Chapter 332
Our Discord Server: https://discord.gg/PazjBDkTmW
Chapter 332: “Evil Spirit”
Annottales.
The Ninth City District.
In the heart of the district, a busy street usually teemed with countless vehicles and bustling crowds. People flowed in and out constantly.
But today, something unusual happened. A thick fog suddenly descended from the sky, causing the number of people on the streets to dwindle by half.
However, the underground tavern in the area remained unaffected. Its business was still thriving.
Guests filled the tavern, some sitting, others reclining in various chairs. They drank, chatted, and their faces were flushed with a rosy glow. The atmosphere inside was in stark contrast to the eerie stillness outside.
At a corner table, Chris, the captain of the Knights of the Divine Blade, sat quietly.
Often, Chris would disguise himself as an ordinary person and come to this tavern, drinking copious amounts of liquor by himself.
Now, he held a large cup filled with crimson liquid, burning with golden flames. This was the “Flame of Spirits,” the strongest alcohol served at the tavern.
It was a special drink, so intense that ordinary people couldn’t handle it. Only extraordinary beings and special races could partake in it. Selling it to ordinary people would be a violation of divine law.
The tavern’s patrons knew this; it was common knowledge that there were many such exclusive foods, drinks, and medicines meant only for the extraordinary.
The “Flame of Spirits” was brewed from the blood of red dragons and fire crystals. If an ordinary person were to drink it, they would suffer instant and severe damage to their stomachs.
But for Chris, it felt somewhat dull.
The strongest drink he had ever experienced was during his time with the Air Alliance. While working with the Imperial Guards, they had prepared a cup of “Deadly Potion” for him—a concoction so potent that even a single drop could kill an ordinary person.
That had been his first true intoxication.
It was only when Chris arrived in Apocalypse that he finally felt true drunkenness for the first time.
“Maybe being too strong isn’t a good thing after all,” he muttered to himself, his thoughts drifting.
Since the major crisis, Chris had been constantly warned by his overwhelming INT, a persistent voice of inspiration in his mind.
For ten days after the crisis, he had not let his guard down.
Just yesterday, the tensions between Belan World and Noy Military had finally flared into a small-scale war. The discovery of ancient relics, relics of advanced civilizations, had enticed many factions to join the fray, including the Dark Night Saints.
Now, something strange had occurred in Annottales.
A sudden white mist had appeared, giving the whole city a peculiar feeling.
As Chris sipped his drink, his mind began to sharpen. Something big was about to happen.
“Can I protect this city by myself?”
Once, Chris had possessed great strength. But now, a significant gap existed between him and the new threats in Apocalypse.
Back then, he had only been an ordinary captain of the knight brigade, stationed in this city. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would someday lead the Divine Blade knights.
He had often thought about changing his fate.
If he weren’t the one affected, but someone else—what would his life be like?
Suddenly, a warning from his INT pulled Chris from his thoughts.
A powerful presence was approaching.
Who was it?
In the lively tavern, where patrons drank and conversed, a loud crash interrupted the chatter.
A figure, over two meters tall, clad entirely in white armor, stepped through the door.
The patrons near the entrance couldn’t help but stare in awe at the majestic white armor, exuding a strange power.
The figure was entirely concealed within the armor, and not even their eyes were visible. How could they see?
At the sight of the figure, Chris, who had been lost in thought, froze. His drink remained untouched.
It was him…
A wave of astonishment crossed Chris’s face.
“Hello, dear guest,” the tavern maid greeted, forcing a polite smile.
“I’m looking for someone.”
The voice of an elderly man came from the armored figure. He waved his hand, dismissing the maid, scanned the tavern, and walked straight toward Chris.
The old man in the white armor sat beside Chris without a word.
The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Chris spoke up.
“I never imagined…” Chris took a sip of the fiery liquor. “After all these years, I never thought I would see you again.”
“My teacher and benefactor, Mr. Gold.”
