Chapter 166: The Wind Fills the Tower (Part 3)

  When Yabin first saw Bishop Eschol, it was indeed the same feeling Talise had told him about before. If this person couldn't be trusted, then no one else could be trusted either.

  This Cardinal of Erathia sat steadily above, his face solemn and dignified. Although his gaze held a bit of kindness, it was more so the majesty of one looking down from above. The aura and bearing of a bishop who governed the entire kingdom, he embodied them all perfectly and appropriately.

  And according to Talise, although this Cardinal seemed somewhat unable to let go of their white magic and didn't quite believe what they said, his mind magic, known as the best on the continent, could absolutely cure Aimee.

  It was only at this moment that Yabin let out a huge sigh of relief. He could finally be certain that this step he had taken was indeed the right one.

  This was a big step, perhaps even too big. At least when he first took it, he himself had no confidence. What made him take that step was mostly the impulse of the moment. Even if he could really save the female knight, would she believe his words? And even if she believed him, what kind of reaction would she have? These were all difficult to predict. But in the end, he had done just that, betting his own life and his sister's.

  But it seemed this bet had indeed been placed correctly. Talise was extremely grateful to Yabin for saving her from that group of vicious bandits. She herself knew clearly that if she had fallen into their hands, it would not have been as simple as just death.

  Although the events that happened on the Barbarian Highlands sounded incredible, Talise still believed everything Yabin told her. It seemed just on intuition that she knew this young man would absolutely not be the kind of liar who would fabricate such a story. Trust and feelings born in adversity can often directly reach a very high level. Talise didn't even hold it against the young man for slapping a Temple Knight during their escape. And from the depths of her own heart, that slap was one of the reasons she believed in this young man.

  Although Talise had taken the initiative to send Aimee to Celeste for treatment, Yabin disagreed. He had never dared to seek help from the church with his sister, partly out of concern for the white magic they practiced. But more importantly, he remembered very clearly that on that night, the white magic used by the person hiding in the darkness, controlling the werewolves, was so exquisite and profound that it required the cultivation of at least a bishop-level clergyman. Before figuring out what was really behind it all, seeking help from the church would undoubtedly be like a sheep walking into a tiger's den. So he asked Talise not to make a fuss for the time being, but to ask her to find someone "absolutely reliable, absolutely trustworthy."

  "God be with you. Your Excellency." Yabin knelt on one knee, respectfully bowing to Eschol who was seated above. Whether in terms of status or his majestic bearing, this Cardinal was indeed worthy of being "absolutely reliable, absolutely trustworthy."

  Bishop Eschol nodded, looking him up and down with an interested gaze, then turned to Talise and said, "You can leave for a moment."

  Talise was stunned: "Your Excellency, you are..."

  Bishop Eschol smiled faintly and said, "When I use the spell to treat that young lady later, I will be distracted if someone is present. No one other than the two of them can approach here. You and the guards outside should also stay far away from here, so as not to make any noise that would disturb my concentration."

  "Yes." Talise withdrew. As she left the room, she gave Yabin a look of encouragement and comfort.

  Yabin also had a look of both shock and joy. He had not expected that the Bishop would agree so quickly and so directly.

  The door to the room closed. Only the two siblings and Bishop Eschol remained. Talise's footsteps grew quieter, then, along with a few other footsteps, gradually faded away.

  The Cardinal listened carefully to the sounds, and after confirming that the others nearby had gone far, he smiled and asked Yabin, "Was it you who rescued Knight Talise from that group of bandits?"

  "Yes," Yabin nodded.

  The smile on Eschol's face did not move at all, and he asked faintly, as if casually: "Did you rescue her by yourself? Without anyone else's help?"

  Yabin looked up at Bishop Eschol, his face full of astonishment. Although the question itself was not strange, Yabin didn't know why he felt the scalp on his head tingling.

  Another clap of thunder exploded, and the lightning from outside the window shone on the Cardinal's face. His smile now looked far more than just majestic and kind; it had acquired a strange, mysterious, and eerie quality.

  Yabin did not tell everything without reservation. At the very least, he could not say that it was actually the mysterious man who had actively let the two of them go. This matter was even stranger and more bizarre than the events of that night on the Barbarian Highlands. Let alone whether Talise would believe it, even he himself found it incredible every time he thought back on it.

