After the holy sword is broken

"Nothing to see."

Alger pushed open the door of the residence, and the door hinge made a low and hoarse "squeak" sound.

The layout inside is very simple, with tables and chairs against the wall, and a bed next to the window on the other side. The quilts are neatly folded, and a low cabinet is placed beside the bed.

There are only a few things on the low cabinet, candlesticks, the holy emblem of the main god, and a glass bottle with a small bunch of dried white bellflowers closed in the glass bottle.

Putting dried bluebells on the bedside doesn't look like this warrior's style.

The corner of Burgess's mouth lifted into a smile, and he was about to ask him, but he saw that the other party's eyes also fell on the bluebells, and there was deep sorrow in his silver-gray eyes.

Burgess froze in place.

On the contrary, Alger put away his emotions quickly, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"You..." Burgess uttered a syllable and shook his head again: "I just didn't expect that the main god you believe in would be the Lord of Order and Judgment, which is rare among warriors."

The holy emblem placed on the low bedside cabinet belongs to the god of order and judgment.

Alger chuckled lightly: "Is it weird?"

"No, it's just a little accident."

Burgess also didn't come out, found a chair at random and sat down.

"Tomorrow is the festival of worship. According to the calendar and customs, no construction can be started. The sword casting must be stopped for one day."

Alger nodded, paused, and asked again: "Then, is there anything related that we can do in advance?"

He counted items one by one: "Prepare materials, deconstruct inscriptions and magic circles, calibrate..."

"Need not."

Burgess lifted a glass from the table and poured a glass of water from the kettle.

"Whether the holy sword can be cast or not depends on the will of the gods. It's useless for you to rush."

White and slender fingers lifted the water glass, thin lips were printed on the mouth of the glass, the chin was slightly raised, and the fragile Adam's apple was exposed to the air, rolling gently.

The lips were stained with water, and after wetting, they became more bright red, and the fine drops of water reflected the light of the stars.

There was no sunlight outside the window, and there were no candles lit in the room, so it looked a little dim. "The Favor of the Moon God" exuded a faint light, and Burgess's blue eyes met the skylight from the window, reflecting the faint brightness.

It looks like an elf with its own shimmer, but he is more handsome than an elf. All the beautiful words chanted by bards can be put on him, which is worthy of the name, and even more so.

"Alger, what are you looking at?" The thin lips moved slightly, waking up the person who was still intoxicated.

Alger shook his head and sat down opposite him: "Sorry, I offended."

"Actually, I'm quite happy." Burgess had a smile in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth slightly curled up.

"Your gaze can stop on me."

"You are a very dazzling person." Alger said truthfully.

Always able to take away the whole mind of others.

Burgess sneered.

"In your heart, I'm not as good as the holy sword—even if he hasn't even come out yet."

He seemed to remember something: "I forgot to remind you that all the processes of casting the holy sword cannot be completed in Dock Town alone."

Alger frowned, not quite understanding: "Can you explain in detail?"

"At least I have to go back to the Dwarf Empire. Back then, the Luge clan devoted all their efforts to forging the first generation of holy swords. Even if the skill inheritance has not been broken down, the map is complete and correct, and even the forging techniques and equipment have been innovated, it is not one or two. Individuals can copy it at will."

He took another sip of the clear water in the cup, frowned his pretty eyebrows slightly, and said in disgust, "It's neither tea nor alcohol, how did you drink such a bland thing?"

"……got used to."

The religious order has water purification spells, and there is no need to use boiling or alcohol disinfection methods to obtain drinking water. Although the skill that survives in the secular world is brewing, but there are too many magicians in the members, and there are very few opportunities for alcohol to appear.

"When?" Back to the Dwarf Empire.

Burgess put down his water glass: "Depending on the progress, there may be a trip to the Royal City."

Alger's eyes flickered, and he nodded: "Okay."

Burgess looked at him probingly, and when Alger looked back, he looked away as if nothing had happened.

"do you live alone?"

The living rooms in Poetry of Truth are all built together. Except for a few members who moved out alone and members who have been away for a long time, other people live in this area. It is roughly estimated that there are more than a hundred people, and it is rare to live in one room alone. .

"Before I was six years old, I lived with my adoptive mother. I lived here after I was six years old. At first, I shared a room with Dana. Later, he inherited the Mage Tower. I am the only one here."

"Sleeping together?"

There was only one bed in the room.

"No, they are separated, it's just that the other bed has been moved out. But occasionally they will be squeezed together, especially when there are demonology or necromancy theory classes on that day."

Alger said, smiling, with a look of nostalgia on his face.

Burgess raised his eyebrows: "Are you afraid of these?"

"After personally practicing demon hunting, I'm not so afraid." He paused, then smiled: "Actually, I shouldn't be afraid at all, but the one who gave the lecture is really good at creating an atmosphere, and he is usually a very friendly brother. image..."

He seemed to be about to mention someone's name, he just opened his mouth, then quickly closed his mouth, his eyes unconsciously looked at the bluebells on the low bedside table.

