Chapter 95: Farewell Song

  Ethan pulled the sword from under his bed. It was covered in dust. This weapon, embodying his father's painstaking effort and blessings and representing his dreams, had lain unused for a long time. Bishop Ronis had forbidden him from carrying this blade, which was utterly unsuitable for a Divine Officer even in appearance. Swords were standard weapons for low-ranking soldiers and ruffians—crude implements for brutal hacking and slashing.

  Strapping the sword to his back, the familiar weight pressed through the coarse linen fabric against his skin. Dressed in the common garb of an adventurer, he also carried salt, honey, and medicinal herbs—essentials for wilderness survival—carefully tucked inside his robes. He was in the same state as the night he fled Kalendor, but his mood was completely different.

  Back then, it had been pure excitement and exhilaration. Now, he didn't know what he felt. A mix of discouragement and a strange sense of liberation.

  Emerging from the inner room, he glanced around. He saw the strange old man standing there, curiously holding a dead hand and looking at him. Realizing he might never return, he felt an unexpected reluctance to leave this strange place filled with corpses and organs.

  He walked over to Sandro and sighed. He gave him a half-embrace, patting his shoulder. "Goodbye, you old corpse. If I have time, I'll miss you."

  Unexpectedly, Sandro jumped back like a stabbed rabbit. He brushed the spot Ethan had embraced and glared. "What's wrong with you? Something wrong with your head?"

  "Hey, just saying goodbye before I leave," Ethan said sheepishly, pulling his hand back.

  "Leave? Where to?"

  "I don't know. Probably travel the world while dodging wanted posters."

  "You're not doing the things Bishop Ronis arranged for you?" Sandro rolled his eyes at him.

  "No. I can't do them."

  "Decided to get captured and go to Vedenina?"

  Ethan smiled wryly. "Looking for death? I was nearly killed by two Necromancers a few days ago. Heard some guy named Master Aiden say that except for Vedenina, all the Necromancers want me dead. I really don't know what's wrong with my Lich classmate."

  "Aiden..." Sandro paused. "So those bastards have already... I wonder what will happen to Vedenina... Never mind, it's none of my business anymore. Let them stew in their own juice." He sighed, then looked back at Ethan. "Even so, you dare to run around out there? Tired of living?"

  Ethan spread his hands. "Anyway, I don't want to keep doing Bishop Ronis's 'great deeds' under him. I have things I want to do."

  "Even if you're wanted by the Church, hunted by the Elves, you don't care?" Sandro stared at him, his black-and-white eyes lifeless. "Hunted by the Guild? Not afraid? Besides Ronis and them, they probably have some scruples. But even an emperor, in their eyes, is no different from a chicken. They kill whoever they want. Are you, a sissy boy like you, not afraid?"

  "Of course I'm afraid. Who isn't afraid of death?" Ethan smiled wryly, sighed again, and said softly, "But I know better what I must do, and what I won't do. If they want to kill me, let them come. I'm probably no easier to kill than an emperor."

  Sandro tilted his head, staring blankly at him, his eyes emitting that not-quite-dead glow. Suddenly, he nodded. "So you're not a sissy anymore. Somewhere along the way, you became a man." He looked up again. "But aren't you afraid I'll capture you, this runaway, and hand you over to Ronis? You know we're friends." He spread his hands, righteous. "And I, a man of such loyalty, must naturally think of my friends."

  "Damn. I forgot." Ethan suddenly realized, smacking his forehead. He frowned at Sandro. "But you're so loyal, you wouldn't betray me, right?"

  Sandro glared. "You brat are just a corpse-carrying coolie under me. What right do you have to talk about loyalty with me?" He turned and went into the inner room, rummaged for a moment, then came out and tossed two things to Ethan. "You get no pay for quitting halfway. But considering you worked hard, here are two things I don't need. Take them. Might help you live a bit longer."

  Ethan caught them: a book and something soft. He casually flipped open the book. The page read: "Analysis of the Principles of Enslaving Skeletons and Zombies." He looked at Sandro in astonishment. "This is..."

  "It's a book on Necromancy I wrote out of boredom over the years. Never intended to show it to anyone. But you seem decent enough. Consider it a souvenir."

  "But... this is Necromancy..." Ethan hesitated.

  "Any magic that saves your life is good magic." Sandro spat. "Pah, you ungrateful brat. I kindly give you a souvenir, and you're picky? Don't want it? Give it back."

