Shadow of the Evil God

"You must send this man's head to the royal capital. When Sean is imprisoned, the queen will give Sean her son's head as a final farewell gift before his death." The messenger said.

It is really hard for the Queen of Franks to have such a complicated story when a cousin kills a cousin.

However, the Franks do not distinguish between cousins.

Musali looked at the messenger and unfolded a scroll to show him. It was a vivid oil painting that clearly depicted the image of a young man. This man was standing in the courtyard in front of the castle and confronting an old man, looking at his hair and beard.

Black, eyes of the same color. The young man in the center of the painting looked more like a Sassulai than a Frank. Perhaps he was the offspring of the city lord there and a Sassulai woman?

The Sasulai often intermarried and engaged in abduction with other ethnic groups along the northern and southern borders of the Stoney Abyss, spreading their characteristics over time. On the prairie, many abducted women became pregnant with Sasulai children, bearing them children who could not become chiefs but were capable of becoming ordinary herders.

"Since you failed to protect Einir," the messenger continued, "we cannot fully trust you."

Wasn't it that idiot from the palace who decided to take a detour to Blade's Edge Mountain? They lost an old sword dancer who had experienced the trials of the Kuna people, so they should blame him more!

"Why don't you do this yourself?" Musali demanded. "Your spies can paint this picture in the castle courtyard, but you can't deal with a penniless bastard?"

"Because a spy is just a spy, and their duty is to deliver the news we want." The messenger handed the painting to Musali, "And this is the mission you failed to complete. When Cesar escaped from the castle, you should have killed him. We have reason to doubt your so-called sword dancer. You can neither kill a bastard and his guards, nor protect..."

"Come on," Musali interrupted him. "You yourselves claimed that the old city lord was just a useless person who hid in his shell, right? If you had known that he was capable of sending a team to kill his foolish brother, why did you allow that fool to go to Noien and provoke the city lord with such nonsense? I provided protection according to your request - your request, do you understand? So who allowed this Einir to go to Noien? Was it your queen? Or your queen's father? Do you want to hold them both accountable?"

For a moment, the messenger remained silent, his face as hard as stone. "Regarding Cesar, he's had issues with his father and is currently under the protection of the high priest of the Xiel Temple. We're not sure whether he and the temple staff will leave the city early. If he does, we'll resolve the matter ourselves. If not, we hope you'll try to create as much chaos as possible within the city..."

This change of topic was really awkward.

Musali stared at the other party and asked: "So as to cooperate with the assassin you sent?"

"Of course we will send assassins, but I'm afraid no one would dare attack the temple's high priest's residence." The messenger lowered his head. "Your cooperation is essential. Only by creating sufficient chaos can we find an opportunity to kill."

"We certainly have ways to cause panic in Noyen, but creating real chaos in the city is best done by your people." Musali leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Spreading rumors, fanning the flames, setting camps on fire, murdering officers, and framing people—aren't these things what you Franks are best at? I'll include all of this in my reply. If you're reluctant to let your spies do more work and risk being exposed, don't come to me if anything goes wrong."

"you......"

"No matter what," Musali said, sitting back in his chair. "I know you all, and I know what you're capable of. Since I'm doing my part, I hope you won't be so afraid of sacrificing yourselves. As long as we can get things done properly, then even if your assassins fail, we'll have more resources to deal with this man. Do you understand?"

......

When Cesar first prepared to practice with the sword when Cecia asked him to, he pulled out Libio's sword. The mercenary captain's face changed immediately. The blade had several dents on it and the tip was chipped off. It used to be a valuable and powerful weapon, but now it looked like a scrap picked up from the battlefield.

After she forced a smile and asked him who had done the cruel thing with the sword, Cesar had to admit that it was his own recklessness. After learning this, Ceshia was unhappy all day.

Later, Cecil entrusted the sword to a local blacksmith and asked Cesar not to use it for six months after it was repaired. This was because if it was scratched during practice or the accessories on the hilt were knocked off, the monthly repair fee he paid to the blacksmith would be higher than the salary he paid to Cecil.

"Today, practice with the blunt iron sword I got from the blacksmith." Ceshia threw a heavy blunt sword to him. "You have good strength and physique, and you can wield the mace quite well, so I decided to skip the wooden sword."

"Because wooden swords break too easily?" Cesar weighed the one-handed sword in his hand. The blade was two and a half feet long, with no blades on both sides. There was a flat wooden sheath on the tip of the sword to prevent it from stabbing the opponent during practice.

