Chapter 43 Chapter 42 Wearing a Green Hat
Volume 4 Betrayal and Healing Chapter 42 Wearing a Green Hat
The capital of Kisliev shares the same name as the country, also called Kisliev. Of course, the locals pronounce it differently; they say “ki-sleiv,” accusing foreigners of mispronouncing the name of their capital.
The city of Kisliev has an inner palace built from ice and snow. Within this cold palace, the mages of Kisliev are preparing for a magical ritual.
A hero from the Sanctuary, bearing the weight of world-changing events, presents the Sanctuary’s documents to the Ice and Snow Queen, Katarina, who immediately summons all the court mages to provide whatever assistance they can.
They are to teleport this hero team into the vast northern mountains, saving them the trouble of the journey, as now is a tumultuous time and the roads are perilous.
Before the ritual is complete, a duke from Kisliev finds the hero Beowulf and engages him in a secret meeting.
“Hero,” says the duke of Kisliev, his face melancholic like an alcoholic poet. He wears a coat, his beard and hair chestnut brown, and he looks troubled: “Your words can decide my future happiness.”
“What happiness?”
“Marriage, family, and lineage.”
“Could my words be that significant?”
“Recently I learned that my wife, Yejilin, had been missing for a year and a half, though she told me she was merely studying abroad. Her family members also told me the same.”
“I remember telling you that she was lying,” says hero Beowulf. “If you suspect your wife’s fidelity, you shouldn’t consult me. Even if you do, I only have one insight.”
“What insight?”
“Women are just trouble on the path of justice,” hero Beowulf says with conviction. “Only by letting go of women and marriage can one move forward lightly, to serve my Lord.”
The duke of Kisliev self-deprecatingly smiles and continues gloomily, “Alas, the sweetness of love has stuck to me like honey.”
“I have never been in love; I don’t understand.”
“Could you possibly reveal whether my wife… you have seen her, has she ever been captured by the demon king, Gimar?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Her skills in bed…,” the duke of Kisliev is too saddened to finish his thought. “Sometimes she wakes up from nightmares at night.”
“I don’t find anything strange,” hero Beowulf says, his head beginning to hurt. “This sounds more complicated than exterminating heretics.”
The duke of Kisliev appears increasingly distressed. Gritting his teeth, he says, “Hero, please do not mention this to anyone else.”
“You have repeated that second sentence,” hero Beowulf replies. “The sanctuary paladin does not lie, except for some who willingly fall into depravity and have flexible morals.”
“Who?”
“Former hero George,” hero Beowulf emphasizes the word former.
“My wife became pregnant and gave birth to a mutant. According to our ancestral teachings, I had to, with tears, strangle my son and burn him for purification.”
Hero Beowulf nods in approval, “That is a necessary purification; otherwise, our world will eventually be eroded by magic.”
“The priest said her womb may have been contaminated,” the duke of Kisliev’s mouth moves, unable to utter more.
Hero Beowulf, puzzled, asks, “Magic erodes the land; such a thing is not uncommon. No one is exempt.”
The duke of Kisliev takes a deep breath and continues, “But the priest said she may have been severely contaminated; that’s unusual.”
Hero Beowulf finds it even stranger: “Unusual does not mean it cannot happen.”
The duke of Kisliev’s face goes pale and then green, finally managing to say, “It is likely that a liquid filled with foul power frequently washed through her womb, leading to physical mutations.”
“What liquid could wash—” hero Beowulf suddenly thinks and exclaims, “Is that possible? You mean your wife may have been taken by the demon king Gimar, defiled day and night, leaving this aftereffect?”
The duke of Kisliev’s forehead bulges with veins, his face turns red with anger, but he must endure it.
Everyone knows that sanctuary paladins only speak the truth, and they can only understand straightforward truths. He did not expect to be unable to pick up hints and for him to have to reveal his wounds himself.
Hero Beowulf says, “I understand now; truly, marriage is such an inconvenient matter. I have always kept my vow of chastity correctly.”
“Returning to the original question,” the duke of Kisliev says, “my wife…”
“I don’t know.”
“Please,” the duke of Kisliev pleads, “without an answer, I cannot sleep peacefully. You are likely worried about secrets leaking and causing secondary harm to the victims, right? I swear, I will not tell another person!”
Hero Beowulf’s face becomes unpleasant.
The duke of Kisliev misunderstands and says, “Am I not a victim? Am I destined to be deceived and have my lineage cut off? Is your justice built on the sacrifice of victims?”
Hero Beowulf says, “I truly don’t know. You forgot again; we sanctuary paladins cannot lie.”
The duke of Kisliev asks in shock, “Didn’t you once sanction the demon king Gimar?”
Hero Beowulf’s face darkens, responding stiffly, “That was former hero George; he has been declared unworthy of wielding the holy sword. You can ask him.”