  "I want it, of course I want it." Ethan quickly tucked the book into his robes. Indeed, any useful magic was good magic. Under the effect of Dark Meditation, Necromancy seemed to be the only school of magic he could practice now. He remembered vividly how he'd been sent running by Master Aiden's sky-filling lightning and thunderous fireballs. If he continued relying only on that pathetic low-level fireball, even carrying a hundred Leaves of the World Tree wouldn't be enough.

  Ethan looked at the other item. It was a piece of soft hide, with twisted features like melted wax congealed on it. It was actually the mask he'd used to evade the Duke when he first arrived in the capital. After the Duke lifted the wanted order, he'd forgotten where he'd left it. Unexpectedly, Sandro had kept it.

  "You old corpse! You didn't give me this good thing sooner!" If the Necromancy book had just surprised him, this item sent him into ecstasy. With this mask, as long as the old man Sandro didn't talk, who besides Bishop Ronis, the Duke, and a few others could recognize him? He'd forgotten this crucial item. If he'd remembered earlier and asked Sandro for it, he could have escaped long ago.

  "I don't give my things to sissies," Sandro said flatly. As if suddenly remembering something, he held out his hand to Ethan. "Right, let me see that firewood-chopper on your back."

  Ethan unstrapped the sword and handed it to Sandro. The old man examined it, then tapped the blade with a pale, withered finger. It rang with a clear metallic clang. "Hmm, not bad. Made entirely from Kalendor's finest ore. But it seems just forged by a good blacksmith without other processing, yes?"

  "Yes, my father," Ethan answered.

  "Your father?" Sandro nodded, took the sword into the inner room. After sounds of rummaging, he came out with a small vial, muttering, "Only today did I realize what a fine weapon this is. There's a magical experiment I've always wanted to try. You don't mind, do you?"

  "Hey..." Ethan felt apprehensive. "Don't break it."

  Sandro didn't answer. He just cleared a space on the stone slab with the sword, bit his finger, and drew a small magic circle on the slab with his own blood. He placed the sword in the center. Then he uncorked the vial. A wave of magic power with a faint scent of blood emanated.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Ethan saw what looked like two animal fangs inside the vial. He frowned. "What's that?"

  "Teeth from a Vampire Count. Not easy to get. Killing that monster gave me a headache." Sandro muttered. He placed the two fangs on the sword blade, then pressed one finger down on them and began chanting a low incantation.

  The entire magic circle began to glow faintly. Ethan could vaguely sense an immense amount of magical power condensing and vibrating within the circle, but it hardly spread beyond the small space. As Sandro chanted, the magical energy in the three-foot-square semicircular space grew denser. The two fangs under Sandro's finger slowly began to soften and melt.

  The bloody scent from the fangs filled every corner of the large room, completely masking the pervasive odor of corpses. Whether it was illusion or not, Ethan could faintly hear sharp, mournful wails. The sound seemed both real and unreal, unsettling his heart, echoing directly in his mind and soul.

  The magical power in the circle grew stronger. The small space seemed compressed into a turbulent sea. The vampire's two fangs had completely melted into a white liquid flowing over the sword blade. Though inaudible, Ethan felt the wails seemed ready to bring the entire building down. He looked at Sandro in terror, only to see the usually imperturbable old man drenched in cold sweat, his face beneath the tangled beard and hair pale and translucent.

  But Ethan didn't dare make a sound. Interrupting the spell now wasn't just a matter of the sword being damaged.

  Finally, the piercing wails rapidly faded. The white liquid from the melted fangs on the blade, like water meeting a sponge, seemed to seep into the sword itself.

  "Give me your hand," Sandro commanded in a low voice. Before Ethan could react, he found his hand somehow in Sandro's. Sandro withdrew the finger that had been pressing the fangs and gently pinched a small piece of flesh from the center of Ethan's index finger. A piercing pain shot through him as the flesh was torn away.

  The spurt of blood that landed on the sword blade hissed like it had hit red-hot iron, leaving a dark mark. The strange wailing vanished completely. The magical power from the circle simultaneously surged into the sword.

  Sandro staggered. Ethan quickly reached out to support him. He wiped his sweat and sighed, "Really getting old..."

  After catching his breath, Sandro pushed Ethan's hand away and stood steady. "Pick up the sword and take a look."

