[The Hidden One] Episodes 10-12 Author: Blood Coral

【The Hidden Hermit】
Author: Blood Coral
Publisher: Hetu Culture

Chapter 1 ◆ Disruption

Under the cover of night, the sea was unusually calm.

Fragments of moonlight scattered across its surface.

The only sound was the lapping of waves against the shore, a sound both gentle and chaotic, for this was a rocky beach, littered with reefs.

A lone boat lay moored on the shore, nestled among the rocks—a fishing boat.

This beach was over seventy kilometers from Asaks, and because of the numerous reefs, experienced sailors would venture out to sea, avoiding this area as much as possible. Now, at night, even if a ship passed by, it would be impossible to see the fishing boat moored on the shore.

A man stood on the bow, his face covered in a full beard, wearing a sailor's turban, shirtless, his turban pulled high. He occasionally imitated the calls of seagulls, calling towards the shore.

There were two other people on board, one sitting at the stern, the other climbing onto the mast, gazing around.

The man standing at the bow was the middle-aged man who sold his wares in the Arxan market.

As the moon rose higher and higher, nearing its zenith, the cries of seagulls echoed in the distance.

"Quick, he's here! Row that way!"

the middle-aged man commanded the two men behind him.

Two loud splashes followed as two large oars were placed into the water. These oars were large, shaped like palm-leaf fans; it would take at least six ordinary people to row them.

The people on this boat were no ordinary people; they were Templar Knights, which allowed each of them to wield an oar. However, they dared not go too fast; the area was riddled with reefs, and a collision could be disastrous. The middle-aged man also stood at the bow, holding a long wooden pole, occasionally poking it into the sea to check for hidden reefs. They moved slowly in the dark for about two hundred meters before finally spotting a small, swaying figure on the shore. "You can come any closer," 　　the middle-aged man called out to the figure.

"The water's shallow near the shore; my boat can't get close." 　　The figure on the beach was none other than Nice. He had only been notified around noon, catching him completely off guard. 　　Although he had already arranged a reason to leave Asaks, such a sudden departure was bound to arouse suspicion. 　　Nice's dislike for the Knights Templar was growing. 　　Looking at the dilapidated fishing boat floating on the sea and smelling the pungent fishy odor, he couldn't help but frown. 　　"You're going to take me to the meeting place in this wrecked boat?" 　　Nice was genuinely dissatisfied. The boat's dilapidated state was one thing, but the fishy smell that clung to it was difficult to wash off, increasing the possibility of him being exposed upon his return. 　　To Nice's surprise, the middle-aged man on the opposite boat became angry. 　　"What else do you want?" 　　He had been fishing in the small port of Asaks for a month to maintain contact with Nice, and now he always had an indelible fishy smell on him. 　　"I prepared my own boat." 　　Nice didn't argue; he felt there was no point in talking to this kind of person. 　　He secretly rejoiced that he had come prepared. 　　A small boat was dragged out from behind a large rock, and Nice pushed it into the sea. 　　In the moonlight, it was barely visible that the boat was shaped like a pod, completely sealed up, with several round portholes on the surface and a mast standing in the center. 　　If Anna, Elena, or the old knight were here, they would surely recognize it as an enlarged version of a sailboat. 　　Nice tossed a rope to the middle-aged man: "Your boat will tow me." 　　The man rolled his eyes; he wanted to curse, but after a moment's thought, he took the rope and tied it to the stern. 　　Nice jumped aboard, opened the hatch, and climbed into the boat. 　　The hatch was a single piece of oak wood, padded with leather around the edges, and the joint was L-shaped; once closed, not a drop of water could seep in. 　　The small boat wasn't spacious, just enough for him to recline. Behind his seat was an empty compartment where he kept everything he'd prepared for the trip, most importantly a water sac with a capacity of one and a half liters. 　　One and a half liters wasn't a large amount, but it was a magical device, inscribed with a water-making magic circle; once the water was used up, it could be replenished. 　　Besides fresh water, there was some food, a suit of heavy armor, and a crossbow. 　　He closed the top cover from the inside, tightened the bolts, and the leather padding around the top completely sealed off the interior. After taking a dozen deep breaths, Niss felt a little stuffy, proving the seal was very tight. 　　Niss removed a bowl-shaped visor from beside the seat and put it on his face. The visor was connected to a leather tube with a leather piston at the top. Once the small boat was completely sealed, he would have to breathe through this. 　　The other end of the tube connected to the mast, which was hollow, designed to serve as a ventilation opening. 　　Nice had made extensive preparations for this meeting. He had personally built this small boat, working like a thief, always sneaking away in the cellar when no one else was around. 　　He had worried that the higher-ups of the Knights Templar might change their minds and not hold the meeting at sea, rendering all his preparations futile. Several times 　　he even considered reporting them to the Church. 　　Although he ultimately didn't do so, he had his men in Caoni work overtime, and five days ago, they delivered seventeen boats to Cardinal Amar. 　　This pleased the Cardinal immensely; everyone assumed he was flattering him, never suspecting it stemmed from his dissatisfaction with the Knights Templar. 　　Half-reclining in the boat, Nice glanced out the window; there were two portholes on either side of his head. 　　The boat was slowly leaving the shore, and in the moonlight, he could see a whirlpool created by the oars. 　　After about fifteen minutes, the boat finally left the reef area. The oars were rowing faster and faster, and the boat's speed increased accordingly. The middle-aged man raised the sails, and judging from the shape of the billowing sails, the boat was sailing with the wind. Although the speed of a two-masted fishing boat was not as fast as a long, narrow boat, it was still much faster than a round-bellied merchant ship. 　　The winds at this time of year always blow from west to east. Clearly, the meeting place was east of Asakus. 　　Knowing that the meeting place was at sea, Nice guessed it was some small island to the east. 　　The Holy Land was in the east, and for the Knights Templar, who had been stationed there for two centuries, the further east they went, the more familiar they were with the sea. 　　In case of trouble, escaping eastward would be easier. 　　A large wave crashed in, and the small boat rocked violently. 　　One large wave after another, and they had entered the open sea. 　　The smaller the boat, the more violently it rocked. Nice felt like he was lying in a cradle, which somewhat alleviated his anxiety. 　　He gradually fell asleep amidst the rocking.

When he awoke again, sunlight streamed in through the glass window in front of him.

He froze when he saw the ship ahead.

Sometime during the night, he had been towed by a galley.

It was definitely a warship, a large one with three rows of oars, each side bearing over thirty oars.

After a moment's thought, Nice understood the Templar Order's plan.

First, they used fishing boats to transport people to the sea, then met at a pre-arranged location, where they transferred to the faster galley.

This achieved both secrecy and security, and those attending the meeting only needed to know that the meeting was at sea; no further details were required.

The arrangement was flawless.

It must be admitted that those who wanted to rebuild the Templar Order, though somewhat narrow-minded and self-serving, were undeniably intelligent.

At the same time, Nice realized a mistake.

He had focused too much on the sealing performance when designing the small boat; it was impossible for the two ships to meet without any sound, yet he hadn't heard a single thing.

The excellent sealing performance also isolated him from his senses of the outside world.

This was a fatal flaw.

Nice quickly opened the hatch.

A fresh sea breeze rushed in.

Along with the sea breeze came a cacophony of sounds: the sound of waves, the sound of oars, but mostly the sound of voices.

There seemed to be quite a few people on the ship ahead.

"You're awake? Want to come aboard?"

The middle-aged man, who had been leaning against the stern, greeted Nice.

"Is the meeting being held on a ship?"

Nice asked.

"No, this is just a ship used to transport meeting attendees. There are several such ships; our people are currently scattered across various locations."

The middle-aged man didn't mind revealing some information; it wasn't exactly a secret anyway.

"Can I conceal my identity?"

Nice had planned before coming here that even if he attended the meeting, he wouldn't let others know who he was. He was only asking out of politeness.

"Whatever you wish."
The middle-aged man said this because those on board felt it was beneficial for them not to reveal Nice's identity.

Previously, they had suspected a traitor among the remaining Knights Templar, but had been unable to find him. The information provided by Nice narrowed the pool considerably, even identifying several suspects.

This incident made them realize they could leverage Nice's relationship with Cardinal Amar to obtain crucial intelligence.

As the two were talking, the ship suddenly changed direction.

The middle-aged man stood up, quickly climbed the mast, and gazed towards the right.

Nice emerged from the small boat and also looked into the distance.

He could vaguely see a small black dot near the horizon; it must be a ship.

Countless possibilities flashed through his mind—perhaps just a passing merchant ship, or perhaps Cardinal Amar's men.

After hesitating for a while, he finally pulled a scroll from his pocket.

It was a red scroll, large enough to fit in the palm of his hand when rolled up, and over a foot long when fully unfolded. A golden eye was printed on the back, and a very intricate magic circle, drawn with ink, was on the front. To the left of the magic circle was a line of magical text—the incantation needed to cast the spell.

As Nice chanted the incantation, the scroll burst into flames as if struck by sparks. Though no fire or smoke escaped, the scroll gradually turned to ash. Once

completely burned, Nice's eyes sharpened instantly, bringing the small black dot in the distance to his immediate view.

The scroll contained the "Eagle Eye" spell.

Just as an eagle can spot a rabbit hiding in the bushes from a thousand meters in the air, Nice could now clearly see a ship tens of kilometers away.

It was a two-masted fishing boat, somewhat old, exactly like the one the middle-aged man and his companions had.

He immediately understood: the Knights Templar had prepared a protective measure for the meeting.

That fishing boat was a lookout post.

Many such lookout posts must have been deployed along the route.

If any suspicious vessel approached, they would sound an alarm, and the ships transporting the meeting participants would immediately change course to avoid the suspicious vessels.

This was clearly one of the reasons they chose to hold the meeting at sea.

There's nowhere to hide at sea; the line of sight extends at least ten kilometers. Deploying a few ships like this as lookouts would guarantee absolute safety within a radius of tens of kilometers. Even with a vast army, the Holy See couldn't possibly fail to deploy such a massive search network.

Relieved, Nice felt a pang of regret for the scroll he'd just used.

While scrolls would be convenient if he possessed "Eagle Eye," the price was prohibitive.

"Eagle Eye" is very useful, considered one of the most practical intermediate spells. He'd previously hesitated about investing time and effort in intermediate magic.

His magic power had reached a level where he could use intermediate spells in practice, but his understanding of the essence of magic was insufficient. He lacked in magic circle construction, magical theory, and elemental control, and was still a long way from becoming an intermediate mage.

Magic power was fundamental; if he wanted to develop in this direction, he should be able to fill all his gaps in three to five years.

That was already quite fast; even the genius female mage of the Thousand Forest Tower was only an intermediate mage.

The problem was that he wasn't sure if he could become a high-level mage in the remaining eight and a half years.

Once a mage reached a high level, they could cast a spell to shield their senses, rendering most divination spells ineffective.

What troubled Nesse was that his magic power wasn't something he had cultivated himself; it was taken from the Rat King after killing it. Leaving aside

the possibility of finding another magical beast, he couldn't even determine how to kill a magical beast to seize its magic power.

