Azure Scepter

From a practical standpoint, the fact that the evil faction is not necessarily a cult, and he only wants to leave Beaver Town. Therefore, there is no need to create unnecessary trouble; we only need to be on guard.

Secondly, although Trier was a paladin and his oath included having no mercy for villains, the fact that the other party was evil was something he deduced through reasoning. In other words, it was a guess—he didn't use his scouting ability to detect the other party, and the other party didn't do anything evil in front of him.

Moreover, even if the detection system detects it, he can choose not to take action. While "slaying evil" doesn't violate the oath of revenge, it's not exactly a perfect fit either. In other words, it's a gray area regarding Trier's oath, giving him room to maneuver.

Finally, although Trill is now a paladin, he was a standard lawful evil when he was a lich in the game, so he doesn't have any serious prejudice against the evil faction.

No evil being is trustworthy. However, aside from chaotic and wicked madmen, most are within the realm of understanding. Moreover, due to their self-interested principles, they are easier to understand, exploit, and even manipulate than those in the benevolent camp.

In short, Trier did not truly believe in the paladin's oath; he merely pretended to. Therefore, he did not shy away from exploiting loopholes in his own oath and was happy to take full advantage of them.

At this moment, the tailor had put his deerstalker hat back on and said with a smile, "Anyway, goodbye everyone. Be careful of that undead in black plate armor, and especially avoid making eye contact with it."

"And you?" the dwarf asked. "Weren't you just yelling for help?"

“Me? The poem you recited is enough for me to savor for a long time; it has already saved my life.” The bronze dragon squinted, as if recalling the story from earlier. “I never tire of hearing this story.”

"Is it really that hard to get tired of hearing stories about getting beaten up?" the paladin thought to himself.

Except for Trier, who knew the tailor's true identity, everyone else believed the tailor had gone completely insane and therefore dismissed his words as unreliable. However, for safety reasons, they decided to take another route out of town.

After walking in the new direction for about a few minutes, Futia, who was leading the way, encountered a horrifying and bizarre sight.

Thick fog rolled in, revealing corpses scattered everywhere—which was not surprising, as the town was now littered with bodies.

Strangely, all the corpses had white ribbons tied around their left arms, and their deathly pale faces wore eerie smiles.

One of the corpses leaning against the broken wall caught her attention. The corpse was wearing a black robe and its hands were tightly gripping its own neck, as if it were trying to strangle itself.

There was a thick book at the feet of the corpse.

“This is a spellcaster,” the elf muttered to himself.

Fythia stepped forward and saw the face under the hood.

The caster's face was covered in purplish-blue bruises, his mouth was stretched almost to his ears, and his bulging, cloudy eyes, which looked as if they were about to detach from their sockets, were frozen in pain.

My heart beat a little faster.

The elf felt a dry mouth and a hidden unease gradually spreading with her heartbeat. The surrounding thick fog seemed to form a spear of fear, pressing heavily against her chest.

The tailor's smile was the same as the smiles of these corpses!

Futia took a deep breath, reached out and lifted the mage's hood, then examined him closely.

“Died of asphyxiation,” she muttered to herself. “The result of the spell—perhaps Tasha’s Laughter?”

"But how could the Maniac Laughter spell have such a wide range of effects? And how could it last for such a long time?"

Suddenly, the paladin's voice came from behind: "Because this laughter spell is contagious. When they laugh, it affects those around them, and those affected laugh in turn, affecting them again. They keep laughing and influencing each other until everyone laughs to death."

Trier had somehow appeared behind her.

"Laughter is contagious?" Futia turned around and asked incredulously. "No, the question is, why are you here?"

Trier produced the now-disappearing holy emblem: "A warning to you to beware of the dwarf's wife."

He then explained in detail the reason for his reminder and the principle behind his actions.

“I understand.” Fythia nodded solemnly. “I’ll keep a close eye on her, but Trier, those corpses…”

Trier turned around and saw the main group getting closer, so he said very quickly, "These corpses are all members of the Silent Whisperers. They all have white ribbons tied around their left arms, which is the symbol of the Silent Whisperers."

"The people who killed them are not our enemies, so there is no need to worry."

After a moment of silence, Fythia asked, "It's not that tailor, is it?"

“This elf is really perceptive,” Trier thought. “Is it because the copper dragon is always smiling?”

Before Trill could speak, the ranger continued to mutter to himself, "This place is too dangerous. Let's hurry and move on."

