Round 22: The Funeral

The entire Agus seemed to be engulfed in panic。“Thunderous Wrath”disappeared，Rumors were spreading in every corner of Agus。Whether it was commoners or farmers on the plains，They seemed to have lost their guardian deity and were in a state of panic and anxiety day after day，It seems that they also felt extremely lost because they had lost this great mage, who represented the power and victory of Agus。Even the weather seemed to be cooperating，two consecutive days of overcast skies or heavy downpours，and the two suns never appeared，making people feel even more depressed。

The three who had just returned to Vatan were not allowed to go back to their own residences but were instead taken to a common resting area in the Tower of Seven Sins. Although each still had their own room, surveillance was everywhere—as expected. Out of a search team of hundreds, including a grand mage from the Supreme Council, only these three had returned. Trials and hearings were inevitable.

Morril stood in front of a mirror, her black robe’s high collar almost completely covering her face. She suddenly thought about the murderer next door, who now had to wear mourning clothes for those he had killed—she wondered what that felt like.

It wasn’t until she saw the solemn-looking O’Sullivan again in the Supreme Council’s meeting hall that Morril still couldn’t figure it out—Dagulas, on the other hand, remained smiling.

The meeting proceeded unusually quickly and smoothly. First, the images captured by Areisha’s detection magic were shown again—the grand mages had indeed detected that battle. Most of the footage focused on 47, ending with Yatu’s death in the storm. It seemed clear that Yatu died at 47’s hands.

Morril casually glanced at Singh. The old man’s expression was almost deathly still. Even as 47 flipped through the air, he didn’t even flinch. It was unclear whether he already knew everything or simply didn’t recognize 47.

Next came the hearing. The three of them gave their statements as agreed beforehand—something about the opponent being too powerful and Yatu sacrificing himself to protect them.

And then, surprisingly, it was approved.

Indeed, for ordinary people, even if they excluded themselves, the other two—one was a count of the Agus Empire and the other a favorite disciple of the Supreme Council’s grand mage—surely wouldn’t be accused of rebellion. Although they had already assumed they wouldn’t face severe punishment—at least not death—they still found it suspicious that everything went so smoothly.

After all, their opponent was one of Agus’s highest-ranking grand mages, not an ordinary person.

Even after leaving the Tower of Seven Sins, Morril still felt as if she were in another world.

“A public funeral for Lord Yatu will be held tomorrow. Go back and rest well. See you tomorrow!” O’Sullivan said before walking away without looking back.

To be so young yet possess such composure—Aguс wasn’t just about mages.

Morril stood alone in the vast shadows of the Tower of Seven Sins for a while. The gusts of wind made her shiver; it was getting colder by the day.

Although the Uther tribe had been ravaged by wars time and again, it still appeared elegant and peaceful during these intervals.
Forty-seven stood in front of a half-burned tree trunk that was now only as tall as him, silent. That was Castor’s cabin where he had stayed for two nights; now, like its owner, it would never appear before him again.
“The scars of war are everywhere. You must think such senseless battles are foolish!” Uther appeared behind him at some point, accompanied by a rustling sound.
Forty-seven turned around. A short tree man had come with Uther—short compared to other tree men, yet still more than half as tall as Forty-seven.
“This is Turlan, the chief of the tree men,” Uther introduced solemnly, but seemed troubled when it came to introducing Forty-seven: “This is… this is…”
“I am the guest who brings shame to the elves, commonly referred to here as filthy demi-hellish creatures. You can also call me Forty-seven!” Forty-seven glared at Uther, though his eyes had no white part.
Turlan’s weathered face, indistinguishable from whether it grew on his head or body, gradually changed. His mouth, nose, and eyebrows, outlined by raised bark and deep grooves, moved little by little. It took a long time and great effort before he managed to form an expression resembling surprise.
Forty-seven immediately gave up the idea of talking to him; otherwise, by tomorrow, they might still only have exchanged greetings.
“The tree men tribe has forgiven our past foolish actions, so you shouldn’t hold grudges either,” Uther said, though his voice was so low it sounded like he was talking to himself. “Because of your efforts, along with theirs, the pressure on the Sleeping Forest has greatly decreased. I must thank you!”
It seemed that for the proud night elves, admitting mistakes and offering thanks were not things they were good at.
“Where are Fergas and the others?” Forty-seven glanced at Turlan, who stood behind Uther, his mouth—or rather, a tree hole—open, emitting single syllables.
“Jorlis ordered them taken back to the warrior tribe. Although they can no longer live with us as night elves, we won’t abandon these comrades.”
“So my command authority has been revoked?” Forty-seven looked down at Uther. “With a whistle, they’ll return to me, even if they have to crawl.”
“That’s not what I meant…” Uther pondered, seemingly trying to find words that wouldn’t anger this somewhat irritable iron man. “They’re badly injured and should be treated first.”
“Never mind. I didn’t come to talk about this.” Forty-seven waved his hand impatiently. “Actually, I have a plan that requires your cooperation.”
A plan? A plan from an construct.

