Shadow of the Evil God

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"No, sir," the sergeant said humbly, "Rumors wouldn't spread so quickly, and looters wouldn't appear so punctually. The locations of these fires...are very regular."

"A rumor that a Sassulai force was spotted near the Stone Abyss," Askrid sighed. "How could such a rumor spread and trigger such a large-scale riot! Besides mobilizing the army..."

Askrid approached the scattered crowd, but the panicked crowd huddled together and fled, unaware of the army's commander-in-chief. At this moment, Askrid suddenly reached out and grabbed the collar of a strong man from the crowd, easily lifted him up, and threw him and his bag to the ground.

"Who are you? How dare you go to a watchtower and steal military property?" he shouted. "Where are the soldiers in the watchtower? Did they just let you in?"

The guy with burned face looked familiar to Cesar, and then he remembered that he was from the Porter Gang. "Sir!" The Porter fell to his knees, trembling and kowtowing to Askrid. "Sir, the soldiers in the watchtower are all gone, the door is open, I don't know..."

"Even if the watchtower is open, that doesn't give you any reason to go in and steal!" Askrid yelled. "Sergeant, go notify the troops. I'm going to hang all these thieves who took advantage of the chaos upside down and let them freeze to death in the market!"

Just saying it wasn't enough to quench his anger. Askrid drew his sword, raised it, and with a flash of light, lunged down at the porter. If Cesar hadn't stepped forward and used all his life's training to deflect the blow, the tip of the sword would have pierced his chest. Of course, it was a lifetime of training, but in reality, it only took him a little over half a month.

The army commander's fingers holding the sword moved slightly. He first glanced at the two swords above the porter's head, and then looked at Cesar in surprise.

"Who are you?" He didn't recognize me.

"Can't you recognize this, Askelid?" Phils immediately shouted from the side.

"It's you two? How dare you, Ferriers?" Ascreed glanced at Ferriers. When he raised his eyes, Cesar had already taken off his visor and was looking at him calmly.

"So, you're also helping maintain order here." Askrid studied his face, observing his expression. "You're well-trained with your sword. Following the Temple was a good move, and you've even taken the initiative to participate in law enforcement to build your reputation. Very good, brother. You're brave, and your plan is sound. But, what does this mean?"

"I beg you not to be angry and spare this brother's life," Cesar said politely.

Askrid observed him more closely, shaking his head as he waved his hands to have his soldiers, who were drawing their swords and bows, step back.

"We investigated what happened over a month ago," the commander said. "I heard that you were sold to Libio by a gang of local porters. If that fat man hadn't suddenly repented and trusted Xiel, you would have become a slave. You endured this kind of treatment, and now you're pleading for them?"

"You stabbed him to death, which would be of no use to me or you, and would only vent your momentary anger," Cesar said. "But if you keep this man alive, he and his gang of porters can still be useful."

"Varied

What's the use?"

"The sentry tower has a city defense cannon and projectiles. If we set it up high and fire it, the noise will drown out all the chaos nearby, startling the panicked crowd and forcing them to quiet down temporarily. Then, as long as someone of sufficient status and position shouts,

Cooperate with the city guards to block all intersections with wartime fence pickets, and the riots will be further quelled, and those who take advantage of the opportunity to cause trouble will be trapped in the dog pit."

At this point, Cesar grabbed Fils's shoulders and pulled her over, saying, "She can help amplify your voice. While it might not be enough to drown out the chaos right now, when things quiet down after the bombardment, most people will hear your shouts."

At this moment, Ceshia, Granli and others were all with other teams in other blocks, and he was the only one who could speak out. He looked at Askrid lost in thought, and suddenly raised his eyebrows again, and there was more spirit in his eyes as he looked at him.

"So, the people who carried the artillery were these porters who stole during the chaos," said Askrid.

The middle-aged porter, his face ulcerated and festering, thanked the commander-in-chief for giving him the opportunity to redeem himself and make meritorious service. He turned around, lowered his head, and kowtowed to Cesar with a red face, stammering:

"Sir... I, I don't know how I can ever repay you. All my life, all my life..."

"Soldier, take him to his fellow porters," Askrid interrupted impatiently. "Clear a path to the watchtower. Let this man and his companions carry the artillery. Everyone else remains alert, on guard against the enemy who killed the soldiers in the watchtower."