However, when Trier returned to the shrine on the northern edge of Beaver Town, he was astonished to find that the billowing fog had disappeared, replaced by an extremely tall wall of fog.

Chapter 16 Upgrade

The fog wall, like a long spear, pierced straight into the sky. It stretched across the center of the road like a city wall, blocking the way out of Beaver Town.

Trier stopped and scanned the line in front of him.

They had encountered no danger along the way, and the joy of successfully reaching the edge of Beaver Town was instantly shattered by the fog wall. One moment, the young soldier's face still wore a smile of relief, and the next, his smile melted into an incredulous frown.

Anxiety permeated the ranks.

"What is this?" the dwarf's human wife asked, turning her head slightly to look at the young soldier beside her.

The young soldier took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind, and suddenly broke away from the ranks: "Whatever it is, I'll just try and see!"

The young soldier strode to the fog wall, reached out his hand, and slowly extended it towards the fog wall.

"No, ask Trill first!" Fythia stopped her.

However, the impetuous but dedicated young soldier Hult did not heed the elf's advice and resolutely reached his hand into the wall of mist.

—When his fingers touched the writhing mist, a chilling cold swept through the street like a silent ghost.

"Sizzle!" The young soldier's index finger instantly shrank as if dehydrated, and a layer of fine, blood-stained ice shards suddenly burst from the capillaries at the tip of his finger.

His face contorted in pain, but he didn't cry out. After a moment, the young soldier said in a trembling voice, "This is negative energy erosion. It feels the same as when that corpse demon attacked me."

At this moment, the paladin slowly walked to the wall of fog.

He hadn't stopped the dwarf wife's instigation or the young soldier's reckless behavior—now a volunteer really needed to test the effects of this stuff.

"Thank you for your hard work." Trier looked at the young soldier's withered fingers and took out a bottle of holy water from his backpack—this viscous holy water was picked up from the body of the novice priest yesterday and could effectively treat the erosion of negative energy. "Sprinkle it on the wound to prevent the fingers from completely dying."

The young soldier silently accepted the holy water.

“Judging from Hult’s injuries, this fog wall will corrode any living thing that tries to pass through it with negative energy.” Trier carefully observed the surging fog wall. “The purpose of creating this fog wall is obviously to prevent the survivors, or the copper dragon, from leaving the town.”

The ventilation here has returned to normal, and a slightly fishy-smelling breeze gently caresses the face.

Several pools of scarlet blood swirled in the deathly white mist.

Through the blood-stained mist, glimpses of the outside world could be vaguely seen. The gravel road, refracted by the mist, appeared as if in a funhouse mirror, the crooked, blood-red path leading towards the distant, pure white logging camp.

“The cost of creating such a large fog wall is very high, requiring a lot of materials and principles, which means that blocking Beaver Town from the outside world will be very important for Silent Whisper – in other words, Silent Whisper will have important arrangements in Beaver Town.”

"The important arrangements are nothing more than three possibilities: dragon hunting, large-scale undead resurrection, or both."

The paladin looked up as the wall of fog shot straight into the sky. The thick fog above the clouds curved into a smooth arc, like the roof of a stadium, with the other end of the arc probably marking the southern exit of Beaver Town.

"The principle of the fog wall is not complicated. It is nothing more than a magic device that provides continuous power, and then the magic wind is restrained at each sub-node."

“According to the basic principle of energy efficiency, the energy supply device should be located at the intersection of the perpendicular line drawn from the midpoint of the arc to the ground and the ground itself.” Trier closed his eyes and used his imagination to raise his perspective to the sky above the town. “The energy supply device should be in the town hall, which has been completely occupied by the undead—this energy supply device should also serve the large-scale resurrection of the undead.”

Various thoughts flashed through the paladin's mind, and soon he came up with a solution.

“There are three options. The first option is to go directly to the town hall and smash the power supply device. This option will definitely lead to a head-on confrontation with the main force of the Silent Whisper Society. Considering that there are only six of us, two of whom are civilians, this option can basically be disregarded.”

"Or we could try to find a branch node—this is a bit better than going directly to the town hall, but it would definitely involve a head-on collision with the enemy, which is quite risky."

"The third method is that I will use a ritual here to simulate a confusion curtain, directly short-circuiting part of the negative energy erosion ability of the fog wall, and then slip away. However, the risk is that if the cultists have specifically reinforced the identification of certain characteristics of the passers-in when casting the spell, then the confusion curtain will fail."

