The outer part of the Norman capital had one of the widest streets of any northern city, and it was so wide that it allowed ten horses and their riders to gallop side by side, but even so, it was occupied by the people who came to watch and participate in the procession, and surrounded by them, the ivory and rosestone statues of the god Flo moved slowly, and the priests of Flo took twice as much effort to take each step, but they did not complain about it— Just as the spirits of the other world saw in Sharp Jaw Harbor, the caravans carrying the idols were also piled up like hailstones, and because the out-of-town residents of the Norman capital were almost all nobles and wealthy merchants, most of the coins were gold coins, and some precious jewelry, most of which came from prostitutes and lovers, who scrambled to jump on the wheels to kiss and touch the private parts of the idols, praying that they would be favored for a long time.

"It's been a long time since Norman has been so lively," said the eldest princess, who sat by the window, looking down at the view below, and lazily rocked her peacock feather fan, the sapphires and stones on which shone like ripples in the sunlight.

"The old king is dead," said her son, Dylan Donclay, as if not noticing that Princess Diane had lost sight of the recent triumphal rites: "Long live the new king." ”

"That's right," said Princess Diane softly behind her feather fan, "that's what they need—it's not a good idea to miss a piece of rotten flesh in the dirt for a long time—Your Majesty is clever, ah, maybe it's Fouquet who should be credited, even if he doesn't intervene, at least, the new idol, and the priest Flo around the idol, those fresh and beautiful faces." It's supposed to be carefully selected from his cargo, you know that?"

"I've been busy assembling my team these days," Dylan said, "to catch that audacious sinner, that madman who killed the king." ”

This time, the eldest princess Diane was finally willing to give her son a straight look: "Don't pretend in front of me, Dylan, in my memory, you were a bare-bottomed baby not long ago, and I remember one time you insisted on hiding it in my skirt, and another time you hid sugar in your pillow, and you summoned a bed of ants. Besides, you still got into a fight with the puppy and ended up losing to a face full of tooth marks...... I am your mother, not your subordinate or Fouquet. ”

Dylan looked helpless, "It's nothing, Mom." He said intimately, "It's just that we don't want you to be upset about this - Your Majesty and I want to set up a group of mages." ”

"I've heard of it," said Princess Diane, "then that bastard is just a cover." Who are you trying to hide—the elves?"

"Castle Thunder is the gateway of humanity," said Dylan, "The Normans of the Highlands are the territory of humanity. ”

"You ...... I want to replace the elves with a group of mages," Princess Diane pondered, "Also, the Highland Normans have a covenant with the Silvercrown Forest......"

"It's been a long time later. Dylan interrupted, "It's not something that can be done in a decade or two. ”

"Indeed," said Princess Diane. Then she put the topic deep into her heart: "...... "Where's where you're going to go after that," she said, "maybe you should go with the other young people and throw in a gold coin or two to see if there's anyone you like." Dylan, you're an adult, and even if you're not going to get married to someone right away, you should have a few lovers......"

Dylan took a step back.

"It occurred to me that my mentor had another task for me to do, and I had to go right away, otherwise the mentor would be very upset, he wasn't going to stay in Norman for long, and I had a lot of questions I wanted him to know, sorry my mother, I think I had to go. ”

"Fuquet thinks so too!" said Princess Diane, who shouted at the open door without any manner, "I will discuss this matter with him!"

The young mage fled his mother's room with a rather rare urgency in him. It wasn't until he was out of the shadows of that ornate palace that he was able to let out a long breath, Princess Diane was one of the few people on the continent that Dylan Donclay didn't want to hurt, and she was extremely high in the rankings. He didn't want her to be sad at all, but his wife or lover wasn't among the things he needed to get done now.

He snapped his fingers and performed a trick to make himself less noticeable - and then he rode to his mentor's tower, which Dylan was nominally the owner, but in reality, Dylan's mentor was its true user, the tower of the red-robed Austal.

The Mage's Tower stood on the edge of the outer city, and it wasn't a very noisy place, but some prostitutes dressed as Flo were frolicking with a few oblivious prodigal children about a few hundred feet from the tower, perhaps they felt that the distance between the two was far enough, but Dylan didn't think so, he hid his hands in his wide sleeves, chanted a spell, and a group of rats suddenly jumped out from under the bushes and the turf, and frantically tore at everyone, and the men immediately fled crying out with bloody wounds.

There is an almost conventional saying that the location of the shadow cast by the mage tower is the territory of the tower's owner, and it is also the place where he can throw spells to drive away or kill intruders at will, but others say that standing on the top of the mage tower, where the mage's sight can be seen, Dylan's mentor Ostahl, and the other prudent red robes certainly belong to the latter category. But Ostar rarely wields his power, he always comes and goes in a hurry, and when he is done with his own business, he will use spells to quietly leave.

When Dylan walked into the tower about a hundred feet around, the seemingly ordinary brambles and ground climbing vines trembled imperceptibly, their tentacles slightly raised, like poisonous snakes spitting out cores and tasting the smell of the air, carefully and repeatedly confirming the identity of the visitor— Dylan's breath was familiar, and he was allowed to enter, and they drooped their branches, meekly watching him as he came to the door of the mage's tower, which was as tall as a man above the ground, and made gestures to cast spells to float himself, so that he could face the door made of black iron and filled with Mithril runes, and he cast the magic mark of the mentor, and a moment later, the door opened, allowing Dylan to enter, and there were four metal golems at the bottom of the tower. When their nominal owners walked among them, they opened their closed eyes and raised their weapons aloft.

