Shadow of the Evil God

The miner then gave him an answer, saying, "Our knowledge is different from the teachings of the scriptures, my lord. In my opinion, suffering does not make people better, it only makes them worse. When my child stole, he never thought that I would suffer the consequences. If I were to go to jail, my family would starve to death in the streets. We would rot with those who have found no livelihood."

This was the miner's reply, and Levita fell silent after hearing it. He walked back without saying a word and began to examine the next patient.

"It seems you've thought of yourself, Brother Levita," Cesar said. "Don't you think the truth is in the heart of the humblest peasant?"

"I often feel like I've become bad," he said sadly, "a vicious dog."

"Compared to the nails you encountered in Sodoris, they were just petty and weak evil deeds, weren't they?"

"My evil deeds are very petty. As a wandering monk, I am also very weak. I can't do anything more despicable and dirty, but I still indulge in those ugly things, feeling that my soul is comforted. The reproach of conscience cannot compare to the comfort of those young girls who throw themselves into my arms to survive. Self-loathing cannot compare to my disgust for the current life..."

"Brother Levita." Cesar gestured to Gouzi to mix the medicine, the proportions of which he hadn't memorized, and continued, "You should not only consider what you did, but also consider how those people lived afterwards. Did you pay close attention? Or did you just run away subconsciously?"

"No," Levita answered, taking the medicine that Gouzi had quickly prepared. "I did pay attention, monk. I slept with several people. There were oppressions of hunger and plague. I didn't say anything, and they would come to me on their own. Some were married, some lived with their lovers, and some husbands died on the way. I gave them some money, but I don't know what I can do in the future. So, some of them will end up on the streets..."

Chapter 214: Dog's Emotions

Levita stopped talking because the soldiers had seen the report handed over by the apprentice and caught the patients with malignant infectious diseases from a pile of patients. Before the incurable patients spread the disease further, the soldiers with masks filled with herbs would take them away and ensure that they were dealt with safely.

"Sometimes I don't want to get up from the side room of the temple," Levita said. "Of course, if I don't want to, then I don't have to come. If you are also a compassionate person, you will realize what you are facing. When you come here, you will see a long line of men and women, old people and children waiting for your punishment. Those people are either standing or sitting outside the temple door, their faces full of worry, staring at you silently, as if you were the executioner holding a knife."

"Don't you think this is the reason you accepted the Shawl Society's transfer?" Cesar asked him patiently.

"I can't—tell it," the monk said, his voice barely audible. "One moment I'm in bed repenting of my sins, the next I'm trying to fill a sack with money and run away. I toss and turn all night, but always end up getting up to check on more patients in the temple hall, because there's nothing else to think about. Some of them have been here three or four times already, and they look at me like the dogs I once had.

At this time, Gouzi came over and said that the powder extracted from moldy bread was gone. Cesar realized that this primitive antibiotic was a special medicine made by the temple. In many places, the temple was completely ignorant of its production process and could only wait for higher-ups to provide it according to needs and batches.

Levita remained silent, staring at a porter in front of him who seemed to have come many times before. Only after the man retreated with a pale face did he pinch his beard vigorously and write down the approval that it was not an infectious disease or plague, but he did not specify whether the person could recover on his own.

"You seem to have some connection with him, Brother Levita," Cesar said to the middle-aged man.

"Yes and no," Levita answered him, letting out a long sigh. "His wife came here to beg me to save his life. Originally, there should have been enough medicine. The temple values ​​Sodoris very much, but now, with the fighting in the south, the medicine I can get has suddenly decreased. It's never enough. Ever since the fighting in the south started, I knew I would see more frightened faces and more mouths twitching in pleading. What kind of sick soul could allow me to keep staring at them?"

“Are there also shortages of medicines…?”

"It's been in short supply for quite some time," Levita said. "I used to be able to help some people a little bit, just to comfort myself, but now I can't even do that. How can I spend a normal night watching myself become more and more useless? Walk around Sodoris more often, wandering monk, you can see many things that you can't see anywhere else."

After he finished speaking, the middle-aged monk walked to the dark and gloomy candlestick inside the temple, bowed to the statue, and then turned and left. It seemed that he was going to his side room to pray a prayer that he was not sure whether it could comfort him.

......

Refugees with nowhere to go were everywhere, many covered in wounds and filth. Even though the soldiers arrested those suspected of being infected and sent them to the temple for observation, the place was like a disease exhibition. Those without a livelihood lay paralyzed in the alleys, waiting to die. Those who had a job and had nowhere to live simply lay down and slept on the sweltering streets. At least they wouldn't freeze to death like they had in Neuen.