"Because the guy who sells wooden swords by the box in Noyen is exorbitantly charging me, and I don't want to waste any more money. Is that a practical answer?" At this point, Ceshia added, "Then do you know why I buy wooden swords by the box?"

"Uh, I don't know, sir."

Ceshia smiled at him. "Normally, a student who breaks a wooden sword a day would be scolded, but you're breaking at least three. Do you know how many boxes of wooden swords I'll have to buy for this kind of training? And how long will your inheritance last?"

What will you do after you finish spending it?"

"Uh, should I keep your salary for now? I'll make up for it when I earn enough money?"

"Let me fill your dog's mouth first."

Next, Cecilia began to

She made him practice his footwork and stance, and used four different defensive positions to counter her attacks. In short, she made him be a target for her blows in different ways, without stopping for a moment.

Unlike the unconventional Byakugan and Libio, Ceshia's movements were methodical. When using a sword, she would call attention to her forward step, noting the thrust that would follow. When the sword was parried, she would also call attention to her backward step, the sudden thrust forward with her back and arms. Her forward steps varied: sometimes a straight stride, sometimes a sliding step, sometimes a kneeling step, sometimes a leap. Her backward steps were even more complex and varied.

After he was beaten to the point of being physically and mentally exhausted, Ceshia took a long step back, circling around him. "Are you feeling aggrieved? If you want to attack, just go ahead. You've been beaten for so many days, don't be so timid."

Cesar really wanted to, and immediately obeyed. He bent his knees and slid forward, thrusting the blunt sword in his right hand. Ceshia parried and retreated at the same time. Because he was using a blunt sword instead of a wooden sword today, it was heavier than a normal one-handed sword, and she seemed to have to use more strength when parrying. Although it couldn't actually stab or scratch people, it was strong enough to act like a powerful iron club. He was holding back and wanted her to suffer a little, just to avenge her for beating him up for several days in a row under the pretext of practicing defense.

Cecilia continued to retreat, her front foot planted firmly on the ground. Her knees bent, making her look like she was sitting in a chair, and she swung her sword back. Her sword swung upwards, and if the tip of the sword had pierced the throat, it would have been enough to kill instantly. Cesar instinctively blocked the blow and swept the blade to the side. Although his palms were numb from the shock, he forced himself to move forward, pressing forward with his force. He chopped down with his sword, then again, as if he were chopping wood with an axe, forcing Cecilia to move two steps to the right. This time, she used her arm guard to block the sword, but the momentum still caused her to step back until she reached the courtyard wall.

Seeing her unable to retreat, her steps unsteady, Cesar lunged forward, but she suddenly slid forward, kneeling, lowering herself slightly, and thrust her sword forward, parrying the thrust. The shock sent a sharp pain through his palm, and the blunt sword flew from his fingers. Then she slammed her shoulder into his chest, and her right foot planted between his legs, giving him a powerful twist. He stumbled, lost his balance, and landed on his butt, feeling as if he had broken into three pieces.

"Ouch!"

After being fooled by Seshia's acting, the blunt sword flew several meters away and fell to the ground with a clanging sound. He also felt dizzy and his vision was black.

She lifted her right foot and placed it on his chest, knocking him to the ground. The tip of her blunt, wood-wrapped sword pressed against his throat. "If I'm insulting you by stepping on you," she said, "explain to me why I spent three days teaching you how to walk and balance your lower body, and you forgot everything as soon as you attacked me."

"You can step on me for a while longer. You can step on me all you want!" Cesar groaned as he lay on the ground. "I'm dizzy from the fall. I need to think for a while."

Chapter 35 Are You Laughing?

Cecia struck the ground with her blunt sword, making a clanging sound beside his ear. "You're not going to say polite words now?"

"It's exhausting to keep saying nice things," Cesar said helplessly. "It drains my energy and drains my life. It's more tiring than getting beaten up here. You're not talking like you're at the bottom of the mine, are you?"

"Then put some of that polite talk into your sword strikes!" Ceshia struck the ground with her blunt sword again, harder than before. "When fighting, try to figure out whether the other person is just pretending or truly exhausted. You acted really well on defense, using all sorts of imaginative tricks one after another just to embarrass me. But when someone else pretends, you can't tell the difference? I just pretended to stumble for a moment, and you pounced like a dog at meat."

