Shadow of the Evil God

"Will you give me another kiss, Annie?"

"What did you say?"

"I convinced you with actual evidence and left you speechless. I think this matter itself is wonderful," said Cesar.

"You..."

Diana pressed her brow, rubbing it hard, but she leaned in to kiss him anyway. It was a long, silent kiss, her hands resting on his chest, her fingers trembling slightly. When their lips parted, her fingers remained, a tenderness in her eyes. She blinked, pursed her lips, red as if they could bleed, and quickly regained her composure.

"Speaking of the ancient things we encountered recently, do you have any idea about that Ajehe?" she asked again as if nothing had happened.

Cesar was still savoring the touch of her lips. "I don't know," he said. "She came here on her own. She wanted to take over my body and drive my soul out, but when she failed, she just lived here like an uninvited guest."

"Do you know her relationship with Ferriers?" Diana asked.

“I learned a little bit later, but I didn’t know before.”

She subconsciously touched the scar on his chest with her fingers, making him feel a little itchy. "What was it like before?"

"When we were in Neuen, Firth and I encountered a wolf in the dense forests of the Crimson Realm. We thought it was a prisoner in chains. She gave me a bone, saying it would help me through this difficult time. But during the siege, she used the bone to enter my body and briefly attempted to replace me as its master."

"Interesting..." Diana looked down at him, "and before that?"

"Before that, Ajeh lived in the body of a Sasule woman, also called Ajeh, Chief Musali's sister. In fact, people thought they were twins, and I always thought so too."

"One of the twins is a beastman. Don't their parents find it strange?" Diana asked.

"No, their mother is a Sasule, and their father is Iskrig, a prince of the Kuna."

"Iskrig?" She remained silent, as if searching for the right words to answer. "I think I have some idea. The coded manuscript mentioned Isskrig's prophecy and fragments about him—the last bloodline of the old Kuna king, and the royal family's newborn after over a thousand years. Unfortunately, Firth has been lucid for very little time recently, so I can't delve further into the matter anytime soon. Was that also a person with very ambiguous sexual characteristics?"

"Compared to you, they have two completely different aesthetics. Although you're both very different from the average person, that Ajeh... how should I put it? Sometimes she makes me feel subtly uneasy. I don't see her as someone of the opposite sex, but as someone of the same sex, examining the differences between her and myself."

"During the era of the Kuna's demise, those nobles and royals who explored their inner selves were generally like this." Diana stared at him. "In the Kuna world, you won't feel that the nobility is unworthy of their position. Their nobles and royals are simply superior to those below them, almost like they are the same species. They are at least one meter taller than the commoners, and their appearance is neutral and perfect, infinitely close to the gods they imagine and the White Nightmares they worship. Their conversations are full of philosophical thoughts and wisdom, and even their chess games are divine games like Castalian, which explore all the thoughts and arts in the world."

This guy is still so academic.

"Then why......"

“We think they’ve lost their humanity in the process of discovering themselves,” she said.

"Lost?"

"No, it's a conscious act of giving it up. The Kuna believed that it was enhancing, even elevating, humanity. In the parlance of the time, it was called elevating one's own realm—love, desire, worldly worries, and so on. That's why some say they are two sides of the same coin with the beastmen. Those evil creatures were born from the corpses of the Kuna, manifesting the sensual desires they intended to abandon in the most extreme form, almost the opposite of the Kuna. When

In order to perpetuate their hatred, humans at that time once called the Beastmen the Fallen Kuna."

Cesar remembered the ceremony held by the werewolf tribe in the wilderness, the madly dancing goblins, and Nauzog.

But his first thought was of the two contrasting Ajiehes. Now it seemed that they were not just an accidental encounter, but two sides of the same coin.

One of them, Ajeh, viewed foreign objects as impurities. Her appearance and temperament reminded Cesar of a knight, but she was far more extreme. She had clearly stated that cities and palaces were merely humans' crude imitations of mountains, rocks, and forests, and had simply laughed off his invitation. She had vanished like a puff of smoke, leaving even Musali unaware.

Cesar couldn't understand this other Ajeh. She would take over his body and expel his consciousness, then pull him out of a deadly situation. She would merge with his consciousness to aid him in his battles, then mock him for his inevitable descent into the abyss. She knew countless crucial secrets from his past, yet she refused to reveal a single one. If Ferris hadn't explicitly stated that she knew Ajeh, Cesar wouldn't have known she'd been with Ferris. She'd known Ferris was Ferris from the moment they first met Ajeh.