He had conducted numerous experiments on those completely demonized rats, but had never succeeded.

Nesse's mind was filled with hesitation.

The sea voyage was always so long. Throughout the rest of the voyage, Nesse kept pondering that question—should he devote more time to magical research?

There were some very practical spells among intermediate magic. "Eagle Eye" was one of them, and there was also the "Scaling" spell he had always coveted.

If he knew the "Scaling" spell, he could create a magical pouch, eliminating the need for luggage when traveling; one pouch could hold several boxes of items. This refers only to ordinary items. The "Scaling" spell can not only shrink but also enlarge. Many single-function magical artifacts incorporate the "Scaling" spell, so when taken out of the magical pouch, they first revert to their normal size and then enlarge tenfold, resulting in a scaling ratio of one hundredfold.

The wings used by the Scorching Flame Tower mage, when fully extended, are twelve meters long and six meters wide, but when folded, they are only the size of a palm—that's a one hundredfold scaling ratio.

Besides Eagle Eye and Scaling, there are other spells that interest him, such as Acceleration, Invisibility, and Wind Wings…

Nice hadn't made a decision yet, but they had already arrived at the meeting place. In the distance, he could see several similarly shaped galleys heading in one direction towards a small island. On the map, it appeared to be an isolated island in the middle of the sea, far from shipping lanes. The island wasn't very large, even smaller than the island outside the port of Asaks. The surface was bare, offering nowhere to hide, its only advantage being the absence of hidden reefs.

Before the ship even reached the shore, everyone jumped ashore

. The Templar Knights, except for Nice, were all high-ranking knights, capable of leaping several meters without needing any leverage. The middle-aged man untied the ropes hanging from the back of the ship and also jumped ashore.

The once-full-loaded oarsman was now only manned by a few oarsmen. They rowed halfway around the island before anchoring on the other side.

That side was downwind; in case of trouble, they could raise the sails and escape.

This was experience learned from fighting the barbarians.

Nice also anchored there; he didn't need to stand out. Besides, in case of trouble, blending into the main group would greatly increase his chances of escape.

After reaching the shore, he didn't rush out of the small boat; he wanted to modify himself first.

First, he needed to change his height; he was too short now and easily remembered. His appearance also needed changing, which was easy—just stuff some cotton into his clothes. He didn't need makeup; just turning up his hood and putting on a mask would suffice.

By the time Nice emerged from the small boat, he was unrecognizable even to himself.

His appearance was striking; everyone on the island turned to look at him from head to toe, but they couldn't discern anything. Nice was completely wrapped in a cloak, even his eyes were covered by a black veil, and the front of his hood was pulled low. While

others were paying attention to Nice, he was also paying attention to others.

There were quite a few people on the island, about three hundred, mostly around thirty years old—definitely considered "younger generation" in the Knights Templar.

Suddenly, he saw a familiar face—Elder John de Dancalton, whom he had met in the Holy Land.

The elder, who claimed to be a friend of Elder Simon, ruthlessly assigned him an extremely dangerous task. Just thinking about it made Nice dislike the man intensely.

To Nice's surprise, the middle-aged man who had delivered the message and brought him here was sitting alone on a rock by the sea. Nice

had initially assumed that this man, sent as an envoy, must be a rising star or a confidant of a high-ranking figure, but now it seemed that wasn't the case at all.

"You seem to be a marginal figure as well,"

Nice said, moving closer. He only knew two people here, and compared to Elder John, he felt more favorably toward this middle-aged man sitting on the sidelines.

"I'm different from you. You're the real marginal figure, never really belonging to us. I suppose you don't have much affection for the Knights Templar either?"

the middle-aged man said bluntly, completely different from his outwardly rough and unruly demeanor.

"I have deep feelings for my teacher. I saved him, and he taught me so much. Since my father passed away, he's my only family. He asked me to contact the Knights in the Holy Land, and I did. And what happened? I made contact, but unfortunately, the Knights aren't the same as before… That's what my teacher said himself."

Nice grumbled, testing the man's reaction.

Sure enough, the middle-aged man didn't refute it. Those outside could see this, let alone those inside.

While not a core member, the middle-aged man was very close. They were the ones who stormed the Inquisition's prison and rescued a group of imprisoned soul companions, including Elder Simon.

They were planning to do it again, rescuing the Grand Master.

To their disappointment, not only were the others unwilling to help, but even those they had rescued were unwilling to assist.

Therefore, when Nice said the Knights weren't the same as before, he felt a deep sense of déjà vu.

Although he admitted it in his heart, the middle-aged man wouldn't admit it aloud. He rolled his eyes: "Then why did you come?"

"My teacher sent me, so I came. He still considers himself a member of the Knights Templar, but he's very disappointed with the current situation and doesn't want to see these 'old friends',"

Nice said, trying to sound nice.

"Disappointed?"

The middle-aged man smiled bitterly: "He's hiding in the monastery, busy growing vegetables all day, and he still has the nerve to be disappointed in others?"

"You're showing signs of becoming a mad dog."

Nice couldn't stand anyone slandering his family. He had no interest in arguing with this guy anymore. This man had run into walls elsewhere and thought there were no good people left, so he disliked everyone.

Just as Nice was about to leave, he saw someone walking towards him.

The person walking towards him was Elder John, the only one he recognized besides the middle-aged man, one of the twelve chief priests, a figure of similar status to Elder Simon.

When Nice first saw this elder in the Holy Land, he thought he resembled Elder Simon. But a year later, he felt a completely different impression.

Elder Simon had become increasingly detached, more like an ordinary person, while this elder was full of vigor, his status likely rising rather than falling. Seeing Elder John approach, the middle-aged man turned to leave, and the elder made no attempt to stop him.

In contrast to his coldness towards the middle-aged man, the elder was very polite to Nice.

"It's a pleasure to see you again. You've been a great help this time. We've known for a long time that there was a traitor in the Knights Templar, but we never knew who it was. Now we have the opportunity to expose him."

The elder spoke skillfully, first acknowledging Nice's contribution, then implying that they had known about the traitor all along and were prepared. Even without warning, they would have been safe, as evidenced by the numerous people they had encountered along the way.

Nice didn't care. He clearly remembered the elder's haughty demeanor a year ago, his words always referring to tests and honors.

A year ago, he was indeed filled with longing and admiration for the Knights Templar, but now he has discovered that the Knights Templar's attitude towards their admirers is just like their attitude towards the farmers of Kaonni—they all adopt a condescending attitude and lure them with flashy but empty promises. The difference is that what he offered was "vanity," while what this elder offered was "the glory of the Knights Templar."

"Have you identified the traitor?"

Nice asked the elder casually. He was no longer the desperate young man he once was, and he no longer held the Knights Templar in any respect.

"There are five suspects, but we don't plan to take action for now."

Elder John seemed oblivious to Nice's dismissive attitude.

"Why?"

Nice became somewhat interested.

Elder John didn't answer, but turned to look at the people on the island and sighed softly: "This scene fills me with profound sorrow. At the height of the Knights Templar's power, the entire order numbered 17,000, with 282 knights and 4,000 officers. Now, some have been captured, some have been killed, and some have left the order. Only a little over a thousand remain, most of whom are former squires, not very useful, and not qualified to attend meetings. The true pillars are only these 300-odd people." These words, seemingly lamenting the changes of the past and grieving the Knights Templar's immense losses, were actually telling Nice that he was now considered part of the elite.

Six months ago, Nice might have fallen for it, but now he was completely unmoved.

They wouldn't even tell him where the meeting was held, and they immediately changed the subject the moment he asked about anything confidential. He couldn't see why he was being treated like an elite.

Besides, even if he were, what difference would it make?

On a chessboard, there are many pieces; apart from the king, the others are merely pieces of varying value, disposable when necessary.

Therefore, he never wanted to be on this chessboard in the first place.

A bell rang, interrupting their conversation.

The scattered people began to walk towards the center of the island.

Elder John walked quickly; he was one of the meeting's organizers. The middle-aged man seemed rather lazy, dragging his feet behind. Nice, even less interested in the meeting, followed at the very back. In

the very center of the island was a shallow pit, clearly dug specifically for the meeting. The group sat on the slope beside the pit, while Elder John and two others stood at the bottom. These three were obviously the current leaders of the Knights Templar, the ones who wanted to rebuild the order.

The meeting was chaired by a bald old man, quite tall, likely a knight, but his privileged lifestyle had made him obese, greatly diminishing his appearance.

Elder John stood to the left, and to the right stood a rather dignified-looking old man with a square face, large nose, a forehead full of wrinkles, and white hair; he had a large frame.

Just as the fat chairman was about to speak, the middle-aged man raised his hand and called out, "Before the meeting begins, I'd like to ask a question."

The fat old man was clearly displeased to be interrupted, but he had to endure it, forcing a smile and nodding.

The middle-aged man sat on the edge of the pit, the highest seat, making him very conspicuous; his voice was also loud and clear.

"Gentlemen," he said, "many of our brothers are still imprisoned in the Inquisition, dying every day. I hope to have your support to take action once again to rescue them."

He looked expectantly at the people below.

Unfortunately, there was silence.

Not a single person expressed support; everyone sat there quietly.

A barely perceptible smile appeared on the fat old man's face as he coughed, breaking the silence.

"My dear McMullen, I completely understand your feelings. I know your greatest wish is to rescue the Grand Master. Haven't we already discussed this issue? Currently, only seventeen people are confirmed alive. The problem is that they have all confessed to their crimes, albeit under duress. This act still constitutes betrayal, and the Church used their confessions to frame the Knights."

The square-faced old knight beside him added coldly, "Everyone must pay the price for their mistakes. It was the Grand Master who insisted on moving the Knights back to Frankish. Tell me, if we rescue him, how should we treat him? Let him continue to lead us? Or should we vote to impeach him and elect a new Grand Master?" The fat old man

had clearly thought of another way to discourage the middle-aged man.

He immediately picked up the conversation: "Of those seventeen people, how many do you truly care about? Probably only the Grand Master, the Chief Priest, and those few branch commanders, right? I suppose you think sacrificing some to save a few is absolutely worthwhile… I want to ask, if they weren't here, would you still think that way?"

The middle-aged man couldn't answer.

If he said "yes," that would be a lie; if he said "no," that would be absolutely hurtful to most of the knights. So he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Seeing McMullen, the troublemaker

, fall silent, the fat old man seized the opportunity to say, "This time, we've taken a huge risk to gather everyone here to discuss where the Knights Templar should go next?" He said this after careful consideration.

This statement was tantamount to bypassing the question of whether to rebuild the Knights Templar and jumping directly to the next step.

At the same time, he also placed himself in the position of leader.

If someone objected, he could at most change his mind; if no one objected, these matters were essentially settled.

To the fat old man's delight, no one expressed any objection. He quickly said, "We had a meeting earlier, and we came up with two options: one is to establish our own independent nation, finding an island in the East to rebuild it; the other is to pledge allegiance to our country."