A small contingent of mercenaries, some temple personnel, and a unit under the army commander coordinated their efforts, and soon they stood before the watchtower's gate. The gate was open, and a porter carrying a sack of supplies descended the steps. He came face to face with the heavily armed soldiers, and immediately fell to his knees under the threat of muskets and crossbows. A group of burly porters, carefully moving among the bodies of the sentinels, collecting sellable items, also fell to their knees in fear, kowtowed repeatedly, and declared that they had not killed the men.

Askrid, who seemed to have received the rites of Count Thane, walked in front, with Cesar following behind as he ascended the steps. He thought to himself that even if there were royal assassins, they wouldn't be able to bypass the commander in front or the heavily armed troops behind to kill him. He was in charge, but he still had to be vigilant about his own safety.

The soldiers drove the porters up to the second floor of the watchtower and stopped outside the door where the cannons were placed. It was very dark in the place.

Chapter 41 I am not a knight

Askrid pushed open the door to the artillery storage area. It was ajar, the oil lamps and torches extinguished. The pungent smell of blood hit him as he opened it. The commander led the way, and Cesar followed, only to bump his foot against a heavy block of iron. The block, a guard's breastplate, was about the width of a normal stride. Askrid, who could have easily stepped over the dead, was caught in the flesh, stumbling and nearly falling.

This person can either see in the dark or has other senses.

He bent down to move the body, grabbed the body's arms and dragged it to the wall to avoid blocking the way. At this time, Askrid was examining other bodies, as if studying the guards' deaths. Soldiers carrying oil lamps also filed in, filling the room with a dim orange-yellow light.

Cesar leaned the body against the wall and crouched beside him, observing him. In the dim light, he could discern the fatal wound—the point of the blade had pierced his forehead, leaving no trace of a scratch, like a thin line drawn with red paint. Who could have done such a thing? Had the others also died from this nearly invisible stab wound?

He was about to stand when a sudden musket roar rang out from behind him. His eyes widened in shock, but not behind him, but in front of him—something invisible in front of him had splattered blood, all the way to his wrist. The blood seeped through the gaps between his gloves and sleeves, then seeped into his skin, and his senses suddenly became different.

There are people here.

Cesar saw a vague figure clinging to the wall like a spider, its feet on the wall, its hands on an extinguished iron torch stand, hanging on to its body as if it had no weight at all. The outline of the wounded man was vaguely visible in the darkness, but with his natural senses, he could not see it at all.

An assassin? And one with inhuman skills? Cesar's mind raced. Besides Askrid, he was the only one who could be assassinated. The assassin must have been observing the situation, waiting for his prey to pass by before striking and killing them. Then, in plain sight, he could leave without a trace.

However, there was a problem here. He had just been laboriously moving the body right under the assassin's nose, completely defenseless. Why didn't the assassin take advantage of the opportunity to attack?

The reason may not be complicated.

Cesar made an exaggerated gesture of shock and turned away, completely ignoring the uncanny figure behind him and the potential piercing blow. He patted his armored chest and beckoned the dog who had fired the gun over, feigning to ask if she was upset with him. The dog blinked and tried to retort, but Cesar drowned her out with a frantic voice and dragged her toward the door, as if ready for a proper conversation.

Very good, no action was taken.

Apart from the helmet that covered his face, the biggest reason why the assassins failed to confirm his identity was that he

He worked himself to move the body like a soldier, without using any servants or men. As a nobleman, and the son of an earl, this behavior was obviously very absurd. In this case, as long as he followed the idea and made a vulgar gesture, he would be indecent.

Just curse everyone one by one with the dirty words from the slum streets.

But what exactly was this assassin? Was he even human? Cesar had just stepped out the door, looking back sideways, intending to call Phils back—the room suddenly lit up like daylight, like the midday sun pouring in, nearly blinding him. The previously blurry furniture, walls, round shells, and cannons came into sharp focus, and a translucent figure was also reflected.

Fortunately, he was accustomed to the glare of Firth's spells and immediately shielded his eyes, avoiding being blinded. By then, Gouzi had finished reloading and fired another shot. The figure barely dodged it, but seeing the situation was amiss, it darted deeper into the room like a gust of wind. The assassin's blades clashed with Askrid's, a resounding resounding sound. Then, using the momentum, he leaped back, unexpectedly slicing through a thick curtain and vanishing.