"You still haven't gotten anything out of Ajeh?" Diana asked him. "Although I've never asked either. Mainly because she...it's not that she doesn't talk. She talks more than any of us in the wilderness, but she only comments on her own whims and never mentions her own experiences."

Chapter 211: Does it also include Uncle Urbino?

"She used to just watch, occasionally making some cruel comments," Cesar said. "Later, Ferris damaged her mental state, and she often talked to herself uncontrollably, but she still refused to talk about the past. Of course, many people are like this, staring at things that exist or don't exist and talking endlessly, but they are unwilling to talk about themselves. Sometimes I feel that she is essentially lonely, no matter how many people are around her, she is still lonely."

"Perhaps those who wouldn't let her feel lonely are already acquaintances from thousands of years ago," Diana whispered. "In the end, only Ferriers is left, but she's no longer the Ferriers of the past. People believe that those with long lives will accompany and depend on each other until the end of time. But the reality is that the essence of life gradually distorts over time, and those who survive in the end are not the past self, but others with past memories."

"The other..."

"What do you think determines whether a person is themselves or someone else, Cesar? You've always been very practical."

Cesar looked at the darkness above the tent. "I'm very practical," he said, "but when it comes to what makes a person who they are, I think the soul and consciousness, dreams and thoughts, love and action are what matter most. I used to think they were the same person, and it was absurd to love one and hate the other. But then I thought that perhaps the immortal Ferris was simply born inside Ferris, enjoying her original life, while Ferris herself died. I can actually imagine how the young Ferris curled up in her own body and gradually died, and how she slowly rotted while she lived."

"Can you imagine?" she asked.

“When I was still able to dream, I sometimes dreamed of myself becoming like this,” he replied. “I was still alive, but the things I once cherished slowly rotted away, and finally, a different me was born from my corpse.”

Diana remained silent, as if his account had reminded her of herself. If what Nauzog said was true, then she and Ferrieres did have similar possibilities. They could both be close to immortality, but their lives might also undergo the same changes—becoming no longer who they were in the past.

In a short human life, many changes occur, and we become no longer the same as we once were. If we span a longer period of time, those changes are like the shifting of mountains and rivers or the drying up of the sea: two completely different existences.

There are many ways to die, not only death in the narrow sense, but also farewell to the past.

Seeing her depressed, Cesar smiled. "As for love and action, and placing a bouquet of roses on the tombstone, have you ever thought that maybe I'm talking to myself? The world brought you to me and gave me the opportunity to love you, but I'm very selfish. Unlike all those who love you but just watch from afar, I want to possess it. I want to remember your face with my eyes, your touch with my fingers, and your taste with my lips. In this way, as time goes by, if I can still remember all this and still give you the bouquet, then I must still have this love and be willing to take action for it. Therefore, I must still be the same person I used to be."

She sighed and said, "Don't you think that saying something too nice is a problem, Cesar?"

"I think so," Cesar replied, "but most of the time I'm thinking about how to flatter, how to tell lies, and how to please others. So when I don't have to do that, I can talk about myself."

"I can't speak about myself like you can, and most people can't," Diana said softly. "Just like you don't care how much shit behind your words is."

"That's true," Cesar agreed. "But being sarcastic about the worst in others is actually part of living together, don't you think? If we just discuss wisdom and philosophy like the Kuna people, it would be empty and boring - we already have enough careful discussions and deliberations. I want to kiss you suddenly regardless of the occasion, or hug you from behind, and then receive a harsh rebuke or even an offensive spell in return. What do you think of this?"

She opened one eye. "I don't think so, Cesar. You're incredibly cautious everywhere."

"When that knight pointed his nose at me and insulted me in the Grand Duke's mansion, I wanted to do this very thing, especially when you were flipping through a book beside me, acting as if it had nothing to do with me. But when I finally managed to find the words to involve you, you held your forehead and sighed, almost making a sound like you were tutting at me."

"Maybe I'm just used to arguments and conflicts, always having someone else handle them for me," Diana said nonchalantly. "The school's departure from Itris caused me to lose a lot of followers, and I've never gotten used to it. Thankfully, you alone can handle everyone before. From a practical point of view, you're the compensation I deserve."