This time, the people below broke their silence, and someone immediately questioned, "Didn't you consider the Papacy's reaction?"

The three people standing at the bottom of the pit had already discussed everything, so of course they weren't stumped by this question. Elder John responded to the question.

"Don't worry, everyone. The Papacy won't be able to care about us at that time, because something very important is about to happen... For certain reasons, I can't say more."

This answer surprised everyone and aroused their speculation.

Nice was also filled with curiosity.

He didn't think the elder was just talking nonsense. The Knights Templar were very good at languages and could very well see into the future and know what was about to happen.

Being able to know what was about to happen in advance would allow them to prepare in advance and gain benefits from it. The

Knights Templar definitely had this ability.

The fat old man took over the topic again, clearly eager to show off.

"We won't form a nation under the name of the Knights Templar, but under another identity. When we were forced to withdraw from the Holy Land, we had already made several arrangements, including the option of establishing an independent nation, and we even chose the location."

This was definitely exciting news, and a murmur of excitement immediately arose from below.

Since the Knights Templar disbanded, none of these knights had fared very well. They possessed extraordinary strength, yet they could only live in hiding. Those like McMullen, who owned a fishing boat, were considered to be doing quite well.

The square-faced old knight beside him clearly felt that everyone was oversimplifying things and that it was necessary to calm down: "Establishing an independent nation might be more difficult. That land is even worse than the Holy Land. Before, we could receive donations and had a vast network of businesses, but now all of that is gone. How to maintain a nation is a real headache."

Originally intending to only speak the good things and not mention the difficulties, the fat old man was secretly annoyed by his ally's exposure. He coughed awkwardly and could only bite the bullet to explain his earlier words.

"The reason the Knights' leadership chose to move back to Frankish was because that land was simply too desolate. Establishing a foothold there would be extremely difficult."

He sighed and continued, "Now we face the same choice as before, but the conditions are even worse."

These words revealed the unknown inside story from before. The people below looked at each other, no one had expected that after going around in circles, they would be back to where they started, facing a dead end.

"Isn't there a third option?"

a young knight stood up and asked.

"That's why I've gathered everyone here,"

Elder John said, using a feigned retreat as a pretext. "Does anyone have any new suggestions?"

The crowd murmured amongst themselves; most were hearing this inside story for the first time and hadn't considered such a question beforehand.

Seeing no one speak, Nice finally broke the silence. He knew the inside story; Elder Simon had mentioned this past event and said that the Knights Templar would ultimately face a soul-searching choice.

However, the choices weren't limited to just these two, nor were they limited to a single option.

"The Knights Templar aren't the only ones suppressed by the Church. For over a thousand years, the Church has been suppressing and hunting down the Symbolic Order, yet they're still thriving. Why not learn from them?"

Nice said, entirely out of self-interest.

If the Knights Templar truly followed the Symbolic Order's example, they would inevitably need to contact them, and he could use this cooperation to uncover his father's identity and everything related to his origins.

Before the three could answer, someone immediately stepped forward and questioned, "Who are you? Why are you acting so suspiciously?"

The others also cast suspicious glances; they had long wanted to know Nice's identity.

"Don't be nervous, everyone. This is Elder Simon's disciple. His identity is a bit special and not suitable for public display,"

the fat old man said, trying to smooth things over for Nice. He wasn't acting out of kindness; a month ago, he wouldn't have paid Nice any attention. But the previous warning had made him realize Nice's value.

The Knights Templar were currently out of touch, especially regarding intelligence from the higher echelons of the Papacy. This made the relationship between Nice and Cardinal Amar all the more precious.

"Elder Simon? Could this be his idea?"

The people below were immediately misled.

Not only were these people confused, but even the three standing in front weren't sure if this was Simon Aragorn's intention.

Simon was currently hiding in the storeroom of the Amadeus Monondo Academy, living the life of an ordinary doorman. Even the people of the Monondo Academy didn't know his true identity, which did have a bit of a charades feel to it.

"We did consider this path, but ultimately gave up. The charades are a very loose organization. If the Knights Templar went down that path, they would definitely become like that,"

Elder John replied. His status was undeniable; in terms of wisdom, only he, as one of the twelve chief knights, could rival Elder Simon.

"The Knights Templar used to have branches in various locations. It was the business conducted by these branches that allowed the Knights to establish themselves in the Holy Land. The two paths you mentioned earlier both require concealing identities. Why can't some members conceal their identities and rebuild the various branches? Isn't it said that establishing an independent nation requires a large amount of funding to maintain? These secret branches should be able to supply the headquarters with resources as before. Similarly, if the Knights were to pledge allegiance to a country, even if the same mistakes were repeated, with members of the branches remaining, the Knights would still have a glimmer of hope."

Nice had no respect for this elder. There were no standard answers to such questions; anyone could offer a series of arguments, and only time would prove which was correct.

He was there to stir things up.

Sure enough, as soon as he began, someone immediately stood up in response.

"We could take three paths! Some could establish independent nations, some could seek allegiance to our former countries for stronger support, and the rest could secretly form branches."

One person started, and the others followed suit.

"These are critical times, and we need to be even more vigilant."

"Since that land is so barren, even if we establish a nation, it will be difficult to sustain all of us. We need to distribute the pressure." "

Those countries that are interested in us may not always be interested in us. We absolutely need to prepare for both possibilities." "

..."

More and more knights expressed their opinions.

They weren't stupid. Rebuilding the Knights Templar would indeed have benefits, but if seating arrangements were still in place as before, with everything decided by the Grand Master and huge disparities between ranks, they wouldn't be interested.

As Elder John said, many of the remaining people were just officers, who were at the bottom of the order in the past. They wanted to regain their former glory, but they didn't want to be trampled on like before.

Besides, there was another reason why these people supported Nice's proposal.

True fairness had never existed within the Knights Templar.

Those who had just joined the Knights Templar were all full of dreams, but as time went on, they discovered that the order's leadership was primarily Frankish, especially the Grand Masters. People from other countries, no matter how capable, could at most become lieutenants.

Previously, the Knights Templar were a military organization; an army can only have one voice, so even if someone had ideas, they dared not speak them out.

Now, the Knights Templar's primary objective was survival; they could no longer fight the Saracens, and no one was willing to endure the injustices any longer.

As the commotion below grew louder and the situation gradually spiraled out of control, the three people presiding over the meeting immediately knew their plan had failed.

Although the Knights Templar had been rebuilt, it couldn't be as rigidly hierarchical as before; it would only be a loose alliance similar to the Symbolic Order, at most slightly more tightly knit.

"That's also an option,"

Elder John was the first to speak, as this outcome wasn't a huge loss for him.

He had primarily served as a priest and hadn't been involved in military affairs in the previous order, so he didn't have many subordinates, unlike the two beside him who all had their own direct followers.

So even if he joined the leadership after rebuilding the Knights, his control wouldn't be as strong as the other two.

It's better to be the third in command than the third.

"To ensure the Knights don't become a loose organization like the Symbol Society, we must define the rights and obligations of every member,"

the square-faced old knight declared loudly.

"To avoid repeating the same mistakes, the power of the commanders at all levels must be limited."

Someone immediately countered with a sharp rebuttal.

The Knights Templar were not a group of simple-minded, physically strong knights; they were a hidden force, teeming with profound wisdom.

The three men who had previously been able to control everything so smoothly were not necessarily more intelligent than others, but rather they had gained an advantage, possessing more resources and a greater voice.

Furthermore, the disbandment of the order had left many bewildered; everyone was uncertain about the future, waiting for guidance, inevitably leading to some blind obedience.

But now, the Knights Templar had been rebuilt, the truth of the past had been revealed, and the fog of confusion was gradually dissipating. Many highly intelligent individuals had made their own choices. They could no longer be manipulated at will.

"Major events must be decided by a vote of the entire order, while routine matters should be decided by a multi-party decision-making body composed of representatives recommended from various quarters,"

a knight who was clearly not Frankish proposed even more sharply.

"Rights and obligations must be commensurate. Those who cause losses to the Knights must be held accountable."

The speaker was clearly very dissatisfied with the former Grand Master, Moller.

More and more suggestions followed, and the problems that had accumulated within the Knights for two centuries were all exposed at once.

At this point, the meeting was completely out of control.

Nice, who had only made a brief appearance once, hadn't spoken since. He now finally understood why the old man had summoned him and given him those words in the letter.

Before coming, he had indeed felt as if the sky was falling; the Templars' power had suffocated him.

But now he felt relaxed. While the Templars were powerful, they had a host of problems. If used properly, they could, as the old man had said, move freely between various factions.

Of course, he didn't dare to be too complacent, as the disparity in strength was stark. Any one of them could easily crush the Rosicrucian Order into dust.

Chapter Two ◆ Enemy Tracks

In the middle of the sea, a lonely island was now crowded with people.

Most people were gathered in the large pit in the center, with only a few wandering around. Two of them were particularly relaxed, fishing with fishing rods.

One was Nice, and the other was McMullen, the middle-aged man.

"I'm increasingly admiring your teacher now. When I saw him busy planting vegetables behind the warehouse, I found it hard to believe. I never imagined it was all an illusion,"

McMullen said with a self-deprecating smile.

He recalled a month ago when he thought he had entered the inner circle of decision-makers, completely disregarding the former Blood Angel Simon Aragorn.

But now, he realized he was merely a tool, to be used and then discarded. Meanwhile,

the old man, hiding in the warehouse, had only let his apprentice handle things, yet he had completely disrupted the carefully planned schemes of those above.

That was the difference; one couldn't help but admire him.

"That's no illusion. Having experienced so much, seeing through the vanities of the world, and returning to simplicity, I think he's not far from achieving sainthood."

Nice, of course, wanted to glorify his teacher, unaware that his casual remark had hit the nail on the head.

He didn't realize that his unintentional words had taken to heart. McMullen couldn't help but recall his meeting with the old man.

The old man seemed like an ordinary person; McMullen had only reacted when McMullen was right in front of him—completely unlike the behavior expected of a Templar.

At the time, McMullen hadn't paid much attention, assuming the old man was crippled and had become an ordinary person. But now, thinking back, there were indeed some suspicious points.

Besides, the old man's sudden disappearance was also suspicious.

The Templars had been monitoring the old man, and the person in charge was undoubtedly powerful. They knew the old man had resigned from his position as warehouse manager at the Nangdao Academy, yet they still lost track of him.

Previously, everyone thought it was due to negligence on the part of the monitors, but now it seemed the problem lay with the old man himself.

"Your teacher suddenly left that place, presumably to solidify his holiness?"

the middle-aged man asked.

"You've been spying on us?"

Nice asked, somewhat displeased.

"That's none of my business,"

the middle-aged man quickly distanced himself.

Nice moved a little to the side; he suddenly realized that trying to build a relationship with this middle-aged man was extremely difficult. This guy always managed to infuriate him.

But he didn't want to go back to the meeting; whatever happened there was none of his concern.

In the large pit in the center of the island, the meeting was still ongoing.

