a little, just a little..." He bit more carefully, licked gently, and blew streams of mind-numbing warmth into his ears.

When the young Emperor of France released his mouth, Cesar felt him continue to caress with delicate fingers, finally withdrawing them along with his blood-stained fingertips. Milava stared at his blood-stained fingertips, which he placed in his mouth. When he pulled them out, they were stained with saliva, and when they combined with his bright red lips, they looked mesmerizing and illusory.

Although Cesar still adhered to the requested address, the boy's heart was practically beating against his own. The white fingertip had just been removed from Milava's lips, and then it was placed against his own. Though it was only a gentle pressure, Cesar could sense what he wanted. Cesar opened his mouth, bit down, and pressed the fingertip against his tongue, staining it with saliva. Soon after, he saw the fingertip, laden with his own saliva, return to the young emperor's lips.

Milava's eyes closed completely, his eyelashes fluttering, and his lips gradually pursed, then opened again, just like the story of the emperor and empress he had just told. Cesar gently stroked his pointed chin, cupped his cheek, and kissed the finger between his lips. "Or—is he right, Master?" the boy asked. "No matter what happens, I hope this name will not change."

"Of course, always," Cesar said.

Milava released her fingers, resting her cheek against his palm, letting him kiss her passionately, savoring the touch of his soft lips. His cheeks grew even paler, feeling smooth and delicate against his palm. His lips slowly opened and closed, not in response to his kiss, but simply to take a breath, indeed carrying the passive acceptance of his story.

This guy is completely a girl in a dream. He thought that everything at this moment was just his dream, and it was like two worlds with his external reality, which parted ways on his way forward and merged together in his heart.

"People cannot live without dreams, teacher." The young Emperor Fran said with his eyes still closed, "With this dream, I can bring the beauty of resurrection from the dead, I can return to the fields of the past, and bring back the hope that was once lost. Even if the Holy Father returns to the world, she will look up at this scene..."

"She will look up to you, Mile, my poor little bird..." Cesar stroked his hair and kissed him for a long time, feeling his lips become softer and warmer again and again, and his body became softer and more obedient in the gentle embrace.

Milava leaned in his arms, calling out to her teacher with an uncontrollable, dreamlike affection, lingering in his embrace and kisses. He clasped his fingers, gradually tightening them, his heart beating slowly against his, his eyelashes trembling slightly against his, his lips moving and rubbing against his, sinking deeper and deeper into this endless darkness.

The child with a sick soul dreams that his mother, who had passed away before she opened her eyes, is caressing him and whispering stories to him before he goes to sleep.

......

The giant lizard slowly emerged from the darkness and void, entering this unknown tomb. By this time, the young emperor in Cesar's arms had already fallen asleep for some time. He noticed the surrounding mist, and the lingering scent of blood in the tomb, indicating that beasts had fed there. This path was a shortcut discovered by the beastmen, perhaps even leading further than the one discovered by Sevra and his group.

Moreover, this was the closest he had ever been to them.

Cesar helped the unconscious Milava up. "I'm afraid I have to wake you up," he said. "Does old Milava have any memories of this area?"

Chapter 461 What a Crystal-clear Teardrop

The young emperor held onto Cesar's broad chest and looked out.

"Very close," Milava said. "Over a thousand years ago, old Milava was almost at the end of the Tomb of the Wise, almost at the end of this journey with Alanti... I don't know what the journey's end is. Perhaps it's sacrificing oneself to fulfill the desire of some ancient being. But I don't know, because they turned back at the door at the end."

"Is this possible to go back?" Cesar asked him.

"It's because of Alanti," he said.

"Allandi rebelled against the will of the ancestors?"

"She couldn't resist directly. She'd made a promise that reached deep into her soul, so even she, a so-called evil creature, couldn't resist. So she sought out old Milawa and used metaphors to tell him that this path could be abandoned. She wanted him to restrain her and take her away, indirectly defying the will of her ancestors."

"So old Milawa just gave up like that?"

"The Frank Empire had already made so many sacrifices. Just one more step and they would have unveiled the final veil of the Tomb of the Wise. But Arlanti told old Milava that they could give up, so he really gave up before taking the final step. This meant that he gave up the Frank Empire's last hope - a hope he resolutely chose after listening to Arlanti's advice. There was no more hope."

