Chapter 68: The Opening

  In the morning, Ethan got up, freshened up, and put on a clergyman’s robe properly.

  “I’ve known you this long, and this is the first time I’ve seen you comb your hair, wash your face, and dress so carefully in the morning,” Sandro stared at him. The old man had no respect for Ethan, this “future hero,” and was as blunt as ever. “What’s up? Is Ronis going to introduce you to a girlfriend?”

  “I’m just going to play the part of a hero,” Ethan checked to see if his robe was on properly. This was what Bishop Ronis had demanded of him—he had to look like a hero.

  He only knew the general outline of Ronis’s plan; the specific arrangements were being handled by the Marquis. This hunting tournament was just a small prologue, a stepping stone for the bishop’s grand plan later on. As for Ethan, the “protagonist,” he also needed to use this opportunity to make a name for himself and lay the groundwork for his future. Though Ethan had never been interested in the bishop’s grand schemes, the thing itself was rather intriguing.

  “A hero?” Sandro frowned and shook his head. “That’s a tough job—you must ask him for a raise.”

  “You can talk to him about it when you have time. If I get paid, I’ll split half with you,” Ethan strapped on the longsword he had received along with the robe. He didn’t really know how to use it, but given his current status, he could no longer walk the streets with that rough-looking knife he used to carry. Besides, today’s matter was supposed to be easy—what he carried hardly mattered.

  Figuring the hunting tournament was probably about to start, Ethan finally headed out.

  As soon as he stepped outside, he noticed a few people watching him from a distance. The moment they saw him, they turned and ran. Ethan paid it no mind—from their clothes and movements, they were just street thugs, not worth worrying about. He mounted his horse and set off.

  Ethan rode slowly. The Marquis had warned him that a hero’s entrance must be timed perfectly to show the aura of turning the tide. The plan was for him to arrive at noon; the hunting ground was about forty miles away, so riding slowly now would get him there just in time.

  After leaving the royal capital for more than ten miles, he entered a sparsely populated outskirts. Suddenly, a group of men emerged from the woods on both sides, charging toward him with murderous intent and surrounding him.

  There was no way there would be bandits near the royal capital—these fifty or sixty men wielding swords looked like mercenaries. Ethan suddenly recognized the man leading them, and realized what the people watching him earlier had been about. He shook his head and sighed: “I’m telling you, I don’t have time to mess around with you right now. You’d better let me pass. I don’t want to get my robe wrinkled.”

  “I’m telling you, you’re not leaving here alive today!” Modo, the Chancellor’s son, roared. Now, all the young nobles in the royal capital knew he had been beaten by this clergyman, his face left bruised; his attempt to take revenge had failed, and he had even lost the clergyman position he had coveted. He had become the subject of whispers and mockery among his peers. He had never suffered such humiliation in his life—what little sense he had left had long vanished, and he had forgotten his father’s warning not to act recklessly.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to come out since early morning. Don’t think I dare not touch you just because you’re a clergyman! Do you think that old bishop can protect you? What can they do if I kill you? There’s no one around here—who’ll know I did it? You even want to go to the hunt to curry favor with the emperor? Let me tell you, stop dreaming! I already know what you’re up to!”

  “Do you really know?” Ethan frowned in confusion. “I don’t think you do.”

  The enraged Modo waved his hand and said to a man who looked like a mercenary leader beside him: “Take him down! Kill this bastard! I promised you fifty gold coins.”

  “Only fifty?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. Back when he had kidnapped the Imperial Envoy in Aery, the bounty on his head had been over a hundred gold coins.

  Meanwhile, the Royal Hunting Tournament was in full swing.

  The young Grafenhardt XVII and the distinguished guests from various countries rode on tall horses, chasing and shooting the prey driven out of the woods. Without Commander Roland and those rigid military ministers around—only people who could keep him entertained—the emperor was having a wonderful time. He couldn’t help but feel pleased with his own “wise foresight.” He shot diligently, eager to catch the eye of the duke’s daughter, just like any other young man his age. Unfortunately, the duke’s daughter was almost entirely focused on chatting with her sister.

  “We’ve barely seen each other since you got married, Sophia,” Chris suddenly leaned over and whispered to her sister. “It’s my fault too—I’ve been too busy having fun to come visit you. Father must miss you too. Luckily, Marquis invited you to the hunt today.” She added, “I’ll tell you a secret—he’ll be here today.”

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  Sophia, now dressed as a noble lady, hesitated, her expression uneasy. She suddenly reined in her horse. “Then I’ll go back.”

  Chris quickly stopped her. “Hey, you can’t leave now! It’s rare for you to get out—why leave so soon? Since the Marquis invited you, what are you afraid of? By the way, where is the Marquis? He’s such a fun person—he even embarrassed that jerk Modo in front of everyone. That fool was so humiliated!”

  “Chris, we’re here to have fun today—why talk about family stuff?” The emperor could no longer hold back. “Look at how many prey I’ve shot!”