This meeting had been going on for two full days, during which one issue after another had been raised, and each issue had sparked heated debate.

"Now for the 125th issue: How should the Knights' funds be raised? And how should they be allocated?"

the fat old man read from a piece of paper.

The people below whispered and discussed among themselves.

Although everyone was still sitting along the slope of the pit, they were no longer as energetic as before, clearly divided into several groups.

Sitting closest to the bottom of the pit were a dozen or so people—the elected members of the highest decision

-making body. Nice was one of them. His opening remarks set the tone for the rebuilt Knights Templar. No one knew this was Nice's own idea; everyone assumed it was Elder Simon's. Because of this, most present believed Elder Simon should be a member of the decision-making body.

To everyone's surprise, even the meeting's chairperson had two people vote in favor: the fat old man and Elder John. Only the square-faced old knight objected.

At first, Nice couldn't understand it either, but later he realized.

Those three knew Elder Simon's situation, that he had lost his former sharpness, become increasingly ordinary, and had no interest in power struggles. In future similar meetings, the old man would still appoint Nice as his representative. Nice's unwillingness to be involved with the Knights Templar was common knowledge, and besides, he had no real power base within the order.

Putting such a person in the decision-making body could only benefit them, not harm them.

As it turned out, their calculations were correct. For the past two days, Nice had spent most of his time wandering around the island, completely ignoring meetings and abstaining from all votes.

Those below him saw this but didn't object, because Nice was essentially representing Elder Simon, acting as a mouthpiece; if he were too eager to show off, it would only raise concerns.

Nice was also happy to stay out of it; otherwise, on a topic like this, those who knew his background might have tried to sabotage him.

Previously, the Knights of Favonius amassed wealth by managing other people's property and providing loans, relying on their reliable reputation and high standing. This required little effort and carried little risk of failure.

Now, this method is no longer viable. Those responsible for raising funds must operate their businesses like ordinary merchants, a far from easy task.

There's another problem: all the hard-earned profits go to the Knights of Favonius, while failure means bearing the consequences alone—no one would willingly accept that. If the Knights of Favonius bear the losses, some might become complacent or even embezzle funds.

"How about we continue with the old method of calculating war merits?"

someone finally suggested.

Every measure has its flaws, so someone immediately stood up to object.

"If we do that, everyone will flock to the most prosperous cities; there are more opportunities there, and doing business is easier."

This person, a former member of a branch, knew very well that even among the various branches, the annual wealth contributions varied greatly, let alone business opportunities.

"Let's set a mandatory amount, varying by region and task quota,"

Elder John said,

echoing their previous practice. Immediately, someone questioned, "Headquarters can't just keep taking like before."

This was a challenge to the distribution of benefits among the higher-ups.

When the Knights Templar were first formed, no one owned property, so this wasn't a problem. However, before the Knights' downfall, the higher-ups possessed enormous wealth and enjoyed excellent treatment, while the lower-ranking officers received no benefits.

"The Knights truly need to return to the simplicity of their early days,"

Elder John said immediately.

The square-faced knight nodded, while the fat old man, though smiling, had a blank expression.

The discussion had strayed somewhat from the original topic, but it was still related to fundraising and usage, something the fat old man couldn't stop.

If he did, he would be seen as obstructing the issue, leading to speculation and jeopardizing his position.

"Every member of the Knights should have the right to audit the use of funds."

"The old public treasury system was good and should be restored. Branch treasuries should not be allowed."

"Personal assets must be audited. It's necessary to clean up those parasites."

"..."

The people below were already resentful of the unfair distribution, and everyone had thought about how to eliminate this injustice.

The fat old man's expression became increasingly unnatural.

"It is indeed necessary to do this."

The square-faced old knight was the first to express his support.

Just then, shouts came from the beach: "Alarm! Alarm!"

Everyone turned to look and saw several clouds of colorful smoke blooming in the distant sky.

"Let's go, get out of here quickly. The meeting is over."

The fat old man was the first to speak. He couldn't wait for the meeting to end. He had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable these past two days because as more details of the reconstruction were discussed, the situation became increasingly unfavorable for him.

Although the fat old man had become overweight and out of shape, his foundation was still solid. He actually took two or three steps to the beach and leaped onto a boat.

The others reacted quickly and all jumped onto the boat as well.

The people on the ship were already pulling anchor when they saw the colored smoke rising from the shore.

Nice also ran quickly towards the sea. His small boat had no anchor and could only be towed ashore; if he wanted to leave, he'd have to push it out to sea first.

"I'll help you; we're all in the same boat anyway,"

McMullen said, approaching. This meeting had been a huge blow to him. His former comrades seemed like strangers, all forgetting the honor of being members

of the Knights, becoming incredibly pragmatic. However, what disheartened him even more was the deep resentment most people harbored towards the former Knights after two days of meetings. Before this, he had always believed that every member of the Knights was proud of their identity and would be willing to sacrifice their lives for that honor.

He had never felt so lost.

"This boat was originally designed for one person,"

Nice tried to decline.

He didn't want to be associated with the Templars; they were all too troublesome.

Besides, he wasn't wrong; the small boat was designed for a single person, and adding another person increased the risk of sinking. "Don't worry, I've already tried it, and I'm perfectly fine. I can just lie on the deck."

McMullen, thick-skinned as ever, didn't care about Nice's refusal and simply pushed the small boat into the water.

Nice couldn't do anything about this shameless guy. He glanced at the boats that had already sailed away from the shore and had no choice but to jump. McMullen, true to his word, lay down on the stern of the boat, so that it wouldn't obstruct Nice's view at all. He stuck one leg into the water and pushed off towards the shore, immediately propelling the boat away from the bank.

Inside the cabin, Nice pulled hard on a rope, and the sail gradually rose.

The sail of this small boat was like a folding fan, which had been folded up before because it had been towed along the way.

Now the sail was finally useful.

With the strong sea breeze blowing, the small boat sped across the sea like a galloping horse, its sharp bow easily cutting through the water ahead.

Nice had initially thought that having an extra person at the stern would slow the boat down, but surprisingly, it seemed to be even faster than during the test.

Looking at the slightly upturned bow, he had a vague idea.

Perhaps the extra person at the stern was causing the bow to tilt, shifting the boat's center of gravity aft. He

could have Sycos try it out when they got back, modifying their boat to shift the center of gravity further to the stern and then tilting the bow upwards; perhaps that would make the boat run faster.

"Your boat is good. Looks like I made the right choice choosing this one. Even if everyone else gets caught, you and I will be fine,"

McMullen said from behind, his words almost a curse; otherwise, he couldn't shake off his resentment.

Nice wasn't in the mood for his nagging; he simply closed the hatch.

The small boat sped up, its speed advantage finally becoming apparent. Nice's month of preparation had finally paid off.

The fastest galley can travel at fourteen kilometers per hour, which is already an astonishing speed, while this small boat can travel at nearly forty kilometers per hour, almost three times faster. In just a moment, it left the other boats far behind.

The wind was blowing from west to east, so the small boat was also speeding eastward.

A small black dot could be vaguely seen on the distant horizon.

As if possessed, Nice pulled out a scroll of "Eagle Eye Technique."

As the scroll vanished, in an instant, the small black dot in the distance was brought closer to his eyes.

It was a two-masted fishing boat, exactly like the others he'd seen along the way.

Nice continued sailing straight ahead.

Still somewhat uneasy, he casually took out his divination silver compass.

He wasn't going to use prophetic magic now; it was too easily blocked by the Church, and might even be a false prediction—the Knights Templar had fallen victim to this.

He also didn't intend to use magic; all the spells related to prophecy were too high-level. The only one that didn't require a level was astrology, but it was daytime, and with only the sun in the sky, the stars were nowhere to be seen.

He was using witchcraft now. Witchcraft, as the source of both divine and magical arts, was closer to the origin than either. Although it had many drawbacks—such as inaccuracy, limited knowledge, and susceptibility to ambiguity—it had one advantage: it was less susceptible to manipulation.

Calming himself, he pricked his right index finger with a silver needle, smearing a drop of blood onto the silver bead. He muttered incantations, chanting ancient spells.

The spell was closer to a prayer in divine magic, but instead of borrowing the power of gods, it invoked the help of the spirits of nature.

With a gentle toss, the silver bead rolled in the plate, slowing down until it finally stopped.

To Nesse's surprise, the bead stopped in the opposite direction, the direction from which the alarm had been sounded.

It was inaccurate! Nesse was very frustrated and put away the silver plate.

Spells couldn't be used frequently; if it didn't work the first time, it wouldn't work no matter how many times it was cast.

The small boat continued to sail forward, getting closer and closer to the two-masted fishing boat ahead. For some reason, Nesse had an uneasy feeling; the result of the divination he had just performed kept replaying in his mind.

He had originally resolved not to use prophetic divine magic anymore, but now he couldn't resist. He

used divine magic again to predict good or bad fortune, and the result was that everything ahead was safe.

Nesse was stunned.

He would never forget the prophecy the Knights Templar made before they moved back to Frankish Kingdom; everyone received a good omen.

He took out another scroll of "Eagle Eye" magic.

This time, he examined the fishing boat in the distance very carefully, from bow to stern, not even missing the hanging net.

Opening the hatch, Nice turned to McMullen, who was lying at the stern, and asked, "If you're patrolling the fishing boat, how do you pass the time?"

"How do I pass the time?"

McMullen, rubbing his middle-aged face, thought for a moment. "I'll jump into the water for a swim, catch a couple of fish, or cast a net. There are three people on board anyway, so one person only needs to keep watch. Besides, if we're going to disguise it, we should make it as convincing as possible. How can a fishing boat not catch fish?"

Nice's heart sank. He pulled his head back and abruptly turned the rudder.

The small boat immediately drew an arc on the sea, gradually changing direction.

"What's going on?"

McMullen was startled. He wasn't stupid; Nice had just asked him this strange question and then suddenly changed direction—there couldn't be no reason.

Nice didn't answer, but instead tore open another scroll and threw it at McMullen. "Eagle Eye" can be used on oneself, and the Soul-like ability can also be used on others.

"See if that ship is yours?"

Nice pointed behind him.

McMullen quickly looked into the distance, and after a moment, he jumped onto the mast to gaze at the distant ship. After a long while, he jumped down again, his face turning extremely grim: "You're right, there really is a problem. If it were our people, at least one of them should be on deck, but everyone on that ship has hidden in the cabins." "

Did you warn the ships on lookout duty not to get close to each other beforehand?"

Nice had already guessed where the seemingly flawless protective measures had a loophole.

McMullen suddenly slapped his hand.

He now understood where the oversight was.

Their men, piloting fishing boats and keeping a close watch on their surroundings, subconsciously considered the fishing boats as their own. If an enemy Soul-like being approached in a fishing boat, their men would most likely not react. By the time they realized the other party was in disguise, it would probably be too late.

"Which direction do you plan to escape to?"

McMullen asked. He had just seen Nice use witchcraft to divine and also used magic to predict good and bad fortune.

"Since you know there's a trap ahead, going the opposite way is the safest,"

Nice said somewhat bluntly.