These men wandered across Sodoris, digging coal in mines, moving stone at smelters, and loading and unloading cargo ships, seeking work to earn enough money and food to support themselves and their families. Some, more able-bodied, joined local gangs, hoping to survive by robbing and stealing. They slept on riverbanks, in the woods, and even set up huts outside towns where the soldiers ignored them. Some made fortunes by robbing newly arrived Sodorisers with their families, burying their stripped bodies in the wilderness outside the city.

As the miner said, suffering doesn't make people better; most of the time, it only makes them worse. Those who can extract virtue from suffering are themselves gold hidden in the sand, discovered by suffering.

Cesar pondered the impact of the southern war on Sodoris, the shortage of medicine in Sodoris and the northern fortress, and the increasing number of refugees, as he slowly walked forward. Dog held his arm as he followed, pushed forward by a group of mules behind him. It was the miners' shift change, and the streets of Sodoris were narrow, with an extremely crowded crowd. They finally squeezed into the tavern the patient had mentioned, and then he and Dog squeezed out.

The mercenary mage who led the Black Sword team in Sodoris was not far ahead. If we could apprehend this man in the tavern, the army's actions could avoid most of the accidents.

Gouzi was now unhappy about carrying the Invisible Assassin's weapon against the mage. She said it felt like a thorn in her waist, making her very uncomfortable. Although the Invisible Assassin had embedded a large amount of special leather and metal around the Secret Stone to prevent the mage from detecting its presence, for her, it was just a thorn in her waist instead of a sharp sword.

She hugged him tightly, her full breasts wrapped around his arms and rubbed back and forth, her eyes wide open under the hood of her cloak, so red that they seemed to be bleeding.

Her emotions were unusually high and unstable, and it looked like she would soon have to make a choice about how to deal with it.

Either he satisfies her lust for love, or he satisfies her lust for flesh and blood with the humans on the street.

This creature seemed peaceful on weekdays, but Cesar was actually bleeding her to appease her. Normally, she would skin alive at least one person a day, completely consuming them, just like humans need to eat and drink water every day.

As a guy who couldn't bear to part with her but couldn't let go of his moral sense, Cesar could only carry it on his own. Sometimes, he really liked the feeling of her lingering around him. As the existence he absorbed seeped into his own blood and also into her existence, she did undergo some minor changes, at least some subtle emotions.

They walked down the steep steps and entered a tavern that was said to be historic, feeling instantly cooler. The tavern was built in a strange way, half underground, with a vaulted ceiling piled high with barrels. The dog, standing on tiptoe and biting his ear, told him there were no mages, but the largest table was filled with Black Sword mercenaries.

Cesar realized that as the leader of the Black Swords, he would definitely have a private room in the tavern. This made things a little more complicated. He hoped that Gouzi could put his sword to the mercenary mage's neck before Altinia set up the artillery at the street entrance.

Chapter 215: Have you guys broken down the talks?

He made his way past the noisy crowd to the mercenaries' table. Like all taverns in northern Olidan, the place was smoky and filthy, its walls damp and speckled with mold. A stove with a blackened stone chimney roasted a recently slaughtered chicken, its flames casting a red glow on the mercenaries' bodies and faces. Some drank, others argued over the latest battle, some played dice, some played chess, and still others played cards.

Cesar quickly recognized the captain of the mercenaries. He was a spearman, but the sword he wore at his waist was a good piece of silver, easily distinguishing him from the other spearmen. The mercenaries were in a frenzied dice-rolling and drinking contest, and soon, one of them collapsed from the alcohol. Cesar tossed some money to the innkeeper, asking him to top up the empty beer on the mercenaries' round table with fine wine, and then sat down in the vacant seat.

"How strange! Someone actually offered Black Sword a drink," the spearman captain said, holding up a pewter cup. "I'm not sure if I should say this, but if you see someone kicking a guest off the table and telling them to get out, it's definitely someone from Black Sword."

The drunken mercenaries rallied him with hoarse voices.

"Some people say that if I have nowhere else to go, I can find a Black Sword base to prove myself." Cesar started talking nonsense. "But you're drunk. I guess your decision right now is not reliable. What do you think?"

"That's a sharp look," the spearman captain burped. He put on a solemn expression, brandishing his glass as he surveyed the group. "Would you please take note? Suppose someone came to me and offered themselves, without even a sword? Considering he must have a strength, I suppose it's the ability to tell if someone's drunk at a glance!"