Burgess looked at him: "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Alger curled his lips, still smiling gently, and his silver-gray eyes were calm: "Tomorrow is the festival of worship, and your apprentices are looking forward to the bonfire for the sacrifice. If you are not busy, you can Take him to see."

"understood."

Burgess replied lightly, stood up, straightened his clothes, looked around for the last time, lifted his chin a little arrogantly, and came to a conclusion:

"Your room is nothing to see."

All trade, transport, manufacture, and farming ceased on the day of the Feast of Prayer.But the residents were not idle because of this. According to the customs of the festival, they were busy from the early morning.

Alger woke up earlier than usual, washed up as usual, went out, and met the witch Lena on the way to the prayer room.

The witch was wearing a hood today, and she didn't hum like she used to. When she met Alger, she just silently handed him a cloth bag with calming herbs in it.

Alger took the bag and said, "Happy prayer festival."

The fabric used in this cloth bag is a bit rough, but the stitches are very fine, and it exudes a subtle fragrance of herbs.

"Happy Prayer Day." The witch's voice was a little low.

Alger rubbed her head through the hood, the two hugged lightly, and then left.

The witch will continue to distribute herbal packages, and Alger will go to morning prayer.

The church has been arranged in accordance with the tradition of the Prayer Festival. In order to allow the undead to enter here, the outermost large barrier has been closed, and a small barrier has been used to protect individual buildings.

Today's breakfast is also very simple, sliced ​​ham is replaced by fresh fruit, milk is replaced by water and low-alcohol ale, oatmeal is washed with sugar water, and there is no trace of cheese on the table.

Alger randomly took two slices of rye bread, ate them with a few mouthfuls of water, and ended his breakfast carelessly.

Feast of Prayer was never a festival for celebration.

The dead cross to the other side of tranquility, and are separated from the living forever. This is a day of parting.

After today, Philo is really gone.

In the sense of life, in the sense of soul, in the sense of society.

Forever, gone.

Sitting down on the steps in front of the empty arena, Alger pulled out the dagger that Fei Luo had sent him.

This is a straight dagger. It has not been used since I got it. The handle of the knife is very comfortable to hold, and the length is also in line with his usage habits.There was a cold light on the blade, and the body of the dagger was filled with the power from the inscription.

His hand-to-hand combat was taught by Filo himself.

At the age of six, he was able to rely on his brute strength to tie with his adoptive mother's lion, but he didn't know how to make these strengths play a greater role.

【Alger, relax and look at me. 】

Fei Luo's voice rang in his ears, and he looked up, as if he really saw the young Fei Luo smiling in front of him, slowing down, demonstrating martial arts to him.

The eye sockets suddenly became sore and hot, the lips were slightly numb, and there seemed to be a hard object in the throat, making it impossible to swallow.The heart seemed to be tightly grasped by an invisible hand, and the muscles all over the body showed a sense of weakness.

He took a deep breath and looked to the sky.

The annual prayer festival is cloudy, and today is no exception.

Thick clouds are pressing on the top of the head, which always makes people feel gloomy. The wind blowing from the inland sea carries strong salty water vapor, which is so sticky that it is difficult to breathe.

After distributing the herbs, the little witch sat beside him with an empty basket.

The two were silent.

Pine firewood has been piled up in the empty field ahead, where the bonfire will be lit.

"Are you busy recently?" The witch suddenly asked.

"Fortunately."

"In the past two days, I haven't been able to see you in the church."

"I used to go out often."

"No news from Dana yet."

"May he be well."

"I hope he doesn't go well." The little witch turned her head and looked into his eyes seriously: "Fero's wife, our ninth executor, it's best that she can get what she wants."

The little witch looks very cute and sweet, with a bit of baby fat on her round face, and her soft and waxy appearance makes people want to pinch her.But in her words and deeds, there is always a rebellion that is completely different from her appearance.

"Lena." Alger reached out, took off the hood for her, and stroked her curly brown hair: "Once some wishes come true, they will be disasters instead. Don't forget the lessons learned from the Mage Council in the dark age."

"The dynasty that destroyed the mage council was also destroyed by the mage."

Alger paused: "Lena, this is not a good thing."

The little witch didn't pay attention to his words, but continued to vent: "His Majesty the High Priest said that he would seek justice. But he didn't actually do it."

"That's not something we can discuss."

"Why not?"

Argel met the witch's gaze and fell silent.

He has nothing to say.

He could say that the chief priests were the leaders chosen for them by the gods and could not be questioned.

He could say that the church is in a difficult situation at this time and can't ask for anything more, and the core teachers have not given up on advocacy.

He can say that the overall situation is the most important thing. The front line of the gate of hell and the duel with the evil forces should be the most important thing for them to pay attention to.

But these principles, the executor can understand, and the witches who belong to the same order can naturally understand, there is no need to preach.

The witch's mind was hard to appease, and his mind was not necessarily so broad-minded.

There was silence between the two of them again.

When it was getting brighter, the witch stood up.

"It's time for me to meditate."

Alger nodded and stood up: "It's time for me to go to the long prayer."

"Let's talk next time."

"Talk to you next time."