https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-238-The-Darkest-Hour-of-the-Northern-Continent/12584277/
https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-240-Lanchi-is-the-Principal-of-the-Inferno-Corridor-Academy/12584280/
Chapter 239: The Youth with the Gaze of a Saint
Chapter 239: The Youth with the Gaze of a Saint
The morning sun shone obliquely on the sea, casting a silvery halo upon the waters. With each swell and trough of the waves, the halo shimmered, as if the sea were breathing.
Despite the warmth of the sun, the sea breeze brought a chill that couldn't be shaken.
On the second floor of a sizable merchant vessel bound for the city of Lilom, the wooden furnishings and decor exuded a cozy sophistication. Seated at a dining table, Viscount Francis faced a velvet tablecloth and a neatly arranged set of silver cutlery.
The middle-aged man wore a deep gray suit, embroidered with the family crest in golden thread. Despite a hint of fatigue in his eyes, his fastidious attire retained an air of dignity and elegance, and his slender fingers bore traces of a swordsman's past.
He gently speared a piece of smoked salmon and brought it to his mouth, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed, though not due to any fault of the cook's skill.
"Ah, the capital will be troublesome this year, I'm afraid." He sighed inwardly, though he did not voice his thoughts.
The Protoss Empire boasted seventeen provinces.
Lilom, situated in the already impoverished southwestern province, was about as remote as it got. Were it not for its coastal location, it might as well have been a fortress city nestled deep within the forests.
Currently, the Protoss Empire was locked in a highly volatile standoff with the Kingdom of Eisetai and its allies to the northwest. A full-scale war on the northern continent seemed imminent, awaiting only a spark to ignite the conflagration of the century.
Although the flames of war were unlikely to reach this far-flung southern city, the outbreak of hostilities would nonetheless bring with it a host of challenges—conscription, taxation, and other burdens that a small, remote territory like theirs might struggle to bear.
Adding to the empire's folly was its decision to offer amnesty to the Resurrection Church.
To those in power in the capital, this move might seem like a clever strategy to keep a tiger by their side, and it had indeed struck fear into the hearts of the northern kingdoms. But to the common folk, it was nothing short of a calamity.
Even in this border town, the presence of Resurrectionists on the streets struck fear into the hearts of the people.
A knock on the door interrupted Viscount Francis' musings.
"Are there any plans for this morning?" he asked as a youth dressed in the garb of a commander strolled into the room. He was the viscount's secretary and bodyguard.
"My lord, the guest has awakened," the secretary reported in a steady tone.
Viscount Francis slowly swallowed the food in his mouth and nodded. "Very well. Prepare some tea and fruit to be sent to his cabin. I shall pay him a visit shortly."
It was best to provide someone who had just survived a maritime disaster and might have gone a long time without food with some fruit, vegetables, and hydration before a full meal.
Of late, magical storms had been raging in the seas, causing the empire's passenger ships and merchant vessels to halt their southern routes.
The closer one ventured toward the middle waters between the northern and southern continents, the more frequent the accidents became.
According to the empire's investigation reports, disaster scholars attributed this phenomenon to a deadly battle between two terrifying beings in the southern seas. The unrestrained collision of their magical powers had further exacerbated the spread of natural disaster-level magical waves.
"Yes, my lord," the secretary replied with a slight bow before exiting the dining room.
It wasn't long before Viscount Francis finished his breakfast. He set down his cutlery, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, adjusted his tie, and rose from his seat, leaning on his cane.
What was meant to be a routine trip to the eastern port city to visit an old friend and conduct some business had now taken an unexpected turn.
The night before, a tempest had ravaged the sea, sending towering waves that seemed intent on swallowing their merchant vessel. But for those accustomed to the ways of the sea, this was hardly an unusual occurrence.
Suddenly, a loud "thud" pierced the air, cutting through the night and reaching the ears of the crew members gathered at the ship's railing.
With their wealth of experience, the seasoned crew could determine the nature of the collision from that faint sound alone—wood.
Leaning over the side, they spotted what appeared to be a piece of driftwood, but what caught their attention was the figure attached to it.
A youth, seemingly in his late teens, seemed to be the darling of fate, securely held by a floating log as he drifted with the current, coming to a fortunate stop alongside their merchant vessel.
What was even more reassuring was that the collision hadn't seemed to cause him any harm; it was as if someone had magically transported him to the ship's side.
Without hesitation, the crew braved the wind and waves to rescue the young man.
Viscount Francis also acted swiftly, instructing the ship's doctor to tend to the injured youth and ensure he received the best care possible.
The young man's brown hair was silky smooth, and his attire was unique, suggesting he was a visitor from a distant foreign land.
Normally, they wouldn't have rescued someone of unknown origin.
In these uncertain times, everyone in the Protoss Empire was on edge, and one wrong move could brand you as a "heretic" or a "defeatist."
But Viscount Francis was a firm believer in the guidance of the Goddess of Fate, and he trusted in the principle of karma. He wouldn't harm this young man until he knew for sure who he was.
"Sigh, if things don't improve in the next two years, I'll take Zestira to the Southern Continent. At least there, they aren't absurd enough to label the Church of the Goddess of Fate as a heretical cult."
Viscount Francis walked to the window, gazing out at the turbulent sea and the unpredictable weather, and heaved a sigh.
His daughter, Zestira, had endured prejudice and discrimination within the Protoss Empire her whole life due to her demonic traits. If things became unbearable, he would give up their noble status and start anew on the Southern Continent.
While finding a kingdom that treated demons fairly was unlikely on that continent, at least they wouldn't face a death sentence for attempting to conceal their racial features, as was the case in the Protoss Empire.
Viscount Francis made his way to the door, pulled open the heavy cabin door, and stepped out into the corridor, which was adorned with red carpets and hanging lamps burning whale oil, providing a warm glow that made one feel at home even on the high seas.
His gait was steady, but his mind was abuzz with thoughts.
Finally, he arrived at the guest room and saw his secretary waiting outside. After a brief exchange and a nod, Viscount Francis knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Hearing the gentle reply from within, Viscount Francis pushed open the door and entered.
The room was simply decorated yet fully furnished, and the scent of seawater and damp wood hung in the air.
There, he saw a youth with brown hair sitting on the bed. The young man had captivating emerald green eyes, and his left eye was covered with a gauze patch. Bandages peeked out from under the sleeves of his black suit, running from his wrists to his elbows, and from his collar as well.
The youth's magical power seemed to be only at the first tier.
And he didn't appear to be a battle-hardened warrior, as his skin was delicate and unblemished.
Only someone with an exceptionally strong life force could have survived such grievous injuries.
According to the secretary, the youth had initially seemed unable to communicate, but he carried a translation magic tool card, which allowed them to converse normally soon after.
Even before they began their conversation, Viscount Francis felt a sense of reassurance as he looked into the young man's eyes for the first time.
For in those eyes, he saw a natural empathy and concern for others, without a hint of self-interest.
They were the eyes of a saint.
(End of Chapter)
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