Wandering Swordsman |

The council chamber fell silent once more.

Hua Tianyou stared at the retreating figure of his unconscious subordinate as he fled in panic, his eyes still gleaming with cold light.

"Grandpa," he turned around, his voice low and firm, "I'll listen to you this time. But next time... if they dare to provoke us again, I won't hesitate to turn this city of Marseille into the graveyard of the Papacy."

Count Cassio looked at his grandson's resolute profile, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

Casio's withered fingers unconsciously rubbed against the cold armrest, his knuckles turning white from the force. Although Silas was gone, his sinister eyes seemed to still hang in the hall, like a Damocles' sword about to fall.

Casio knew that the arrogance of the Papacy and its divine kingdom was not to be profaned, and that Silas's departure was not the end, but the prelude to a storm.

Beneath that seemingly yielding figure lies a thunderous rage, enough to wipe Marseille off the map.

"The storm... has only just begun," Casio murmured, his voice hoarse and rough.

In a corner of the hall, Hua Tianyou stood with his hands behind his back, his young face radiating the fearless spirit of a newborn calf.

Looking at his grandson's tall and straight figure, Casio felt both proud and bitter.

"Heavenly Blessing, your actions today have indeed enhanced the prestige of Marseille," Casio said, his voice heavy with emotion. "But child, the struggles of this world are never just about who has the strongest fist."

Casio's eyes became deep and worried.

He saw not just Silas as an individual, but the complex situation of the six nations behind him.

If the Papacy uses this as a pretext to launch a holy war, the English Empire, in order to appease divine wrath, would very likely not hesitate to offer Marseille as a sacrifice.

At that time, Marseille will not only face the inviolable iron heel of the Papacy, but may also be attacked from both sides, suffering cold arrows from its "ally," the English Empire.

However, Casio's worries seemed somewhat unnecessary in Hua Tianyou's eyes. This was because Casio didn't truly understand his grandson's true strength. Hua Tianyou was not only his grandson, but also the powerful "Heavenly Demon Lord" of the Heavenly Demon Sect. He alone was an army, his martial prowess enough to rival a thousand soldiers.

What Casio found even more unimaginable was the master to whom Hua Tianyou served—the Heavenly Demon God Shen Mo. Shen Mo was a being who had long surpassed human limits, a 'god' standing at the pinnacle of martial arts, looking down upon all living beings. With such a powerful backer, what was the mere Holy See of the far west worth mentioning? This was the source of Hua Tianyou's confidence. However, as a mortal lord caught in the vortex of politics, Casio naturally couldn't grasp the full picture of this shocking truth; his understanding remained bound by common sense and the cage of power struggles.

Hua Tianyou noticed the worry and distress in his grandfather's eyes. He stepped forward and said in a relaxed yet firm tone, "Grandpa, there's no need to worry too much. If the sky falls, the tall ones will hold it up. The mere Holy See is nothing to fear."

These words were spoken from the bottom of his heart, but to Casio, they were merely a comforting remark from a young man full of youthful spirit.

He gave a bitter smile, his cloudy eyes filled with helplessness.

Given such a dangerous situation, we can only prepare for the worst.

After leaving the council chamber, Casio returned to his study and immediately picked up his brush and dipped it in ink.

He wrote letter after letter, pleading for help, to the other lords who had sworn brotherhood with him. Like a drowning man, he frantically grasped at the last straw, hoping to find a glimmer of hope for Marseille before the bloody storm descended.

However, harsh reality extinguished Casio's last remaining hope, like a bucket of ice water.

Just one day later, the messengers who had been sent out returned on horseback, looking disheveled and exhausted.

They brought back not reinforcements, but a cold rejection and harsh ridicule.

"My lord, Marquis Lake says his territory is in turmoil and he simply cannot spare the troops..."

"Your Excellency, Viscount Harvey didn't even see me. He only sent word that he was unwell and unable to receive me..."

Casio slumped in his chair, the letter in his hand falling like a leaf.

Those close friends who once patted their chests at the dinner table and said, "We'll share the good times and the bad," are now avoiding him as if he were a plague.

So-called alliances are nothing but a piece of waste paper in the face of real difficulties.

At that moment, Casio was completely disheartened; he saw clearly the fragility and vulnerability of human nature in the face of power.

Just as Casio was feeling utterly hopeless, staring blankly at the candlelight in his study, a servant rushed in, breaking the silence.

"My Lord, my Lord!" the servant gasped, "Outside... there's a young man and a young woman requesting an audience."

Casio was in a bad mood and had no interest in seeing guests.

He waved his hand impatiently, his voice weary and cold: "No, no. Tell them I'm busy with official business. Unless it's extremely important, send them all away!"

The servant hesitated for a moment before reporting, "But... those two people looked extraordinary. The man was dressed in black, his face as cold and stern as ice, his eyes so deep they seemed capable of devouring souls; the woman, on the other hand, was exceptionally beautiful, like a fairy untouched by worldly affairs, and looked very young... They said they had important business to discuss with him."

Upon hearing this, Casio merely gave a cold laugh.

In his eyes, they were nothing more than two ignorant young tourists, or spies gathering information. He was in dire straits himself and had no time to concern himself with such insignificant people.

Casio shook his head self-deprecatingly. "In this world, good looks and an extraordinary demeanor can't put food on the table, much less serve as a shield. Send them away, just say this Earl is too busy!"

Little did he know that the two people he considered insignificant were none other than the "delicate woman" he had looked down upon, who was none other than the infamous inquisitor "Faceless" who struck fear into the hearts of all six kingdoms; and the "cold-looking man" who was none other than Shen Mo, the lord beyond human limits whom his grandson Hua Tianyou had sworn allegiance to.

The gears of fate began to turn quietly with that prejudiced wave of his hand.

......

At the Count's mansion in Marseille, fully armed soldiers with spears stand solemnly on either side of the entrance.

A servant dressed in simple attire emerged from the main entrance. Although he was merely a low-ranking servant in the mansion, his demeanor was remarkably proper. He gave a slight bow to Shen Mo and Alice outside the door, his hands clasped in front of him, his face bearing a hint of professional apology, his tone respectful yet unquestionable:

"Gentlemen, I am truly sorry. The Earl is currently in his study dealing with official documents and is preoccupied with other matters. He has instructed that he will not see any guests. Therefore, please leave."

These words were perfectly worded, without a trace of the arrogance of a servant of a wealthy family, but rather carried a politeness that made it difficult to get angry. However, the three words "no guests" coupled with the cold spear tips of the soldiers behind him acted like a wall, keeping people at a distance.