Caesar rushed over and discovered a large hole leading outside the city wall beyond the thick curtain. It was the embrasure of a watchtower. The assassin had unexpectedly leaped from the nearly ten-meter-high tower and vanished. The outside was shrouded in dense haze, the terrain complex, and with his current senses, he could only see the man gradually disappearing into a gray wall.

Askrid slowly put away his sword, walked to the wall, stood by the gun hole and looked out. "You run really fast," he said.

Cesar glanced at him and lowered his voice, making sure only the two of them could hear: "You felt it when you walked in, right? The route you took completely avoided that guy."

The commander stroked his long beard and said, "You're really expecting the wrong person, brother. With your ability, you can tell what my attitude is."

Cesar lowered his voice: "Well, Commander, I hope you can remain aloof and watch. This is better than anything else."

......

By the time the porters had moved the cannon to the top of the bell tower, Cesar still hadn't figured out the assassin's identity. He could have been an assassin sent by the grassland people, or by his fake cousin and uncle. It was a 50-50 chance, but his goal was definitely to kill him.

Given the assassin's deadly swordsmanship and even more deadly stealth abilities, it would be best for him to avoid leaving the inn during this period. If he is forced to go out, he must bring both the Faceless Man and the Mage with him. Otherwise, he would die without knowing how he would die.

At that moment, the crowd below the bell tower was thronging. Askrid had already dispatched his non-commissioned officers to lead soldiers, mercenaries, and temple personnel to block the road. Once the men were in place, the commander immediately ordered the artillery to fire at a burning house. There was a group of people looting inside, and he didn't care who they were, simply ordering them to be executed on the spot.

The next moment, a cannon exploded with a loud bang, making Cesar's ears buzz as he had never seen a cannon fired at close range. His head felt like it was hit by a pendulum and he felt like the whole world was shaking.

The shells landed on the burning house, and columns of fire shot up into the sky. The crowd fell into a dead silence for a moment out of fear, as if the shells had fallen on their heads and death was inevitable.

Cesar let out a long sigh and slumped to the ground. He ignored Askrid's shouting and leaned against the railing, gazing out at the street, watching the roofs of houses collapsed by round bombs, and the speculators struggling and screaming amid the flames and collapsed ruins. He couldn't help but feel a little dizzy.

The people inside were like burning black ghosts, losing their minds due to extreme terror, struggling and fleeing desperately. The screams were like the background sound of the commander's speech, especially obvious in the dead silent street.

As he fought with his sword, Cesar felt he had adapted to the rules of the place. Everything he felt was very real, a desperate struggle for survival. But when he saw a cannonball land on a house, easily collapsing the roof and burning so many people, he felt that the scene suddenly became unreal.

He felt his face turn pale, and instinctively did not want to pay attention to those people who were crushed by the rubble and burned to charcoal, but he controlled himself and continued to observe.

He watched this scene with an indescribable sense of oppression, and could not help but think of one terrible fact that was certain: he would inevitably witness many similar scenes in the future. This one was indirectly caused by him, but in the future, more similar scenes would be caused by his own hands, not only more, but also on a larger scale.

The round bomb fell, destroying a burning house and stopping the chaos of the crowd, as if cutting off the thread that held them together, making them die temporarily, and then being awakened by Askrid. For some reason, this scene made Cesar feel that some of the threads he had tried hard to maintain were suddenly cut.

He felt a little numb and dizzy. When Askrid came to shake his hand, he just responded reluctantly, then followed the temple team and said goodbye to the commander.

Cesar walked all the way back to the hotel, entered the room, and when he lay down, he realized that he had no recollection of how he got back. He shook his head, stopped his aimless thoughts, and saw the mercenary captain standing by, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

"Should I tell you it's not time to rest yet, apprentice?" Seshia asked, spreading one arm. "Although you are back from the outing, you still have

practise."

"Yes, it hasn't arrived yet," he said.

"If you train yourself to the point where you have no time to think, you can avoid many problems," she said nonchalantly.

Cesar lifted his boots from the bed.

He put it down, relaxed his fingers that had been numb from holding the hilt for a while, and then looked up. "Have you ever fallen into this kind of aimless confusion when you saw similar scenes before?" he asked.

"Not everyone is as willing as you are." Ceshia sighed and folded her arms.

