With a loud *Crash!* followed by a pained "Owww!", Rogue, along with the rocking chair, tipped over backwards and landed heavily on the floor. Even with his thick skin and fat, landing headfirst left him genuinely dazed for a while. He struggled to get up from the floor, taking a good moment to dispel the stars and little birds circling his head.
The dreamscape remained vivid in his mind.
He didn't know how long they had fought, but Rogue was long exhausted, and the golden light within Fengyue's skull had dimmed considerably. Yet the zombies remained endless.
Suddenly, a new energy mass began forming on the distant black peak dozens of miles away. In Rogue's psychic perception, this energy, deep black shot through with threads of blood-red, grew stronger at a breathtaking pace. As it finally coalesced into a massive, alternating black-and-red energy sphere, an immensely powerful psychic wave surged outwards in all directions like an angry tide. The soul energies of the weaker zombies were like candle flames in a typhoon, extinguished instantly without even a chance to flicker. In an instant, across the plains that had been densely packed with thousands of zombies, only Fengyue and a dozen or so Zombie Lords remained standing. The moment their psychic senses touched that wave, Rogue felt as if struck by lightning. Endless hatred, destruction, and slaughter poured from that psychic shockwave; in that moment, Rogue could barely restrain his own madness.
In the blink of an eye, that soul energy had locked onto Fengyue and was speeding towards them at an astonishing rate. Rogue inwardly groaned. *Please don't let this crazy bonehead charge to its death again!* Even though he couldn't yet see what kind of creature it was, the sheer intensity of this soul energy alone meant it was far beyond what he and Fengyue could handle.
Fengyue's scythe swept in a circle, a blood-red electric arc shooting outwards, forcing back the nearby Zombie Lords. Fengyue glared furiously in the direction of the approaching energy, let out a silent roar, and a small golden sphere of psychic power, trailing a thin, beautiful fiery tail, shot towards it. Just as Rogue was about to cheer, thinking it would hit the massive soul energy, the energy mass churned, and a dark red lightning bolt shot out, obliterating the small golden sphere into nothingness.
Both Fengyue and Rogue were momentarily stunned.
"Run, you idiot bone frame! Brainless skeleton!" Rogue, having recovered his wits, couldn't help but roar psychically at Fengyue.
Fengyue leaped into the sky – but straight towards the energy mass.
"Oh, gods!" Rogue groaned.
In the air, Fengyue's bone wings gently spread, this time with a nearly imperceptible, almost completely transparent membrane stretched between the bones.
With a graceful, deft spiral, Fengyue turned around and drifted elegantly away.
The fatty wasn't so lucky. He was flung out mid-air, tumbling downwards.
The Zombie Lords on the ground gathered in a heap, looking up, drooling profusely.
Rogue let out a shriek, desperately trying to leap upwards, only to have his head meet the floor with intimate force.
Muttering, Rogue picked himself up, cursing the damned Fengyue. But he didn't dare summon Fengyue out for a thorough explanation. After two experiences in the Otherworld, Rogue knew full well this was far more than just a dream. And having witnessed Fengyue's combat prowess firsthand, the fatty knew he was no longer a match for his familiar. Besides, this deathly skeleton was vicious and ruthless, actually daring to throw him from the sky! Was this rebellion? Did it even remember who its master was?
The fatty sighed and lamented, swallowing any dissatisfaction. He still needed to rely heavily on Fengyue in future fights. Offending it now might mean a stab in the back later. To have a mage-pet relationship reach this point was truly frustrating.
Feeling spiritually glum, Rogue looked out the window at the approaching evening, got up, and went out to find Fess, Franco, and the others to discuss the grand plan for the Hammer of the War God.
In the cold night, lanterns were lit, and snowflakes began drifting in the sky. The Holiday Inn, however, was brightly lit and bustling with warmth.
In a quiet private room on the third floor, the nobles and Fess were gathered together for the first time in a month. Ete looked considerably fatter. His leg still wasn't very agile; injuries from Battle Aura were no joke, especially when a third of the flesh on his thigh had been blasted away.
Reuniting after their separation, everyone was in high spirits. After some talk of romance, money, and beauties, they seriously began discussing the development strategy for the "Hammer of the War God."
Rogue spoke first: "Brothers, our new Hammer of the War God is about to open. This time, we must make a real impression. We need those nobles to think of status! A symbol of wealth! Of coolness! Of those bitches screaming and the commoners' envy the moment they hear 'Hammer of the War God'! But speaking of which, the name sounds too much like a dwarf shop. Damn it, who came up with such a lousy name in the first place?"
"Who else but you?!" Ete didn't spare Rogue any face.
The fatty, for once, blushed, stammered briefly, and changed the subject: "Of course, our products must be excellent! There must be absolutely no cutting corners! For every gold coin we put in, we'll get two back! What I mean is, even if the Hammer of the War God can't make the best weapons and armor, it absolutely must produce the most exquisitely beautiful items!"
"Hmph, for you, the more gold used, the more beautiful it is!" Franco sneered maliciously.
