Shadow of the Evil God

Chapter 49: Find Your Reliable Mercenary Friend

"You can be really annoying sometimes," Cecilia said.

"Why is there an extra title? Shouldn't I tell you my age?"

"Maybe it's because I'm indeed older than you." She said nonchalantly.

"Less than a year," Cesar pointed out at the right moment.

She frowned. "Even if it's only one year, I'm still older than you."

"Perhaps, but judging from the impression I give, I'm older. Even you thought so at the time." Cesar weighed the sword in his hand, feeling pain all over his body, especially the bruise on his knuckles. "And my past life experiences. In this respect, I also feel that I am older than you..."

Cecia snapped the lid off the herb jar with a resounding snap, interrupting him. "Go to the battlefield once before you tell me about your experiences, boy," she said, approaching. "Have you ever done that, huh? If not, forget it."

"Been on the battlefield? Me? How can you expect me to be on the battlefield?"

"I don't know, maybe you're daydreaming in the castle basement." Ceshia took a ball of sticky liquid mixed with pungent animal blood and smeared some on her own hands. "Or maybe you're reading? Anyway, you haven't even been out of Noyen, so you can only read or daydream by yourself." At this point, she suddenly paused, frowning, "No, you look like you haven't even left the castle..."

"Everyone has their own secrets." Cesar said indifferently.

"Everyone has their own secrets...?"

"If you insist on asking, I won't shy away from it." He imitated her usual posture, leaning against the wall and spreading one hand. "I'll tell you what I can tell you, and if you ask me more about what I can't tell you, maybe I'll tell you too."

The mercenary captain looked him over. "My personal experience is that there are some questions you shouldn't ask. If you can remain silent, then keep silent. Restraining your curiosity is good for everyone."

"No harm in asking," Cesar shrugged.

"Maybe not," Cecia exchanged blows with him as if nothing had happened, "Or maybe yes, I'm not sure. There are too many mysteries about you, so it's not appropriate to ask casual questions."

"I don't think there's anything inappropriate. You could have asked the question if you had just taken a step forward. It's a pity you keep retreating, running faster than a deserter."

She raised an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"Uh......"

Cecia took a step forward. "I'm not good with metaphors," she said with a warm smile, "so whatever you say, I'll take it literally."

"Really? You're obviously very knowledgeable about poetry and rhetoric. I think my cousin who died at the edge of the Stone Abyss didn't know as much as you do. Why do you have to pretend to be so—"

Cecia squeezed his hand tightly, like a vise, causing his fingers to twitch and his words to fall back. "I don't know how you made this up, but I don't want anyone to talk to me about poetry, rhetoric, and other things anymore. Do you understand?"

He immediately gave up resistance: "I will understand whatever you want me to understand."

"Tsk." She tossed the pungently smelling can into his hands. "Apply it as you see fit. After dinner and a good rest, come and try archery with me. You're in good shape, so you can start with my longbow."

Cecia said it lightly, but the longbow she wielded was beyond the reach of most people. Drawing a bow requires muscle strength across the back, shoulders, upper arms, fingers, and more. Not only does she have to draw the bow to full length, but she also has to maintain that position while aiming, placing immense strain on the muscles in her shoulders and back. Her grip, so firm it could practically crush a person's hand, proved that the strength she exerted in drawing the bow was far greater than the grip she used to wield a sword.

They ate their meal leaning against the wall. Ceshia seemed accustomed to eating against the fortifications on the battlefield, while Cesar simply followed her example, never knowing what might come in handy later. Halfway through the meal, he noticed a group of heavily armed men arriving from outside the hotel, a small group.

"But Master Cesar?" asked the leader.

"Yes, it's me." Although he was not used to this fake identity at all, Cesar nodded and said, "What's the matter?"

"Lord Thane wishes his children to fulfill the Borgia family's mission," the man said in a stern voice. "The enemy's presence is unclear, but it does exist."