"Did old Milava know the truth about Allandi at that time?"

"I know." Milawa sighed. "I thought she was a fake person, because after you uncovered Emperor Fran, you could still see me, but when I uncovered her, I found that I could see nothing. Old Milawa did find out about this later, but by then, he had already fallen into depravity and became willing to be deceived. Even though he knew she was a perfect stage actress, he wanted to continue standing on the stage and listen to her theories of love that she herself couldn't understand."

"Can't she figure it out herself..." Cesar looked at the silent sword, "Did she ever say anything that you felt was her own words rather than a stage performance?" he asked.

Miraval lowered her head, sighed deeply, and suddenly embraced Cesar with her arms. "Yes, yes... I love you not only on stage, but also off stage, Your Majesty. So please don't cry. Our golden age has passed, dying with the gradual revelation of the truth. So, bury it, for it will not and cannot live again."

Cesar savored this, suddenly realizing that Milava was also skilled in stage plays, but he'd invested so much in his role as Emperor of France that it had become a part of him. Compared to him, Alante never considered the stage her own. She always kept a clear distinction, or perhaps too clear a distinction—she refused to accept the world's conditioning.

This guy is like the Faceless One on a soul level.

Before he could think of how to answer, Milava's tone changed again, and suddenly, he saw a hint of madness in Allandi.

"No, that's not right," he said in a mournful voice, "Let me watch you weep a little longer, Your Majesty. Do you realize that you are actually beautiful? Look at them, such crystal tears, such beautiful sorrow..."

The young emperor stretched out his hand, his fingertips weaving around Cesar's messy hair and gently caressing his cheek. This gesture was insignificant, but with his dark, deep pupils and his mysterious gaze, it made one feel dazed, as if lost in a dream.

Then the child lifted his face and kissed him lightly on the lips, then broke away, briefly and confusedly.

"That's about it," Milava said, quickly collecting his thoughts and glancing sideways at the boundless mist in the distance. "How do you interpret this, my teacher? I don't understand. I simply find old Milava extremely tragic. Even knowing the true existence of Alanthi, he still stumbled upon his present state. Besides, if he hadn't indulged Alanthi for a thousand years, I wouldn't have severed myself from his soul. It's like how she severed you and Sevra, isn't it?"

Seeing his performance come to an end, Cesar finally spoke. "Perhaps old Milava is responding to her crazy love with an equally crazy love," Cesar said. "It's obvious that they both paid a price for this, and we all saw the price they each paid."

"cost......"

"Do you feel like you're paying a price now?" Cesar asked him with a smile. As he finished speaking, he saw Milava clasped her hands together and placed them on her chest.

"I can't tell if this is a price or not," Milawa whispered. "Until I understand, please don't ask me about my sexual characteristics, teacher, and don't explore the areas of uncertainty I still have. As long as you don't reveal them, I still have room to choose my own identity and existence."

"Do you want to walk around the world on your own and figure these things out?"

"Yes, I'm used to it. I do feel better with you. But returning to my pre-nine silver coins self is not what I want. I am the Emperor of Farran, and the Emperor of Farran is also a part of me. This is the path I have blazed through various temples and schools."

"Is Solaire always missing?"

Cesar tried to slow down his tone; he still wanted to know what happened to Soler over the years. But after saying this, Milava leaned closer to him, her hands on his chest and her cheek against his heart.

"The question I ask her most often is, 'You're going to be leaving again soon, is that true?'"

Cesar held his shoulders and stroked his soft hair from the top of his head to his ears, trying his best not to touch his sexual characteristics, which he still didn't know whether it was a boy or a girl.

"Then?"

“And she’d say, ‘Yes, Milava.’ And I’d ask, ‘Where to?’ And then there would be many, many places and cities I’d never heard of. These distant place names formed my first impression of the world.”

"You mean to say that, in your memory, you rarely saw Soleil. She was like the father of a whole family, always busy with war and politics?"

"The path I've been on is this: the Holy Father throws me into a sect, instructs them to teach me to the best of their ability, and then disappears without a trace. Suddenly one day, she reappears, comes to examine my achievements, and discovers that I've mastered everything. Then, she takes me to the next sect, instructs the next group of people to teach me, and then disappears again."

"It seems like you're getting used to it pretty quickly."