Rogue was furious, glaring at Franco, itching for a fight. Franco was unimpressed, snorted, and picked up a delicate small silver fork. The fatty rolled his eyes and sat back down. Fighting Franco in a confined space while he held a short weapon was undoubtedly suicidal.
Fess, his mouth full of lobster meat, said muffledly: "Stop fooling around. Getting me some assistants is the real issue. I can't do everything alone, can I? Besides, I'm good at setting up magic arrays, but whether the armor and weapons are beautiful or suit those people's tastes, I haven't a clue!"
Lance added, "Making things pretty is really useful. Looking at what we've sold, the few items that were exquisitely crafted and beautiful had at least a 100% profit margin and were always the first to sell out. The others, made more ordinarily, aren't really inferior in quality, but we make much less money from them. Since opening, not counting the spoils bought from adventurers, our premium pieces have earned over twenty thousand gold coins, while the ordinary ones only brought in four thousand."
Keith interjected, "The profit on ordinary equipment might be thinner, but the volume is large. We can't neglect it. I think we should open a new shop specifically for this line of business. If we can secure a foothold in the lucrative military supply market, it would be a steady stream of wealth. At the very least, we can have Lord Vennington in Faerburg specifically procure our goods."
Rogue said, "Here's my thought. I think we need to hire a batch of craftsmen. Jin can be in charge of guidance and training, producing some ordinary weapons and armor. This way, we can also use up some of our own best high-grade iron ore. Selling the raw ore always feels like a loss. This workshop can be placed anywhere in the city. As for the Hammer of the War God, we need to find a few true art masters to design the styles, and it would be best to also find a few experts in high-society etiquette. They know what will become popular among the nobility."Ete continued, "By the way, when I was recovering at the church, a young girl volunteering there mentioned her grandfather was a very renowned sculpture master. What was the name? Something like Mist... Illusion... something?"
Franco's eyes lit up, his voice trembling: "Could it be Master Mist Illusion? He's in Lyon City? I heard he offended a great noble from the O-Hung Empire in his early years. To avoid trouble, he vowed never to create art again, and only then did the noble let him go. After that, he disappeared. I never thought he was hiding here. My family still has one of his works! Mist Illusion's style is like clouds and mist, supremely refined and beautiful, yet elusive in its essence, hence the name Mist Illusion."
He closed his eyes, savoring the memory for a moment, then sighed with emotion: "It's art that truly stirs the soul!"
Hearing this, Rogue perked up and pressed, "Is this Mist Illusion really that impressive?"
Franco shot Rogue a dissatisfied look: "He is a master whose works can stand the test of time. But I've heard he has a strange temper, is extremely stubborn, and harbors intense hatred towards the nobility. Persuading him to design items for nobles, I think, is hopeless."
"Hmph, what's there to fear! Do we lack methods to deal with such old stubborn fools?" Rogue gave a sinister smirk. "Even if he's adamantine steel, we'll make him bloom! Look at how that Ian ended up spilling everything obediently!"
Lance said, "Who knows if that little girl is really his biological granddaughter? If she is, heh heh, then things become much easier!"
"Lance! I'm telling you, don't get any ideas about that girl. Over this past month, I owe my leg's recovery to her!" Ete rebuked with clear displeasure.
Lance chuckled, "Alright, alright, we'll save this one for you."
Frowning imperceptibly, Rogue said, "Lyon City isn't like other places. We can't afford to go too far now. If things blow up, Ophirock might not be able to protect us. Besides, we still don't understand why he's favoring us so much. It's better to be cautious in all things. If we want to build something, we can't capsize over such minor matters. Furthermore, this kind of thing, while doable in the shadows, is hardly glorious to speak of. If observant people notice, they'll be more wary, making it inconvenient for our future actions. We should either do it cleanly and thoroughly like with Ian, or simply hold off for now. There are plenty of ways to deal with such an old coot. It doesn't necessarily have to involve violence and taking lives. The urgent task is to first investigate the old fellow's background, see if he has any hobbies we can exploit. If that doesn't work, we can frame him, leaving him unable to argue and forcing him to comply. Only as a last resort should we target his granddaughter. In short, we must make him work for us. And preferably, make him do so wholeheartedly."
The group then began plotting. After numerous trials, these degenerates had become much more composed and measured, their sharp edges gradually concealed. The venomous schemes they devised were methodical and ruthless, leaving no room for error. Compared to two years ago, the difference in sophistication and subtlety was beyond measure.
A few maids passing by the door felt an inexplicable chill, sinister aura and couldn't help but shudder.
The afternoon sun lazily spilled over the streets and alleys of Lyon City, slowly rousing the city from its winter slumber. Sunlight was the most egalitarian, bestowing its grace upon noble and commoner alike.
Isabella moved cheerfully through the streets of the slum district, like a bouncing musical note. The low shacks, the uneven dirt roads, the puddles of frozen filthy water, the various odors wafting through the air, and the cacophony of mothers scolding children, neighbors quarreling, chickens clucking, and dogs barking – none of it affected her mood in the slightest. She had grown up in this place, so she loved everything here, loved all the people. The gods said to love all people in the world, so she followed this teaching with all her heart. Volunteering at the church for three half-days each week was her happiest time. Though it brought no income, bathing in the glory of the gods and helping other suffering people was the best reward.