"That's..."

McMullen wanted to mention the warning he'd just given, but then he thought that the sea was different from land; setting up an ambush would be extremely difficult, requiring a very tight net. Even so, they would still have a good chance of escaping, given the vastness of the ocean.

So the best way was to set a trap and lure them in.

This tactic was called "luring them into the net," and he, a long-time fisherman, was familiar with it.

"What about the others?"

Although McMullen harbored resentment towards the others, he would still risk his life to save them if things went wrong.

"I'll take you there; you can explain yourself,"

Nice said, not wanting to get involved. He knew that saying too much would only arouse suspicion.

He and the old man Simon were now very calm; whether the Knights Templar cared about them or not, whether they trusted them or not, it didn't matter.

Sailing against the wind, the speed was so slow it was almost unbearable. Ness simply lowered the sails, climbed out of the cabin, and opened the side panels of the boat.

Underneath the panels were two oars, each with an iron ring that fit perfectly into a hook on the south side of the boat.

"If you want to go faster, come and do the hard labor,"

Ness said bluntly to McMullen.

McMullen muttered something, walked to the front, gripped the oars, and started

rowing with all his might. As an elite Templar Knight, his strength was naturally considerable, and given the boat's light weight, each stroke propelled it two or three meters forward, maintaining a speed not much slower than before.

Ness's boat suddenly turned back, and the other boats behind reacted immediately.

Of all the boats, Elder John knew Ness best, and since McMullen was rowing on the small boat, even if Ness was being foolish, McMullen wouldn't follow suit.

The elder quickly ran to the bow, his body glowing as he ran.

Suddenly, he transformed into a gray peregrine falcon and soared into the air in the blink of an eye.

This was transfiguration.

Transfiguration exists in magic, and some ancient sects have similar secret techniques, but regardless of the sect, it's considered a very unorthodox method.

Once on the small boat, the peregrine falcon transformed back into human form.

The small boat immediately sank slightly, but fortunately, the water stopped two or three inches from the deck, and the boat's buoyancy was barely enough to support the weight of three people.

Niston panicked. The small boat was designed to carry only one person, and even with McMullen, it was barely enough. He hadn't expected there to be another person.

Before he could protest, he saw McMullen talking to the elder, discussing their earlier discovery.

Since someone was explaining things to him, he decided not to intervene.

After a few words, Elder John transformed into a peregrine falcon once more and soared into the air.

He flew higher and higher, reaching the fishing boat in the blink of an eye. After circling the boat twice, he immediately flew back, his speed significantly increased, accompanied by a hint of panic.

Before he could reach the boat, a streak of fire shot across the horizon, instantly transforming into a fiery meteor. No matter

how fast the peregrine falcon flew, it couldn't outrun the meteor, and it was about to be overtaken.

Suddenly, the peregrine falcon emitted a blinding light, and the elder changed shape again.

When the light disappeared, the yacht was gone, replaced by a monster with a griffin's head, a lion's body, and wings on its back.

That was a griffin, a legendary and incredibly powerful monster.

The fire meteor was fast, but clearly not agile enough, and collided with the griffin.

A deafening roar echoed through the air, sparks flew everywhere, and the griffin's chest feathers were all ablaze, making it look extremely disheveled.

The fire meteor was similarly blasted dozens of meters away. When the flames subsided, those below finally saw clearly that it was actually a person, a person enveloped in flames.

This person was undoubtedly a great mage, and an elemental mage specializing in fire magic.

At this point, everyone could guess that there was an ambush ahead.

All the ships turned around simultaneously, oars extending from their vessels. These ships were all large warships weighing four or five hundred tons, making turning extremely difficult, but now, with so many Templar Knights working together, these ships were like small boats from Nice, easily bouncing around, their speed even faster than when they had the wind at their backs.

The knights rowed with all their might, while the knights' priests rushed to the stern, casting shards of light into the sea. Upon contact with the water, these shards immediately expanded in all directions, covering an area several kilometers in radius in the blink of an eye.

The once empty sea instantly became sparkling, not with real starlight, but with concentrated white light, the intensity of which indicated the amount of life force.

Dean Glory of the Hidden Bag had used this technique back in Kaoni; it could reveal any living thing.

As soon as the shards were deployed, a patch of sea surface appeared extremely strange, like a drop of water on an oilcloth, the fabric's texture twisted and distorted.

"There's another enemy here!"

a priest shouted. He pointed in that direction, and a beam of blue light shot from his fingertip.

It was a dispelling spell, one that Chang Chunis had used before, but in this man's hands, it was far superior to anything Chunis could have achieved.

The spell of dispelling magic is called the nemesis of mages, and that's no exaggeration, especially when this divine spell comes from the hands of a bishop-level priest.

All the priests of the Templar Knights are bishops.

A ripple appeared on the sea, and a figure gradually emerged. It was a great mage.

His feet were planted on the sea, the surface beneath his feet as smooth as a mirror.

The sea is considered the domain of mages, primarily because of the existence of these individuals, who specialize in the control of water.

Upon seeing another elemental mage specializing in water magic on the opposite side, the two priests on the ship exchanged a glance, then jumped into the sea together.

They were clearly no match for the mage; although they could also stand on the sea, they couldn't solidify the water into a mirror.

"The Templar Knights are indeed full of talent,"

the water elemental mage laughed heartily, his laughter filled with unparalleled confidence. Although his opponent was also proficient in water magic, he believed in his own strength.

The fire elemental mage in the air, however, was not so arrogant; he and Elder John faced off at a distance.

Those skilled in manipulating fire absolutely dislike the sea; they even dislike it more than the Church, because the sea drastically weakens their power, to a degree greater than divine magic.

"Becoming a Grand Mage is no easy feat; you should lack nothing. Is it necessary to serve the Church?"

A thunderous roar erupted from the beak of the griffin in the sky.

"Is this a plea for mercy? Or a provocation?"

the water elemental mage, walking on the waves, asked nonchalantly.

His voice was eerie, as if it had converged from all directions.

As his words fell, enormous columns of water rose around him, instantly solidifying into a giant over a hundred meters tall, seemingly reaching the heavens.

This giant only had an upper body, like a legendary sea god, not entirely composed of seawater, but rather large chunks of solid ice floating in the water, appearing as if clad in heavy armor.

The Templar Knights all stared blankly at this terrifying giant, none knowing how to deal with it.

The ice wall, tens of meters thick, was impenetrable even by heavy ballistae, catapults, magical arrows, or exploding fireballs.

Moreover, even if shattered, it could reform; the only fatal flaw was the mage hiding inside. But they didn't even know where he was, let alone how to penetrate the thick ice and magical barrier to kill him. "If we could summon an angel, or if someone could cast Angelic Descent, then we might have a chance," McMullen muttered

gravely to himself, standing at the bow of the ship.

"You're quite smug, aren't you?"

roared the griffin in the sky. "I'll give you one last chance to leave."

"I don't know where your confidence comes from? Even at the height of the Templar Order, anyone who dared speak to me like that would pay the price,"

roared the archmage controlling the sea giant, raising his right arm.

This gesture was also a declaration of war; a javelin formed from seawater rapidly materialized.

"Since you're so stubborn... then die!"

the fat old man on the ship roared.

Suddenly, a blinding white light shot out from a nearby ship.

The white light instantly engulfed everything in front of them, plunging everyone into darkness. A deafening roar followed, and then a shockwave rippled outwards in all directions.

The shockwave wasn't very strong and didn't damage the ships, but most of the sails that were still spread out were ripped apart.

Nice was lucky; his sails had been lowered long ago, so he was unharmed.

When the white light disappeared and everyone could barely see clearly again, many gasped in horror.

The hundred-meter-tall giant had vanished without a trace, leaving only a huge whirlpool in the sea, with the surrounding seawater surging towards it, slowly filling it.

The stern of the ship had completely disappeared, revealing a thick, long cylinder with a gimbal at its top. Nice's soul was stunned by the sight. He looked at the enormous whirlpool, then at the thick, long cylinder. He had heard old Simon mention this thing.

It was a giant magical contraption used to protect the city.

The Holy City once possessed twelve such contraptions, which had repeatedly repelled the Saracen attacks. They were known as the "Twelve Saints."

Without its stern, seawater rapidly flooded in, and the ship gradually tilted backward.

The priests on the nearby ships unleashed beams of pale blue light, which instantly froze the seawater upon impact.

In the blink of an eye, the huge breach was sealed with ice, and the ship finally stopped tilting.

The fire elemental mage in the air stared blankly at this scene. He didn't even bother to look for his soul companion, because he knew that if struck by this thing, his soul companion would be completely obliterated.

A sharp griffin cry jolted him awake.

The fire elemental mage, already terrified, instantly transformed into a pillar of fire several kilometers long, flying back in the direction he'd come from, disappearing into the distant horizon in the blink of an eye.

It was no wonder he fled; such terrifying superweapons as the "Twelve Saints" were simply beyond human resistance.

Years ago, the Saracens had sent hundreds of thousands of troops and hundreds of powerful warriors to attack the Holy City, only to be reduced to ashes by these twelve terrifying weapons. It wasn't until the Saracens learned a method to manufacture a terrifying, soul-like magical artifact from the far east that they were able to restrain the "Twelve Saints" and ultimately conquer the Holy City by virtue of their numerical superiority.

When the Holy City fell, everyone assumed the "Twelve Saints" had been destroyed in the final battle, but unexpectedly, one remained.

In the distance, over a thousand warships stood in a long, serpentine formation, spaced thirty or forty meters apart, the entire fleet stretching as far as the eye could see.

This was all the forces the Holy See could muster.

Over a thousand ships, each with more than a hundred rowers, and warriors ranging from forty or fifty to over a hundred, totaling a staggering 170,000 men.

Compared to this, the great battle between Duke Frederick and Duke Louis not long ago was utterly insignificant.

All of this was for the sake of capturing a few hundred people.

Many had previously considered this an overreaction, but now, no one dared to say so.

Cardinal Amarr, seemingly caught between a rock and a hard place, felt a chill run down his spine at the visible flash in the distance.

"Is that 'The Wrath of the Saints'?'"

a young knight of about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, clad in a red battle robe, asked cautiously.

He was also a high-ranking knight, but unlike the cardinal's squires, he held a very noble status, even on par with the cardinal.

"It seems the rumors are true. When the Holy City fell, the Knights Templar hid 'Matthew' and 'James' of the Twelve Saints somewhere in the city. Later, they secretly returned and dug them up."

The cardinal's face was filled with dejection as he said this.

"They have two 'Saints'?"

The young high knight was shocked. There couldn't be worse news, because no one knew if the other Saint was also here.

If that thing was hidden somewhere and attacked them unexpectedly, those targeted would have no chance of escape.

Just then, a pillar of fire descended from the sky and landed on the deck.

The fire quickly subsided, and the fire elemental mage glared angrily at Cardinal Amar.

"You didn't even tell us the Templars had this thing. Luckily, I was careful, unlike Jacob who got carried away and thought the sea was his domain, which saved my life."

