Round 33: Communication

The final stretch had to be covered on foot.
The Holy Warriors couldn’t take Moriel and the others to the Glorious Temple in the Coastal District—after all, the Glorious Church and the Dawn Knights were not Deepflow City’s official law enforcement agencies.
Moriel looked at the wide stone stairs ahead. Solid, towering buildings stood scattered about, shrouded in darkness as if merging with Deepflow City’s dark mountains. Compared to other parts of Deepflow City, this place was less bustling and more solemn and majestic—this was the heart of Deepflow City, the Castle District.
Most of the knights had left midway to return to their orders, and now the Deepflow City soldiers had also disbanded and gone back to their barracks. After saluting the three Holy Warriors, they left in groups of five or six and soon disappeared into the shadows of the buildings.
Now only three female Holy Warriors, two red-robed mages, and an armor construct without any sense of self remained.
Since Kani got off the carriage, Fiona had couldn’t help but steal glances at the female dwarf several times, barely holding back her emotions to maintain a cold expression.
Damn it! Kani’s cheeks burned painfully; she didn’t even dare touch them—they must be bruised and swollen. The female dwarf had never felt so humiliated!
“Please, Miss Moriel,” Jane said, tilting her head slightly as she led the way upward.
There was almost no one around except for patrolling guards. The climb up the stairs seemed as endless as the long night—unclear when it would end.
It wasn’t until they entered a guest room in the side building of the lord’s office that Kani hurriedly took out a mirror and a staff for treating minor injuries. Moriel stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, quietly observing the night outside. The large metal window, likely crafted by dwarves or elves, offered a great view. From here, one could see the starry night sky and Deepflow City’s massive, incredible buildings stretching out, blending together until they reached the faintly visible city walls in the distance.
Walking barefoot on the carpet felt very comfortable. The fatigue from the intense ordeal earlier in the night gradually faded in such a peaceful environment. Moriel rubbed her forehead, feeling sore both mentally and physically. Taking a bath seemed like a good idea.
“Moriel, what are you joking about? We’re in the hands of those damned Holy Warrior bitches!” Kani held the staff filled with healing energy close to her cheek, using its gentle magic to soothe the bruises and relieve the pain.
“Exactly because we’re in the hands of the Holy Warriors, there’s no need to worry about the bathwater being poisonous or suddenly boiling.” Moriel untied her hair, letting her silver strands cascade over her shoulders. “Also, if I were you, I wouldn’t remove all the scars—after all, he might hit harder next time.”
“Is there powder?”
“Powder?… No.”
“Is there a lady?”
“A lady?… No.”
“How can you run a hotel with nothing?”
“…Sir, this is a premium guest room in the lord’s office, meant to accommodate those who have made great contributions to Deepflow City or legendary heroes—it’s not some ordinary hotel.”