The duke of Kisliev’s face suddenly turns bright red, and he stutters, “Please do not mention today’s—”
Hero Beowulf impatiently waves his hand: “Sanctuary paladins do not lie.”
“Alright.”
“And I suspect that former hero George will be arriving in Kisliev soon. Can you help me deliver this private letter to him?”
“Sure.” The duke of Kisliev accepts the letter.
Five days pass quickly, like a dog with its tail on fire.
Suddenly it disappears without a trace.
Outside the city of Kisliev, sitting on a branch, Gimar happily waves to the distant George and Jenna, leaving the rosy-cheeked Eve Frostleaf behind, spreading her wings and flying over.
“Jenna, it’s been a long time! How have you been?” Gimar greets Jenna before looking at George: “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the snitch horse.”
George’s steed, the heavenly warhorse Old White, sneezes.
Only then does Gimar turn to George: “George, you look good; I won’t interrupt.”
“Gimar, it’s great to see you,” George says, glancing at Eve Frostleaf in the distance. “And Frostleaf too.”
Tsk, tsk, really smart. Knowing that the silver-haired long legs have a wide hearing range.
“You guys are really slow; Frostleaf and I have been waiting for a day,” Gimar flaps her wings, hovering beside George. “Our current progress is very unfavorable. I heard that five days ago, the current hero has already been teleported away.”
Not far away, travelers see Gimar flying with wings and hastily ride off in panic.
George exhales white mist, saying, “Gimar, you should fold your wings to avoid causing panic.”
Gimar puts her wings away. Just then, Eve Frostleaf rides a silver steed, leading a horse and galloping over, and Gimar hops on the horse.
George takes off his helmet, his golden hair emitting a thin white mist: “Let me give a report.”
“Really serious,” Gimar complains, then begins to report what happened during this period. “In short, like in a cliché novel, we saved a small city and killed a bunch of rat men that appeared out of nowhere…”
George quietly listens to Gimar’s report, occasionally asking questions. Jenna and Eve Frostleaf stay silent, not wanting to disturb.
The group walks along the wide avenue, flanked by pine trees covered in snow on both sides. As they walk, the trees nearby suddenly disappear. Gimar glances over and sees that the woods seem to be cut by an invisible line.
Approaching the city of Kisliev, all the trees have been cut down, leaving a barren expanse behind, with only a smooth layer of snow. The black road cuts through the white ground, flowing into the ice-walled city of Kisliev. The dark gray walls of Kisliev are covered with a layer of solid ice.
Looking over the city walls, one can see a distant, ice cream-shaped tower, which is the ice palace of Empress Katarina.
George looks a few more times; this is his first visit to the capital of this warrior nation.
The four of them walk along the black avenue; it is now noon, and the sun’s rays weakly fall on the solid ice. The city gate guards do not stop them and allow them entry.
However, as soon as they have not gone far, the sound of hooves rushes in. Knights surround the four, led by a stocky man with a brutish face.
He blocks their way and asks, “Who are you? Someone reported that there’s a winged demon among you.”
George rides forward, holding documents, and says, “I am George, a paladin of the Sanctuary, tasked with an important mission. Here is my identification.”
“I ask you, is there a winged demon?”
Gimar squints at the brutish man, sensitive to a hint of something amiss.
By George’s reputation, someone should have heard of him. Furthermore, sanctuary paladins cannot lie, so telling the truth should inspire trust, displaying extraordinary capability.
George honestly replies, “Yes, this black-haired woman is one; she is my companion—”
The brutish man raises his hand, saying, “Arrest her.”
Knights and approaching infantry draw their weapons. George quickly unsheathes his sword from his back, brandishing the gold-grade great sword, and sternly says:
“What misunderstanding is this? We can discuss it.”
“Since she is a demon, what is there to discuss?” the brutish man asserts, heatedly, “Kisliev does not allow a succubus to tread upon it.”
“She is our partner and crucial to our mission.”
“What mission?”
“According to relevant regulations, I cannot disclose.”
“So, you intend to openly harbor this demon?” The brutish man is agitated. “Unless you hand her over for inspection.”
“Sorry, I do not trust you.”
The brutish man grips his sword, charging forward, saying, “Then I will stop you at all costs.”
It looks like a strange conflict is about to erupt. George raises his hands, saying, “Let’s try to minimize the bloodshed.”
At that moment, a manservant in black rides over and asks, “What are you blocking this for?”
Behind him, guards are escorting a luxurious carriage.
“Get away from here,” the brutish man says, “We are about to fight a demon.”
At this moment, the carriage curtain opens, revealing a beautiful noblewoman, her bright eyes gleaming like a fawn, and despite the cold country, she generously displays a large expanse of fair skin.
Gimar recognizes her at a glance; she is one of her past lives’ maids. George also recognizes her but does not greet her, pretending not to know.
The noblewoman also sees George’s face, closes the window, and the carriage moves away from the place where conflict is about to break out.
