Comprehensive network wizard, magic emperor.

Chapter 224 The Age of Miracles Has Never Arrived

The murmured chatter of visitors inside the lighthouse silenced the sound of the waves outside the window. It was a clear and pleasant winter afternoon. Patients and night watchmen chatted and laughed, and the air conditioner's indoor unit blew out warm air, making the air neither too hot nor too cold, like early spring when one could go on a picnic without sweating profusely.

Several pretty pine and cypress branches were stuck in a glass jar on the wall shelf. An iron candlestick sat by the hearth, its sky-blue scented candle burning quietly, emitting a refreshing citrus and mint aroma. In the kitchen, the medicine pot simmered, its bitter smell blocked by the curtain, but the tapping sound of the earthenware lid striking the rim of the pot was clearly audible.

Everything is very comfortable. Sitting here for a while, the patients' worried expressions have eased a lot.

But some people couldn't relax, sweating profusely, and their expressions were ashen.

The deputy director opened his mouth several times as if to speak, but could not say anything. In the end, he fell silent as if he had resigned himself to his fate, waiting for the enemy to deal with him.

During this long, death-like wait, the deputy director endured the burning pain and numbness from the electric shock, as well as persistent palpitations and profound anxiety and panic.

He began to carefully observe the people and things in the place, using thought to distract himself and prevent pain and frustration from destroying his mind.

The foreign man sitting behind the table, the nameless man from the lighthouse, confessed that he was the leader of the heretical sect and most likely the so-called "Miracle Walker".

The possibility that the other party is lying cannot be ruled out; perhaps they are betraying themselves to protect the real mastermind...

The pain from the electric shock wound interrupted my thoughts.

The watchman spoke a few words in a foreign language, and then the baboon scurried into the kitchen, brought out the medicinal soup, and handed it to the deputy director. He took it with trembling hands; the thick wooden bowl wasn't hot, but looking at the dark brown soup, he felt it was a deadly poison.

"Drink it." Hearing the Night Watchman's cold command, the deputy director closed his eyes and sighed, knowing that he could not escape death in the end. So he sipped the bitter soup, his taste buds on his tongue were instantly shattered. He suppressed the urge to vomit and swallowed it little by little, hoping that the poison would be strong enough to kill him quickly.

After slowly swallowing the bitter medicine, the deputy director's face turned ashen, like a withered leaf in the wind. Gradually, he felt the palpitations subside and his muscles were no longer numb, but his stomach suddenly began to cramp.

"I'm dying!"

The man from Hongdu let out a terrible scream, and the visitors to the lighthouse were shocked as they watched him kneel on the ground, clutching his stomach, his body curled up, shouting loudly, and then he let out a loud fart.

silence.

Then came a silence as everyone pinched their noses.

The deputy director stood up expressionlessly, his previously ashen face regaining its color. He sat back on the hospital bed, head bowed, and remained silent.

The night watchman murmured softly, and then a gentle breeze blew in from outside the door and out the window, carrying away the stale air from the room.

The patients who were holding their breath can now breathe freely. They all say that the wind came strangely, but it was very timely.

The deputy director shuddered. After taking the medicine, the discomfort from the electric shock was greatly relieved, and his thoughts became clearer. He could now fully confirm the identity of the lighthouse keeper. All because of this inexplicable gust of wind.

The abilities of the recipients are incredibly diverse; his scoundrel friend, the astrologer, can unleash lightning with a wave of his hand, while this Night Watchman can manipulate air currents—it's not surprising, is it?

But the words of that scoundrel friend were still fresh in his mind: the foreigner before him possessed a power that could inspire fear and longing in astrologers, and was definitely not just someone who could control a breeze.

The deputy director has determined that the other party is an exceptionally powerful recipient, regarded as the embodiment of divine power in the ignorant ancient times, whose status is even more revered than that of the secular rulers of the Sail Islands, namely the current Emperor Kening.

He had seen the palaces of the nobles, the palaces where people flocked after the fall of the previous imperial family, pushing open the armored doors adorned with classical paintings, passing through the overgrown brick courtyards, where guns, medals and helmets left behind by fleeing guards were everywhere.

A giant national flag, submerged in water, floated in the fountain pool, while nineteen flags hanging on the exterior wall trembled in the wind.

Inside the palace, the gold and silver inlays on the furniture had been pried off, and the half-length portraits of the rulers of past dynasties on the walls of the corridors had been cut off and rolled up with a knife.