The young girl loved the sunlight; she was always happy on clear days. Seventeen-year-old Isabella was tall, a full 170 cm, looking much more mature than her actual age, though her delicate, flawless face occasionally betrayed a childish expression, revealing her true years. Isabella was very fair, almost transparently so, but her lively nature always painted a touch of blush beneath that translucent whiteness.
The girl's features were exquisite, her large eyes always restlessly looking around, and with the perpetual smile gracing her lips, she was well-liked by those around her. The priests at the church were all very kind to her; one young priest had even secretly taught her a bit of light magic. Isabella could now barely manage the most basic Minor Healing Spell.
The girl had reason to be happy. That Mr. Ete, whom she'd gotten along with quite well this past month, had offered her a job today – tending to his rooms and courtyard for a whole gold coin a month! Grandpa wouldn't have to eat only black bread every day anymore. They could have smoked meat every day! With a little saving, Grandpa could even have a small glass of wine daily. The neighbors would be green with envy. If she worked like this for two years, maybe they could even build a wooden house. Grandpa was getting old, his rheumatism was severe; a new house would mean suffering much less in the winter.
That Mr. Ete was such a good man. He was so unusually tall and strong, a full head taller than her – many men weren't even as tall as she was. Well, although his attire was quite casual, it was always very clean. His face was rugged, but the more you looked, the more handsome it became. At this thought, the girl's heartbeat quickened a little, and her face felt slightly warm.
The distracted girl walked on, her mind filled with images of Ete. "Mr. Ete doesn't seem very old, how does he have so many adventure stories? In this past month, the stories he told haven't repeated once. That clumsy Iron Bear from the next street, who's always pestering me, only knows how to talk about the few horses he takes care of, or the trivial matters from Mr. Giblemeyer's household. But, the wound on Mr. Ete's leg was so frightening! In my four months at the church, I've never seen such a terrible injury. When I first saw it, you could see the bone through the wound, but Mr. Ete never once cried out."
The distracted girl managed to kick over two baskets on the road, scare a few hens, and nearly bump into an elderly woman on her way.
The girl arrived at a small courtyard – if a space of five or six square meters could be called a courtyard. Even this tiny yard had an ancient tree, its trunk gnarled and twisted, a testament to a life likely as harsh and sorrowful as most who lived in the shade of such trees. The small yard was enclosed by a fence. It was made of ordinary wooden strips, yet somehow it brought an immense sense of peace to the heart. The snow within the yard had been swept clean, spotless. The noisy, dirty environment was shut out by that fence.
A thin, withered old man sat in the yard, splitting firewood, stroke by stroke. Beside the old man sat a small red clay stove, a pot of tea brewing on it. The exquisite little teapot was simple yet elegant, tendrils of steam slowly escaping its spout. The thing he was splitting was less a log and more of a tree stump, somewhat rotten, but frozen rock-hard in the winter cold. The old man held a rusty axe, slowly raising it and letting it fall with the momentum, slicing off a piece of firewood a foot long and three fingers wide as easily as slicing through soft tofu.
"Grandpa!" The girl, like a joyful little bird, fluttered lightly into the old man's arms.
"Grandpa! I found a job! A whole gold coin every month! You won't have to chew on black bread every day anymore, and we'll have money for your medicine too!"
The old man lovingly stroked the girl's hair and smiled, "Silly child, I'm an old man, what use do I have for medicine? It's you who has suffered too much. By the way, since when did the church become so generous, offering a job that pays a gold coin a month?"
Isabella's voice immediately dropped to a whisper, "It's... it's managing the courtyard for a gentleman."
The old man's voice turned stern instantly: "Is he a noble?"
The girl's eyes welled up with tears, and she stammered, "It seems... seems so..."
*Crash!* The old man smashed the small teapot beside him to pieces with his axe, trembling with rage. "You... have you forgotten how your parents died? Who was it that forced us to live in a place like this, suffering hunger and cold? You..." The old man seemed to choke on his breath, frightening the girl pale. She hurriedly supported him, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably.
The old man calmed down slightly, harshly shook off her hand, walked into the house, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The girl cried, "But Grandpa, your illness can't be delayed any longer! And... Mr. Ete is a good man..." Her voice grew softer and softer, eventually choked by sobs.
The girl sat helplessly on the ground, weeping. A snow-white silk handkerchief was offered before her eyes. Isabella took it absentmindedly and wiped her tears, then suddenly realized it was a luxury she could never afford. Now that it was soiled, what should she do?
She looked up in fluster and saw a kindly, plump face. The smile on it was so warm, it seemed capable of melting even ice and snow.
"By day, I'm a construction engineer; by night, I write. I'd love to hear your thoughts! If you're enjoying the story, please don't be shy with your compliments and comments!"
"Volume 1 is almost complete. Still planning the next one and welcome your comments. I'll draw inspiration from your feedback!"