When Moriel turned from the corridor into the main living room, this was the scene she saw. The composed servant was already glaring at Forty-Seven—who was reclined in a sofa made of snow beast skin, his feet carelessly resting on an expensive hardwood coffee table, wasting time with various unreasonable demands and nonsensical chatter.
“Ignore him,” Moriel said. Her lazy demeanor even briefly distracted the servant trained by alcohol, but Forty-Seven was focused on an unopened bottle of red wine, trying to open it without being too violent.
“Where is the bathroom?” Although she still didn’t understand why Forty-Seven had caused such a fuss in the port area, Moriel thought it could wait until later.
The servant was clearly glad to find an excuse to leave this strange guy with metal skin. He bowed slightly. “On the first floor. Please follow me, Miss Moriel.”
Forty-Seven finally pulled out the cork.
“One to take a bath, two to take a bath too.” He shook the cork stuck in his index finger. “It’s me who crawled out of the cesspool—why doesn’t anyone ask if I want to take a bath?”
Moriel’s first feeling upon entering the bathroom was coldness. The icy groundwater spilled over the bathtub, spreading across the smooth marble. Stepping on it sent a chill up her feet, causing her to frown slightly.
Below the stone fountain, which flowed like a small waterfall, the girl kneeling in the bathtub, dressed only in light clothes, turned around in slight surprise upon sensing someone enter.
“Is it you?” Moriel recognized Milla, who was trembling slightly under the cold water.
“The servant didn’t tell me there was anyone else in the bathroom.” After a brief pause, Moriel walked over as if nothing had happened.
Milla, on the other hand, seemed a bit flustered. “…I’m already done, Miss Moriel. Let me help you adjust the hot water…”
“I’ll do it.” Moriel turned the exquisite statue by the tub to open the drain, then raised her hand to remotely shut off the cold water fountain using a simple Mage Hand spell. She then gave an instruction to let the steaming hot water flow in—this was second nature to her, as the structure and style of the entire bathroom were almost identical to those she used in the Red Robe Mage Order. Moriel even suspected this project might have been built by the Red Robe Mages themselves.
“Since we’re here, let’s do it together. Although it’s said that cold baths are good for health… I don’t think they help at all in relieving fatigue.” Moriel tested the water temperature with her foot—it was already nearly right. The Red Robe Mages always had a knack for luxury and pleasure. “Without proper rest, how can we have energy tomorrow?”
Milla hesitated for a moment but stayed after all.
Moriel slowly submerged herself in the scalding hot water, along with the intricate and beautiful patterns on her body. She smiled at Milla, as if they were just two noble ladies who came together to bathe in the hot springs.
Was this Red Robe female mage Forty-Seven’s master? Milla felt uncomfortable under Moriel’s gaze but still took off her clothes and entered the water.

Milia was no longer the holy warrior who had just followed Freth’s caravan out of the Desert of Noise. In the Forest of Slumber, she lost some things… and gained others. Especially after arriving in Deepstream City, she consciously used her heart to confront things she had previously dealt with with a sword, and thus also had to face the growing sense of uncertainty after the trials. Milia had devoted most of the first twenty years of her life to upholding order and purity, but in the end, she realized with despair that to defend justice, one must sometimes compromise with darkness—justice and compassion often clashed, and despite her prayers day and night, she felt increasingly like she was shifting from unquestioning dedication to seeking a mutually acceptable deal.

She didn’t know how long it had taken Anton to find balance in such contradictions. The old holy warrior once told her, “It isn’t just evil itself that harms the innocent. Always remember, when a young man is called up by law to become a militia member and dies fighting an orc tribe that merely passed by the castle, there’s just another name added to the monument, but his mother loses an entire world…”

So are order and kindness opposing forces? Anton didn’t give an answer. She had to find it herself.

And that construct called Forty-Seven gave her another answer quite directly through its actions: Power is everything; everything else is absurd!

How could she accept such a view? Yet she couldn’t refute it at all. If she had power, she could eliminate Forty-Seven in the Desert of Noise without hesitation; if she had power, she could drive away the Flame Monarch from Hellgate Castle and save Anton… Through secret observations of Forty-Seven after their reunion, she realized he might be firmly adhering to his own beliefs, with remarkable success.

So if the Glorious Church’s rather vague intelligence was correct, and this female mage from Agus was indeed Forty-Seven’s master, how would she wield this sword of destruction? According to Master Anton, Forty-Seven himself had no concept of good or evil… So she had to confront this female red-robed mage named Moriel. If she was truly the same kind of person as the red-robed ones Milia had seen before, it would be terrifying—how could she stop her?

Moriel didn’t know what Milia was thinking; after all, she couldn’t possibly see through people’s hearts. But she could faintly sense Milia’s attitude toward her—a barely noticeable respect mixed with equally subtle hostility. Moriel thought it had something to do with Forty-Seven.

“Do you know Forty-Seven?” Moriel took the initiative. From their brief clash at the stronghold, it was clear that this female holy warrior, about the same age as Fiona, wasn’t as fragile as Fiona and required constant pressure to be pushed back.

“Yes. In the Forest of Slumber, he was our companion. We fought together against the Flame Monarch from the abyss.” Milia emphasized the word “companion” slightly. If the female mage thought Forty-Seven was just an ordinary construct tool, this would serve as a reminder: “Hasn’t he told you?”