"Captain Ceshia asked me to recommend myself," Cesar said.

"Oh! Captain Red, what's going on? If I don't agree to her, she's going to hit me?" The spearman captain shrank his shoulders and pretended to be terrified. The surrounding spearmen laughed at his fake expression. "Hey, did this woman get a promotion recently thanks to a letter of recommendation from a noble?" he asked the mercenaries present.

"Red Hair got promoted, now you can only smell her farts!" the man shouted back.

"Yes, she was promoted. It took me more than 20 years to complete the journey, and she completed it in just over two years." The spearman captain muttered, then leaned forward and exhaled a long breath of alcohol. "Do you want to emulate her, boy? How long do you think it will take you to complete the journey I've taken for more than 20 years and kick me into the gutter?"

"You seem to have a lot of complaints about me?"

"No complaints," the spearman captain drained his glass and shook his head vigorously, pretending to be bothered. "I appreciate the drinks, boy. But the Black Sword doesn't recruit poor nobles with maids. Do you think you can do anything in a robe and become a lover of Red Hair?"

Cesar shrugged, "Looks like I need to prove my relationship with Captain Ceshia."

"Ahahaha," the spearman captain took another bottle of sour wine. "I don't care if you're Red Hair's lover. I have the final say here. If I say no to impoverished nobles with maids, no one can object! If you want to join the Black Swords, then go across the northern fortress to the Empire on your own!"

Gouzi pulled out the short scimitar hidden in his cloak. The invisible assassin's blade flashed, and a silver line suddenly traced from the wine glass in his hand to the lapel of his clothes. His clothes were torn from neck to belly, revealing a tangle of black chest hair. The pewter wine glass was also cut into a smooth groove, and the top half, like a lid, fell to the ground with a handful of wine, rolling several times.

The laughter at the table suddenly died down, as if it were their throats that had just been slit. The spearman captain also suppressed his expression, staring at his torn clothes and the chest that should have been ripped open, thinking carefully. "I am indeed drunk," he suddenly nodded. "You are very perceptive, my friend."

"Yes," Cesar nodded, "you must be drunk to be talking nonsense."

The captain slammed the table. "Alright, introduce this friend to One-Eye, and say I was the first to make the introduction! What are you looking at me for? Invite him over!" After the task was completed, he retreated and muttered softly, "This is such a rotten day today."

Cesar stood up and followed the mercenaries toward the Black Sword mercenary mages' location. Before long, they passed through a curtained area and arrived at a large room below ground. The space was large enough for all the mercenaries present, but only a thin, wrinkled, withered man sat there. Perhaps no one dared to sit with him, or perhaps he simply wanted solitude and had every right to drink alone. Regardless, he was the only one in the room.

"I've never heard that Cecia has any relatives lost in Olidan," the mercenary mage said, "and you don't look like them either."

The mercenary wizard wore a deep red woolen robe of a solemn style, reminding Cesar of the mages of the Scythian School he had met in the town's deep pit. It was said that the Scythian School's magical theories were related to fire, and their high-ranking mages generally wore red robes like this. That said, the man's robe was already very worn. Something had been peeled off where the Scythian School's emblem should have been embroidered, and some inconspicuous places showed signs of repair. The pleats of the sleeves were also worn to a shine.

The man squinted and observed him. One of his eyes was a prosthetic, made of glass or crystal, but it didn't look like a human eye. He was in his forties or fifties, and looked very thin, with narrow shoulders, a sharp face, and deep eye sockets, which made him look extremely gloomy.

He sat down opposite the one-eyed wizard, put his arms around Gouzi's waist, and lifted her onto his knees.

"Cesia has made some good friends in Neuen," Cesar said slowly.

The one eye stared at him like a sharp-eyed bird staring ahead, its long, thin neck stretched out in intense concentration. "Are you the young Borgia of Neuen?"

"So she hasn't forgotten me. That's a relief."

"I thought you would come to Sodoris in a more honorable way."

"Isn't it above board now?" Cesar asked. "I even treated your men to a drink just to see you."

"You're just treating them like monkeys."

Cesar frowned. "That's a harsh thing to say. Weren't your monkeys the ones who started chattering at me first?"

The one-eyed man waved his hand. "The Black Swords can be quite hostile when they drink. If someone like you, with nothing, starts boasting about your status, they'll mistake you for a fallen nobleman blind to reality, and become even more hostile." He explained methodically, "This mercenary group has a history almost as long as the Southern Kingdoms themselves. Unlike other mercenary groups, this one has a different history."