Elemental mages, skilled in fire magic, were known for their volatile tempers, and having just escaped death, their rage was even more intense.

Cardinal Amarr knew he was in the wrong, so he had to be very polite.

"I'm sorry, but it wasn't intentional. We didn't receive any information about it. The Saints weigh over seventy tons; it's hard to imagine how they managed to transport this thing, let alone load it onto a ship..."

Before the cardinal could finish explaining, a series of flapping wings sounded, and a carrier pigeon flew over.

More carrier pigeons were flying towards them.

These carrier pigeons were used to deliver messages between ships.

Without even looking at the letters, Cardinal Amarr could guess what they said.

The commanders of the various forces he had summoned in the name of the Holy See must have guessed what awaited them.

Knowing that such a terrifying beast lay ahead, even the most arrogant would shrink back, and the bravest knight would halt.

"The Knights Templar don't have dedicated mages. If we send mages to pursue them, we can definitely prevent their escape. Then we just need to be careful of that ship carrying the 'Saints'."

The young Grand Knight was still somewhat unwilling. This wasn't just youthful arrogance; every knight felt an urge to challenge the Knights Templar.

The Knights Templar were never numerous, but they were universally acknowledged as formidable. Defeating a Knight Templar was almost every Grand Knight's dream.

Unfortunately, his suggestion enraged the fire elemental mage before him.

"Go if you want. We're just assisting. We were never told we were needed as the main force, and we don't need to take orders from you."

This operation was convened by the Holy See. Mages and the Holy See were already at odds, and now they were being asked to carry out such a suicidal mission. They certainly wouldn't agree.

The young grand knight was enraged. He had never been so defied. Almost instantly, he charged at the mage, but in a flash, the mage's surroundings turned crimson, and the wooden planks beneath his feet scorched to charcoal.

The young grand knight, who had charged fast, retreated even faster, though his clothes still bore several scorch marks.

Before reaching the higher ranks, mages were most vulnerable to close combat; a surprise attack left them helpless. But at the higher ranks, mages could instantly cast spells, even to the point of being able to unleash them at will, faster than knights.

"They're fighting amongst themselves before the battle has even begun! What kind of order is this? Separate them!"

Cardinal Amar roared in fury.

At his command, his squire immediately leaped forward, standing between the two.

This squire, also a grand knight, emanated no aura, yet completely suppressed the young grand knight.

Although their ranks were similar, their understanding of power still differed.

The fire elemental mage had no intention of starting a fight. He snorted coldly, transformed into a pillar of fire, and flew away, landing on another ship in the blink of an eye. He had made up his mind that from now on, he would only go through the motions without actually contributing.

The young Grand Knight's face was grim. Had the Cardinal not separated them in time, he would likely have suffered an even greater loss. He knew the Cardinal, though seemingly neutral, was actually helping him.

"Magicians are just annoying; they think they're extraordinary just because they have some power,"

the young Grand Knight complained.

It wasn't just the church that disliked magicians; most knights didn't have a good impression of them either. Many knights had contributed to the church's hunts for magicians.

The reason was simple: from the mid-level onwards, Knights of the Soul rank were always suppressed by magicians, and this suppression became more pronounced as their rank increased.

Priests were different. Although they also possessed great strength, their power wasn't used to suppress knights, but rather to enhance their own.

One was an enemy, the other a friend; it was easy to imagine which side the knights would side with when priests and magicians clashed.

"The Knights Templar are smart; they know that magicians hired from outside can't be trusted, so they have their priests learn some magic as well,"

Cardinal Amar said with a wry smile.

These words would be a major taboo if spoken by anyone else, but coming from the Cardinal, they were perfectly acceptable. His status was high enough that no one dared to make a fuss about it.

Besides, everyone on the ship acknowledged the truth of his statement.

Even though they had become enemies, no one could deny the formidable strength of the Knights Templar. No other force could hold out against the Sarrasans for so long with only 20,000 troops.

Countless battles had forged the Knights Templar's combat prowess to near perfection. Priests were also versed in magic, and each possessed their own strengths, resulting in a combined force far exceeding that of a Soul-Rank mage.

"Should we pursue them?"

The young Grand Knight hesitated. He had originally planned to use the sheer number of his mages to counter the enemy's "Saints" advantage, but that plan had fallen through.

After a long pause, the Cardinal finally decided to make a show of it.

"Pursue them! The remnants of the Knights Templar can't maintain the same flight path forever. They wouldn't dare land; they'd be too conspicuous. So eventually, they'll have to disperse. Even if we can't capture everyone, capturing some will be good enough."

The Cardinal's only hope at this point was his numerical advantage. After all, they numbered over a hundred thousand. With both sides dispersed, the enemy would be like shrimp, and they would be like a giant net, able to catch something.

"Order the mages to keep an eye on the enemy. They don't need to get close; just follow from a distance… Oh, and increase the reward. I don't believe no one will be tempted."

Cardinal Amar used the Church's usual tactic: using money to boost morale. After all, the Church had plenty of money.

He knew that no amount of money would help the elemental mage from before; that man wasn't short of cash. The Cardinal hoped to sway the less successful mages; those who helped were only after the Church's rewards.

Chapter Three ◆ Taking Advantage of a

Crisis A lone sailboat tossed about on the high seas, a small boat easily submerged by a single wave, yet remaining afloat when the wave receded.

The sea was no longer calm; it revealed its raging, ferocious side. Lightning flashed incessantly in the gloomy sky, and gusts of wind occasionally whipped up. The seawater surged violently, waves three or four meters high.

Beneath the clouds, something resembling a large bird hovered, drawing ever closer to the sailboat. Suddenly, a huge wave surged behind it, spray flying everywhere, and from the churning spray, a powerful crossbow bolt shot out.

The mage in the sky had no idea someone was behind him. He was only a mid-level mage, unable to cast spells instantly like the great mages, and thus had no time to react to the sudden crossbow bolt.

The crossbow bolt pierced his stomach, a fatal spot. Even worse, the bolt suddenly burst into flames, the intense heat enough to melt steel. With a piercing scream, the mage became a burning fireball, tumbling and plummeting from mid-air.

In the sea, where the spray had just been, a figure surfaced.

This person held a large crossbow in one hand and a rope in the other, his body slumped on a sled.

Nice put away the crossbow, gripped the rope tightly with both hands, and pulled forward alternately, his feet on the rudder, steer the sled towards where the mage had fallen.

If it were a knight who fell into the sea, he wouldn't have bothered to rescue him; a knight wearing any armor would certainly not float. But

the mage was different. His robes were very loose, greatly increasing buoyancy, and more importantly, all the mage's valuable possessions were stored in his magic bag, the bag itself being incredibly valuable.

Nice swam to where the mage had fallen, where, sure enough, lay a corpse bobbing on the waves. The unfortunate fellow's body had a hole burned through it, the size of a bowl, and his magic robe was badly damaged; even if it could be repaired, the cost would be considerable.

Nice felt a pang of regret. Magic robes weren't just for covering; they were usually quite effective magical artifacts, sealed with very practical protective magic, essentially a mage's armor.

However, the protective magic sealed on the robe needed to be activated to be effective; without activation, the robe was just an ordinary cloth robe.

Nice deftly removed the tattered robe from the corpse and then took off his magic bag. After doing all this, he searched the body thoroughly.

This was a tactic he'd learned from Metro, who had even taken the prisoners' silk shorts. Nice couldn't be that thorough; he was only interested in things that showed magical activity.

The mage was indeed carrying many valuable items: five rings on his hands, two necklaces around his neck, a leather belt around his waist, and boots on his feet—all magical artifacts.

After taking everything he could, Nice pulled out a scroll and slapped it onto the corpse. A bluish-gray smoke spread across the corpse's surface, turning flesh and clothing into stone wherever it touched.

In the blink of an eye, the corpse was a stone statue. This was "Petrifying Touch," which could turn anything it touched into stone.

In magic, spells that require physical contact to function generally have limited uses. "Petrifying Touch" is an offensive spell, but its greatest use is in construction, instantly turning an earthen wall into a stone wall.

However, Nice used this spell to destroy evidence; the stone statue-like corpse quickly sank to the bottom of the sea. There was no simpler or safer method.

The church could use divine magic to find the murderer, but such magic required a corpse to be used. The corpse has now sunk to the bottom of the sea and will never be found.

"Petrifying Touch" is a mid-level spell, and such a scroll is not cheap, but it's nothing compared to the spoils. That magic pouch is worth more than a dozen of these scrolls.

Nys stuffed the flaked contents into the leather pouch, then hung it on a rope, a silk thread tethering it.

Nys shook the rope, and McMullen on the distant boat helplessly pulled the thread, slowly dragging the pouch towards them.

Pulling things out of his pouch, McMullen shifted his position, opened the hatch beneath him, and tossed everything inside.

The cramped cabin was already piled high with a jumble of odds and ends, including six magic pouches.

"Everyone else is risking their lives, and this guy's just making a fortune... but it's pretty easy this way,"

McMullen murmured enviously. He couldn't bring himself to be dragged along; even given a crossbow, he wasn't confident he could hit a target underwater.

McMullen rowed aimlessly, pondering his future.

He was disappointed with the current Knights Templar, and the experiences of the past two days had left him disillusioned with his former Grand Master, Moller. Those present had no personal grudge against Moller, but they were filled with resentment when he was mentioned. Judging from what they were saying, Moller and his group certainly had their problems.

While on the island, he had considered dismantling the others and rebuilding a new knightly order, inheriting the original spirit of the Knights Templar. But now he no longer had that idea.

The reason for his change of heart was the ambush by the Church and the strength the Knights Templar had revealed in their attempt to escape their predicament.

The strength of both sides was far beyond his reach, and he completely lost confidence in forming another knightly order. Drifting at sea this journey allowed him to calm down. He recalled the initial formation of the Knights Templar.

The Knights Templar were able to establish themselves because of the efforts of their founders, but another crucial factor was the unity of the nations at the time, united under the organization of the Papacy in their eastward expedition.

At that time, money, manpower, and resources were abundant, and the Knights Templar seized this opportunity, allowing them to develop rapidly.

Furthermore, the identities of the Knights Templar's founders were also a significant reason for the order's rapid growth.

The first Grand Master was a prince of the Frankish Kingdom, and the other founders were also sons of nobles and royalty—the connections behind them were far beyond his reach.

Now, all the nations are preoccupied with their own struggles, having long forgotten their sworn enemy, the Saracens. The southern city-states, while openly hostile to the Saracens, secretly regard them as business partners, forging deep bonds through trade. The Saracens are treated as honored guests in those city-states, and the Church goes without saying.

McMullen felt a chill; he suddenly realized he had lost his will to move forward, the future a blur.

He rowed mechanically. Time passed slowly, no more prey appeared in the sky, and the sun gradually set in the west. The rope tied to the stern tightened, and Ness surfaced, pulling the rope with alternating hands towards the small boat.

"Your haul is quite good,"

McMullen said sarcastically.