“Oh?” Moriel sank a little more comfortably; the smooth, sloping walls of the pool were perfect for leaning against. It was a shame she didn’t have a spell to control the water flow—otherwise, the feeling of being supported by the water would be like floating in the clouds. “Were you there too? I didn’t notice. Perhaps he thought irrelevant information wasn’t worth reporting?”
These words angered Milia greatly. “Perhaps he thought there was no need to tell every detail to a woman who actually doesn’t care about him.”
“Ha.” Moriel laughed. “Girl, you sound like a grumpy woman.”
She rolled her eyes. “I forgot to bring wine… Having a drink while bathing helps improve blood circulation. I should ask Forty-Seven to bring some red wine. Girl, do you want something? Juice?”
“What? Have Forty-Seven bring wine here?” Milia instinctively recoiled.
“Yes,” Moriel took control of the situation. “Why be shy? It’s just an artificial construct.”
“For you.” Milia sat up straight, her expression resolute. “But I’ll thank him—plain water will do.”
Moriel smiled. A moment later, she closed her eyes comfortably, her long hair floating in the water like silver threads. “Maybe next time. I don’t have a spell for long-distance communication. It seems it’ll get colder tomorrow… but it should be nice weather.”
Milia felt a bit weak.
“Yes, it will be nice weather tomorrow… and there will be a fair investigation.”
The red glow in Forty-Seven’s eyes flickered strangely. Once his vision stabilized, he turned his head left and right, looking at the hourglass—it was already late at night.
“Why does it take so long… it’s not a fish.” He stretched in a very human-like manner, complaining to himself.
The next morning.
The temperature dropped significantly; even people’s breath carried a hint of white mist. Such a drastic drop in temperature so early was the first time in Deepstream City’s history—after all, it was still just autumn.
But inside the Crystal Tower on one of Deepstream City’s mountain peaks, Xinbu was still wearing her tattered mage robe, and Laila was dressed only in thin home clothes. The magic of the Crystal Tower insulated them from the cold outside, keeping the interior as warm as spring.
“Sis… what do you think?” Xinbu referred to the strange artificial construct on the basalt table in the middle of the laboratory.
It had a centipede-like chain-toothed tail, four sharp and terrifying claws, and sharp fangs scattered all over its body—many dried blood clots stuck to them. This steel monster looked like a monstrous hybrid of a dog or wolf and an abyssal demon, with a burn scar that almost split its entire body, resembling a sword wound.

“It’s hard to say,” Laila shook her head gently. “I’ve never seen such a construct anywhere, with any mage. According to the soldiers who participated in the cleanup operation last night, its power is unprecedented—had Miss Chloe not gone as well, we wouldn’t know how many casualties there would have been. After the wreckage was brought here, Dailuo and I studied it all night. This construct is too complex, both in terms of the materials used and the spells cast upon it. Normally, such a combination shouldn’t yield good results; instead, it would backfire due to interference… unless…”
“Unless the archmages of Agus have already found a way to unify the energies of different layers of the magic web,” Xinbu said, reaching out to touch the blade-like claws of the construct. Those terrifyingly sharp claws gleamed under the magic lights, seeming ready to tear anyone apart at any moment. “If that’s really the case… I must say it’s a shame that the Mage Council of Agus collapsed.”
Hearing Xinbu’s words, Laila wasn’t surprised. It seemed she shared the same doubts. “But Dailuo believes that no spell can permanently and stably bypass the magic web to draw directly on the power of the magical source as an energy source. The magical source is one of the primal forces of the multiverse, and any attempt to control it can only lead to utter destruction… Besides, that robed mage from Agus is too young. By your account, she should have only just reached the ninth level of the magic web—she can’t possess such power.”
“Then how do we explain what happened in the port area last night?” Xinbu shook her head. “It’s a pity I lost track of that strange metal female warrior. But I’m sure the sudden distortion of the magic web in the port area was related to her… The question now is, if that metal female warrior was fighting underground, then who was she fighting? Was it a construct brought by that robed mage from Agus? That’s a very likely possibility. If so, we must reassess and treat that female mage named Moriel differently, because now she holds the biggest ace in the game—judging from the ruins of the battle, the power of both sides was enough to level half of Deepstream City!”
Suddenly, an oval mirror in a corner of the laboratory flashed with a watery glow. The magic gems embedded in the argent frame sparkled interdependently, while the mirror surface began to ripple and blur, no longer reflecting the interior. It seemed to transform from a hard, smooth metal surface into a hazy, formless cloud. A foot stepped out of the mirror, followed by the entire body of Archmage Dailuo. Following Dailuo was a silver-eyed female paladin. Her appearance brought a chill, as if bringing the cold outside into the laboratory as well. The mirror behind them continued to fluctuate, gradually becoming solid and clear—at first, it showed a strange room completely different from the laboratory, but as Dailuo moved forward, the mirror displayed changing scenes, eventually reflecting faithfully his retreating figure.
Laila smiled at her gently. “Hello, Knight Jean Fonda. Dear, how did the investigation hearing regarding the robed female mage go?”