"Didn't what happened yesterday count as fulfilling the mission?" he asked.

"It is because you have proven yourself that Lord Sean is confident in giving you a position that requires experience."

“Where do you want me to work?

?” He continued to ask questions.

"The City Hall. They've allocated an office there and allocated some funds for you."

Cesar paused, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind, but he couldn't find an excuse to disassociate himself. The Borgia bloodline was practically bound to the mission of defending Noien. It would have been fine if he were traveling, but once he was in Noien, he had no right to refuse. Besides, this trip wasn't about him being cannon fodder; it was about giving him a relatively stable position. He had no excuses.

Then again, the people from the Xiel Temple were busy arguing with the Noyen Treasurer at the City Hall all day, so if I went to the City Hall, I'd be on the same route as the Temple people. It wouldn't be difficult to help each other out when the time came.

With all these thoughts in mind, Cesar quietly discussed with Cecia while nibbling at his meal, claiming that they could discuss the funding granted to him later. Thus, he successfully secured the mercenary captain through public funds. Soon, they stood in front of the city hall and filed in under the watchful eyes of the guards.

The captain, with a stern face, led the way, with Cesar following behind. They climbed several flights of stairs and skirted several corridors before finally arriving at the end of the hallway. As expected, the person in the room was Askrid. He was talking to a few officers in his office. When he turned and saw Cesar, he immediately waved him in.

"You don't have to guess," the commander glanced at the mercenary captain behind Cesar, "that's my suggestion."

"Should I feel honored?" Cesar asked.

"As you please, boy," said Askrid, "but when trouble comes to Noien, neither you nor I will be able to escape."

"You think the enemy is certain?"

Askrid picked up a piece of paper from the table. "The situation outside the city is still unclear, but the signs inside are clear—there are indeed spies trying to understand the city's defenses and create chaos. I will personally lead a team out of the city to investigate the enemy situation and report back with accurate intelligence as quickly as possible. During this time, you can help with recruitment efforts, but more importantly, cooperate with the intelligence officer to identify the spies and agents within the city."

"You are the commander-in-chief of Noien's army. Are you going to the front line to scout the enemy situation yourself?"

"Whatever I am, I'll be on the front lines," Askrid said indifferently. "No one can do this better, and no one is better suited to it than me."

Cesar thought of Askrid as an inhuman being who had undergone the rituals of a true god, a monstrous creature still cloaked in human skin. His words were indeed true. Others went to the battlefield to face death, but he went to the battlefield, perhaps just to slaughter some beasts that might resist, much like the White Nightmare devouring humans.

"Then why do you think I can do this?" Cesar asked again.

Askrid pondered for a moment, seemingly weighing his response. "It's not just you," he said. "It's many people. Including intelligence officers of my rank, several officials appointed by the Earl himself, and the defense organizations of various communities. It's just that Sean and I have higher expectations of you." He thought for a moment, then added, "Due to wartime priorities, you can ask the Treasurer and his staff to cooperate with you. How you do it, and what you hope to achieve, depends on your skill."

"What are you hinting at me?"

"I didn't hint at anything." Askrid quickly distanced himself from the matter, as if suggesting that Cesar take the opportunity to show goodwill to the temple had nothing to do with him. "This place is our office for you. We've given you a team of experienced people to recruit people in the city. All you have to do is come here every day to sign the documents. If you like, you can also provide some guidance on the selection of personnel. I look forward to you using your abilities in this process. Of course, your main responsibility is to find the spies and suppress the unrest and violence in the city..."

"Wait a minute," Cesar realized something was wrong. "You mean, you asked me to risk my life investigating spies in the city and quell riots, but you only gave me a group of clerks?"

Askrid was silent for a moment, seemingly pondering his response. "The army is short of manpower," he stated bluntly, "but you can recruit militia from Lower Noyen. You can have them assist you in handling various matters. You can discuss specific training and military funding with the treasurer. Your ability to secure the budget will also depend on your personal abilities. I believe you can—"

These people want him to be the leader of the militia?