She was right. Ever since he kidnapped the Faceless One, he had been using almost nothing but deception and acting. He had taken his acting skills to the extreme when he killed Grigga, but understanding others was another matter.

Seshia's behavior wasn't so much a deception as a fleeting bait in battle. As long as one focused on using the sword, it was hard not to fall for it. As for his constant tricks in sword tests, what student wouldn't want to try to defeat their teacher? Moreover, she herself acknowledged that this was part of the battle.

"Don't be lazy and act like nothing's happened. You started playing dead the moment you touched the ground." Ceshia bent down and reached out, pulling him up cleanly and forcefully, forcing him to stand still. "Listen carefully, deception is a two-way street. If you can't tell the other party's intentions, stay calm. Don't jump into the trap, and don't rush forward and risk being disarmed."

"You never fall for my tricks."

"Your combat skills are shoddy, so your acting is certainly even worse." Ceshia gestured toward the corner of the courtyard, asking him to pick up the blunt sword that had been flung out. "Pretending to be exhausted requires skill. I'm guessing your acting skills were all focused on the pre-battle phase, right? Once you start fighting, you catch your opponent off guard and kill them with a single strike. Combined with your little wizard who can fool others, that's certainly one way to go. But you can't expect everything to go this way. With your status, there will definitely be many people who want to take your head, and they won't even say a word before they start fighting."

Cesar

He picked up the blunt sword and weighed it in his hand. He would be assassinated. This was not a possibility, but a reality he would have to face. Since he had pretended to be the fictitious illegitimate son of the Earl, the Earl of Thane had made a

He will also take all the hatred on himself.

"Do you understand?" the mercenary captain asked, glancing at him.

"Uh, I understand." He replied subconsciously.

Seshia thrust her sword, striking the tip of his sword. A tremor ripped from the tip to his palm. Then she struck the center of the blade with an upward thrust, amplifying the vibrations and sending the sword flying from his hand. His palm and arm were numb, as if he had lost all feeling. The final blow was a sideways slash. Her knees bent, her back arched slightly, and as she exerted force, she suddenly straightened it, sweeping the sword towards his neck with incredible force, stopping just at his neck with a momentum that threatened to cleave him and his neck guard in two. He had no time to react.

"Tell me again, you understand." She took a step forward, her hood falling in the wind, and this time she really put the sword to his neck. Her long red hair darkened slightly in the gray sunlight, like a flag soaked in blood.

Up close, Ceshia was even more beautiful than her initial impression, but also colder, much colder. After all, she had led the team that counted over thirty thousand bodies of cannibalism, and now she was more concerned about her unpaid wages than anything else. Her brow furrowed slightly, her eyes narrowed as she gazed into his, her lips parted as she exhaled a puff of white mist that condensed on the blunt edge of her sword.

Cesar immediately raised his hands in surrender. "No matter what happens, even if my fingers are cut off, my wrists are dislocated, and my bones are broken, I must hold on to this sword. I cannot let it go, and I cannot let it be taken away from me."

"anything else?"

"If you can't even stand steadily, don't try to imitate fancy footwork. Advance cautiously, using the method that exposes the least vulnerability. Test your skills as you advance. Before you even think about winning, make yourself invincible. This may be boring, but it's sensible, practical, and efficient."

"I didn't say it was boring, you idiot who tampered with other people's words." Ceshia said, taking a step back. "But overall, you remember it well. Next, we need to deepen your memory so that it is more than just the two sentences in your head."

Cesar nodded to her sincerely. "I will do whatever you say. Even if you scold me until midnight, I will never complain."

His expression must have been extremely amused, because a slight smile played on her lips, even if it was just a forced smile.

Ceshia's face quickly hardened again. "First, practice the basic sword grip. Stand still, back straight, and extend your sword arm out in a ready position. Hold this position for five minutes, resting for a minute. Repeat this for an hour. Afterward, run around the yard. After that, practice balance beam for another hour."

In theory, this was a comprehensive training of swordholding, endurance, and steady footwork, specifically designed to overcome the flaws he'd experienced when battling the steppe sword dancer, where his sword had been snatched away barehanded, and his unsteady footwork. However, even thinking about it that way, the specifics made his scalp tingle. After all, the sword he was wielding today wasn't a wooden one, but a blunt iron one, much heavier. Maintaining balance while holding it for long periods of time would be far more difficult than it actually was.