The deputy director mingled with the crowd, passing through six messy and empty halls, and arrived at the Imperial Study, the emperor's office. The urgent documents piled up like apartment buildings in Hongdu, spiders were spinning webs, and mushrooms, moss, and lilacs sprouted from the damp cardboard boxes.

Behind that long table, they saw the remains of the last emperor of the previous dynasty, dressed in a magnificent crimson marshal's uniform, his body slumped over the table, his left hand hanging limply, his right hand clutching a finely crafted whale oil pistol, half of his head shattered by an exploding bullet, leaving only a large hole in his cheek. No one knew what he looked like, and even his portrait had been looted.

The situation was so intense back then that everyone felt the monarchy was on its last legs, and even the emperor lost all interest in life and chose to commit suicide.

Then, the former regent, now the Duke of Protectorate, entered the palace, and he and his guards occupied this ancient heart of power.

The colonial native troops, hired by merchants, were utterly uncultured and wore military uniforms but had no dignity whatsoever.

The deputy director witnessed soldiers openly flirting and making out in the narrow corridors, officers defecating on imported cashmere carpets embroidered with gold and silver, and servants urinating into narrow-necked plaster pots. The palace reeked of the rotten mud left after the floodwaters receded.

Later, the naval wars ended, and these native soldiers disappeared overnight, replaced by cautious and obedient servants and dignified and indifferent guards, as abrupt as mushrooms and lilacs growing out of a pile of documents.

Lord Protector Cowen Ewen, surrounded by dukes and marquises, walked across a velvet carpet and ascended the ancient throne high in the palace hall, where the Pope of the Five Gods Church and many high priests presided over the ceremony to crown him.

Finally, a few years ago, the deputy director entered the royal study and met with Emperor Corvin Evan. He saw him sitting behind the same table from before, the former emperor, Corvin's former lord, the island ruler who had appointed him regent, dead on that table.

The faceless, emaciated head was tilted to one side, blood spread across the table like a sea, and scattered fragments of organs resembled islands scattered across the sky.

Kevin Evan was also surrounded by piles of official documents, but there were no cobwebs, mushrooms, or moss; a bunch of tulips were in a glass bottle on the windowsill.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly in this study, like solidified pine resin, preserving the bloody scent of past emperors, which could still be clearly discerned even with a strong sniff.

This is the world of the noble.

The deputy director looked at the lighthouse keeper. The life of the gifted was very short, but this person was still young, with a clear exotic face, full of vitality, and looked to be no more than twenty years old.

No one knows how long Cohen Evan lived. Some saw him at his state funeral, looking frail and sluggish, as if he were over seventy. Others saw him receiving foreign envoys, speaking wittily and with composure, as if he were in his forties. The deputy director himself saw the emperor in the imperial study, who was neither old nor young, but appeared to be in his fifties.

The Night's Watch and the Emperor are very different.

He was surrounded by tormented patients, living in a lighthouse even smaller than the Imperial Study, where time flowed, voices rang out, footsteps hurried, and faces came and went.

In just one hour, he had seen more than a dozen patients put aside their worries and burdens. The most mysterious area of ​​the lighthouse was the operating room, where the deputy director witnessed disabled and seriously ill patients being led into cubicles and then walking out as able-bodied people.

He suddenly realized that miracles happen every moment, but they are hidden under the surface of ordinary life and seem insignificant.

Viren Pearl's mechanical prosthetics technology must have originated from this.

The deputy director can discern which patients are completely unaware of the night watchman's true identity and which have already become his followers.

The deputy director found it laughable that these people treated a short-lived man like a god. Such a person couldn't bring lasting peace and stability; as the astrologer said, he was merely a fire that would ignite chaos, burning away lives and empires. What the world would become after its reconstruction would be irrelevant to this short-lived man. Such a person could not be a political leader; a short-lived regime is more insignificant than a loud fart, and neither the people nor history would remember it.

It's no wonder this man would collude with the ambitious Kochen Ancher. That's what the Gifted do—use supernatural phenomena to win people over and create conditions for warlord rebellions.

The deputy director began to regret bringing in that scoundrel of an astrologer. If he had allowed more recipients to join, he could have continued to create miracles and spawned even more believers.

Time passed, and around 3 p.m., all the patients had received treatment. After leaving their gifts, they said goodbye and left, and the lighthouse became quiet again.

A scarred sailor walked in, glanced at the deputy chief, and then whispered something to the night watchman.

"Tell him to wait a little longer."

The scarred man nodded and prepared to leave.

The deputy director, quick-witted as ever, immediately asked, "How is the person who came with me, my friend, doing now?"