The Archmage shook his head helplessly. “The Red Robe Mage is about to achieve a complete victory. Their leader, Moriel, is flawless in both ‘Detecting Evil’ and ‘Detecting Lies’—even I can’t spot anything amiss. She skillfully denied all charges, and aside from a few captured Shirek cultists and some unimportant witnesses, there’s no evidence to prove that the Red Robe Mage engaged in a massive drug deal with the Shirek Church last night. Moreover, Miss Chloe, Himb’s friend, and Freth, the vice president of the Gem Shield Guild in Deepflow City, also testified that Moriel’s character is impeccable… The Lord Alliance surely won’t do anything to the Red Robe Mage. This will just be a lot of noise for little effect. Hopefully, this incident and the crackdown on the Shirek Church will make them behave better.”

“Chloe really values her girlfriend.” Himb curled his lips. “What about that female mage’s construct? Have you found anything?”

The Archmage’s expression grew serious.

“I’ve discussed it with Jen, and I largely agree with your view.” Dairo gave a gesture, and the large mirror in the corner silently slid across the laboratory to stand in front of the four of them, not even touching a beaker.

As the scene in the mirror distorted and changed, various oddly shaped buildings and crooked roads flashed by in an instant, as if flying across Deepflow City in the sky. Eventually, the image stabilized, like water that had been disturbed by a stone and was now gradually becoming calm, until it focused on the hearing room in the Lord’s office.

“He didn’t accompany the Red Robe Mage to the hearing?” Himb looked at the two in the mirror. “Why is there a Holy Warrior with her?”

“If he went to the hearing, the lords would either be enraged or killed,” Jen said coldly, her gaze fixed on something—perhaps nothing at all. “With her is Milia. She traveled to the Sleeping Forest for trials some time ago and was companions with this construct.”

“Oh?” Himb stroked his chin. “Then she must know quite a lot about him… What do you think, Miss Jen?”

“Keep observing. We can’t make hasty decisions based on fleeting preferences or personal desires,” Jen said. “Besides, we might have to deal with a monster of unprecedented power.”

Himb touched the fangs of the strange construct beside him, and a faint silver-white flame flickered at the tips of his fingers, swirling over the steel debris. “In that case, I think I need to study this thing more closely.”

Dairo nodded.

“Dear, help Himb. Jen, come this way. I still have some things to discuss with you.”

After the two left the laboratory, Himb raised his hand and gestured at his eyes.

“That Jen Fanda… her eyes seem a bit strange.”

“Miss Jen is blind,” Laila replied, surprising Himb. “But she makes up for it with extremely sharp other senses… Miss Jen is a daughter blessed by the gods! Just like you!”

Forty-seven’s eyes glowed red, as if sensing those gazes coming from some unknown void—though you have clairvoyance and I have sharp hearing; it’s a draw. Study it carefully, you fools. It seems someone mentioned the Iron Virgin in the sewers, which really excited Forty-seven. I hope you can help me find her—you belong to me, Keri.
It was quite unexpected for that silver-eyed witch to be blind; Forty-seven really hadn’t seen it coming.
He turned his head toward Milia, who was sitting not far away, looking somewhat melancholic.
“…You’ve changed a lot,” the female paladin said.
“Yes, we change every minute,” Forty-seven replied, his voice laced with suppressed joy—cold and cruel.