Wandering Swordsman |

As dusk deepened, the last rays of sunset, like blood-stained silk, slowly sank into the mountain ridge west of Silvermane City.

The entire city seemed to be shrouded in a thin veil, its outline hazy and mysterious.

The city lights came on one by one. First, an oil lamp on a street corner flickered and lit up. Then, countless lights fell like stars to earth from windows, eaves, alleyways, and so on, illuminating this border town.

The central castle stood majestically atop a high platform, its moat encircling it like a silver ribbon. The water's surface was as still as a mirror, reflecting the silhouettes of the towering spires and the vibrant icons on the stained-glass windows—gold and red flame patterns, deep blue star charts, and the white eagle emblem symbolizing the supreme authority of the Papacy—all shimmering gently in the water, like a divine realm projected onto the mortal world. The scene was so breathtaking, like a celestial paradise, that one dared not look directly at it.

Beyond the city walls, however, lay a different scene: low mud and stone houses were scattered about, their roofs covered with dry grass and broken tiles, wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys, children running barefoot along muddy paths, and women leaning against their doors, their eyes filled with weariness and anticipation. The difference between rich and poor was merely a wall; the sacred and the mundane were separated only by a stretch of water.

Shen Mo and Hua Tianyou stepped into Silvermane City side by side. Although their clothes were simple, their extraordinary bearing was undeniable.

Hua Tianyou wore a plain silver robe with fine runes embroidered on the collar. He walked with ease and his eyes were gentle and warm. Shen Mo wore a black outer robe. His face was stern and his brows had a hint of frost and snow. However, he deliberately concealed his sharpness, lowered his eyes and kept his breath down. He followed silently like a shadow.

The residents on the street stopped and whispered among themselves. Some asked in a low voice, "Who are those two?" Others shook their heads, "Judging from their attire, they are most likely missionaries from the Vatican." Curious gazes pierced the two like needles, but no one dared to approach and speak to them.

Just then, a little girl of about five or six years old came running out of the alley, her braids flying, clutching half a piece of black bread in her hand, her laughter as clear as a bell. Not paying attention to what was ahead, she bumped into Hua Tianyou's arms, stumbled and fell to the ground, her knees hitting the ground, and immediately burst into tears, tears mixed with dust sliding down her cheeks.

Hua Tianyou's expression remained unchanged. Instead, he squatted down, his movements as gentle as if he were brushing against a flower petal.

He supported the girl's back with one hand and held her trembling forearm with the other, steadily lifting her up.

Then, he slowly raised his right hand and drew an arc in front of his chest—his fingertips slid from his forehead to his chest, and then lightly touched his left and right shoulders. This was the "Three Seals" blessing gesture commonly used by papal missionaries.

At the same time, a wisp of warm internal energy emanated from his palm, melting snow in the spring sun, and quietly entered the girl's body.

The crying stopped abruptly. The girl stared at him blankly, and through her teary eyes, a relieved smile appeared on her face.

Shen Mo stood three steps away, his hands clasped behind his back, his knuckles slightly clenched. Before entering the city, Hua Tianyou had lowered his voice and instructed him: "My lord, the language here is completely different from that of the Central Plains, and the customs are vastly different as well. From tonight onwards, you will be a mute, my silent assistant accompanying the 'missionary'."

So, faced with Hua Tianyou's strange actions, Shen Mo simply watched quietly, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

There was restraint, doubt, and a hint of speculation about the deeper meaning behind Hua Tianyou's actions in his eyes.

The onlookers were astonished to see Hua Tianyou perform his signature "Three Saints Seal" blessing gesture—his arm drawing an elegant arc from top to bottom, as if receiving divine grace—and to see the little girl instantly stop crying and nestle peacefully against his knees.

An old woman was the first to kneel down, put her hands together, and recite an ancient prayer; then, street vendors, women washing clothes, and even a few boys who were playing around all bowed down and kowtowed, putting their hands together, as if they had seen a holy messenger descend.

The entire street fell silent instantly, save for the fluttering of colorful flags in the evening breeze and the distant chimes of the clock tower.

Hua Tianyou nodded slightly, neither arrogant nor haughty. He simply patted the girl's head gently before getting up and continuing on his way.

Shen Mo followed closely behind, his steps steady, but as he turned around, his eyes swept over the people who were still prostrate on the ground—there was no fear in their eyes, only awe and hope.

At that moment, he suddenly understood: in this land far removed from the customs and traditions of the Central Plains, where people believed in divine pronouncements and miracles, Hua Tianyou chose to travel under the name of "missionary" not only to conceal his identity, but also to quietly pave the way with the power of faith.

His throat bobbed slightly, almost as if he were about to ask—was that gesture truly from the Vatican? Was that internal energy healing planned in advance? But in the end, he swallowed his questions, his lips pressed into a resolute straight line.

At this moment, he was not Shen Mo, not the Heavenly Demon God, not the Sword God; he was the mute, the shadow, the silent assistant and missionary behind Hua Tianyou.

As dusk deepened, the lights of the commoners behind them merged into a warm, yellow sea. Ahead, the shadows of the castle spires slowly swallowed the light at the end of the street.

At the city gate, dusk had fallen as dark as ink. The guards leaned against the mottled stone wall, chatting idly, their armor rusting in the dim light.

The torches crackled in the wind, illuminating their weary faces—Silvermane City, though located on the frontier, had long been free from war, and its defenses had become as lax as rotten wood.

As Shen Mo and Hua Tianyou slowly approached, the two guards merely glanced at them casually. Seeing that the two were dressed in plain silver robes and had extraordinary bearing, they knew at a glance that they were not commoners. So they gave a perfunctory salute, placed their hands on their chests and bowed slightly, but did not let them pass.

"Could you be missionaries?" a bearded guard asked in a drawn-out tone, his voice carrying his usual disdain. "The lord has decreed that no one may enter without permission to preach."

Hua Tianyou remained unmoved, only smiling slightly, his voice gentle yet authoritative: "Please inform Baron Mason—we are ordered by the Holy See to meet with the Baron."

The guards were taken aback, exchanging a glance, their previous laziness instantly replaced by surprise and doubt. After a moment's hesitation, one guard hurriedly pushed open the side door, bowing and leading the way: "Please come in, please come in! I will inform the Baron immediately!"

Upon entering the castle courtyard, Shen Mo paused slightly.

The scene before them was completely different from that outside the city: the white stone-paved corridors were lined with night-blooming jasmine, their fragrance wafting through the air; silver vines and lantern chains were wrapped around the pillars, their lights hanging down like stars; in the distance, the dome of the hall soared high, and warm yellow candlelight shone through the stained-glass windows, from which the low, melodious strains of a pipe organ could be faintly heard. The entire mansion was like a moving sanctuary.

Baron Mason was about fifty years old, slightly plump, wearing a long velvet robe adorned with jeweled buttons, and a ruby ​​ring on his finger gleamed.

He was leaning back in a high-backed chair, toying with a crystal glass in his hand, looking arrogant.

But when Hua Tianyou entered the hall as a 'missionary,' he stood up unconsciously—not out of courtesy, but because he was overwhelmed by that invisible aura.

"You two have come from afar, what brings you here?" Baron Mason's tone was gentle, but it contained a hidden probing.