  Besides the new bloodstain, the sword seemed unchanged. But the moment he grasped it, Ethan could feel a strange magical power flowing within the blade. Perhaps because his own blood had been added, this magical fluctuation seemed to keep a strange rhythm with his breathing and heartbeat. What had once been an ordinary sword was now a magical weapon.

  He had only heard of magical weapons before. They required the cooperation of the highest-level blacksmiths and master mages during forging, plus the addition of precious magical ingredients, to allow magical power to flow eternally within the weapon. Some supreme magical weapons were priceless. Yet Sandro had created one alone in this short time—it was simply unbelievable.

  "You lucky brat. I'd only conceived of this magic experiment. Who knew it would succeed on the first try." Sandro looked at his creation, nodding weakly. "Not bad, not bad."

  Ethan gripped the sword, feeling the magical power flowing within it, then looked at the book and mask in his other hand. A strange impulse rose in his chest. He looked at the listless Sandro and suddenly bowed to him. "Thank you... for taking such good care of me."

  But Sandro nearly spat in his face. "Less of the sentimentality. Who took care of you? If you're leaving, then go."

  Ethan looked at the strange old man and smiled wryly. "If I have time later, I'll come back to see you."

  Sandro looked Ethan up and down carefully again, nodded, then shook his head, muttering, "Sigh, when I first saw you, I thought I'd just picked up a cheap coolie... Who knew so much would happen later... Life is unpredictable. Oh well, if it's unpredictable, don't think about it. Everyone just do their own thing. You go... Oh, right. Aren't you going to say goodbye to Ronis?"

  "Forget it. I think I'll skip that." Ethan smiled wryly and shook his head. "Besides, I heard some Bishop Adela arrived from the Vatican today. Bishop Ronis is probably busy."

  "Bishop Adela?" Sandro paused at the name, looked up, narrowed his eyes, and thought. "Seems I've heard that name somewhere... Strange feeling." But he seemed unable to recall anything, finally just frowning down at Ethan. "Hmm... After you leave, even if you have time, don't come back. I have a strange feeling..."

  "What's strange?" Ethan asked.

  "Nothing you need to worry about." Sandro waved his hand. "If you're going, go quickly."

  Walking out of the large building, Ethan stood on a small hill outside the capital. He looked back at the endless sea of houses. Although this place held mostly unpleasant memories for him, the thought that he might never return again brought a pang of reluctance.

  What was he reluctant to leave behind... Ethan sighed.

  Evening. At the Duke's mansion.

  The young Assistant Finance Minister had just finished reviewing the last batch of documents for the day and stood up to stretch. She had been sitting at her desk since morning, working for over ten hours straight. Searching the entire Empire's bureaucracy, you wouldn't find a more diligent or dedicated official.

  Not only that. Her ability was equally astonishing. In just a few months, the Empire's chaotic finances, under her reorganization, had slowly begun to show order. Her outstanding ability earned the recognition of all court officials. Coupled with her father's influence and his deliberate or inadvertent maneuvers, although nominally still just an assistant minister, many major financial matters were already being personally handled by her. The aging Finance Minister was happy to offload the work onto this excellent junior, while also conveying to Duke Mrak his own willingness to step aside for the worthy. It was well-known that perhaps before long, she would become the Empire's Finance Minister.

  For convenience, and because it wasn't proper for a woman to travel everywhere, she had simply set up her office in the Duke's mansion. Naturally, this was also Duke Mrak's intention. Having his daughter manage the entire Empire's finances from his own home was, in substance, extraordinarily convenient, and spiritually, it was undoubtedly an immense pleasure.

  This approach might seem open to criticism. But Sophia's work was indeed completed exceptionally well, impartial and aboveboard, leaving no room for criticism. Most importantly, given the Duke's current power and status, he no longer needed to fear what anyone said.

  Rumors were frightening, a good reputation necessary—but that was only true when there were competitors, when one needed to win favor and lull opponents. When one's power was unassailable, capable of blocking out most opposition even if not omnipotent, there was no longer any need to waste energy building a false reputation. Of course, the Duke was hardly the type to become smug and flaunt his power the moment he gained influence. He was measured.

  But that his daughter had the opportunity to enter politics, and demonstrated such strong ability, such ambition and political desire—this was truly an unexpected delight for the Duke. Like father, like son in battle. Having no son, but such a capable daughter, was absolutely enough to bring comfort.

  Often hearing others praise her as a worthy daughter of a tiger father, Sophia herself often smiled wryly in private. Perhaps everyone thought so, her father included, but the reality was different.