  Aimee was not yet cured. Such a baffling and suspicion-arousing strange matter was naturally something to be left unsaid if possible. Besides, he himself didn't understand it at all. What was the deal with that man?

  Following the instructions given to him by that man, he told Talise the news that the bandits were going to Tulalion. Talise immediately rushed back to Celeste. When she appeared before Yabin again, the news she brought left Yabin utterly astonished. The man who had let them go, who called himself Sanderfirth and also Sandro, was actually the famously notorious, number-one most-wanted criminal on the continent, jointly wanted by nearly all countries and organizations, a man whose head was worth a fortune and whom everyone wanted.

  After learning this news, Yabin was certain that the conversation between himself and that man could not be known to anyone else. Even as he spent more time with Talise and his wariness gradually faded, he never dared to tell her.

  The look of astonishment did not turn into one of great shock. Yabin maintained a very appropriate expression and shook his head, replying: "No one else helped, Your Excellency. At that time, the area was filled with extremely evil bandits. Relying on my firm faith in the Lord, I mustered the courage not to shrink back in the face of danger."

  Bishop Eschol did not respond to this textbook-like believer's answer, but just smiled faintly. He asked, "That man who called himself Sandro didn't help you escape? Or rather, wasn't it he who let you rescue Knight Talise?"

  Yabin felt that the muscles on his face had reached their limit, almost about to twitch uncontrollably. His back felt so cold he was about to shiver, but he was also sweating profusely. He himself could not distinguish whether the impact on his chest, abdomen, and mind was shock, confusion, or fear. He used all his strength to maintain his tone and expression as normal as possible and answered, "No."

  "Your self-control is good." Bishop Eschol nodded. "But you should know that very few people can lie to a mind magician. Your breathing, your blood. Your gaze, and most importantly, the fluctuations of your mind will betray you. And if that young man hadn't deliberately let you go, you couldn't have possibly rescued Knight Talise."

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  "Your Excellency, I swear in the name of the Lord, I am absolutely not with that person..." Cold sweat had already broken out on Yabin's forehead. His mouth felt bitter.

  "There's no need to swear. The Lord can't hear you, and I'm not interested. From your reaction, I can tell that you couldn't have been with that young man from the start."

  Bishop Eschol waved his hand. "I just want to know now, how many people have you told about what happened on the Barbarian Highlands?"

  "I've only told Knight Talise. This matter concerns the reputation of the church, I didn't dare..."

  Bishop Eschol waved his hand again to silence Yabin. He no longer looked at Yabin, who was half-kneeling on the ground, or at Aimee, who was muttering to herself in a chair nearby. Instead, he stood up and began to pace back and forth in the room. With his brows furrowed, his eyes looked at the floor, then at the raging wind and rain outside the window.

  Yabin remained kneeling. He did not dare to get up or speak. Although he was surprised, and even a little scared, he was not out of control. He was very clear about his purpose and his position.

  According to Talise's description, it wasn't just her who went to Tulalion after receiving the news. In addition to three other Temple Knights and ten Templars, there was even a Cardinal who served the Pope and Paladin Lancelot, who was regarded as the Celeste's guardian god of war.

  No matter what kind of wanted criminal it was, such a lineup seemed too exaggerated. This no longer seemed like an arrest, but like an effort to level that elven forest.

  But in the end, such an unimaginably elite lineup did not fare well. What was waiting for them in the Tulalion forest was not just bandits and elves. The two masters of the Barbarian Highlands, Lord Sedros of Oufu and General Gru, were also there. After an earth-shattering great battle between the two sides, neither gained any advantage, and they hastily withdrew under the interference of the elves. The only gain was the elimination of that group of bandits.

  Upon hearing this news, in addition to being extremely shocked, Yabin also vaguely guessed that the man must have deliberately led the people of the church to Tulalion, but the motives and reasons behind it were beyond his comprehension. He knew clearly that the things he knew and participated in were just small parts of the open and secret struggle between the church and Oufu, and that the plans and inner stories behind them were absolutely beyond his imagination.

  What he couldn't imagine, he didn't think about. His only goal was to find a way to cure his sister. So even if the Bishop before him suddenly spoke of the matter he had been hiding, he was only surprised. After all, the Bishop had personally said that he would cure Aimee. The surprise and fear were just subconscious reactions. As long as Aimee could be cured, it didn't matter what happened to him.