Cesar shook his head and raised his hand, signaling Askrid to stop talking. "Wait a minute," he said, "you mean the manpower I'm talking about are the miners, fishermen, porters, and even excrement collectors who went to Noyen to do hard labor, and I have to ask for money and military supplies myself?"

"That's normal," the commander said with a smile. "Noyen can't afford too many regular soldiers. Most of them are militiamen. They drill every Monday, and when wartime comes, they'll be given some weapons and equipment in stock and go into battle. After the battle, they'll put the equipment in storage and continue with their lives."

"The miners, fishermen, porters, and excrement collectors in the dog pit all have their own local gangs. Who knows how many of the militiamen you train every Monday are gang thugs? Now you tell me to recruit them.

"Can you guarantee that when the excrement collectors' gang floods other people's homes with piles of excrement, it's not the porters' gang's doors that are flooded? You just give me a few clerks, but how can I guarantee that the people I recruit won't fight among themselves?"

Askew

Reed shrugged. "You can ask your reliable mercenary friend for help."

Chapter 50: Turning people into frogs is a folk superstition

......

"Why on earth would I do such a thing?" Cesar asked himself.

"You've never done this before?" Firth pulled her robes tighter around her. It had snowed again in Neuen last night, and the weather had grown even colder with the arrival of winter. It was still dawn, a few morning stars twinkling in the gray sky. The wind blew frost and snow overhead, drifting like a veil, spreading along the road and seeming to veil the surrounding streets and buildings. The sun, still behind the city walls, climbed slowly upwards, unable to reach the sky.

He exhaled, "I've never been to a place where there's war, let alone been a conscript."

"Then learn to adapt?"

"No matter how you adjust to it, this is ridiculous."

Cesar couldn't believe his eyes. The documents he'd been given clearly stated that the recruits met the requirements, but when he personally reviewed them, he discovered the actual results were far from optimistic. If he hadn't been accustomed to seeing all sorts of bureaucrats who were adept at taking advantage of the situation and were well aware of the attitudes of his subordinates, he might have finished reviewing the documents and gone back to his hotel to sleep. He wouldn't have known the quality of the recruits until the next day.

Last night, he braved the freezing cold to inspect the area. When he reached the crowd, he realized that only the soldiers standing in prominent positions were physically fit enough. The rest were appalling—some were too old, some were sickly, some were half-crippled, and some were even nervous peasant women, thin as sticks. More than half of them had clearly never received any training. They couldn't even stand on the tower and throw rocks, let alone fight.

After receiving his draft papers, Cesar walked around the so-called ranks of soldiers and found that many of them had tattered clothes that were not enough to keep them warm. They could only huddle together in the innermost corner to keep warm, as if they were hoping to get good clothes by temporarily enlisting.

So, what about the main militiamen who train every Monday and should actually be recruited?

There were many reasons, primarily the aftermath of the riots. After the news spread, it was almost always the elderly, the weak, the sick, and the disabled who clamored to enlist and punish the barbaric steppe people. Judging by their personal circumstances, they were primarily motivated by the desire to collect their conscription pay and get through these difficult times. A large number of these individuals were victims of the riots who had suffered severe property damage.

In Neuen, people didn't seem to take the Sassulei seriously. If Cesar hadn't asked Firth, he wouldn't even know the name Sassulei. He had almost never heard of any term other than grassland people and barbarians in Neuen.

As soon as they recovered from their panic, they began to believe that Noien was a great, unshakable fortress, one that had stood for centuries and would continue to do so. They believed that defending the city meant standing atop its tall walls, pouring pitch and pounding stones, waiting for the iron cannons to roar with earth-shattering force, forcing the barbarians to abandon their armor and flee back to their ignorant and backward steppes.