"You really don't have the energy to think? You've received a knight's education, maybe even an aristocratic education. There's no need for you to pretend that you're just an uneducated mercenary." Cesar exposed her statement.

"I'm not a knight." Ceshia's face immediately turned cold.

"Then tell me," he said, looking into her blue eyes, "how many times did you claim to be a knight before you were caught competing in tournaments to make money?"

She raised an eyebrow and looked back. "Given your emotional instability, I'll reluctantly not let you pay the price for your words today. Whether I have the energy to think is my own business, and how you get through this experience is also your own business. I won't give you advice or ideas. You can either lie here and not eat or drink, or come out with me for training. Do you understand?"

Chapter 42: Good Disciple

"Everything you say is right, teacher. I'll do whatever you say. I'll even lick the soles of your feet," Cesar said helplessly. She looked tired, her forehead smeared with sweat, her hair stuck to her face in clumps, and she smelled a bit, but she seemed accustomed to working through fatigue. "What are we practicing? Where are we going?" he asked, standing up.

Cecia raised both eyebrows. "Go to the lobby below the hotel."

He looked out the window at the deserted courtyard, then at Ceshia. "Why are we going to the hall?"

"I heard you were attacked indoors." The mercenary captain went to the basin to scoop some water and splashed it on his face. "Getting used to different environments is part of the training. You can hold your sword facing the wall. When you swing or thrust, remember to keep the blade clear of the wall."

Cesar let her go first, then closed the door behind him and followed her down the corridor to the lower level of the hotel. Although he was a little exhausted, he would have to endure the discomfort many times in his life. Once in the basement hall, Cesar untied the chain of his breastplate and threw it into the box by the door. Cecia also untied her cloak and removed her hard leather armor.

The place was hot, the fire roaring in the fireplace, making it uncomfortable even without armor. Their undergarments were now soaked with sweat, and wrapped in their thick cotton armor, they exuded a pungent, sweaty odor. It had been fine in the courtyard before, but now, standing in the airless room, the mingled scent of their sweat drifted back and forth, choking Cesar and frowning.

If he hadn't smelled something even more disgusting in the dog pit in Lower Neuen, he would have wanted to find a river to jump into.

The basement hall is quite empty. Opposite the fireplace is a wine cellar room, flanked by long tables and benches, along with wall-mounted candlesticks, perfect for enjoying a glass of wine and socializing in the dimly lit atmosphere. If someone wants to use the hall for other purposes, there's a space in the middle for dancing or entertainment. The long tables against the wall are perfect for guests to enjoy a drink and chat while enjoying the performance.

Since it can be used for dancing, it can certainly be used for dueling.

Cesar followed the instructions, unzipped the sword pouch, gripped the one-handed sword, and stretched out his arm. He adjusted the position of his legs and shoulders, straightening his back.

"Not bad, you're basically there." Ceshia patted his right shoulder with the back of her hand, asking him not to pull in too much, then kicked his left foot with her boot, asking him to align his toes with the blade, and finally grabbed his right arm and twisted it, using her fingers to test the position of his muscles.

When she was done, she untied the pouch that held her training sword and leaned against the stone wall in front of him, her right shoulder directly over the blunt blade.

"Keep this position," Ceshia said as she drew her sword and weighed it in her hand. "Remember, don't hold it too tightly. Try to relax. Support the hilt with the tips of your fingers and the base of your thumb. Then, use your shoulder and back to exert force, not your forearm. A relaxed grip on the sword will give you a firmer grip than a tight one, and your moves will be more flexible. You can turn or change moves at any time. If the blade is made of tough enough material, you can even shake it to deform it."

"Do I need such great skills?" asked Cesar.

"You have to use it even if you don't want to," Ceshia shook her head. "You'll always encounter times when you can't rely on others. Back then you had to learn, and now you have to master it. This is what they call a task that you don't want to do but must complete."

"Does it count if you bomb an occupied house with round bombs?" Cesar continued.

"I know you're in a bad mood right now, but I still don't want irrelevant remarks to appear during practice." Ceshia smiled at him, "Just attack me with this offensive posture, apprentice. If you can hit me, you'll be considered a good learner and can ask whatever you want next. If you can't, just hold it in. Understand?"

Cesar had been training with his sword very intensely recently, using large amounts of questionable herbs and animal blood every day to speed up his recovery. He was taller, more agile, and stronger than before, and he had long wanted to give it his all.