Cesar frowned slightly: "Those small nobles who follow the big nobles and act arrogantly?"

"Do you have any questions?"

"So, when we first met, your attitude seemed awful, but it wasn't completely awful. It was because your former lackeys were doing all the awful things for you, and you couldn't bring yourself to do them yourself?"

"Don't act like it's all my fault, Cesar. Weren't you the one who insulted the knight so much that he went berserk, grabbed him, and threw him out? I was just watching."

Cesare recalled the events at the Grand Duke's residence in Urbino. He reasoned from Diana's perspective, not his own, and realized that he had, at that moment, perfectly fit the definition of a lackey of the great nobles. In the classic aristocratic operas circulated among the people, the great nobles only needed to casually give an order, and their lackeys would shout and carry out terrible things. Thinking about it carefully, it was exactly the same as her, concentrating on reading in the meeting.

If we shift our focus to that young knight, he's even more despicable. A passionate knight, he went out to battle, returning to the royal capital of Anglan with countless victories, hoping to reunite with the woman of his dreams. But upon his return, the knight discovered the Archduke's daughter entangled with a man of unknown origin. Upon inquiry, he discovered he was a peripheral noble, a man who, by relying on his position as the Archduke's retainer, was clinging to the daughter.

"That's terrible," Cesar said with a sigh. "Hearing you point it out to my face makes me feel even worse."

She smiled. "Don't be so sensitive, Cesar. You were the focus of the meeting at that time. This was just a testing tool."

"Then can you give your lackey some encouragement?"

"I didn't know lackeys needed encouragement."

"This job pays too little. I can't do it anymore, miss," Cesar said, reaching out to touch her cheek, stroking it slowly, from her cheek to her ear, gently pinching the delicate earlobe, as gently as if stroking a piece of fragile silk. Then he touched her smooth lips, from the corner of her lip to the center of her slightly raised upper lip, and then to the other corner of her lip.

"Then I shall have to tell everyone about your offense against me."

Diana whispered. She breathed softly, brushing his fingertips against hers. Then, she took his hand and placed it against the side of her face, her eyes already closed. Her hand was delicate and warm, her cheek soft as velvet. The feeling of her palm caressing her face was indescribable, and he wanted to close his eyes and experience it all the more. He could keep touching her until he fell asleep.

“Uncle Urbino too?” he asked.

She opened one eye. "Would you like to try?"

"I will wait until your father has to obey my orders before I tell him this."

"You are really good at talking."

......

Cesar took a deep breath and tried to step out of the carriage into the evening breeze, but the stench of coal smoke and feces and urine overwhelmed him. He sank back down, coughing profusely, and leaned against his dog's arms for several breaths before recovering. He realized that they were no longer in the countryside, but in Sodoris, the largest mining town southwest of Olidan, just a stone's throw from Fort Gural.

His first walk after recovering from his illness wasn't a stroll through the woods, but rather a survey of streets strewn with feces and urine. Thinking of this, Cesar wanted to collapse back into his tent and feign death, blaming everything on others. He relaxed for a long moment before forcing himself out of the carriage, swallowing the discomfort. This time, he smelled not only soot and feces, but also the pungent odor of decay. Clearly, the rotting food wasn't food, but the beggars and refugees who had starved to death on the streets after fleeing to Sodoris.

Night gradually enveloped the sky, shrouding all of Sodoris in a damp, stifling fog that only exacerbated the foul smell. Cesar carefully inspected Gouzi's sword and musket before moving to the front of the line. He didn't check his own, as he hadn't felt like wielding a sword lately. Outside of war, he felt the Faceless were more suited to small-scale combat. Whether wielding a musket or a sword, as long as he considered himself human, he would be no match for the delicate-looking creature beside him.

Even Diana had to use her to kill Sutik of the Hisai School in the wizard confrontation. Naturally, she was even more adept at other small-scale confrontations.

Since Nauzog had clearly warned them before leaving that Gular Fortress was filled with hostility and would require a bloody suppression before it could be conquered, Cesar would naturally make every possible preparation. Before that, he would first eliminate Sodoris, using it as a temporary base and place for his army to rest and recuperate. Only then would he advance on the fortress, ensuring that all threats and unrest within it were dealt with in one fell swoop.