Then, they can go home as heroes who defended the city.

What about the able-bodied men, the men who should have been drafted?

Firstly, many of these individuals were key members of Lower Neuen gangs, and a significant number were even active participants in the recent Lower Neuen riots, engaging in numerous acts of arson and looting. Some gang members were still busy dividing up the spoils, and the grasslands' enemy situation was still unclear, so it was unrealistic to expect them to respond quickly to the call-up.

Secondly, long before the clerk assigned to Cesar set off, Noyen's military system had already dispatched, taking away most of the militiamen who had undergone long-term internal training and were relatively well-trained. The remaining ones were thrown to Cesar, the illegitimate son who had been temporarily assigned to the battlefield. These remaining people included women whose husbands had died in robberies, sickly beggars and vagrants, coughing tuberculosis patients, mentally retarded people who had been kicked out by their families to reduce their income, and even old men who could hardly stand.

These men looked different, but their reasons for volunteering were similar: they couldn't make ends meet and wanted to rely on temporary conscription to fill a few days' worth of food. Veterans in the military looked down on them and wouldn't accept them, even if it meant pinching their noses. However, to meet their superiors' demands and to fill paperwork, the clerks assigned to them would not let any of them go.

So what else can he do?

Of course, I went to the prison to pick up people.

It was obvious that asking the quaestor for weapons and equipment with a group of elderly, weak, and disabled people was nonsense. No matter how eloquent he was, he couldn't fabricate the facts right under their noses. The best outcome was a shipment of clothing to keep them warm and prevent them from freezing to death. As for weapons and equipment, they could either use their own pitchforks and firewood, or Cesar would have to go to the blacksmith and buy a batch of farm tools.

What could he rely on at a time like this? Of course, he could rely on the reserve militias already incarcerated, or the gang members who participated in weekly military training. These people might be difficult to manage, and there might be internal conflict, as he had previously worried about, but if he didn't pick up people from the prison himself, he wouldn't even have the right to worry about that.

Although I took the newly arrested criminals to Guancheng for security

, investigating the traces of spies and secret agents, this was absurd no matter how you thought about it, but with the mercenary leader and the intimidating wizard watching over them, nothing serious would happen. No matter how outrageous the situation was, it was not as outrageous as bringing a group of old, weak, and disabled people with farm tools to do it.

This is the real world. Cesar can only choose the least bad option among several options and then try his best to make it less bad.

He couldn't confront the barracks and demand their trained militia be handed over to him. He also didn't have the money to hire the entire Black Sword force in Noien. He could only give the money he'd siphoned off to Ceshia and her few loyal followers, ensuring that the professional mercenary commander was paid enough to do his job and keep a close eye on this ragtag militia of criminals, the elderly, the sick, and the disabled.

"You're quite creative," Cecilia said. "I thought I was going to try to convince you to go to the prison to get him back. But it turned out you were the one who suggested it."

As soon as Ceshia came over and started talking, Phils hugged his arm tightly. With this guy watching, the mercenary captain suddenly felt more at ease, and he could tease him casually without worrying about him retaliating on the spot.

"There's no other way," Cesar said. "The clerks I've been handed are all cunning old men who only know how to make money. They don't do anything except backstabbed each other and flattered their superiors. Besides, when war strikes, there's no need for such high moral standards. The gang members who are qualified to be arrested can get legal military equipment from the financial officer, but these sickly beggars and homeless people want me to go to the blacksmith shop to make custom farm tools in bulk."

"I've met nobles your age before, always talking about courage, honor, honor, and honor. You give the impression of a seasoned mercenary."

"I can't be your apprentice for nothing." Cesar put his arm around Phils's slender shoulders and casually said something profound to Ceshia, "Do you think I'm just here to learn knightly competitions?"

The mercenary captain's eyebrows twitched. "Can you confirm the list of criminals who were arrested, kid?"