Suddenly, Trier felt someone tapping him. He turned around and saw that it was the ranger Fytia.

The elf asked in a low voice, "Is there a way?"

The paladin nodded, then took out his backpack and began working.

"How do you know so many rituals?" Futia complained.

A few minutes later, Trier finished drawing.

"I've temporarily blocked the negative energy erosion. Who wants to go first?" He put away his tools and looked behind him.

A brief silence fell over the group.

Everyone hesitated, and the dwarf's wife hid at the back of the crowd without saying a word.

"The dwarf's wife sensed something was wrong, frowned, and retreated behind the others," Trier thought to himself.

After a moment, the young soldier broke the deadlock: "I'll do it, my finger is already injured anyway."

He slowly walked to the fog wall, extended his somewhat improved fingers, and probed the fog wall at an extremely slow pace.

The closer he got to the wall of fog, the more his fingertips trembled, but he did not back down.

“Only through fear can one be brave.” Trier suddenly remembered the inscription on the holy emblem.

Hult was undoubtedly a brave man.

The soldier gritted his teeth and widened his eyes, seemingly forcing himself not to look away.

Closer, closer still, the deathly black fingertips had touched the white mist once more.

The next moment, he took a deep breath and suddenly inserted his finger.

Unscathed!

The young soldier breathed a sigh of relief and laughed. Then he strode towards the fog wall, causing the fog to ripple, and Hurt had already dashed outside.

"It's done!" Hult exclaimed happily. "Your Excellency Trier, you are truly a genius!"

"Quiet, be careful, there are undead outside too," the paladin immediately warned.

The young soldier immediately shut his mouth, took out his weapon, and obediently began to stand guard.

"Who's next...?"

Before Trier could finish speaking, the dwarf's wife darted out from the crowd and charged toward the fog wall without hesitation, a decision that surprised even the paladins.

A ripple of mist spread through her, and she passed through the fog wall—followed by the guerrilla soldier in the guokui (a type of helmet), the veteran steadily passing through.

At this point, only Tril, Fytia, and the dwarves remained in the town.

Trier turned to look at the elves and dwarves.

"You go first, I'll cover the rear," the elf said.

The dwarf was silent for a moment, then sighed: "Let the human go first, he has a way."

The paladin nodded, then picked up his backpack and walked toward the wall of fog.

Suddenly, Trier sensed something was wrong.

The air currents surging in front of the fog wall were tinged with a chill, and mixed with a barely perceptible stench of decay.

“There’s a problem.” Trier’s steps suddenly stopped. As a highly professional necromancer, he was extremely sensitive to all kinds of negative energy—the airflow just now meant that negative energy was flowing.

"The closer we get to success, the more cautious we must be," he thought. "Let's try one more time."

So the paladin plucked a hair and stretched it toward the wall of fog.

"Zi!"

The moment the hair touched the wall of mist, it withered and curled into a ball, as if it had been ignited by an invisible, cold flame. Then the hair turned into white powder and merged with the wall of mist.

Trier slowly took two steps back, moving away from the fog wall that was no longer safe.

"I almost became critically injured again," he thought.

"What's wrong?" the elf's voice came from behind.

Trier did not answer, but instead looked down at the ritual drawing he had made.

After a moment, he concluded: "It still works, which means that the person who released this fog wall deliberately enhanced the recognition of a certain feature, and I possess that feature."

He racked his brains trying to figure out what this feature was, but to no avail—he couldn't understand what additional feature the Silent Whisper Society needed to strengthen besides enhancing its recognition of the Copper Dragon.

However, he and Olius were completely dissimilar: from species to personality to appearance, they were worlds apart.

Surely no one is targeting me on purpose?

"Are you alright?" Futia asked with concern.

The paladin said in a deep voice, "There's something wrong with the fog wall. Don't touch it."

However, the warning came too late—the impatient dwarf had already crashed straight into the fog wall.

"No!" Trier hurriedly grabbed the dwarf's shoulder, but the dwarf was too small, so the paladin missed.

The next moment, Fythia suddenly ducked and swept her body horizontally. The dwarf cried out in surprise and instantly lost his balance. Before he could lean forward, the elf's slender fingers gripped his shoulder. Then, with a slight effort, the elf threw the dwarf behind her like a shot put.

"Long ears, are you crazy?" The dwarf blacksmith fell to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain for a moment before angrily demanding, "How can you be so strong?"

Futia looked at the paladin for help.

“You can try it with your hair,” the paladin said to the blacksmith.