  Bishop Eschol finally stopped pacing, looked out the window, and muttered, "To think that a defrocked pastor could still use the magic of The Divine Aegis of the Gods. This is truly unexpected. Perhaps it is only these ignorant and blindly loyal ones who can truly unleash the power of faith. I was careless..."

  Although he could not fully understand the meaning in the Cardinal's words, Yabin was overjoyed and couldn't help but ask, "Your Excellency, does this mean you believe what I said?"

  "Believe, of course I believe. Why wouldn't I?" Eschol turned to look at Yabin. The condescending majesty was now even higher, so high as to be looking down on an ant. He sneered disdainfully at this little ant who was half-kneeling before him. "Have you not realized it yet? It was me that night. It was I who controlled those werewolves."

  A huge clap of thunder, and the entire St. Peter's Basilica trembled slightly. The electric light shining through the window illuminated everything in a ghastly white. This thunderstorm was so great it seemed as if it would tear the entire royal city of Erathia to shreds.

  Yabin did not hear the thunder, or rather, he heard it but didn't know it. The Cardinal's sentence instantly shattered his thoughts. His mind suddenly seemed to become empty, or perhaps it was so swollen with unknown things that it was about to explode.

  Bishop Eschol looked at Yabin, who maintained his half-kneeling position, and sneered. With a wave of his hand, a cluster of colorful lights flashed around him and immediately sank into his body.

  All the strength and vitality in his body instantly froze into a lump. Yabin was very familiar with this feeling. On that night, filled with blood and slaughter on the Barbarian Highlands, it was also this spell that had frozen him, his sister, and their grandfather in place.

  "What annoying flies. To think that one that got away would tell this matter to that little girl Talise. If she were to let Lancelot know, that would be a bit troublesome. Forcing me to waste my energy..." The Cardinal stared at Yabin and sighed. A kind of anger at having to waste energy on a fly was exceptionally vivid on that majestic face. Slowly, a faint fluorescence began to emanate from his eyes as he looked towards Yabin.

  "I will cure your sister, but she will not remember anything. She will only remember the tragic scene of your grandfather's death that night, and she will wake up from nightmares every night. Unable to sleep peacefully. Soon, she will fall ill from grief and excessive fright and gradually die... And all of this will be caused by you, do you know that?"

  Yabin maintained that half-kneeling posture. His eyes kept looking at Eschol. He only felt that even his own thoughts seemed to have frozen under that Paralysis Spell. Before he could react to this sudden change, all his spirit was attracted by those glowing eyes.

  The Cardinal's voice was not loud, but the howling wind and rain outside the window could not cover every word, every syllable. Each note that flew from his mouth seemed to contain a strange power. It was no longer just words heard by the ear, but became a thought, a consciousness, forcefully surging into the listener's mind.

  "Do you know? This is all your fault, your fault." Another clap of thunder. Eschol's voice was heavier in the thunder, the light in his eyes more dazzling. He was now like a nightmare casting a spell, not just pouring his voice into another's head, but also chiseling marks one by one into the deepest parts of memory and soul. "You will be very remorseful, very remorseful. If it weren't for you, perhaps your sister would not have died. After your sister dies, you will dream of your grandfather and your sister every night. In the end, you will have no choice but to commit suicide..."

  Mind magic was absolutely an obscure branch of magic, not only because it was difficult to cultivate, but also because even if cultivated to the highest realm, it could not compare with other schools of magic. It could neither shatter rocks nor burn and tear the flesh of an enemy. The only thing it could affect was people, living people. It couldn't even directly kill a chicken. If there was a grandmaster of a school of magic who, stranded alone in the wilderness, would have trouble surviving, it could only be a mind magician.

  But although this world was not made of living people, this society was, and it was entirely made of them. So the things this school of magic could accomplish, other schools of magic absolutely could not.

  "What I am saying now, you will not forget until you die, but you will never be able to recall it." Eschol's words seemed contradictory, but that was no longer important. In the words of a mind magician, language is actually just a falsehood; the consciousness contained within is what people truly rely on for communication. "You will only remember that I cured your sister here, and you are very grateful to me. Then you will take your sister and leave Erathia, find a place where no one will discover you, and live in seclusion..."

