Chapter 48 Chapter 47 Facing the Past
In theory, the beings most sensitive to the winds of magic should be the succubi.
However, the succubus remained silent, gazing out at the scene outside the window.
The noisy, emotional, and flushed faces of the mob always reminded George of familiar scenes from the past, the riots in Shalin City and Marlin City, coupled with one of Jima’s abilities being to spread rumors.
He couldn’t help but glance at Jima. But then he asked himself, if it was Jima’s doing, what benefit would it bring her?
There were no benefits, only numerous drawbacks.
George turned his head, looking at the surging mob outside, shifting his focus to their current predicament.
He was the captain and had to take responsibility for the entire adventuring party.
The situation had deteriorated to this point; the best way out was to carve a bloody path.
Yet, George felt there must be a trap within.
He turned back and asked Saint Jenna, “How is the wind of magic blowing now?”
“It’s becoming more and more intense.”
George felt something suspicious in this; the winds of magic were often the signal for evil beings to attack, the barrier between reality and the demon realm would be torn apart, and those demons would descend upon the world.
This phenomenon further confirmed a hypothesis: the internal situation in Kisliv had already been infiltrated and corrupted so thoroughly that the soldiers outside, whether they intended to or not, were merely pawns of the evil side.
Staying here any longer was becoming increasingly dangerous.
So, should he issue the command to carve a bloody path immediately?
“Crash!”
A stone smashed through the window in front of George, and shards of glass hit the invisible barrier a meter in front of him before falling to the ground.
Through the large hole in the expensive glass window, he saw in the distance the Duke of Kisliv leading a throng of winged cavalry.
Was the entire Kisliv city, the land of warriors, hopelessly corrupted to the extreme?
Perhaps there was some misunderstanding in this.
According to the values and education of the church, George should be open and candid, to communicate clearly and dispel misunderstandings…
The mob below was attacking the main entrance and had picked up ladders, trying to climb over the walls.
Yet a series of dirt walls were erected, blocking the doors, toppling ladders, turning this manor into a small fortress, momentarily slowing the mob’s attacks.
Thus, the mob attempted to burn down the manor with fire.
“George!”
It was Jima, urging, “Are we really going to burn to death here?”
Suddenly, icy rain began to fall from the sky, extinguishing the flames and putting out the torches in their hands. The rain was mixed with ice, causing many of the mob to shiver with cold, their movements slowing down.
This was the work of Eve Frostleaf.
Jima quickly changed her tone: “We can fend off this time, but what about next time?”
George made up his mind and looked at Saint Jenna, saying, “Jenna, control the light and create a large bulletin board.”
“Understood.”
Jima rolled her eyes at the ceiling: “It’s so delightful, so safe to be with lawful good people.”
She just wanted both sides to start fighting, to get on with it, and escape. In doing so, all chances of meeting the Duchess of Kisliv would be cut off, thus she wouldn’t have to worry about her identity being exposed.
Two lines of text floated above the smoking manor:
“Your Grace, I hope to have a good talk with you, and I hope you won’t be deceived.”
“Clarification: I, George, never said ‘You are weak; you should die,’ and have never looked down upon the deceased Duchess of Kisliv.”
These words, composed of white light, shone brightly and had a magical quality. They were solemn, serious, and sincere—suggesting one unknowingly believed in these words.
But the Duchess was nervous; upon seeing the first line, she almost concluded that George would break his oath and reveal her past to the Duke.
Yet she maintained a facade of calm, sitting sideways on her horse, silently gazing at the manor in the distance, sending silent prayers that the Demon King Jima had not deceived her last night.
“Tell him.” The Duke of Kisliv called over a messenger, “Unless he agrees to compromise, I will remain as firm as the ice on Snow Mountain, with no room for concession.”
“Yes!”
The messenger rode through the mob, conveying the Duke’s intent.
The words above transformed: “The Paladin never breaks their oath.”
The Duke of Kisliv’s expression turned cold, not a word escaping his lips.
The Duchess felt a sigh of relief; even if George ultimately compromised, it would buy time for the Demon King Jima.
She gazed towards the manor with the rising smoke.
The agitated mob, after cooling off for a moment, had someone recognize the common language, shouting, “This foreigner is using a false translated name!”
The four members of the adventuring party did not know the pronunciation and script of Kisliv; with the assistance of magical tools, they could only read and speak the language of Kisliv.
Thus, those two lines of notice were in the common language.
And Kisliv was pronounced as “Kislev” in a consensus, leading to their dissatisfaction with this translation in the common language.
The mob’s anger was reignited, continuing their assault on the manor. No fortress could ever permanently impede tool-using humans, especially when the guards inside the fortress were not harming the attackers.
They set up ladders, raised umbrellas, and some were already able to breach the manor, then threw things out from the second-floor windows.
Seeing this scene, the Duchess felt a twinge of guilt.
She kept repeating to herself, “I was only acting in self-defense; he is not truly my benefactor.”
Shadows from the past loomed over her like a great spider, casting darkness in her heart. Even in her current predicament, it was worth fighting for with all her strength.
The three waves of attacks from the mob were all crushed; they were injured and moaned, and the furious emotions spread to the army.
Some officers gave orders on their own, commanding soldiers to charge, shouting to teach the foreigner George a lesson!
Some took the lead, and more soldiers charged ahead on their own, rushing toward the manor.
This caught the Duke of Kisliv off guard; he dispatched his subordinates to constrain the army. Yet, in front of the rampaging troops, his subordinates appeared as useless as a goose honking by the roadside. No one paid him any heed.
“My lord! Should we go restrain them?”
The Duke of Kisliv hesitated for a moment; restraining the army now required sending trusted allies to lead them, employing violent measures to suppress this violent machinery.
It was expected; he initially aimed to exert maximum pressure and truly wanted to tear the face off George, which was not what he desired.
Yet, seeing the words “The Paladin never breaks their oath” on the manor, a fire of anger ignited at the top of his head.
The idle gossip about his wife being a plaything of the Demon King, completely submissive to him in body and mind, her womb tainted, birthing nothing but monsters, continually assaulted his ears.
These idle words settled, turning into anger hot enough to incinerate all caution.
He raised his hand and said, “No need.”
The assault on the manor fortress became more visually engaging with the involvement of specialists.
The four of George were forced to use their extraordinary abilities; some were injured, and some had died—not many, but enough to enrage the attacking side.
At this moment, Kisliv’s ice and snow mage, a woman, galloped over and shouted:
“My lord, it’s not good; the wind of magic from the manor…,” she struggled to find the right adjective, “….is bursting! They’ve revealed their tails.”
At that moment, it seemed everyone heard the incantation of the ritual’s conclusion.
A crack appeared openly in front of the army and before the manor fortress.
“The demon realm is invading!”