  Chris took the emperor’s hand and said: “Your Majesty, please give my sister an official position! That way, she can go out and do things openly, instead of being cooped up in that house all day acting like a lady. My sister is really capable!”

  “Oh, sure,” the young emperor’s mind went blank when he felt her delicate hand in his. He agreed without thinking, and made up his mind to put on a good show today.

  It would be perfect if some monster popped out of the woods for me to kill, the young emperor suddenly thought.

  As noon approached, deep in the forest, five thugs huddled together, watching the sunlight filtering through the gaps in the leaves. They prayed silently for the light to move directly above their heads.

  On the ground behind them were several magic circles, covered with black cloths. One of the cloths was wriggling nonstop, emitting low roars and a stench unique to ferocious beasts—even the birds in the trees dared not fly near. The thugs didn’t dare look at the wriggling thing, afraid that whatever was under the cloth would break free and pounce on them. They had to turn their backs to it.

  In fact, this one was still manageable—the thing under the cloth in the next magic circle made them feel uneasy all over. Though it was also covered and motionless, just getting close to it sent a chill down their spines. After carefully carrying it into the magic circle as instructed by their employer, one curious and bold thug had lifted the cloth slightly to peek at a small part of it. But when his companions asked what he’d seen, this “brave adventurer” refused to speak, his face pale and his body trembling.

  During the agonizing wait, one thug pulled a gold coin out of his pocket. The others followed suit, taking out their own coins and staring at the small, shiny objects. This was their motivation for waiting here—and now, holding the coin seemed to give them courage.

  “They only needed five people to carry these things here—so why do we all have to wait until noon?” one thug asked. “Rich people do such confusing things.”

  “Who cares why? Just focus on getting paid,” another thug snapped. He was the leader of the five. “Anyway, we’ll each get three more gold coins once we finish what we’re told. If you don’t want the money, leave now.”

  Encouraged by these words, everyone calmed down a little. Staring at the coin in their hands, they imagined it turning into four coins soon—it was truly an exciting thought.

  “Is it time yet?” one thug glanced at the sun. “It should be noon. Can we leave now?”

  “Wait—there’s one more thing,” the leader said, pulling something out of his pocket and placing it on the ground. It was a pile of fine, grayish-white powder, like the ash left after burning something. After putting it down, the leader couldn’t help but pick it up again. He realized the powder seemed to be a single mass—there was a strange attraction between the particles. If he grabbed a part of it and lifted, the rest would stick to it and move along.

  “Quit messing with it! Hurry up and finish so we can leave!” the others urged.

  The leader set the powder down, took out a dagger, and gently cut his finger. A few drops of bright red blood fell onto the powder. The blood soaked into the strange powder immediately, turning it from grayish-white to pink.

  “That’s it—let’s go,” the leader stood up and gestured for his companions to leave.

  Suddenly, the pile of powder on the ground moved. Like a starving flea, it jumped accurately and stuck to the leader’s bleeding finger. At the same time, everyone heard a sound like someone slurping soup—“sizzle.”

  The leader screamed in terror. He could feel the blood in his body flowing rapidly in an unusual way. He waved his hand violently, but the powder was stuck to his finger like a nail, and its color was getting darker. He quickly used his other hand to pull the strange mass off—but his other hand was immediately stuck too. The other thugs stared in shock at the leader’s movements.

  The leader let out meaningless screams, waving his arms wildly with all his strength. He stumbled and crashed around, rushing into the magic circle he had feared so much earlier. He stepped on the runes on the ground, pulling off the black cloths as he went.

  What was under the cloths was revealed: a dozen skeletons wearing tattered armor and wielding swords; several zombies with gray-black skin like smoked meat; and two wraiths floating in mid-air, their forms hazy like mist but with clear half-skeletal outlines. The magic circles binding them had lost their effect, and these undead creatures began to move.

  The skeletons raised their swords and hacked at the leader, who was now rolling on the ground. Though their weapons were rusted and worn, they still cut into his body. But the leader showed no reaction, as if it wasn’t his own body. He still waved his hands and rolled, screaming—weak and twitching like a dying caterpillar. White bones and slightly pink flesh were exposed from his wounds, but no blood flowed out. The strange mass on his hand had turned dark red and began to boil and writhe.

  Seeing this, the other thugs let out screams as shrill as the leader’s and fled. The two wraiths chased after them quickly, their intangible hands clutching the thugs’ throats. The thugs fell to the ground without a sound, their limbs twitching like frogs before going still.

  The mass of powder jumped off the leader’s now pale, emaciated corpse and pounced on the other bodies, continuing its “sizzling” feeding sound.

  When all five corpses had been drained dry—pale and shrunken like empty cloth bags—the pile of powder began to grow and change shape. With a sudden “pop,” it turned into a cloud of smoke. The smoke gradually condensed, forming a human figure.

  The skeleton warriors, zombies, and wraiths all stared at the smoky figure, motionless. Even the three-headed dog that had been writhing in the magic circle fell silent, letting out whimpers of fear.