Chapter 43

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Chapter 43: Sorry

Outside Red Gum County lay a vast wilderness. Douglas walked quickly and far, seeing a large expanse of barren land in the distance. In past winters, this area would be filled with trees shedding snow-covered leaves, like white torches. Now, due to withering, all that remained ahead was a bare snowfield.

Starting from entering an area where no one had been before, the ground was covered with untouched snow. Horses’ hooves gently thudded into the snow, no longer making crisp sounds; boots sank into the snow, creating soft crunching noises as the snow compacted. The sound was so quiet, only in such a quiet and deserted place could it be heard. Douglas walked steadily on the snowy ground. After a certain distance from the town, he slowed down, taking each step carefully and looking around openly, listening to his whistle and footsteps.

Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle.

Douglas stopped to listen to the extra footsteps behind him.

The sound of footsteps in the deep night snowfield, not belonging to himself, sounded like a perfect ghost story. The rider who encountered the ghostly footsteps visibly delighted, he looked around, then, finding nothing, lightly tapped his heel and gracefully turned back.

"Good evening!" The rider tipped his hat. He saw the figure standing behind him and added, "Madam."

Behind him, a woman appeared silently. She was dressed lightly, looking like any ordinary female traveler from the neck down, but wore a thick hood on her head, revealing bright white bones inside. Douglas immediately recognized it as a wolf skull, with the snout quite intact and the eye sockets wrapped in gauze, like those who, for reasons related to training, temporarily give up their vision. He curiously stared at the woman’s head, but his genuine gaze did not seem impolite.

"What are you looking for?" the woman asked.

She had a lazy, husky voice. If Douglas had encountered such a voice in a tavern, he would surely offer a drink. However, the situation was not appropriate for that, so the rider regretfully adjusted his hat, revealing his most charming smile.

"Such nights are perfect for a walk, but it’s too lonely to be on one’s own," he said. "I’m here waiting for a chance encounter or a companion. And now, I have found one."

"Do I match your imagination?" said the woman wearing a wolf skull.

"You are even more amazing than I imagined," Douglas said.

Complimenting women sincerely without offending them came easily to him, and being a famous rider, he was popular with ladies from eight to eighty. But looking at the skull now left him speechless.

The woman’s voice was not muffled like it was stuck in a can, and her jaw didn’t move when she spoke. Douglas searched for clues meticulously, overturning them once found, in a cycle repeated countless times within a few sentences. Finally, he thought, ‘Forget it, only a coward would stay silent at a time like this.’

"I’m sorry, madam, forgive my boldness," Douglas said, "Are you not wearing a mask?"

"…"

"I mean, is that your head?" he asked again.

It was only at this moment that Tasha found this man a bit intriguing.

It wasn’t just a matter of perception; the rider lacked evidence and was merely guessing. Yet Douglas’s tone held no panic, only restrained excitement – like a child asking, "Did you prepare a gift for me?"

"Demon worshipper?" Victor muttered, "No, necromancers wouldn’t have this kind of character, they are more like self-important people who fantasize after reading too much history."

Tasha thought Victor meant impersonators or teenagers trying to summon demons like on Earth.

"If so, what are you planning to do?" Tasha said, "Summon me with your rope? Use the dagger in your boot? Or something on the brim of your hat?"

"You really don’t hold back." Douglas made a sad face, put on his hat, raised his hands in surrender, "Well, even the most sincere tourists need a companion to lighten the mood. If I encountered someone less understanding than you, a party pooper like a robber, I would need to be a little self-defensive."

The rider didn’t look as relaxed as he seemed, take the graceful turn earlier for example, that maneuver could swiftly avoid dangers from behind or above. Douglas had his lasso around his waist, a dagger secured in his boot and leg bindings, and something like a decoration on his hat… Tasha observed closely and noticed sharp structures hidden between several buckles, if taken off and combined with the lasso, it could potentially be used as a weapon, like a blood droplet. The gesture of doffing the hat was a stance of preparation. Even now, judging from the tense muscles in his neck, he hadn’t let his guard down.

The muscle-reading skills of the Amazonian professor were really useful, Tasha wished she could spar with the other party if the situation was right.

Douglas’ "unguarded" posture was like an elegant goose on water, but with chaotic paddling underwater. At the same time, he seemed more excited, probably hearing approval in Tasha’s response. He was as thrilled as those curious characters who die in horror movies, possessing skills that can’t resist a reckless mindset.

