Wizard: I am a goblin

Chapter 225 The Storm Is Brewing

[One day until Pentecost]

The heavy gears made a deafening noise, and the heavy drawbridge slowly lowered, revealing a three-layer iron fence made of iron bars as thick as a wrist, and a stone archway like the mouth of a Titan.

Golden-armored soldiers bearing the golden battle flags of the Holy See lined up menacingly atop the city walls, looking down at the approaching Imperial black formation.

The imperial cavalry, flying banners of golden sun and red earth, their black armor inlaid with gold thread, stood in perfect unison, like a dark cloud brewing lightning, pressing towards Shanhaiguan.

At the forefront of the Empire's lines, a silver-haired youth clad in gleaming gold armor rode confidently ahead on horseback. Behind him followed a man and a woman. The man was a middle-aged man dressed as a marshal, tall and imposing, exuding the heroic air of a seasoned soldier. A horrifying scar covered the marshal's milky-white left eye—he did not conceal the wound, but rather displayed it to the world as a badge of honor.

The marshal's face was solemn, and he stared straight ahead without blinking.

The woman riding alongside the marshal had an intrigued expression, glancing around curiously, as if every brick and tile in Shanhaiguan was of great interest to her.

This woman's age was impossible to guess; she could be twenty-eight or forty-five. She made no attempt to conceal her magical pet: a palm-sized pseudo-dragon that flew alongside her. She wore a magnificent purple silk robe, revealing wheat-colored skin covered in intricate tattoos and jewels embedded in her flesh. It was as if she were using her body as a canvas.

The imperial army's phalanx halted before the drawbridge, the black-armored youth at the head gazing up at the magnificent pass. Above the archway, the golden emblem of Oubak shone brightly.

The newly enthroned nineteen-year-old Emperor Malik II raised his right hand and touched his heart, right shoulder, and lips, performing the O'Bak sacrament.

The movement was quick and stealthy, but it did not escape the eyes of the marshal behind him.

The Imperial Grand Marshal, the Emperor's uncle, and Regent Cyrus, rode up to the boy's side and said respectfully but with dignity, "Your Majesty, I still do not think it is a good idea for you to go to Shanhaiguan to attend the ceremony. No matter what promises the Holy See makes, they are, after all, enemies of the Empire. For your personal safety, I still suggest that you send an envoy to attend that so-called Pentecostal ceremony. If you permit, I can even go in your place."

"No, dear uncle. I don't want to do that."

The young man didn't look at the proud Grand Marshal, but directly rejected his offer. He continued, "I don't believe Patriarch Paul would break his oath. He is a respectable religious leader. Besides, if anything goes wrong, our soldiers need you, their commander, to stabilize morale."

The young man turned his head and said meaningfully to the Grand Marshal who was nearly thirty years his senior, "After all, you are the great hero who led them to conquer the Thousand Lakes Plain."

A hint of displeasure flashed across the marshal's face, but he quickly concealed it with a ruthless expression.

"Since this is your decision, at least let me send a personal guard of five hundred men to protect your safety."

"If the Kingdom's people truly intend to harm me, even a thousand men cannot protect me. Besides, Moira can protect my safety."

"The Holy See has methods to counter magic, and I will not—at least I do not recommend—entrust your personal safety to a wizard."

After the Grand Marshal finished speaking, he cast a suspicious look at the witch named Moira.

"Ah, yes, the Inquisition has force field crystals that counteract magic, and I really can't wait to investigate them up close—but those old charlatans won't allow me into the city." Moira seemed oblivious to the disdain in the Marshal's tone, cheerfully adding, "Of course, even if I don't go in, I have ways to counteract counter-magic. Don't worry, Your Majesty, keep what I've given you safe; it will guarantee your safety in an emergency. The Magic Academy won't be unable to protect even its most esteemed patron."

"Sponsor? Witch, remember, you are speaking to your monarch. Your academy and your magic are the property of the imperial family. Don't think you can bargain with us."

Marshal Cyrus raised his eyebrows and addressed the witch seriously. He seemed to have little affection for the empire's chief royal magician.