Scarface glanced at him again, his cheek twitching as if he were laughing.

The Night's Watchman said, "He has wounded you and has put you in temporary custody."

“He admires you greatly. He sees you as a blazing fire. But I find you too dangerous. To pledge his allegiance to you, he used magic to stun me. However, I can now confirm that you are a kind and upright person. I misunderstood you before.”

The deputy director carefully observed the other person's expression, while simultaneously revealing a perfectly timed look of realization and admiration.

However, he still couldn't see any smugness in the man's eyes or face.

He continued, “Viscount Viscount Viren Pearl and I have a good relationship. He often encourages his colleagues to follow the teachings of the elders. In fact, those of us in this line of work cannot do without the protection of the elders and also agree with the sectarian beliefs here. Therefore, I personally feel deeply uneasy about undertaking this investigation task.”

The man before him maintained an unchanging, intrigued expression, like a clear sky that remained unmoved despite his shouting until his throat was dry. The scarred man beside him, however, displayed a look of disgust.

The deputy director felt like he was walking a tightrope, his life hanging by a thread, with few opportunities left. If he couldn't come up with a satisfactory explanation, he might not leave Shita Town alive.

Cold sweat trickled down his temples.

“I…I am willing to convert and swear to follow you. When we return to Hongdu, I will help Viscount Viscount Velen Pearl take control of the Defense Intelligence Bureau, and we will become your eyes and ears.”

Scarface suddenly narrowed his eyes, stepped forward, grabbed the deputy director's arm, snatched the whale oil pistol hidden behind his back, and then pressed the barrel against his temple.

If that shot were fired, the deputy director's cheek would be shattered, just like the emperor of the past.

Having exhausted all his last means of resistance, and in utter despair, he could only raise his hands in surrender, unable to utter a single word.

Lin Bo waved his hand, and Scarface put down his pistol and stepped aside.

“I know why you’ve come. The Machine Spirit foretold your arrival. Viren Pearl also informed you of your identity long ago. So you have no secrets. Stone Tower Town accepted you, and I offered you help. Yet you call those who hurt you friends and those who heal you enemies.”

“Because he’s just a bastard. And you’re a hundred times more dangerous than him.” The deputy director’s expression was stiff, and his calves twitched as if in spasms.

“I don’t care about your behavior, Jeway Parvey. You haven’t done anything outrageous yet, so you’re free.”

"What do you mean... you're planning to let me go?"

"This is a lighthouse. I guard it, guiding ships at sea back to shore and providing medical care for the wounded and sick. You are not my prisoner, but merely an uninvited guest. If you feel hungry or thirsty, you may have some bread, tea, or coffee."

"Shouldn't you kill me to silence me?" the deputy director murmured to himself.

The night watchman chuckled for the first time, waved his hand, and Scarface grabbed the deputy director by the collar and threw him out the door, then tossed the pistol into his arms.

"I want to visit my friends."

Scarface frowned and said with disdain, "Come with me."

The deputy director met the astrologer in the town hall's detention room. He seemed to be in good spirits and had not been mistreated.

Friends reunite, but are separated by a railing.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier. But I really can't allow you to ruin everything." The astrologer felt somewhat guilty.

"I've met the person you're looking for," the deputy director said in a low voice, not with pride, but with a sense of melancholy.

"What happened? They allowed you to move around freely, so you joined this sect?"

The deputy director briefly recounted the conversation that had just taken place.

"I see."

"I have to admit, he's amazing. Really amazing. I completely understand how you feel. Seeing him makes me feel so relaxed and no longer lost. Actually, we were on different paths, but just now, for countless moments, I just wanted to go with him."

"So he let you go," the astrologer said softly. "What do you plan to do next?"

"This is a mistake, you'll see. The age of miracles is long gone."

“No, fool, the age of miracles has never come.” The recipient shook his head, his eyes shining terrifyingly. “Don’t you understand his greatness? Whatever you and your dynasty intend to do is of no use to him. Listen to me, don’t make pointless attempts.”

The deputy director didn't say anything, turned around and hurriedly left, disappearing into the corridor outside the door.

Scarface walked over and opened the door for the astrologer. "Come on, the Miracle Walker is waiting for you."

Walk through the town's crowded streets, walk along the path at the headland, cross the courtyard, and step through the main gate.

An aged astrologer stood before the Night's Watch.

He looked around, taking in the scenery of the lighthouse, then gently knelt down, his forehead touching the ground, his palms outstretched, choked with sobs and unable to say anything.

(End of this chapter)