“First, I need this area closer to the forest edge, along with the Warrior Tribe, to all move to the Priest Tribe.” Forty-Seven didn’t notice Uther’s puzzled expression and continued on his own: “The Agus people will soon come to occupy this place, and I’ll organize a counterattack. You don’t need to worry about any losses at all…” Uther’s confusion grew even more; it seemed that hundreds of years of age hadn’t helped him understand much about the world beyond the forest. “Hey, are you listening to me, old man?” Forty-Seven even started knocking on the respected old druid’s head with his knuckles. “Well, I can’t handle this alone. I must consult with the High Priest and the Acting War Leader…” Uther looked at Forty-Seven, feeling as if he was joking: “Besides, we need a reason.” “Troublesome!” Every joint in Forty-Seven’s body seemed to be moving in different directions, as if that was his way of showing irritation: “Then go discuss it quickly!” “Hello, intricate construct…” It was only now that Turlan finished his first sentence. The grand funeral was held as scheduled in the square in front of the palace. Members of the royal family, mages of all ranks, nobles, and all prominent figures of Agus gathered to bid farewell to Archmage Yatu. Like all the other elaborate ceremonies in the vast empire, the funeral was long and boring. Representatives from various groups, including Emperor Stanley III himself, took to the stage to pray and bless the late Archmage Yatu. Finally, Archmage Singer stepped onto the stage. Even those who were about to fall asleep in the audience perked up. Who held the real power in Agus could be told by their influence. “…” Everyone held their breath, waiting for Archmage Singer’s reaction—as well as that of the Supreme Council. Whether it was waging a larger-scale war or retreating due to public opinion, it was all within his power to decide. Yet, Singer said nothing. Suddenly, he raised his staff, and a beam of white light shot into the sky like a swift dragon. The clouds struck by the light began to glow white, and the darkness that had covered Vatan City for days gradually dissipated. The light of the sun shone through the cracks in the sky, casting light over people’s heads and the entire Tanori Plain. “Beautiful!” Even after returning to her dark yet luxurious residence, Isabella couldn’t stop praising it. “Are you referring to that spell?” O’Sullivan sat down in the guest seat as per Isabella’s gesture: “It was indeed spectacular…” “I’m not referring to that,” Isabella shook her head, slightly annoyed by the young count’s feigned ignorance: “All along, Yatu had the greatest influence among the people among the seven archmages. And in terms of strength, ‘Thunder above Agus’ wasn’t just a title in vain. His death was a huge blow to the common people, even to the royal family. And all of this was resolved by just one small spell from Singer.”

“You mean…” O’Sullivan decided it was better not to pretend ignorance in front of this woman. “Is the recent rainy weather also the masterpiece of the Council?”
“Hehe, I didn’t say that!” Isabella signaled a young, handsome boy to set down the tea tray, then waved her hand, and the boy quietly withdrew.
That bitch… But last time I was here, I remember it was a bald man who brought the tea…
“However, the people are easily led. Anyway, the crisis of the Agus Empire can be considered to have been safely overcome.” Isabella’s words pulled O’Sullivan’s attention back from the boy who had left.
“As far as I know, there seems to be some misunderstanding between Miss Isabella and Miss Morriel.” O’Sullivan picked up the teacup in his hand. If they continued to beat around the bush like this, it would be unclear when they’d get to the point. It was better to be direct—after all, they would have to face each other eventually.
“That could be said…” Isabella reclined deep into the crimson, spacious sofa, looking lazy yet alluring—if one didn’t know her actual age. “In fact, even the Supreme Council once planned to assassinate me just to take her away from me.”
O’Sullivan’s hand trembled slightly, causing a minuscule ripple in the tea in his cup—not only because he was shocked that the Council had attempted to assassinate an elder of the Red Robe Mage Society, but also because Isabella had taken the initiative to attack first.
“I’m sorry, but this news is truly shocking!” O’Sullivan put down his teacup, his surprise seeming quite genuine.
“It’s nothing. Whether in the world of mages or elsewhere, such things happen every day.” Isabella gently curled her fingers, and the teacup on the table flew toward her. Generally, high-ranking mages disdained using such showy spells in front of others.
“Yet you still remain in Vatan City. Aside from your strength, your courage is truly admirable.” O’Sullivan clasped his hands together, looking sincere. “But are those magic book pages left by the Loom Mages really that important, to the point where the Council risks enmity with the Red Robe Mage Society just to assassinate you? And yet, you still insist on staying?”
“You still don’t really understand what mages are, young count.” Isabella didn’t catch the flying teacup but let it spin endlessly in midair, as if drawing a strange and mysterious magic circle. “If a mage loses his curiosity, then his mage career is almost over. Of course, I have other reasons as well…”
“So, you still have great curiosity about the core of Agus Empire’s construction technology?” The time was right. O’Sullivan took out a scroll from his bosom—not much, but the gilded emblem of the Supreme Council on its cover showed it was very important material. “Then this will surely interest you.”
Isabella’s eyes seemed to brighten. O’Sullivan, sitting in a slightly brighter area, could even sense the flash of light across the dim space.