"I saw some," he said. "The Porters' gang was in there. I managed to save their lives, but then they were sent to prison by the Earl's inquisitors."

"Intelligence officer? Or interrogation officer?"

"They're all the same person, the head of the Noien City spy. They say he's not very good at intelligence investigations, but he's very good at extracting confessions through torture."

The corner of Seshiya's mouth twitched: "No wonder there are so many spies in Noien, but we can't find any of them."

"Perhaps the Count doesn't need him to be good at intelligence work, as long as he can force people to confess. Anyway, the people of Noyen are afraid of his reputation."

This wasn't nonsense. From Earl Thane's perspective, if he could find a reliable intelligence officer who could effectively perform intelligence analysis and personnel surveillance, he would definitely want one. However, such talent was hard to find, and there was no point in insisting on having one.

As long as Count Sean manages the underground entrances and exits of his castle, wins over the most powerful nobles to his side, and uses rituals of the True God to ensure their loyalty, he doesn't need to care what the people below him think.

Thanks to the True God Rituals, no matter how spies and agents moved about in Noien, they could not threaten his own safety. Similarly, thanks to the True God Rituals, the powerful nobles—both local and foreign—would support his rule. With these overt guarantees, Sean was like a man in armor. Even if the rats in the sewers piled higher than a man, they would not be able to bite even an inch of his skin.

According to Cesar, it didn't really matter whether this intelligence officer was actually an intelligence officer. As long as he occupied this position and did some torture to get his reputation out, he would be able to satisfy Count Thane's needs.

When they reached the prison entrance, someone was peering out through the window on the other side of the thick iron gate, gazing at Cesar and the others with suspicion. That large, unsightly face blocked the small window on the door, preventing anyone outside from seeing what was happening inside.

"What do you want to do by coming here? Do you have any permission?" the man asked sternly.

"You asked me if I had permission?" Cesar said, his expression impatient. He had absolutely no desire to deal with the brat's troubles, or at least, he wasn't in the mood. "You think I braved the cold weather just to say hello?"

"Tell me who you are right now! I have the right—"

Cesar squeezed Fils's shoulder, whispering darkly. A flash of light shot through the small window of the iron door, instantly sending tears streaming down the face of the man behind it, nearly blinding him. "How dare you ask about my identity?" he shouted. "Did your brain get stuck in the door, or was it thrown into a cesspool and forgotten? Do you know how many people in this city have mages around?"

"Please, please forgive me!"

"How much more nonsense do you have? Do you know what would happen if a person turned into a frog? Do you think your good colleagues would plead for you, or lock you in a cage for fun?"

"No, no! I'll open the door right away, sir!"

Cesar watched the door slowly open with satisfaction, while Phils muttered under her breath, "Turning people into frogs is a folk superstition."

Chapter 51: Are there people holding children here?

They brought ten conscripts who were barely old, weak, or sick with them, just to show off. After crossing the threshold, apart from the fat torturer who blocked the small window of the iron door, there were three guards sitting on both sides of the prison corridor watching the show.

The two thin and silent executioners were looking over here furtively, with dark and sinister expressions.

Cesar was very sure that they were blocking this place because they habitually asked for bribes from visitors and only let people in after making a profit.

Walking through the dark and narrow corridor

Finally, they reached the prison yard. The walls were made of massive logs with sharpened ends, nailed with bent iron nails that were almost rusted. The ground and walls were covered with a layer of blood that had hardened and looked like a dark red paint. Cesar walked through the snow and mud to the inner door leading to the underground prison and knocked on the damp iron door with the hilt of his sword.

After a while, another small window opened from the door, and a white mask looked at him through the window. It was dark and gloomy inside, and only a little candlelight could be seen.

A pair of silver-gray eyes stared at him from behind the holes in his mask. "What brings you here with the soldiers?" the man asked.

"I'm here to see the manager. You don't need to ask any more questions." Cesar replied.

"I'm Canaday, the one in charge."