Unfazed, Dylan stretched out his hands and chanted aloud a very long and awkward incantation (as secretive as his mentor's name) that contained hundreds of syllables, and if one of them was wrong, the golems with beautiful alexandrite eyes would treat the future as an invading enemy— The red-robed Austal disciples certainly wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake, and the golem got the right spells, one of which opened the door to the spiral staircase for Dylan, which never seemed to be in the same position in Dylan's memory.

A resentful spirit leads the way for Dylan. A flickering fire of negative energy ignited in its body, illuminating the steps beneath Dylan's feet, one, at most two, the others hidden in a thick fog of leaden black. The Wraith led Dylan to a silver door that glowed softly, and Dylan gently pushed it open, revealing the room inside that his mentor liked and valued the most, an open room with rows of bookshelves on one wall. The other wall was also a shelf, with hundreds of crystals and glass jars, and the third wall was a copying table with a steel ruler on both sides, a scroll, and a wand stand, just like any other spellcaster, but different from a normal mage. In the center of the room is a square altar carved out of a single block of obsidian, which is instantly recognizable as an altar rather than a table, because it is surrounded by blood troughs, the funnel of which is carved into the devil's wide open mouth. The blood of the sacrifice flowed from the mouth and fell into the dragon's claw cup, which rolled up from the four corners of the altar—the cup was blood chalcedony, and the chalcedony was dark gray-green. In between, the brilliant crimson scarlet dots are hard to say whether they were pre-existing or soaked in blood.

"It's a bit noisy. The red-robed warlock said that he carried a cup, not blood chalcedony but malachite—which contained the hearts of several unborn babies, the size of peanuts, crowded together and beaten alive and healthy under the impetus of the magic potion, as if they were still in the warm body of their master, and their owner was still sleeping peacefully in their mother's belly.

"I'll go and order them to disperse. Dylan said respectfully.

"No," said the red-robed warlock, "it's the first day of the Frow Festival, after all, and I'm not going to stay in Norman too long—come and help me clean my heart." ”

Dylan whispered a mantra to make sure his hands were clean, and his long sleeves were pulled up and pinned by the invisible servant, and he looked at the baby's heart on the plate, "Is it to extract fiber?" He took out small, elongated, and slender, tip as flexible as a fish's bone or as hard as a bird's beak, and a crochet needle, a pencil knife, scissors, and other necessary tools from a silver platter prepared beside him.

"Half of the fibre is extracted, and half is made of bait. The red-robed warlock said.

"Yes, Mentor. Dylan said, and immediately put all his attention into the task at hand—whether it was extracting fibers (weaving magical fabrics) or making bait (to lure bad demons and imps), the blood vessels and nerves buried deep in the heart needed to be removed, and clotted blood clots were not allowed, and of course, the smaller the heart, the more difficult the job, especially the magic potions that preserved their vitality, and they were still smooth and powerful to the touch, and even jumped away from the hands of unskilled apprentices.

"Is Baldwin still in your sight?" Dylan's mentor asked, returning to the bookshelf and opening a large book bound in gems and gold (he cast a spell to make it float), Dylan cautiously looked away, all the spellbooks on the shelf were magical, and anyone who tried to peek into the secrets without permission would lose their eyes and even their lives, as early as ten years ago, Dylan had witnessed a delusional orc servant burned alive by the flames that erupted from the book.

Although Dylan was eager to get his hands on one of them, his mentor was a red-robed, a warlock who cast spells with his bloodline, but Dylan knew that he had more knowledge than any mage he had ever seen, which was why, as a warlock, he was still able to teach Dylan and Demont of the White Tower to become mages.

"The king's knights and armies followed them. ”

The red-robed warlock scoffed, "As far as I know, that lowly human has a high prestige among the Norman army, and many people think that he has been wronged, even if his gods have abandoned him from the door—do you think that many people think so, do you think they will sincerely fulfill the task given to them by the new king?"

"This is what a new king should do," Dylan pinched a small heart with his dexterous fingers, pulled the heart with the large crochet, pulled out the veins with the small crochet, and peeled them off with a pen knife, "If he is careless about this, some people will think that he has something to do with the old king's death, or that he will at least be happy to see it—and me and the mages anyway." ”

"Can you be sure of the information you're getting?"

"They didn't enter the city," Dylan said, "as soon as they entered the city, or if a villager came to tell the lord......"

"It's too slow," Ostar said, pressing down on the head of his pet, the two-headed viper Animos, "and it will burn your eyes," he warns the little devil who wants to get a glimpse of the book, not that he doesn't want it to learn its due lesson, but that there are still many things to do, like Dylan, "I'll help you find them," he said, "and it's better to know about this as soon as possible." ”

"Thank you very much, my mentor. Dylan said.

"Because I have more important things for you to do. Ostahl said softly, closing the big book and letting it fall back into its original position: "Very important – I'm sure you'll do well." He walked over to the obsidian altar and admired the small patches of bright red muscles that were still beating faintly, "You can always do well, Dylan, my disciple," he raised his hand and patted Dylan lightly on the back, "It's a pity that you only bleed mortal blood, my child, otherwise, I would love to see how you became a noble and powerful warlock—just like me." (To be continued......)

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