“Construction data for the ‘Tower No. 8’?” The only word in this document that O’Sullivan could understand was spoken effortlessly by Isabella, suggesting she had indeed put in some effort. “I found this among the relics left behind by the Archmage of Yakut in Wilk Town. It’s worthless to me, but it might be different for you.” Isabella remained motionless on the sofa, the brightness in her eyes fading away. “Yakut died a truly tragic death…” Isabella’s tone was calm, but O’Sullivan was sure she was hooked: “So, how can I repay you for this hard-won gift?” Clearly, she had guessed most of the truth, leaving him with nothing to hide. “For you…” O’Sullivan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his lips, looking unusually relaxed: “It’s a piece of cake.” “Catch the murderer! Dig wherever it takes!” The atmosphere in the Supreme Council chamber was tense to the point of explosion. “Agus must not allow this to end like this!” Although Quentin had always seen Yakut as a rival, they were both Archmages of the Supreme Council—if this went unresolved, it wouldn’t be surprising if Quentin’s corpse ended up on the walls of Vatan City the next day. “That goes without saying, but who will go? After all, they even killed Yakut,” Kant retorted sarcastically. “In fact, Yakut’s death itself is highly suspicious!” Tanolanti tapped the table with her finger. “I think it’s necessary to reinterrogate the three of Dagulas. Maybe they missed some crucial details—I still don’t believe that construct could have killed Yakut.” “There’s always someone better. It’s not surprising who dies. The priority now is to face the people again and carefully consider the war with the Forest.” Aresha adjusted her glasses methodically, though no one ruled out the possibility that she opposed reinterrogation to protect Dagulas. Eventually, everyone’s gaze fell on Singh—as for Kiskein, he was still dozing off. Singh remained expressionless, while 47 continued to fly around above the hall until the construct created a massive cannon that illuminated the ceiling. 47’s battle footage kept replaying until Singh suddenly reached out and placed a handful of gold coins in Kiskein’s palm. The other mages were even more astonished—especially since Kiskein continued snoring throughout the process. “Archmage Quentin is right. The guilty must receive their due punishment!” Singh cleared his throat, his tone unusually stern and intense. “I decide that the three of Dagulas will still lead the mission to capture the murderer!”

The other mages exchanged glances. It seemed that, after Kiskayne, Archmage Singer was also showing symptoms of dementia—given that Yatu had died at his hands, those three young people must be a piece of cake for him.
“This isn’t quite right!” Only Archmage Tanoranti, known for his honesty—or rather, his rigidity—would openly voice opposition to Singer: “This approach is nothing short of throwing eggs at a rock!”
“Archmage Singer must have his own plans.” It seemed Kant was also famous for his ability to adapt and flatter others.
“Well then…” Singer stood up, indicating that the meeting was coming to an end. His immediate order left no room for hesitation: “This time, let Archmage Kant lead the team.”
Morrill’s residence was located in the northeast corner of Vata City. Although it was part of the mage district, compared to the tall and majestic other buildings, the entire area appeared quite small—just three-story mage towers that, though called towers, resembled ordinary houses in appearance. These were residences provided for senior mages—of course, excluding the seven Archmages of the Council, who lived in the Tower of Seven Sins.
Though of the same standard, Morrill’s dwelling appeared simpler, even shabby, compared to the residences of other mages around him. The exterior walls had no decorations, remaining in their original state since construction. The interior was equally minimalist, offering only space for sleeping, eating, conducting magic experiments, and storing tools—nothing that might reveal the owner’s preferences or personality.
Compared to other mages and nobles, Morrill clearly lacked political acumen—a person who cared nothing about the pleasures of life was often seen as suspicious or even dangerous—as evidenced by Count O’Sullivan’s garden-like courtyard and the noble youths who often gathered there to eat, drink, and play.
These were Sayers’ first impressions before arriving at Morrill’s residence.