The armored old man remained silent for a beat, as if muttering to himself. “Even the withered grass wandering on the earth shall find its way back to its roots one day.”
“I’m glad to see you again, Chris.”
For these two, the surroundings meant nothing. They simply sat together in a shared atmosphere so powerful that others dared not even look.
Chris continued, “Decades ago, it was you and I who saved my homeland… You took on the curse of the Outer God, endured unbearable pain, and passed on the leadership of the Divine Blade knights to me. After that, you disappeared without a trace.”
He paused, then added, “Honestly, I always thought you were dead.”
The old man laughed heartily.
“Hahaha! Chris, you still can’t hide your thoughts, can you? You’re as direct as ever!”
His words were bold, tinged with deep experience.
“I’m sure the Dark Light Church saints haven’t been kind to you all these years. You’ve always been too honest and quiet. But that’s why the Savior granted my final request, appointing you, an outsider, as the leader of the Divine Blade.”
Chris listened attentively but remained calm and silent.
The old man went on, “In the past, I was cursed by the power of the ‘Black Abyss Deep Sea.’ The unjustly dead from that city haunted me, tormenting me for years. I’ve been searching for a way to achieve true death.”
“I should have died,” he said quietly, a tone of peaceful resignation in his voice.
“But then, I found a relic from a great civilization—this suit of armor. It helped me escape the curse.”
Chris’s expression grew serious, his voice now carrying a deep, dreadful aura. “Now that you’re back in Annottales, what brings you here?”
The old man in the armor sighed, shaking his head slowly. “Chris, perhaps you shouldn’t be so wary of your benefactor.”
Chris’s face hardened. “I’m grateful, but there’s something even more important than this favor.”
The old man’s voice softened. “Is it Him?”
Chris shook his head, his voice filled with resolve. “No, it’s them.”
The old man fell silent for a long moment. Finally, he stood and walked out of the tavern.
“We won’t be enemies, Chris.”
The Dead Silence cult’s hidden stronghold lay deep within the city’s slums. The area was enveloped in an eerie silence, making it invisible to outsiders.
Inside, a massive chessboard lay before Silence, revealing the entire city’s situation in minute detail.
Silence was surrounded by a dozen white-robed figures, while the higher-ranked disciples and priests were absent.
A seasoned old man in full armor entered the stronghold. Once the leader of the Knights of the Divine Blade, now serving as the High Priest of Dead Silence, he stood before Silence.
“Evil Spirit,” he said solemnly, approaching the leader.
“Babel Tower took action,” the old man continued. “Many of our disciples were killed, and some of our contingency plans were destroyed. The Ritual of Tranquility has strict requirements, and now, Babel Tower’s interference threatens everything.”
He paused, then asked, “Should I defeat them?”
Silence, as usual, remained silent.
The Ritual of Silence—a contract that enhanced one’s power, requiring only a drop of blood and three incantations to perform. To maintain it, the caster must remain silent at all times.
But Silence had taken it further.
Not only had she never spoken, but she also never seemed to wish to communicate with others.
The Evil Spirit noticed a piece of paper materialize in her hand.
He glanced at it quickly.
It outlined the next steps in the plan.
“I understand.”
Silence continued to refuse communication, a behavior the Evil Spirit had long since grown accustomed to.
If not for her intervention, they would never have escaped their torment.
To the Evil Spirit, Silence was not only a source of gratitude but also deep admiration.
In this world, no living person had come so close to experiencing “eternal peace of mind.”
During the decades of suffering, he had learned one thing.
“Peace of mind” was far more valuable than “happiness.”
Most people were consumed by desires, driven by false notions of justice, and burdened by the pursuit of fleeting happiness, wealth, and fame.
In the end, all of it turned out to be in vain.
Desires—whether for more, for protection, or for revenge—left only anxiety and fear.
Only He could sever the roots of desire.
The Ritual of Tranquility would grant the people of this city eternal peace—no more pain, no more suffering, no more longing.
It was, without a doubt, an act of great love.