In fact, it is reasonable for beginners to practice only three or four times a day, and the duration of each session should start from two or three minutes. The problem is...

"You're in excellent physical condition." Ceshia nonchalantly placed the sword in her palm, weighing it like a pointer. "Although you boasted, I've tried it and found you're not lying. So, we don't need to stick to the three-a-day, three-minute rule anymore."

"What about muscle endurance?" Cesar, who was trapped in his own cocoon, couldn't help but ask.

"I discussed this with your young mage yesterday." Ceshia looked at him. "I purchased some herbs and animal blood according to her order, and received her special ointment the next day. If your arm is too sore to bear during this time, I will apply it to your arm muscles, and it will take effect within a minute. At the end of the day, she will also give you a restorative medicine for your numb muscles, ensuring that you can continue your training the next day with full energy, rather than being paralyzed in bed, unable to move, and slowly recovering."

Cesar was speechless. He knew he couldn't rely solely on the abnormally enhanced physical fitness after losing blood. Moreover, this kind of training would definitely be more effective than what ordinary sword schools teach students. Even many noble children couldn't match his conditions. However, people's rationality couldn't always withstand the physical exhaustion and mental torture.

Then Cecia put the sword in his hand and circled around him, kicking his legs to make him stand still, twisting his joints to make him straighten his arms, and staring at the tip of the blunt sword in his hand with her chin tilted, watching whether it trembled violently, reaching out to hold it up if it fell a little, and pushing it back if it tilted to the side.

After getting into the right position, Ceshia began to call the dogs who were watching the show to come over and study the musket, but Cesar no longer had any energy to pay attention to the two of them.

......

At night, Cesar lay motionless in bed, his clothes on and his shoes on. The dog had transformed from a sunflower into a moonflower, waving at the full moon on the other side of the bed. If Cesar hadn't forbidden her to mess around in the hotel, she would have almost opened her face.

He was not sleepy, nor did he feel hungry or thirsty. His nerves were completely shrouded in soreness and numbness, and he had no other senses.

It was only then that he heard scratching outside the door, but he didn't have the energy to turn around. Phils had been soaking in the tub for a long time before she came over, her hair wet. She had her hands on the edge of the bed, staring at him without blinking.

"

How effective is the potion?" she asked curiously.

"That's great," Cesar said with some effort. "I've never been so overdrawn in my life."

"Really?" Fils asked, leaning closer, as if observing a rare experimental specimen. "This is the first time I've made this recipe. You look like you're dying. Can you tell me exactly how you feel?"

"Do you know why I'm in so much pain right now? If you knew, you should be responsible for your overdose of medication and not let me die in this bed."

Phils blinked, turned, and walked towards the tub. A moment later, she returned with some cotton cloths, a basin of hot water, and a bunch of bottles and jars filled with suspicious mucus. She then closed the doors and windows, drew the curtains, stripped him of his shirt, and then sat astride him, as if riding a horse.

When Fils reached out and touched his back, he admitted her fingers were deft, the feeling of her fingertips sliding across his skin as gentle as water, relieving any fatigue he felt. But the suspicious grass-green slime, like glue, smeared all over his back. When she pulled him over, Cesar felt like he was stuck to the sheets like a mouse in glue, and waves of acrid pain shot through his back.

Cesar closed his eyes in pain, and when he opened them again, Phils slapped a large lump of green slime on his chest, causing him to gasp.

"What the hell is this? Why is it so hot?"

Firth smeared the slime across his chest with her fingers, then sat beside him, examining his face from the side, as if his contorted expressions were an artistic expression. "Does it feel good when I touch your chest with my fingers? You look like you're in agony, then your brows relax, your expression struggling..."

"Are you snickering?"

"I'm not! I'm seriously working on your recovery. I'll make sure you're refreshed the next day," she said sternly, grabbing another handful of the acrid goo and smearing it against his muscular abdomen. His face twisted in pain. Before he could recover, she unexpectedly bent down and nibbled on his earlobe, soaking it with saliva before sucking gently and blowing a warm breath on it. He felt his blood roaring through his body, nearly rushing to his head. His breathing became labored, but he couldn't move.

Cesar glared sideways and saw a pair of slightly curved blue eyes staring at him, with a look of smugness that could hardly be concealed.

Chapter 36: You've already mentioned the candidate before I even mentioned him by name

To emphasize her seriousness, Fils added, "I'm going to check your body for any injuries." She said, "The subsequent medication ratios must be based on this, understand? You are not allowed to move, scream, or mutter."