"I must declare, I come with full sincerity." Sensing subtle malice in Tasha’s gaze, Douglas raised his hands and declared, "I’m here merely out of curiosity."

"Sincerity." Tasha repeated, "Is your sincerity today’s spy act?"

"That is my sincerity!" Douglas said confidently, "I wandered around in the streets and alleys wearing stage costumes, sticking my nose into any place that seemed off-limits to idle onlookers. Isn’t this the best way to catch your attention? My disguise is used to avoid unnecessary attention from outsiders, child’s play for the true controllers of the city. Please forgive me, I don’t have your contact information, so this is the only way I could meet you."

"Now you have met me," Tasha said.

By saying this, Tasha essentially admitted her identity as the leader of the wolf clan and the controller of this city. Tasha admitted it straightforwardly, passing the ball back to Douglas. At this point, Douglas seemed a bit uncomfortable.

"Um, I think we can deepen our understanding of each other, take it slow," he said, adjusting his hat brim and looking shy, "I am Dragonrider Douglas, may I ask for your name, madam?"

"You can call me ‘Madam’," Tasha said.

Douglas choked a little, Victor chuckled dismissively, his laughter filled with a mysterious sense of superiority.

What exactly are you so pleased about, Tasha thought amusingly, you don’t even know my name. The "true name" used to sign contracts is the name recognized by this world, long and complicated, with an abyssal quality. It is effective on contracts, but Tasha’s self-admitted name is still "Tasha". So far, no one here knows it.

"It’s your turn," Tasha said to Douglas, "Let’s talk about ‘the purpose of your visit’?"

"I have poured my heart out to you, but you refused to listen," Douglas said, clutching his chest, looking hurt, "I have been colleagues with Miss Jacqueline in the circus for many years, I couldn’t just stand by and watch her take risks, so I escorted her here. Apart from that, I also have a bit of curiosity. Oh, as for what others think, I can’t guarantee that."

Douglas blinked his eyes and earnestly sold out his teammates.

"Including your captain?" Tasha asked.

"Captain Frank," Douglas smirked, "he really does nothing, that gentleman has never done anything worse than tax evasion."

The implication was still betraying other peers.

In fact, Tasha didn’t need his reminder, even though the dungeon’s gaze couldn’t enter the house, the nearby watchtower had been keeping a close eye.

Douglas wasn’t the only restless one that night, he was just being particularly flashy, which gave himself the chance to be personally probed by Tasha. Other visitors were sneaky but lacked creativity, with half of them running around in the night in their stealth suits, thinking they were protected by the darkness.

Some people were in cahoots with each other, while others roamed alone all night, avoiding others. These people were not completely unconnected, nor were they organized. The watchtower live-streamed their movements, watching them jump and search for what they deemed suspicious places. Some cautiously slipped into the trading post, only to rummage through the flat and empty cabin without finding anything.

Nowadays, the existence of the dungeon in the southeast corner was not a secret. Humans working in the trading post would watch the ground open up, with Amazonians or Craftsman Dwarves working underground delivering trade products to the underground cabins, and humans would take out the items from the cabins. This wasn’t confidential information, so the residents nearby were not nervous. They thought it was a convenient underground passage connecting to the underground ruins of different races, and that was it.

You say dungeon? Alright, with so many passages and underground kitchens, and so many people living there, it can indeed be called a city. Abyss Outpost? Hahaha, don’t be silly.

Tasha didn’t stop the residents of the dungeon from inviting people from the surface down. In fact, the Amazonians had already shared their training room with human soldiers, who were amazed by the convenient place. Unlike other lords who carefully screened those entering their main camp, the dungeon was Tasha herself, with complete control over everything inside. She was eager for hesitant people to come down and see. The truly important parts, like the Dungeon Core and the Magic Pool, were well hidden. Whether the doubtful visitors dispelled their doubts or slipped up and were caught by Tasha, it was all good.

"You’re not thinking of putting these people into the dungeon, are you?" Victor warned anxiously, "Only a few can destroy a dungeon from a hundred miles away. Most dungeons are destroyed by Professionals who enter them!"

"I’m not that reckless," Tasha replied.

Letting the surface residents in was mainly because these people were very weak and posed no threat. This new group of people had unknown abilities, and even though they might seem like clueless mice right now, Tasha was not taking it lightly. While it was convenient to put them in the dungeon, there was a certain risk involved. For example, if one of them suddenly turned into a Magic Cannon and started firing, it would be quite a spectacle.