He had already sent those goblins out as scouts. Considering this, Sodoris was likely also in the sight of Gural Fortress. If he could get the Faceless Ones to follow him and capture a few of them, he could get more information about Gural Fortress.

Chapter 212: Local Temple Monks

The further Cesar walked into town, the more stuffy he felt. He'd experienced a lot of northern Olidan's climate recently, but none as damp and oppressive as tonight. Even the evening breeze was muggy, occasionally picking up a wisp, carrying a stench of putrid feces and urine through the sticky fog, making the pain even worse.

Everything was a hazy outline in the fog, only the occasional flicker of a kerosene lamp by the roadside allowed him to discern the shadowy silhouettes of houses. Tall brick chimneys billowed with black smoke, billowing from the smelting furnaces adjacent to the mines, which loomed like a dark cloud over the town. The waters of Sodoris were completely polluted. While the feces and urine alone were a minor concern, the wastewater from smelting and the various local workshops was the real problem. However, the river flowed further north of Oridan, extending all the way to the southwestern borders of the empire, endangering its inhabitants. Soridan, however, didn't care.

Several transport boats, pulled by ragged boatmen and exhausted hired laborers, passed by. These vessels, carrying large blocks of rock to repair the fortress's walls and replenish their scarce military supplies, quickly disappeared into the darkness. Since this town was the first place the refugees passed through, Sodoris had no shortage of labor and men. At the riverbank, he smelled the pungent blend of warm steam, tar, dye, and rotting wood.

Neuen is also a mining city, and Dog Pit is very much like a nightmare, but there are differences between nightmares. The nightmares here are much worse than those in Dog Pit.

"I hope Sodoris doesn't force me to capture the town and then have mercenaries drown in the sewage." Cesar exclaimed, "How was the army prepared while I slept?"

"Altinia said she's fully prepared and is negotiating with the people sent by Sodoris. Diana is also cooperating in the Duke's name. She has a plan for both war and a peaceful resolution," Gouzi said. "There's no need to worry about the local defense team, but the local administrator has hired a group of mercenaries from the north to defend the town. They're said to be a detachment of the Black Swords, and they also suspect they have hired mages."

Cesar thought of his swordsmanship teacher in Neuen, then reconsidered. Ceshia had a blood feud with the nobles of Olidan, so it was impossible for her to come to Olidan then, and it was even more impossible now. However, since they all flew the same black sword banner, if he could sit down and talk with the leader of the team, he might be able to ask about her recent situation.

He passed the armory and textile workshops, then spotted taverns and gambling dens between the workshops and the mines. As in the military encampment, women solicited business near the houses and huts. But rather than mercenaries who could afford to hire street prostitutes to take care of their business, the crowds were mostly sick refugees with nowhere to seek medical treatment. The groans came not from the houses, but from those on the street who were suspected of having contracted fever and malaria.

Neuen is a cold place, where infectious diseases rarely spread. However, near the Gural Fortress, infectious diseases, coupled with the humid and humid climate, are almost a part of local life. Cesar avoided the local casino and quickly found the small local temple. From the statue on the building, he recognized it as Hiel. There were not many patients in the temple, but their symptoms were representative. The monks of the local temple were examining each one.

Cesar watched from the side, wandering around until he found Brother Kallen's medicine cabinet, a familiar one, filled with various medications. The monk in charge of the temple was a middle-aged man with a numb expression, looking exhausted. He yawned and covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he retrieved medicine.

The man's clothes were sticky with sweat because the temple was indeed stiflingly hot, but he seemed to have no choice but to continue working. The temple's platform was piled with reports of plagues and infectious diseases. It seemed that he had examined more than thirty patients with various illnesses throughout the day.

Cesar discovered that the temple was short of manpower, and recalled his experience of disturbing Brother Kallen in Neuen, so he took the medicine from the medicine cabinet for the monk according to his memory.

The temple monk was too busy to notice who he was. He took the medicine and continued to examine the patients who were wailing in the temple. Cesar followed him and found that almost all of them had malaria. Some had parasitic diseases, probably from eating something they shouldn't have eaten during their escape. Some had lung diseases, and it seemed that miners had been working in the mines for too long to make a living. There was also a leper. The temple monk immediately summoned the terrified soldiers and took him away. For patients with extremely dangerous infectious diseases, the locals seemed to have their own customary methods.