Maybe what she said was true, maybe it was just a pretense for her to play a trick on him, or maybe it was both. Still, this witch doctor's concoction of herbs and animal blood was truly remarkable. Cesar couldn't have received similar treatment where he'd lived, but it was bizarre that he could get it here, where people lived in even greater hardship. Given the contrast, he should have been grateful, and let her childish smugness get the better of him.

"Is there anything else that needs to be done?" he asked.

"And, uh, watch your swallowing and digestion," Firth whispered. As if to confirm her less-than-confident statement, she got out of bed and brought over the dinner provided by the hotel.

Even though Cesar's hands could barely move, and even though the dog was staring at the moon beside him, lost in a stillness incomprehensible to humans, ready to come at a single bark, she still insisted on feeding him herself. Her technique wasn't very good, and it was obvious she'd never cared for anyone before. She blew on the broth with a spoon for a long time, splashing it all over his face. She then tasted it herself, tasting it for texture and warmth until she'd consumed more than half of it, before feeding him the rest.

It's hard not to wonder how much of that salty flavor comes from her saliva and how much comes from the broth itself.

After a long effort, Phils finished the task with difficulty and wiped the sweat from her forehead, as if she had done a heavy job. When she was done, Cesar felt her fingers sliding down his throat to his abdomen, as if to observe the peristalsis of his digestive organs as he swallowed food. He frowned when she poked his stomach and heard a rumbling sound in his stomach.

Hearing this rhythmic sound, Phils seemed very satisfied. "Yes, that's it," she said.

Cesar asked her what was going on.

"This is a method passed down from my ancestors," Fils said in a high voice, lifting his arm and placing it on her padded leg to apply the medicine. "It allows one to overexert themselves, making more efficient use of their body, and it also allows one to recover faster after overexerting themselves."

Cesar pondered the implication of her words. "Then why are you still so sick? Have you never used it?"

"This isn't for me," she replied.

"Who is it for?" he asked. "For your sword-bearing guard?"

"Yes, my sword, uh..." Phils paused for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.

The voice said, "No, it's just a method, it doesn't have that much meaning."

Cesar noticed a certain sadness in her, as if there was something she had tried so hard to avoid thinking about that she could no longer help but realize, and though she tried so hard to hide it, he noticed it.

"You think I'm not

Your sword-bearing guard?" he asked.

Phils subconsciously tightened her grip on his arm and murmured, "I didn't mean that. I just felt..."

"Because," Cesar said, trying to slow down his tone, "I can't just follow Corinne like the White Eyes did, leaving all external affairs to her, while I just act as a silent guard, always standing behind her." He paused. "Is that correct, Fils? Or am I saying too much? What do you think?"

She opened her eyes wide, looking panicked: "You...you are trying to trick me!"

Cesar raised his eyebrows. "You haven't said anything yet, so why am I trying to trick you?" he said, lowering his voice. "Have you forgotten how you stayed up all night downtown sketching the city's topography? At first glance, you appear completely absorbed in a practical task, unable to tolerate interruption. But in reality, you're masking your anxiety and forcing yourself to do something you're not good at. I've already seen it once, and if I see it again, do you think I can't see it?"

Phils was stunned for a long moment, then, as if coming to her senses, she hugged his arm tightly. She couldn't help but lower her voice, as if afraid others would hear. "Then could you please not say it like that? I'm not used to it..."

"Habit?" Cesar asked back, "Not good at expressing yourself? Or are you afraid to express yourself? Is it because you're used to keeping silent in the castle?"

"Or, maybe." She subconsciously looked at the bottles and jars beside her.

"Why didn't you tell me this?" Cesar asked her.

Phils tried to reach for her bottles and jars, but her sleeves and clothes were stuck to her arms with the sticky, sticky drug. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pull them free. Unable to turn around and do something else to hide her uneasiness, the corners of her mouth drooped, and her gaze wandered, as if her soul had flown from the hotel to the dark basement of the castle, but definitely not in this place.

Seeing that she didn't say anything, Cesar said, "If you feel that there is something you want to say but it is inappropriate, just tell me."

Fils gave him a look like a wounded fawn. "I just feel like there are some things you can't say," she whispered, slowly pushing his arm away. "They're... inappropriate. They're just inappropriate. If they're inappropriate, they shouldn't be said."