"How did past Professionals destroy dungeons from within?" Tasha asked, "Even if the future dungeon City Master can’t monitor the whole dungeon at all times, shouldn’t the patrolling soldiers at least throw out intruders once they are discovered?"

Only in very rare cases would a dungeon develop consciousness on its own, like Tasha as a special case, or as Victor believed, a natural Nest Mother. Most dungeon City Masters came from abyssal creatures, and some unfortunate beings were drawn into the abyss and became either the dungeon’s master or slave. Unlike Tasha, these post-natal City Masters who activated the Dungeon Core were not as knowledgeable about the dungeon and had to rely on spells or dungeon creations to monitor the interior.

"Adventurers are strong, and they keep coming." Victor noticed the hint of indifference in Tasha’s tone and emphasized, "The only reason you’re succeeding so smoothly right now is because these people are extremely ignorant and weak!"

"Do you call a Magic Cannon weak?" Tasha reminded him.

"That’s an exception! Depending on external items doesn’t make them strong on their own. Ants that use tools are still ants," Victor insisted.

Tasha was tired of trying to convince him. She felt that Victor’s attitude towards magic technology was like a warrior from a closed kingdom who believed in their own skills over guns.

However, Tasha had never seen the powerful forces of this world. She couldn’t imagine a sword splitting the earth or Victor taking on a wizarding army single-handedly. They both had limited understanding, making conversations difficult at times.

While Tasha couldn’t eavesdrop, an unpleasant conversation was taking place elsewhere.

A priest wearing a ceremonial robe, Saro, rushed through the inn’s gates after dinner, his limp more pronounced than usual. Samuel seemed lost in his own world, ignoring the innkeeper’s banter.

"Which room does the old man with white hair and a wooden cane stay in?" he asked anxiously.

The innkeeper and idle helpers chuckled, "Is the priest going to preach again? Just because you have a cane doesn’t mean you’re related to him. Watch out for getting kicked out!"

"Please tell me his room number!" Samuel’s face turned red, as if about to say something but stopping himself, "I have important matters to discuss with him! About… about his son!"

Finally, the innkeeper gave him the number. Samuel rushed towards the room, ignoring the voices behind mocking him. Those fools! He thought excitedly, that man won’t kick him out!

After three knocks, the door opened. The old man stood silently, his hawk-like eyes examining the priest.

Getting closer, Samuel noticed that the old man was much taller than him, and he had to strain his neck to look him in the eyes. The old man was quite strong-looking, with all-white hair, sharp eyes, and a muscular body that filled out his loose sweater. He had a beard as rigid as his hair, making him look like an old lion.

Samuel had to take a step back to relieve his sore neck. In the oppressive shadow, his confident speech from before the journey fell apart and he almost couldn’t get the words out. Gathering himself, he noticed a pendant hanging from the old man’s waist, which boosted his confidence.

"I am Pastor Samuel of Saro," Samuel stood tall, trying to appear taller, "She passed the role of the priest to me before receiving the calling from the Lord in the previous generation, I received the last legacy of Saro on earth… I see, I see you, and I think, um, we should talk, you know."

His speech didn’t go well at all, way worse than the many times he had practiced before. The old man’s face was stern like a statue, unmoving throughout Samuel’s speech, showing no trace of admiration, not even basic kindness. Samuel’s confident demeanor started to fade, the envisioned pleasant scene becoming dimmer by the second, and he began to doubt if the other person would actually listen.

The old man remained silent the entire time, never nodding, just stepping aside from the door to make way for the pastor to pass. Samuel quickly hurried inside as the old man closed the door behind him.

The pastor’s heart, which was about to leap out, settled back into place as he let out a sigh of relief, sitting in a chair in the living room. The old man followed, not making tea or sitting down, but just standing with his arms crossed, watching him. Samuel awkwardly smiled, stood up, futilely attempting to reduce the height difference between them.

"I am Pastor Samuel of Saro, the bearer of the staff, and Saro’s chosen one," Samuel repeated, "How… how should I address you?"

"Alexander," the old man said, "A retired soldier."

"You are a Paladin!" Samuel blurted out, "I know you are a Paladin!"

The old man had no expression on his face.