He found that the middle-aged monk was very reluctant to stay in Sodoris and work hard, but it seemed that there were orders from higher levels that he had to obey, so he had to stay in Sodoris to check for possible infectious diseases and plagues.

Cesar stood by and observed, comparing the monk's judgment with the patients' characteristics. He found that some had fevers, or more accurately, chills and fevers. This was evident from their pale faces and trembling hands. The temple monk only needed a few glances to accurately determine this. Others had sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and distinct breathing sounds. The monk concluded that they had tuberculosis.

As for the origin of the illness, the monk seemed to remember it very well and told him casually that it was due to the long escape, excessive hunger and overwork.

Even with Cesar by his side, the temple monk was still exhausted. After a while, he complained to him, saying that a lot of his men had been transferred away after the war in the south, and that the Shawl Society had come and taken away all his helpers.

He first complained about the Shawl Society, then began to complain about everything - the suffocating heat of Sodoris, the sticky mist that kept drilling into his nostrils and mouth, the increasing number of pleading and crying in the dim temple, the increasing number of sick and dying refugees, and the painful experiences that each refugee had to complain about during his inspection.

He said he was tired of gambling, tired of the taverns, tired of the nice tavern where they used to sleep together every night, and tired of all the teachings of the scriptures. As long as he had to look at the faces of these refugees and listen to their incessant pleas, he had no other thoughts.

"Didn't you apply for a transfer?" Cesar asked him, and ordered Gouzi to get a batch of medicine.

"I've written nearly a box of letters!" the monk was furious. "The Shawl Society hasn't responded except to appease me to take on the important position of Sodoris for a while longer! The beast who came here last time and transferred a lot of my people away still thinks I'm tactless!"

Chapter 213: Wandering Monk Cesar

Cesar learned the monk's name was Levita, and that several young believers had recently arrived and were serving as his apprentices. The apprentices had little knowledge of the temple's medicines, so they could only soothe the patient, administer the medicine according to the monk's instructions, and call the next patient for him.

Whenever he heard the apprentices calling for the next patient, the monk would puff out his beard and glare, and would roll up and unroll his very long beard, and then squeeze and rub it hard in his hands.

"The next patient—they don't understand the meaning of the phrase 'next patient' at all. Do you understand?" Levita said manically, rubbing his beard even harder. "No, you don't understand either. The shawl will say, 'I will do my best to save,' but am I really saving? I tell myself that I am doing good. I listen to them talk about their past and distribute medicine to everyone. However, the soldier who took my report and disposed of the patients said that it was not good. It is impossible to distinguish between good and evil. If someone wants to distinguish between good and evil, he is a pitiful creature and he will become a madman!"

Cesar prepared several medicines according to the method taught by Kallen and gave them to Levita. When he helped in the temple, he looked like a real monk, which gradually made Brother Levita let down his guard. "You look like you have been here for many years, Brother," Cesar said. "What do you think of this place?"

"I didn't stay for many years," Levita whispered. "The last monk who was in charge of the temple in Sodoris indulged in drinking and completely ruined himself. He was infected with venereal diseases and lost all his money. At that time, I mourned him with others, but now, I feel that I am about to die. He was originally a highly respected monk. How could I be better than him? At night, I also want to drink until I lose consciousness, or just wander around the city, thinking about nothing, letting the alcohol wash away all the dirt in my brain. But no, with him as a lesson for me, I dare not do anything, I think, but I - dare not."

"Is there no way it can get better? Or is it just getting worse?" Cesar asked him.

"I can't imagine anything worse, Wandering Brother. I ran into a lot of obstacles when I first arrived in Sodoris. I couldn't even sleep at night because I was afraid that the Black Sword people would come to my door in the middle of the night. Some people are respected by the Black Sword, and people have to listen to what they say because they are the Shawl Order. So they threw me to Sodoris and asked me to observe the plague and infectious diseases. I was already tired enough, but they transferred my people and sent me a bunch of new apprentices to make me more tired, because they are - the Shawl Order."

"Did you know about the war in the south?" Cesar continued to ask him, "Maybe the Capes are short of manpower. They chose to put more effort in some places and had to reduce their investment here."