  Eschol paid no attention to the girl muttering to herself nearby. He focused all his attention on Yabin. No matter how miraculous, magic was still magic, and it required concentration. Besides, Eschol could also feel that because of his practice of white magic, this young man actually had a slight resistance to his mind magic. And this casting could not afford the slightest mistake. His spirit was now fully concentrated, feeling as if he could touch the mental pathways of the target before him. He wanted to grasp them in his hand and deeply brand everything he had just said into the deepest part of the soul.

  Suddenly, another huge sound rang out. But this time it was not just thunder, but also the sound of the window shattering.

  The window shattered into a sky full of glass and wood fragments, a black shadow, along with the raging wind and rain from outside, rushed in madly.

  The sound of thunder, the sound of lightning, the sound of wind, the sound of rain, the sound of the window shattering, the sound of a blade being drawn, the sharp whistle of a blade cutting through the air—every sound entered the ears.

  But hearing the sound was too slow. That figure, carrying the wild wind, pouring rain, rushing thunder, and swift lightning from outside, was faster than the sound.

  Eschol was facing the window, but at this moment, whether he was facing it or not was irrelevant. His reaction seemed not quite in line with that of a magician or his age. He actually still had time to raise his head, to be shocked, to be afraid, to retreat. But his attention and all his spirit had just been concentrated on Yabin on the ground. All his magical power had already converged on the mind magic he was pouring into consciousness. This was his weakest moment, his greatest vulnerability.

  The blade and the figure were now one. A thick, killing intent, along with the wild wind and rain, filled this small room. This was the opportunity for a certain kill, a certain-kill strike.

  Eschol's retreat seemed futile. Although his reaction was fast enough—he had sensed the killing intent almost before the window shattered—his aged steps were indeed very slow in the face of that swift-as-wind, fierce-as-thunder blade strike. Very futile, like a turtle before an arrow.

  But it was this turtle-like retreat, that perhaps only one-hundredth of a second, an almost negligible amount of time, that just happened to work. As Eschol retreated, the holy cross on his chest shattered. In that one-hundredth of a second, the shattered cross just happened to erupt in a flash of white light, enveloping the Cardinal within it.

  The blade struck the white light. The light, like a piece of glass, made a crisp sound and shattered completely. The blade paused for a moment. Its remaining momentum undiminished, it continued to thrust forward, finally piercing into Eschol's body.

  The Cardinal let out an extremely mournful wail. This blade had entered through his right chest, broken two ribs, passed through his lung, broken two more ribs, and shattered his shoulder blade as it emerged from his back.

  But Ethan's heart sank. That white light was undoubtedly the life-saving amulet Eschol relied on, triggered almost by the flash of a thought, releasing the protective magic sealed within. Although such a spell, released only by a mental trigger, was not considered too advanced, his blade had easily broken it, but it had still given Eschol a little more time, allowing him to move his body slightly and avoid the position where his heart would be pierced.

  This was the best opportunity for an attack, the most sudden method, but even so, it failed to kill in one strike. The reaction and adaptability shown by this great magician, who had fought countless battles and dangers on the battlefield, could be called the limit for a magician. His great reputation was indeed not undeserved.

  A pierced chest was almost a fatal wound for a magician, but it was only almost. Not absolute or immediate. Especially for a white magician. Moreover, this was one of the top white magicians on the continent. Ethan could feel the white magic in Eschol's body surging like a tide towards the blade embedded in his body. The magic attached to the blade and its blood-sucking effect could not be exerted at all.

  The muscles on his wrist immediately bulged, preparing to exert force. No matter how great the white magic, this body was ultimately just that of an old man on the verge of death. With his wrist strength, even if the edge of this blade was not considered sharp, he could still split the bones, muscles, and internal organs below in two.

  But at this moment, Bishop Eschol, who was close at hand, had already looked at him. In those eyes, stimulated by pain and anger until they were full of bloodshot, the light they emitted was a hundred times brighter than when he had looked at Yabin. All the magical power he had originally prepared to pour into Yabin was now given to him, and all the skill and delicate control within it transformed into violent, destructive force.

  Ethan let out a miserable scream that was in no way inferior to Eschol's. He only felt two invisible knives stab into his eyes and then scrape around in his brain; he could almost hear the sound of his own brain shattering.