Ness didn't care; he was beginning to understand this man.

This guy was much like Easter, always grumbling for no reason. It would be foolish for him to listen; the best approach was to treat his words as utter nonsense.

"We seem to have escaped too quickly; we've already escaped their search area in just half a day,"

Nice said, glancing behind him.

He couldn't guarantee they were safe now, but he was absolutely certain they were much safer than the other Templar Knights, as the small boat had already left them far behind.

"What about tonight? Mages can still see at night, but I can't,"

McMullen asked.

Nice was submerged in the sea, and the water obstructed his view of the sky, so McMullen became his eyes. The two were connected by a rope, and they had a secret communication method. By pulling the rope, McMullen could tell Nice the direction, distance, and speed of their prey.

"Don't worry, I'm prepared,"

Nice said confidently.

However, he immediately looked the disheveled-looking man up and down.

This man wasn't part of his original plan; now that there was another person, was the original plan still feasible? That was indeed a question.

"Let's eat first, I've been starving all day."

Ness rubbed his stomach, deciding to temporarily put his worries aside.

He glanced at the sky; the already gloomy sky was almost completely dark, with only a faint white glow on the western horizon.

McMullen picked up a net bag from the side of the boat, containing several live fish, which he had grabbed while lost in thought.

The two sat in the cramped boat. There was no way to start a fire here, and even if they could, they wouldn't dare, given the darkness and the fact that they were at sea; firelight could be seen from a great distance.

"I've never eaten live fish before,"

Ness said with a wry smile.

"Having anything to eat is already pretty good."

McMullen rolled his eyes, pulled out a knife, scraped off the scales, then cut open the fish's belly, cleaned it, and started gnawing on it.

Ness also grabbed a fish, sniffed it, and the fishy smell assaulted his nostrils.

Ness gritted his teeth and, imitating McMullen, first scraped off the scales, then cut open the fish's belly and cleaned it. However, he wasn't as ruthless as McMullen, who could swallow a mouthful without batting an eye.

After hesitating for a while, he swiftly sliced the mouth into three pieces. The middle piece was a neatly cut bone, while the two flanking pieces were plump, white flesh.

He didn't stop there, continuing to slice the flesh into translucent thin slices, as thin as cicada wings or like round, unfolding flower petals. At least it looked much better than before.

Nice suddenly slapped his forehead, remembering that there were some things in the box behind his seat in the cabin that could remove the fishy smell. He

opened the hatch and rummaged around behind the seat, quickly finding a lemon. Apples and lemons were the most abundant foods he had brought. Because these two fruits were easy to store, they had prepared several baskets of apples when they went to the Holy Land, and they ate apples along the way, besides the sea bream. Adding lemons was a suggestion from Sikos; according to him, eating more lemons while sailing at sea could prevent sea sickness.

Nice cut the lemon in half and squeezed the lemon juice forcefully onto the sliced flesh. He picked up a piece of raw meat and tossed it into his mouth.

There was none of the fishy taste he'd expected; the meat's own freshness and saltiness melted quickly in his mouth, accentuated by the lemon's tartness, making it even more unforgettable.

It was a remarkably refreshing flavor, like a beautiful sketch, needing no added color.

"Want some?"

Nice asked McMullen.

McMullen pretended not to care, but his hands moved swiftly, picking up a piece of meat and tossing it into his mouth. After a long while, he sighed and tossed his half-eaten meat into the sea.

"You've got some skill. To come up with such a brilliant method on your first time eating raw food… Why didn't anyone think of this before? All that raw meat and raw meat I've eaten, all for nothing."

Suddenly, McMullen asked, "Do you need any more people over there?"

Nice almost choked. He knew this guy had suffered a blow and was somewhat disheartened, but he hadn't expected such a change.

This was definitely a good thing, but unfortunately, Nice dared not take him in.

The person in front of him wasn't Elena, nor was he the old knight beside Princess Anna. Although the latter two obeyed him, they had other subordinates.

McMullen was a Templar Knight, but he was disappointed with the order and would no longer obey anyone. Who knew what this loner, with no ties, might do if he got upset?

Nice certainly wouldn't refuse so easily, and fortunately, a reasonable person was easy to find.

"Aren't you worried about being discovered by Cardinal Amar's men?"

"That's true."

McMullen touched his beard. Although his stubble and sun exposure made him look older than before, the Cardinal's men might recognize him. It was safer to blend in with the common people.

Seeing McMullen's dejected look, Nice felt he couldn't ignore him, and he also needed some powerful Soul Alliance members. "After you go back, don't be a fisherman anymore. The Church has already seen through the Knights' use of fishing boats as cover, and they'll definitely be on guard. Life as a fisherman won't be easy for you in the coming days."

"What do you suggest I do?"

McMullen knew Nice a bit; he knew Nice was intelligent and resourceful.

He hadn't cared much before, believing strength was paramount, but now he thought differently.

"You're strong; blacksmithing would be a good option. Why not open a blacksmith shop, start by making ordinary tools, and then develop into a weapons maker? Weapons makers earn a good amount of money, don't need to worry about management, and there's no risk of losing money." Nice offered McMullen a suggestion.

He was doing this for his own benefit. He had promised Prince Philip to develop a new type of armor. Once the new armor was developed, Prince Philip had trustworthy weapons makers, but he didn't. Anything he wanted to forge would have to go through the prince's hands.

Nice had never liked being controlled by others, and besides, he had too many secrets. Just like this time, to build the small boat, he had to work secretly.

If he had a workshop entirely of his own, with trustworthy craftsmen, he wouldn't have to work so hard.

Ness's suggestion made McMullen fall into deep thought; he hadn't considered this path before. Crafting weapons was indeed very profitable. As a knight, he knew the price of weapons and armor very well, and there was no risk of failure in this line of work, only hardship.

Another reason that appealed to him was that he could use this opportunity to bring a group of comrades over. As fishermen, three people were enough for a fishing boat, or even just one; too many people would arouse suspicion.

But a weapons workshop was different; seventeen or eighteen people were never too many. Sometimes, when they received a large order, it was common to recruit hundreds or even thousands of temporary workers from the surrounding villages.

"Why are you being so kind?"

McMullen looked at Ness suspiciously. Although they hadn't spent much time together, he knew that Ness was the kind of person who wouldn't do anything without a profit.

Of course, Nice wouldn't tell the truth. The new armor involved Prince Philip, and he was currently juggling several factions; the worst thing he could do was let one side know about the other's existence.

"Helping you is also helping myself. The Knights Templar aren't what they used to be. I don't want to deal with them directly. With you here, you can act as a liaison."

"There should be other reasons."

McMullen sensed that Nice hadn't revealed all the reasons.

"If there were another reputable weapons workshop, it would benefit Asakus's prosperity."

Nice casually picked a respectable reason.

"There should be other reasons as well."

McMullen continued to press.

"What else do you have to offer me? I've never considered asking you for help in war."

Nice didn't want to explain any further.

McMullen scratched his head awkwardly. He suddenly realized that this man was highly skilled and had extensive connections; there was absolutely no need for him to help. Not only that, the man didn't even want to deal with the Knights Templar; the Knights Templar only brought trouble, not any benefit.

He had also been in contact with Simon Aragorn, and he sensed that the former elder was gradually distancing himself from the Knights. This sudden disappearance seemed to indicate a severing of ties with the Order.

McMullen fell silent; Nys's words had touched a nerve.

Nys, fearing McMullen would press further, remained silent.

The two buried themselves in their food, and this time, without Nys lifting a finger, McMullen had already dealt with the remaining three points.

Throwing the bones and shriveled lemons into the sea, Nys opened the hatch and crawled inside.

It was now completely dark, and he needed to find a safe place for himself and his ship to spend the night.

The cabin was a mess; the most bulky items were the six tattered magic robes. Until they were properly repaired, they were essentially useless, and it was uncertain whether they could even be repaired.

Crumpling the robes into a ball and stuffing them into the trunk at the back, Nys began checking the other items.

The most numerous items here were rings, averaging three per person, followed by necklaces, nine in total for the six people. Besides these, there were six belts, three pairs of boots, two hats, and the most valuable were the six magic bags.

Nice first checked the belts; a mage's belt was used to store potions and scrolls.

A smile appeared on his face; the scroll he needed was right there. Nice loved free things; they were easier to use that way.

He pulled out a blue scroll. A hook symbol was drawn on the outside, and the front resembled a magic circle, with the incantation written beside it.

As the scroll dissolved, patterns of varying depths formed by light appeared on all the surrounding magical items. These were the magic circles hidden within the magical items.

To know their uses, one could only rely on the mage's usual knowledge and insight.

Nice tried hard to identify them.

The easiest to understand were the rings and necklaces, which all contained single spells.

The two hats were more complex. One hat had five magic circles: "Mental Strength Expansion," "Mental Strength Concentration," "Intent Screen Array," and "Mental Armor." The other hat only had "Netherworld Communication."

Nice quickly put away the latter hat; "Netherworld Communication" was a forbidden spell used to communicate with the dead. He didn't want to cause himself trouble.

The three pairs of boots were quite good, all bearing the "Wave-Walking" magic circle, clearly prepared specifically for this mission. Besides that, they also had very practical spells like "Swift Walking," "Lightness Spell," and "Aerial Walk."

The real highlight, however, was the six magic bags.

Opening all six bags, Nice immediately beamed. Inside were spellbooks, notebooks, various familiar and unfamiliar materials, and of course, magical artifacts.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

One of the magic bags contained a lens. The lens was made of polished crystal, edged with gold, and engraved with runes.

Nine times out of ten, any magical artifact containing a lens would have the "Eagle Eye" spell.

Nice leaned close to the bag's opening, carefully examining the overlapping magic circles appearing around the lens.

He had seen many more complex magic circles, but those engraved on such a small object were extremely rare.

After a long while, he finally recognized it.

There was indeed the "Eagle Eye" spell, along with three other magic circles: "Night Vision," "See Through the Mist," and "Light and Shadow Analysis."

These three were all intermediate-level spells, and very practical ones at that.

"Night Vision" could make light invisible to the naked eye visible; "See Through the Mist" was the nemesis of mist-based invisibility spells; and "Light and Shadow Analysis" was the nemesis of light and shadow refraction-based invisibility spells.

This is definitely a very practical magical device, combining reconnaissance and stealth detection in one go. Judging from its appearance, it should be a mass-produced work by a master.

Overlapping magic circles cause interference; the more magic circles there are, the larger the magical device's size tends to be. Only a master can possibly shrink the device's size. This is no easy feat.

Even masters need to spend a great deal of time and effort to achieve this, so if conditions allow, they won't just make one, but often produce a batch.

This kind of magical device is absolutely rare and hard to come by.

Nise didn't dare take it out.

Items in the magic bag can be taken out, and they immediately enlarge upon being taken out, but he hadn't learned "Scaling" and couldn't shrink things to put them back in.

Besides, taking it out was useless; he didn't know "Eagle Eye," so this thing was just a decoration in his hands.