"Your analogy is logically flawed, because magic is not anyone's property, just as no one can possess air. Of course, it's futile to explain to someone as vulgar as you. The point is, I have a way to protect the emperor's safety."

After Moira finished speaking, she winked at the young emperor, and the vine tattoos clinging to her face seemed to be flowing with an otherworldly light.

The marshal frowned, wanting to retort, when the three-tiered city gate began to slowly rise, and the delegation welcoming the emperor approached from afar.

The young emperor and his two companions fell silent, raised their heads, and prepared to receive the greeting.

In the shadow of the drawbridge, a group of people who came from the city did not ride horses, but walked slowly. The emperor and his entourage waited patiently in front of the drawbridge.

"What an impressive display," the marshal snorted.

"Patience, Uncle, isn't that what you've always taught me?"

"The emperor said."

"This is not a good idea. There's no reason to send the emperor himself into the tiger's den."

"My mind is made up."

The young emperor spoke calmly but with an undeniable authority. His tone startled the seasoned Grand Marshal.

"His Majesty's stubbornness is exactly the same as the late Emperor's."

"Father and you conquered thousands of miles of territory for the empire, an achievement I can never surpass. However, what the empire needs now is peace, so that the people ravaged by war can recuperate. Soldiers can reunite with their families, and you can finally rest."

"Without war, there can be no peace. I hope Your Majesty will not forget this. Thirty years ago, it was the Holy See of Obak that launched a war against us. If it weren't for the fighting and sacrifices of generations of soldiers in the Empire, we would not be qualified to stand here and talk about peace."

"And thirty years later, it was the Holy See that invited us to participate in peace talks. If it weren't for peace and prosperity, what would be the point of war?"

"The Holy See has been pushed to the brink of collapse by us, which is why they are so eager to promote peace—thirty years ago, when the Thirteen Knights marched into the Thousand Lakes Plain with great pride, they didn't utter the word 'peace'."

The marshal frowned, trying his best to control his anger in front of the emperor, but he still inadvertently revealed the arrogance of someone lecturing a junior.

"The late emperor once told me that a generation that grows up in blood and fire often protects the next generation too well. He didn't want his next generation to become hothouse flowers, so he sent Your Majesty to the Thousand Lakes region for training. But what I didn't expect was that what would have a greater impact on you was not the empire's elite troops, but the Obak Choir of the Thousand Lakes."

The boy was not angered by his uncle's slightly offensive words, but calmly retorted, "My father sent me to assist in governing Silverwater City so that I could learn how to take over a vast, post-war empire and handle the conflicts between different religions, cultures, and ethnic groups. Swords cannot solve all problems, and the courage required for peace is no less than that for battle."

"Many people in the court may not agree with His Majesty's views."

"That's why my uncle's assistance is so important. I need you to return from the front lines to the court and pave the way for me. After the war, there are still many issues to be addressed regarding the unification of the Thousand Lakes region and the Holy Church of Obak, and I urgently need your help."

"When the war ends, I will naturally lay down my arms. However, the peace talks are not over yet, so please do not be deceived by the Holy See's false promises, Your Majesty."

The young man did not reply to the marshal. At this moment, the welcoming delegation had reached the other side of the drawbridge. Amidst the crowd, the elderly man at the head was Patriarch Paul V. Adhering to the highest protocol for a patriarch welcoming a head of state, he led the group on foot from the nearest church to personally greet him. Through the city gates, one could see the streets teeming with people, countless eyes eagerly anticipating this historic moment.

The Patriarch was followed by Cardinal Francis of the Church of the Thousand Lakes. Since the Church of the Thousand Lakes had been excommunicated by the Holy See, the simultaneous appearance of the two caused a murmur among the onlookers.

The two groups of people faced each other across the suspension bridge, with everyone's eyes focused on the Patriarch and the Emperor.

The old man patted his attendant on the shoulder, removed his support, and slowly walked forward.

Upon seeing this, Malik II dismounted, adjusted his armor, then removed the sword from his waist, turned around, and handed it to Grand Marshal Cyrus.

The marshal showed a hint of displeasure at this clearly symbolic act, but did not protest. He simply took the sword and looked at his nephew, the emperor of the empire, as he walked toward the center of the drawbridge.