He took a deep breath, weighed the sword, shook his arm to relieve the numbness, and then thrust forward with lightning speed, aiming straight at her shoulder. This action gathered all his personal understanding, and both the speed and technique were far beyond what he had encountered in the castle.

It was comparable then.

Cecia dodged, backhanding a slash of her sword towards his abdomen. Even though the blade was unsharpened, the impact on the cotton armor was almost as painful as a club hitting him in the stomach. Cesar lowered himself, raised his sword to meet her attack. The two swords collided with a clang of metal, and then the blades slid apart closely.

There was a wall behind her, leaving her with nowhere to retreat. Seeing that she was higher up, and the blade in her right hand was sliding toward her side, leaving her no time to block, he immediately twisted his wrist and slashed the sword towards her abdomen.

However, at this moment, the five fingers of Cecia's right hand unexpectedly opened. She gave up holding the sword and instead grabbed his sword wrist, clamping his right wrist like an iron clamp, preventing him from moving forward.

He saw her quickly spin her body, twisting her wrists to put on her shoulders, leaning back, her back against his arms, as if she was whispering to her lover. This movement was actually quite similar to ballroom dancing, but she did it without any grace, but with lightning speed.

As they got close, she first caught the long sword in mid-air with her left hand, and the hilt of the sword slammed into his chest with the help of the rotational inertia of her left arm, making him feel chest tightness and breathless; then she glanced back at the side, and her eyes met his. She quickly retracted and tensed her left arm with the reaction force, and raised her elbow upwards, hitting him in the face, making him dizzy.

At that moment, Cecilia released his right wrist, sending Cesar stumbling backward. Before he could regain his balance, she spun from facing him. She pushed against the ground, twisted her legs, and, exerting force from her shoulders, swung her right arm like a whip, lashing him across the face. This blow, with lightning speed, sent his head careening backward, sending him caressing and falling backward, his eyes black. He landed on his elbows, back, and buttocks.

Cesar struggled to his feet, embarrassed by Cecia's insistence that he stand up quickly, no matter how badly he fell. Then, he wiped his face. Sure enough, his nose bled and stung unbearably.

Fortunately, it was his own blood and would not seep into his skin.

"Isn't this a bit beyond teaching standards?" Cesar asked, holding his nose. "Is this really sword training?"

"My temper can easily lead to problems." Cecilia raised an eyebrow. "That's why I don't think of recruiting any apprentices. Teaching martial arts is one thing, but getting irritated and beating someone up is another. You have a special talent for making people irritated, Cesar."

"So do we stop the bleeding first, or just find something to plug it and continue practicing?"

She shook her head. "I was trying to teach you a lesson, but now I've done it. Your martial arts have improved, and I need to use some less beginner's techniques. You should rest for today."

"Your thoughts are really hard to figure out."

"Perhaps. I have always been mindful to maintain an appropriate attitude and distance with my men, but if you insist on me teaching you martial arts, it will be difficult for me to restrain myself as usual."

"Is this what it means to not keep your distance? Will you beat your own children like this in the future?" Cesar said sarcastically.

"Who knows? I never thought I'd have a child. Things you haven't thought about, naturally, you have to wait until they happen. Besides, even if it doesn't happen, won't I still live the same? I never thought I'd be forced to have an apprentice, and it was Garcia, the butcher, who forced it on me."

"I really hope Fils knows how to correct nose bridges." Cesar glared at her. "With more practice with you, she should be able to go from a mage to a professional surgeon."

Cecilia chuckled, walked over, pried open his hand that was covering his nose with his left hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and index finger. With a click, she straightened his nose with a smile - he almost cried on the spot because of the pain.

"People like us don't have that much time to wait to find a doctor, understand, apprentice? At this time, it is very important to learn some medical knowledge yourself. Go to the temple in Patiala and donate some money. As long as you have status, they will always teach you a few tricks. Even if you only know the basics, it is better than knowing nothing at all."

"That alone proves that you are more than just a mercenary," said Cesar.

"Could you please stop harping on my past as a knight, my dear apprentice?" she said briskly, smiling as she pinched his nose and twisted it, causing his brows and eyes to wrinkle in pain. "Do you know what would happen if anyone else dared to mention this to me? It's a good thing we're acquaintances now, otherwise I'd definitely break your nose again."