"I’ve heard of the wooden staff you’re holding! Paladins like Saro hide their weapons in such large wooden staffs, using them only to guide the lost, drawing their swords only against true evil. It symbolizes Saro’s mercy and bravery. And the ornament on your waist represents Saro’s helping hand, symbolizing the redemption by the sun god," said Samuel, his voice trembling with excitement. "You need to undergo long training to become official knights. Your dedication can elevate you beyond the ordinary, even in Saro’s absence, you still possess great power! Praise Saro, I never thought I would meet a true Paladin today… I’ve heard your stories, tales of knights composed of Paladins and priests dominating the battlefield, fighting evil and spreading Saro’s glory, under Saro’s protection…"

He talked non-stop but gradually lowered his voice as the old man smiled. Alexander’s lips curled up in scorn, as if mocking something.

"Our ancestors shed blood to protect those behind us," he said. "Our victories come from courage to sacrifice, not from some god’s mercy from above. I never thought there would still be remnants of Saro active on earth today. Your mentor is either insane or hates you."

Samuel stood frozen in place, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been poured over him.

He was too excited. For the first time in a long while, the Pastor of Saro saw someone and something from the tales his mentor had told. Samuel had anticipated seeing Alexander ever since he heard about the old man’s wooden staff. Seeing him in person, along with the ornament on his waist, confirmed his identity. Like a lone traveler rejoicing at the sight of a companion, only to realize it was an illusion, young Saint Child rushed forward with enthusiasm, only to be met with disappointment.

Then, he became angry. His tongue felt numb with icy rage, struggling to speak clearly. "What are you saying?" Samuel demanded. "How dare you speak about a Saropriest like that! How can you utter such blasphemous words! How… dare you even wear the Saro’s helping hand, the symbol of a Paladin!"

"Hahaha!"

The old man burst into laughter, the sound ringing in Samuel’s head. Saint Child of Saro stood unsteadily, like a sapling bracing itself in a storm, and even after the laughter subsided, his eardrums were still ringing.

"Yes, this is the symbol of the Paladin. We earn the title of Paladin because we are humble, honest, compassionate, brave, just, willing to sacrifice, defend honor, have faith, because we improve ourselves, because we protect Aryan! Do you call it the Hand of Saro?" Alexander took off the pendant around his waist and held it in his hand. "On the contrary! It is the Invisible Hand, the hand of any resistor, symbolizing humanity taking fate into their own hands, not bowing down before demons or gods!"

Samuel’s mouth opened and closed futilely, like a fish out of water. He weakly muttered, "You said it, a Paladin is a person of faith…"

"What does that have to do with gods?" the old knight scoffed. "Firm belief is faith. I have a firm belief but it doesn’t mean I have to kneel before anyone."

Samuel was speechless. Wasn’t it natural to kneel before Saro? That was a god! It was the divine power that repelled evil, the mercy of the gods that allowed people to live in peace. No matter how humble one could be towards Saro, the blasphemy and absurdity in the Paladin’s words left Samuel speechless, unsure where to begin his argument.

The one saying this wasn’t a villain or a deceived commoner, but a Paladin. Samuel felt extremely disappointed, almost losing hope for a moment.

Alexander fell silent for a moment, gazing at the Invisible Hand. The main part of the pendant was a small silver hand holding a pearl. Both the blackened silver part and the no longer shiny pearl indicated the age of this pendant. The old knight shook his head and put it away.

"Paladins did indeed work well with priests during the last Orc War," Alexander said softly, laughing self-deprecatingly. "We are all outdated now."

"Then why do you deny the gods?" Samuel shouted, grabbing the other’s collar in despair. "At that time, we fought side by side! What made you betray the gods, betray us?!"

The old knight frowned. "Is that what you truly think? Listen, I don’t know how your educators have deceived you…"

"She didn’t deceive me! Saro’s servants never lie!" Samuel argued fiercely.

"Then you should know, four hundred years ago, the gods were driven away, by us!" Alexander said in a low voice, "If you believe that our ancestors fought side by side in the Orc war, you should understand: if those priests from four hundred years ago hadn’t learned the ‘blasphemous’ methods, how could they continue to use improved divine spells in the war two hundred years ago, fighting alone for humanity after the gods left?"

Samuel stood like a pillar, his head a mess, feeling his blood run cold. The old knight shook his head again, seeming to have no patience for further conversation.

"I think you’re here for more than just a ‘reunion’." Alexander said, "Whether it’s for Saro or something else, at least here, we can reach some agreements on certain matters."

The old knight stared straight at Samuel and said, slowly and deliberately, "Talk to me about those Hybrids."