"Be careful, Your Majesty."

Cyrus said.

Have fun.

The witch waved to the emperor and laughed.

The boy deliberately slowed his pace and arrived at the center of the suspension bridge at the same time as the patriarch.

This was their first meeting, yet both of them saw a longing for peace in each other's faces.

An aged yet kind face and a young yet resolute countenance both wore friendly smiles.

The boy spoke first with great confidence: "As the southern part of the mainland, Shanhaiguan is much colder than I imagined."

"Indeed, winter has arrived, a season that should be for rest."

"Are you dressed warmly enough?"

"Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. O'Bak's blessing resides with me forever, so you need not worry." The Patriarch gave the Emperor a simple salute in gratitude, then smiled and asked, "I understand that Your Majesty spent your youth in the Thousand Lakes Plain, so you are no stranger to the Holy Church. Our mutual friend Francis has praised your character highly, and seeing you today, it is indeed a remarkable young man."

The Emperor noticed that Paul V did not address Cardinal Francis by his religious title, so he followed the Patriarch's lead and politely replied, "Francis is my mentor and close friend. I have learned much from him. He opened the door to the doctrines of the Church for me and allowed me to experience the philanthropic spirit of Euphrates. If given the opportunity, I would like to have a long talk with you so that I can learn more about Euphrates' Church."

After a brief conversation, the initial tension dissipated. Those on both sides of the suspension bridge saw only an old man and a young man chatting happily on the bridge, with the Patriarch even coming forward and warmly shaking the Emperor's hand.

"The doors of the Holy Church are always open to all. As a servant of the Lord, I am willing to answer any questions you may have. If there is anything else I can do to help with your writing, please do not hesitate to ask."

"To be honest, there is something I'm very interested in. I've never had the chance to try one of the kingdom's specialties."

I hope to meet you at this ceremony.

"Oh? I didn't expect that even the emperor of this noble empire would have something he desires? I'm very curious what that thing is?"

"That is the wine from the San Vandu Abbey."

The patriarch paused for a second, but quickly understood the hidden meaning behind the boy's seemingly simple request.

"I believe Your Majesty will not refuse such a sincere and simple request, will you?"

"Of course. I believe that if we can interact with sincerity, as O'Buck teaches, it's possible with anything, not just wine."

"John 17:5. This is O'Brien's admonition against quarreling with one's neighbor, am I right?"

"Exactly the same."

The Patriarch smiled sincerely. He squeezed the boy's hand and then gestured for him to enter.

Supported by the emperor, the two walked intimately toward the city gate of Shanhaiguan.

Under the watchful eyes of the Imperial Legion, the Emperor disappeared through the gate. The gate slowly descended, one, two, three gates, and then gears pulled the iron chains, and the drawbridge creaked and rose.

Grand Marshal Cyrus wrinkled his nose and subconsciously scratched the scar on his face; the pale red growth was faintly itchy.

"Relax, dear Grand Marshal," the witch said lightly to the soldier beside her. "Our little emperor has grown up; he knows what he's doing."

"I don't know how you can be so nonchalant, witch. You know that if the Obak cult spreads within the Empire, your precious magic academy will be burned to the ground by a mob."

Moira smiled sweetly.

"First of all, the White Stone Magic Tower cannot be burned by fire. The most efficient method is to dig out the rammed earth at the bottom layer of the tower and then dispel the magic that keeps the tower stationary. This way, it will collapse on its own."

"Secondly, no matter what our precious little emperor thinks, the Marshal will not allow such a thing to happen, will he? Everyone knows who truly calls the shots in the empire."

The witch gave the regent a mocking smile, then tugged at the horse's reins with her sorcerer's hand, leaving the soldiers behind, and rode off eastward.

Marshal Cyrus of the Golden Sun Red Earth Empire, the elder brother of Queen Malik I, the uncle of Emperor Malik II, the regent, the Prince of a Thousand Lakes, and the supreme commander of the Empire's First, Third, Fourth, and Seventh Legions, looked at the dazzling Obak emblem on the Shanhaiguan Pass, a gush of phlegm rose from his throat, and then he spat it violently onto the ground.

"Return to camp in triumph!"