"Even the throne of Olidan is in jeopardy. I don't see how a mercenary group that brags about its history can be any different." Cesar took a sip of his wine with an exaggerated expression. "Isn't the Black Sword's purpose for money or honor?"

"Honor is not important, but the contract is different."

"Yes, you have a job offer. You've been in Sodoris for a while, right?"

One-Eye rubbed his long nails. "The alderman has asked us to help him guard Sodoris. He's a despicable fellow, but the compensation he offers is decent, enough to offset the wages your cousin Garcia owes us, so we'll serve him. We protect him from mob rebellions, from political enemies, and from bandits from other directions who want to plunder his mines and workshops. Compared to staying in the north and conquering cities for Garcia, working here means I'll be busy as hell and won't risk my life."

"And do you think you won't risk your lives next, One-Eye?"

One-Eye craned his neck again, peering through the narrow window into the dark street, as if trying to gauge what was happening in the town. "Have you guys broken off the negotiations?" he asked.

"When I woke up, we hadn't started negotiations yet, but I think things have already fallen through," Cesar said. "It doesn't take a very smart inference to make that. The city council of Sodoris claimed to be serving the king and that they would hold the responsibility for supplying the fortress's rear. However, the wagon train I sent ahead was detained locally, on the grounds that they were responsible for distributing the logistical supplies, and outsiders were not allowed to make decisions on their own."

"It is true." said the one-eyed man.

"Since the alderman didn't run out and kneel down in tears, claiming it was all a misunderstanding—at least, I haven't heard anything like that—it's clear that the decision made by that old man in the Knights' Order... hasn't been implemented by everyone. You see, I inherited the mess at Gural Fortress, and I don't want anyone else holding my lifeline back and making demands on me. Do you understand?"

"Not clear enough." One-Eye said calmly, "Why won't you make any concessions? Even just a little."

"I have no intention of negotiating anything." Cesar smiled at him. "We've already discussed everything that can be negotiated in Anglan. If anyone still wants us to negotiate, the only way is for him to die and replace him with someone who won't want to negotiate with us."

"Then what do you want to express by sitting here?" the one-eyed man asked him.

"Show some respect to the leaders of the mercenary industry, and also to my dear fencing teacher's colleagues," Cesar said.

"I abide by the contract and protect the life and safety of my employer."

"If the employer is not there, there is no contract."

"Damn it." The spearman who led him over muttered, looking at the man with his one eye, and he suddenly didn't dare to speak.

Article 216 Xisai School

"Furthermore," Cesar continued, "compared to several towns in the south that were unfortunately attacked, the mayor of Sodoris was overly generous. He not only reinforced the town's outer walls, but also signed an agreement with a group of Black Sword teams, requiring them to provide defense for the town and ensure its safety. Some speculate that the mayor's family, like many people who have historically occupied the key points of logistical supply, has used their power to expand their family influence. They used Sodoris to create a monopoly, allowing their own chamber of commerce to dominate, while arbitrarily withholding supplies and secretly communicating with bankers in Olidan to make money..."

The one-eyed mage shook his head and waved the increasingly uneasy mercenary away, lest he worry about being silenced. "Your suspicions are excessive, sir," the mercenary mage finally spoke.

Cesar paid no attention. "When the alderman dies, carrying his rumors with him, I'll know if my suspicions are excessive, One-Eye," he said.

"Efred IV sent you here to guard the frontier fortress."

"No," Cesar denied. "King Evered IV sent me here to relieve him of his worries. This war concerns the dignity of the monarchy. Some nobles appear to support Your Majesty, but in fact they have used huge sums of money to hire the Black Sword to guard their homes. The so-called delicacies and silks are nothing compared to your military expenditures." He took a sip of wine and looked past the single eye to the well-equipped spearmen behind them. "Everywhere in the north is struggling to pay the army, but you are living an unusually comfortable life. Not only are you not worried about supplies and wages, you even have money to gamble and drink here?"

"All I heard was that you wanted to let your troops plunder."

"The order of my troops is not so low as to allow them to plunder."

"The aldermen are powerful nobles."

"Most of the noble families of Olidan will soon be gone, and no one will care if one or two more disappear."

"Aren't you afraid of the king's inquiry?"

"Once I have given the king the embezzled wealth of the alderman's family and relieved his urgent need, you will know who the king will inquire about."

"You want to control all the towns and all the areas from Gular to Gonzales and eliminate all those who do not obey you?"