"Of course," Mirava said, looking up. "I am God's chosen one, the destined emperor. I will not beg or fear, nor will I plead with anyone not to abandon me. I perfectly learned everything the Holy Father wished in the first sect, and then the next, and the next, until I stood on the battlefield fighting beasts, until I finally ascended the throne that no one could question. Old Mirava despaired, but I haven't. The war was lost because of those short-sighted decisions, because I was blinded by my vision. I can still..."

His eyes shone with an intense light, as if he could see through the fog to see the ancient battlefield. Cesar watched the vitality bursting from the depths of his soul, and somehow he felt that these excessive pride and persistence in him were not so unpleasant.

After a long sigh, Milava turned around. "The end of the Tomb of the Wise—this event completes the path that old Milava left unfinished, proving he was more cowardly and more pathetic than I am, and proving I am more worthy of this name and this identity than he is. Also," he said, extending an arm, "remember to have your Faceless servants tell your companions that you have found the way. When I guide you through the remnants of your memories to the end, they'd better follow in reality."

"You really have the demeanor of an emperor at this moment, as if you were sitting in the center of the palace giving a speech," said Cesar.

"Of course," the young Emperor of France declared, "perhaps I will sit on the imperial throne where no one can question or offend me."

César lifted his outstretched arm and grasped his slender waist from behind. He tilted his face slightly, lips half-pursed, and kissed him again. A flush crept into his cheeks, and he tried to struggle, but his strength was feeble. Now, holding his lithe body like a dance partner, César avoided touching his tightly clothed chest. His right hand tightened its grip, his fingers gently caressing the back of his bony hand. His left hand, fingers spread apart, pressed against his slender waist and the slightly swollen belly, kneading them.

The sound of knights' footsteps and the tramp of horses' hooves echoed in the corridor outside, and Mirava couldn't help but shrink her shoulders - as if the knights would break through the tomb and lift the fog at any moment, revealing their emperor leaning in someone else's arms, allowing him to be tasted.

"It's not so unquestionable, Your Majesty." Cesar lowered his head, his lips resting against his soft, white ear. "Imagine that the ministers and knights are watching you from beneath your throne. What do they think they are looking at? And what do they think you are? A little bird being caressed?"

Milava closed her eyes completely, leaning against his chest, letting him caress her soft body. "If that's the case, I can only beg you, Master. I'll wear a maid's clothes and serve you, wash your clothes, clean the house, feed the horses, whatever you ask me to do. During the day, I'll be your little bird in your room, and at night, I'll be tied to your bed like a suffering emperor whose country has fallen, begging you every day not to abandon me and disappear..."

"Are you performing in a stage play again?"

"Because you do have many secret desires, teacher." Milava turned her head and touched his lips lightly. "Will offending the Master, His Majesty, His Highness, or the temple priests satisfy some of your secret desires? I often feel that the respectful addresses you use are different from the respectful addresses others use."

"Everyone has some secret desire, I just show it more obviously," Cesar said.

"But I don't want to face it." Milawa shook his head and said, "If I keep my eyes closed and don't look, I will feel very tired, but if I cover my eyes with a cloth, everything will feel easy."

Cesar loosened his fingers upon hearing this, and simply hugged his shoulders, letting him lean against him. He then told the monitor lizard to continue walking.

"I don't mean to force you," he said. "However, since you want to go your own way and cut ties with old Milava, then you need to carefully consider the matter of love. To you personally, it's not necessarily less important than rebuilding the empire."

"I don't even know what I am, or how I should approach you.

, how can I take it seriously? I am confused, I don't even know how long this wavering state will last, - maybe it will last forever? Sometimes I feel like I am a man, sometimes I feel like a woman, sometimes I feel like I am nothing, - because of this, because of this, the path of the empire is much clearer. When I return to the battlefield, I will find the answer in the trial of blood and fire. "

"You were very decisive in finding the answer."

"I can only confirm my existence in this decisive way." Mirava held his hand tightly, gazing at the increasingly deep tomb and corridors. "That deceitful prophet is clamoring in my soul, but unfortunately, I am not Alanti. I have not promised anything, nor do I need to fulfill any contract. When the darkness sealed at the end falls before us, Alanti and old Mirava, who obeyed her at the time, will surely bow to it, but I will not."

Cesar was a little worried when he thought about them really going into the deepest part of the tomb. "I hope so."