Nise hesitated for a moment, finally gritting his teeth and making up his mind. He would spend more time on magic.

To use intermediate magic, one doesn't necessarily need to become an intermediate mage. His magical power had already reached a certain level; as long as he was willing to spend time studying these spells and understanding their composition, he could activate these magical devices.

After a moment of excitement, Nice remembered that now was not the time to be happy.

Having packed everything away, he gently turned a knob on the bottom of the boat. That knob was a trapdoor; opening it would immediately flood in seawater.

"We're about to sink. If you still want to hitch a ride, you'd better tie yourself to the mast with a rope."

"Sink...sink?"

McMullen stared in astonishment, glancing into the cabin at the seawater rushing in. He shouted, "You're not planning to sink the ship, are you?" "

That's exactly what I was thinking. There's a thick layer of seawater above me; I want to see who can find me!"

Nice gave a chilling answer.

"You're comfortable in there, but what about me?"

McMullen yelled.

“You chose to board this ship yourself. I originally designed it for my own use.”

Ness was exasperated. How could he have imagined McMullen would follow him?

“I…I…”

McMullen wanted to slap himself. If he had known this would happen, he would never have boarded this ship. “So how do you breathe? I don’t have gills like that.”

Ness pointed to the mast. “You can find a pipe over there. You can breathe through it. The mast is hollow.”

“You’re quite thoughtful.”

McMullen gritted his teeth in anger. Suddenly, another question came to mind: “How do you determine the direction of the voyage?”

Ness wasn’t stumped. In the month before the meeting, he had already planned all possible escape routes.

“During the day, I’m not just waiting for prey in the water. I’m constantly looking for currents. I came up here just now because I found a suitable current. This current will carry us northwest. The church people are behind us, and we will drift further and further away from them.”

“The current doesn’t seem to be very fast.”

McMullen had been fishing for a month and knew a little about currents.

Nice smiled and pointed to the two oars. "Since you've got nothing better to do, I'll trouble you to do this so we can escape as soon as possible."

With that, he closed the hatch.

McMullen gritted his teeth, but eventually ran to the mast, found the tube, put it in his mouth, and tied himself to the mast with a rope. Then he grabbed the oars and rowed with all his might.

The small boat gradually sank into the sea, leaving only the mast above the surface. Bubbles occasionally rose from around the mast—McMullen's exhaled air. At that moment, he only hoped to get back to land as quickly as possible.

Inside the cabin, Nice felt uncomfortable as well. He felt like he was soaking in a bathtub, most of his body submerged in seawater.

He was satisfied with the boat's sealing performance; once the knob at the bottom was closed, no more seawater entered. The glass was also sturdy, showing no cracks under the pressure of the seawater.

**********

...

Afterwards, he deliberately wandered around several cities in the east, which is why he was only just returning home.

"Luke and Metro haven't come back yet?"

Nice looked back and saw that besides the little princess, Palm and their lover Tina were also out.

This little country girl had become unrecognizable after wandering around outside. She was wearing a long red velvet dress and a full set of jewelry, all silver, but the style was quite good and tasteful. This probably wasn't Palm's choice. Nice and the other three were well aware of this guy's taste. "Now a lot of people are interested in us. Those who were invited invited others, so Luke had to send out a lot of invitations and deliver them door-to-door,"

Palm explained the current situation. Nice felt a mix of emotions.

Being noticed by others is both a good thing and a bad thing. These people's interest in them is clearly for the sugar business.

He couldn't help but recall the warning given to him by Governor Cherharan; their original plan to delay for several years was probably unlikely to succeed.

Although annoyed, Nice's face remained unchanged. He went to the back of the carriage and retrieved several packages.

"I brought some gifts for everyone."

The packages were full of inexpensive trinkets.

He gave the little princess a squirrel made from the scraps of mink fur. Its snow-white fur had two red stripes on its back, and its eyes were two brown glass beads, somehow inlaid with two small black beads that could actually move, just like real eyes.

The doll's adorable appearance was absolutely irresistible to any woman.

The little princess snatched it and hugged it to her arms, while Palm's little lover stared at it with reddened eyes. Nice, of course, didn't forget the others; he gave Palm a pair of iron gloves.

He bought this at a secondhand shop in a city. It would have been very expensive if it had matched armor, but unfortunately, only gloves were available, and they were defective, so he bought them for a very low price.

He also gave Tino a silver necklace. The material itself wasn't valuable, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. The pendant was a bunch of grapes, the grapes were made of purple glass, and the leaves were silver.

This necklace, like the squirrel he gave to Princess Anna, was sure to please women.

"Don't get any funny ideas,"

Palm said, seeing his lover's happy expression, and leaned close to Nice, warning him in a very low voice.

Nice rolled his eyes. He then pulled out two similar necklaces, exquisitely crafted, delicate, and sure to please women.

"These are for Sharla and Lilith,"

he said, shaking the necklaces.

Both maids had necklaces, and of course, he wouldn't forget the old knight beside Anna; his gift for him was a folding knife with a walnut handle.

Besides these, there were also inexpensive and portable items like handkerchiefs, scarves, and ribbons, perfect for giving to the servants.

Nice learned this from his father, who always brought back a large pile of gifts when he returned from out of town.

When his father died, he thought his father's actions were meaningless; no matter how good one was to the servants, most would still betray them in the end.

But this time, he finally understood. Doing so was actually proof—proof that he had been to certain places.

All these items were bought in the city of Buhun. While it seemed like a whim, these handicrafts were exclusively made; they couldn't be bought anywhere else.

During his busiest days, he traveled to six cities in a single day just to buy these items.

If anyone asked about his whereabouts during this period, he could say he had been traveling around, going to one place today and another tomorrow. These items would be the best proof.

Even if someone investigated, it wouldn't matter.

The shops that sold him these things might have some recollection of him, but they certainly wouldn't remember the exact dates. In this way, it would become evidence in his favor.

After distributing most of the gifts, Nice took the remaining items into the sample room.

Everyone else assumed these were also gifts, since many people weren't home, and no one suspected that they contained a lot of illicit goods.

The sample room was the safest place in the house; the windows were all iron bars, the door was iron, and there were only two keys—one in Nice's possession and the other in Luke's.

However, even Luke didn't know that there was a hidden compartment in the cellar beneath the sample room, where Nice had stuffed all the stolen goods.

After doing all this, he took two items and returned upstairs.

"I'm going to East's place; he should still be at the construction site, right?"

Nice asked Palm. Before Palm could answer, the little princess eagerly said, "I'll go with you."

Nice had been away for nearly half a month, and the dilapidated dock had completely changed. When he left, only the main structure of the scaffolding had been erected; now it was basically finished, and workers were laying floor tiles on the planks.

The iconic giant dome was already completed, and sunlight streaming in gave it a completely different look, devoid of any sense of flimsy or crudeness. The tracks beneath the scaffolding were also laid, and these were now the most useful tools, with carts loaded with timber, bricks, and mortar moving steadily along them.

The changes even extended to the seaside, with a long pier added to the dock.

The advantage of the pier was that it greatly increased the number of ships that could be moored.

The dock allocated to them was only a little over 300 meters long, only enough to accommodate six or seven large merchant ships before becoming overcrowded. Now, with the pier, things were different. These piers were all over 400 meters long, with ships able to dock on both sides. The three piers totaled 2,400 meters, which, combined with the original 300-meter dock, was enough to accommodate nearly a hundred large ships.

Asakh was a small port, and it was rare for hundreds of large ships to dock there at once; this design was sufficient for the short term.

By the time even these three piers were insufficient, Asakh would probably already be in their hands.

Ister was stationed here, along with Elena.

Among the two items Nice was carrying was a very beautiful red printed silk scarf.

"This is for you,"

Nice said, placing the scarf in Elena's hands.

Silk is something both men and women love, and given its association with gold, it was the perfect gift for the wealth-loving barbarians.

To Nice's surprise, the tall, beautiful woman's eyes were fixed on the toy squirrel in the little princess's hand. He couldn't believe this oblivious woman would also like such things.

Even more speechless was the little princess's defiant playful handling of the squirrel, sticking her tongue out at Elena and making a face.

"You're finally back,"

Ister coughed, breaking the awkward silence. "While you were gone, everything was left to me alone; it was exhausting. Luckily, the Hidden House people were keeping an eye on things in Kaoni, otherwise I'd have to run back and forth."

Nice didn't take it to heart. Each of them had their own area of responsibility; he couldn't help Ister, and Ister wouldn't concern himself with his area. The guy was just joking. "How's it going at the church?"

Nice asked casually.

"Don't worry, the people at the Inner Chambers are doing a great job. It's all thanks to Lord Marquis Cerhalan; he's already paid for the first batch of ships, and I gave them all the money,"

Ister said.

"Weren't those ships lent to Cardinal Emmar?"

Nice feigned surprise. He was very concerned about this; he wanted to know if the Knights Templar had ultimately escaped.

"The Cardinal landed in Fakar five days ago. He handed the ship over to a merchant house connected to Marquis Cherhalan. It's said the Cardinal's trip wasn't very successful; he mobilized over 100,000 men and only managed to capture a few traitors. But that's not entirely his fault; the Knights Templar had loaded one of the 'Twelve Saints' who guarded the Holy City onto a ship,"

Ister revealed what Nice most wanted to know.

After a quick calculation, Nice roughly guessed that Cardinal Emmar, upon seeing the "Saint's" flash, knew the situation was hopeless. Although he ordered others to continue the pursuit, he didn't follow himself, instead landing at the nearby port of Fakar. Nice secretly

breathed a sigh of relief.

With the Cardinal in charge gone, the borrowed men were unlikely to be interested in the search; at most, they would use large rewards to lure untrained mages into taking risks, but they probably wouldn't gain anything.

As for the few traitors Ister mentioned, they were likely referring to the people on the fishing boats responsible for surveillance on the outskirts. He wasn't worried about his identity being exposed. On the way here, he had already learned from McMullen that only seven or eight people in the Knights Templar knew about Old Man Simon and his identity.

"This is a gift for you,"

Nice said absentmindedly, taking out a picture book.

He had also bought it from a secondhand shop.

He had found many good things in secondhand shops in various cities, to the point that he had the idea of opening his own. Maybe he could find some strange and wonderful things.

The book, of unknown origin, contained anatomical diagrams of animals, including bones and muscles. This was useful for doctors, and for those skilled in drawing, it was also an invaluable reference.

"Where did you get this?"

Easter was definitely a connoisseur.

Lately, he had been pondering those statues, and it was the same old problem: he could make a head, but the body always felt stiff.

He hadn't known why before, but after glancing at this picture book, he immediately understood the problem: he lacked knowledge of human anatomy.

"If I have the chance in the future, I want to visit all the secondhand shops in every port along the coast. I went there by chance and unexpectedly found a lot of good stuff at very cheap prices."

Nice explained the source of the books and also hinted that he had traveled to many cities and visited many secondhand shops recently.

Easter didn't pay much attention and casually said, "Take me with you next time you go."

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[The Hidden One] Episodes 10-12 Author: Blood Coral

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