"Yes, but the Shawl Society is still crying out for salvation," the middle-aged monk said. "Because they're still crying out for salvation, they threw me here to do the work of salvation, but I don't feel like I'm saving anything. So, you know what? I'm not going to bother myself anymore and just let things develop naturally. This place is very bad, but it's not something a person who only knows medicine and earns a living should pay attention to. If you don't want to be infected with diseases and collapse, you have to escape and send letter after letter until they are willing to transfer you."

"Maybe there's something wrong with the wording of your letter," he said.

"What could be the problem?" Levita replied to Cesar while checking the next patient. "No, I wrote so many letters, and every one of them was my sincere thoughts. There is no falsehood at all."

"Think about it, Brother Levita," Cesar said, "the people of the Pallium hold every letter you send out, but they think you're ignorant. They have no other reason than that they don't care about these things. They don't know what the little temple down there is, nor do they know what the refugees are. They are ignorant of the people's tragedies, their cries and requests. Although those sad voices buzz in your ears all day long, and even scream in your ears when you are about to fall asleep, they don't care. Because if they understood the situation a little, they wouldn't think you're ignorant."

Levita suddenly fell silent. Before Cesar spoke, he seemed to be worried that he had said too much. After Cesar spoke, he didn't dare to say anything.

Refugees from the recent war had fled not only from the north but also from the south. The soldiers brought more people who were suspected of being sick to the temple, and people crowded together, and soon some chaos occurred.

One miner, who seemed to have only recently arrived, argued fiercely with a soldier, saying he hadn't come into contact with anyone infected with the disease, then that he hadn't stolen anything and was being wronged. Then, a piece of bread fell out of his child's clothes, and the miner fell silent.

Out of respect for the temple, the soldiers didn't take action or jail the child. But the miner, furious, launched into a tirade against the child, cursing his mother and himself. He even slapped the child. He cursed, threatening to kill him on the spot if he had a knife. He took off his shoe, pinned the child to the ground, and struck him in the face with the heel of his shoe. Blood quickly flowed from the child's lips.

Levita took two or three steps forward to stop the miner, grabbed his arm and yelled, "What are you doing? Soldiers won't use violence in the temple if you don't see it."

? ”

The miner turned with eyes blazing with anger. Once he saw it was Brother Levita, his demeanor changed. He knelt and begged for forgiveness, then released his child. The child's face was wet with tears, and his body was covered in dirt, but he had no intention of running away. The child had reached a point of understanding reality, knowing that if he ran away, he would die in a corner. He stayed obediently beside his father, even if he was beaten, he could survive.

"You may not know how badly we'd be caught, Brother," the miner said. "We'd suffer terribly, and we might not even come out alive."

"It's uncomfortable," Levita said. "But which would be worse, your child in your hands or you slashing blood all over his face with the soles of your shoes?"

"It's not easy for him either." The miner showed humility, but his words were not at all confused. "He suffered a lot, and it's obvious that he didn't expect that he would suffer a lot beforehand." Then the miner, covered in coal dust, raised his head and said, "We are poor people, monk. We can't make a living in the south. The town was destroyed by the army hired by the lord, and we just fled here not long ago. I just found a job recently and haven't saved much money yet. This is the time when we can't afford to cause trouble. Even if we are hungry, we have to endure it. But at such a critical time, he actually stole bread and caused trouble for me..."

Cesar found the man surprisingly articulate and well-organized. To have managed to squeeze through the crowd of refugees, arriving late yet finding a livelihood first, he must have had his abilities. He spoke calmly about the towns pillaged by mercenaries. If the people didn't resist, they would at least be let go. But if they did, they would be killed, their bodies destroyed, bringing their families and even their neighbors with them.

The number of mercenaries might seem small, at least compared to the size of the town. However, the problem lies in the fact that not only do the mercenaries themselves engage in looting, but the civilians in the camps also encourage it. Their families in the camps constantly demand more supplies from the mercenaries, even plundering an entire town. This looting, in their parlance, is simply local supply, and it's the most common method of supplying mercenaries.

Levita listened patiently to the miner's story of their journey, gave him advice from the scriptures, and finally asked a question: "You have gone through so much hardship together and insisted on trekking to such a distant town. Why do you still have the courage to beat your children?"