  She had no desire for power whatsoever. She might not be the most capable, diligent, or greatest official in the world, but she was undoubtedly the most helpless.

  She seemed to lack nothing—status, position, family, husband, relatives. But in reality, she knew best that she had almost nothing.

  She wasn't suited to the life circle she inhabited. The nominal husband and home had only ever meant shackles and constraints since she acquired them. Though she still had a father, the Duke's actions were enough to chill any child to the bone, making even the slightest feeling of closeness impossible.

  Fortunately, she finally had her "career." After risking her life to save the Emperor, faced with numerous rewards, she had only asked for a position, allowing her to legitimately escape the role of "noble lady."

  And she had succeeded. She had a sharp mind; her years of adventure abroad had given her a deep understanding of the common people's hardships. She could immerse herself completely in her work, striving to do everything in her hands as well as possible. When she was too busy to think or worry, her heart did feel much better. And when she looked back at her achievements, there was indeed a sense of satisfaction. She slowly found the focus of her life, even developing some goals and fighting spirit. Feeling that the work in her hands might help thousands eat a little better, live a little more comfortably, that this country could become a little better—this sense of fulfillment and achievement was truly satisfying.

  Only in the dead of night, when she had to stop working and rest, could she not help but feel lonely, unconsciously wondering: How is he now?

  Sophia walked onto the room's balcony, staring blankly at the stars. For some reason, tonight's sky was exceptionally clear, as beautiful as the starry sky she had seen with him in the Barbarian Highlands. She sighed deeply, thinking again of her days in Oufu. Those carefree, happy times... but they were gone forever.

  Perhaps she was too tired from work, her mind a bit dazed. It seemed she heard his footsteps again. The sound of coarse hemp shoes rubbing against the ground, that unique rhythm slowly approaching, even the tip of her nose seemed to catch his scent, tinged with sweat... Sophia couldn't help but close her eyes, intoxicated by this hazy, mist-like illusion.

  "Stars like this are rare in the capital. But how can you see them with your eyes closed?"

  Sophia's eyes snapped open. She turned. He was standing beside her.

  He was no longer wearing the white robe of a Divine Officer, but the same ordinary coarse cloth clothes as before, his hair a bit messy, the strangely shaped sword still on his back. Just like he looked in Oufu.

  After her initial shock, she didn't dare move, didn't dare to confirm whether this before her was an illusion born of longing or reality.

  Ethan's hand rose to her face, caressing it as he sighed. "You've lost weight... Didn't I tell you not to be picky with your food?"

  Suppressing the impulse to throw herself into his arms, Sophia forcefully took a step back. "How are you here? Why are you dressed like this?"

  "I'm leaving," Ethan said, smiling softly at her.

  "Leaving? Where are you going?"

  "To travel the world, like I told you before."

  "Didn't Bishop Ronis arrange so many things for you? Aren't you doing them?"

  "No."

  "How can you? Those are important things! How can you just walk away? And Bishop Ronis had high hopes for you, arranged such a good opportunity. Everything he did was for you! If you leave..."

  "But those aren't things I want to do. I've decided to leave here and never come back." Ethan took a step forward.

  "Never come back?" Sophia looked at him.

  "Yes, never come back." Ethan pulled her into his arms. "I came tonight to see you."

  "What are you doing? Let go..." Sophia struggled hard. But his arms held her tightly.

  Finally, she stopped struggling and collapsed onto his shoulder, tears streaming down her face. "If you leave..." Her voice choked, unable to continue.

  If you leave, what was my previous sacrifice for?

  Ethan lowered his head to find her lips. He could already feel...

  The room door was thrown open with a bang. The Duke appeared in the doorway, his eyes like knives.

  Ethan flipped over the balcony railing and vanished into the darkness after a few leaps.

  "Father..." Sophia retreated in panic. It had been a long time since she'd been so flustered.

  Duke Mrak strode quickly onto the balcony, glancing in the direction Ethan had disappeared. His face still wore that amiable smile, but his eyes could now split hairs. "I came to ask my daughter for some advice on financial matters, but I didn't expect such a late, uninvited guest. I heard some very interesting things... But there's still something I don't quite understand, Sophia. Can you tell your father? Hahaha..."

  The intimate term "Father" and the father's happy laughter had long vanished from Sophia's memory. Hearing them again after more than a decade, it only made her feel as if she'd fallen into an ice cellar, every pore in her body radiating cold.