Cesar blinked. "Do you think you're deliberately exaggerating the facts? If you tell me, it will scare me and make me shake my head and say I don't dare?"

The one-eyed man fell silent, moving his hands, stained with indelible ink. These hands, entangled with sinews, seemed too large for his thin body, and his fingers were covered in calluses, the kind of hands that often write.

"I was somewhat mistaken in my assumptions about you, young Borgia." The One-Eye tapped the table. "But you sound so complacent that you almost sound crazy."

"Aren't you slandering me?" Cesar spread his hands. "I'm simply dealing with some nobles suspected of rebellion, just like we did in Gonzales. We're donating their corrupt wealth to Your Majesty and then administering those oppressed territories. Is there any other explanation?"

"The aldermen of Sodoris have not rebelled." The one-eyed man squinted at him, his gray eyes focused intently. His eyes were cold, but there was a subtle burning feeling behind them.

Cesar shook his head in denial. "I believe they've obstructed the logistics supply routes and embezzled military funds that should have belonged to Your Majesty. Once I submit my report and transport the property to Anglan, they'll naturally become rebellious nobles."

"You secretly decided to rebel."

"It was King Evered IV who would have deemed them guilty of rebellion."

"Any fool like King Evered IV will know you're seeking personal gain. The more territory you acquire in this way, the more he'll worry about the threat you pose, and the more he'll see you as a threat."

Cesar frowned slightly. "First, as long as the War of the Throne of Olidan continues, King Æfred IV will never give up his endless military funds and ask me to return to Anglan to serve as a noble at court. Did you know that among all the troops supporting King Æfred IV, I'm the only one who not only doesn't ask for money, but actually pays him? Secondly, Grand Duke Urbino and King Æfred IV are like brothers. Finally, Grand Duke Urbino considers me more than just a servant—do you know what that means? With just a nod of the head, I can continue his family line and create another noble family to support King Æfred IV."

One-Eye tilted his neck, his gray eyes wide with curiosity. He said to Cesar, "That is a cursed school, and that young man is their cursed successor, my friend. Someone from Istria might consider her a capable wizard leader, but they would never consider her their future lover. However, you don't seem to be from Istria, huh?"

“Someone said something similar to me,” Cesar said.

"Someone?"

"That person's clothes are very similar to yours."

"I'm no longer a member of the Xisai School. You don't need to describe me too much. I don't know me anyway."

"It's alright," Cesar frowned deliberately. "You'll know who he is once you've seen him." He placed his hand on Gouzi's shoulder, caressing her from her tapering waist to her rounded hips. Then, he pulled a box from the bundle behind her cloak. The box was exquisitely crafted, made of an unknown material, silver-white and polished, looking anything but ordinary. It certainly wasn't theirs; it was brought by the invisible assassin, most likely to contain his own head.

He tapped the lid of the box gently, and it opened to the sides like a juggler, revealing a beautifully decorated and well-groomed human head. The head had eyes slightly closed and a smile on its face. Its cheeks were polished like mirrors and coated with embalming wax, and in the firelight it looked as if it were still alive.

“Sutik…!”

The One-Eye sprang to his feet, chairs splintering and wooden tables ablaze. The flames rushed towards Cesar with a sharp, piercing whistle and a shower of sharp thorns. In an instant, the blade swung out from before his eyes, the blinding flames vanishing wherever the arc of light passed. Then, a series of barriers that had risen from the One-Eye's body shattered, some pierced by the scimitar before they could even appear, like soap bubbles bursting at the fingertips. "Invisible Assassin!" The One-Eye screamed, stepping back, but the scimitar had already hooked his neck, instantly freezing his face and refusing any resistance.

Cesar walked over to One-Eye, placed his finger on the tip of the scimitar, pressed hard, and then thrust his blood-soaked finger into the dog's mouth. He listened to her licking, then sighed. "Depending on your relationship with this Sutik," he said, "I will determine whether you will be placed in another head box or accept my unpaid employment. Do you understand, One-Eye?"

Chapter 217 Two Schools of Magic

"I've known Sutik for over fifty years," the one-eyed man said, lowering his voice. "When the school expelled me, no one came forward to intercede on my behalf. Naturally, it's impossible for anyone to have a close relationship with me."

This was a curious statement. "Kicked out of the school?" Cesar asked him.

"Our spell research killed an entire squadron of apprentices, and the school wanted to find someone to take the blame, so they kicked me out."

"Since the school was able to pick you out of so many people, you must have some special qualities, right, One-Eye? So why did they kick you out?"