Chapter 6 : Chapter 6
Chapter 6: An Actor’s Self-Cultivation
Talin Town was a day and a half on foot from Tarp.
Cyril stood at the entrance of the town before him. It was fairly large, even protected by a defensive wall, and it felt vaguely familiar to him. Yet after searching through his memories, he still could not find any information about it.
After all, by the time players truly became involved in the war in the Northern Frontier, the undead had already occupied a third of La Rochelle’s northern territory. Although some towns had been converted into undead strongholds, those were only a minority. Most places had simply been abandoned, or even destroyed outright.
That was why the map of the Northern Frontier available to players had been incomplete. Back then, Cyril had deliberately gone to La Rochelle’s National Library in search of a complete map of the region, hoping to hunt for treasure, but even when he followed it, he still could not match many of the locations.
He turned around and looked at the girl behind him, who carried only a small bundle in her hand. Wrapped tightly in her scarf, she showed only half her pale little face, listlessly staring into space.
“Have you been here before?” Cyril set the large pack on his back down on the ground. The benefit of leveling up was that the weakness from his earlier blood loss had vanished completely. If he assigned his level directly into the knight class, his physical condition would improve by another step. After all, attributes like Strength and Agility still existed—it was only that they no longer appeared before his eyes in numerical form.
“I have. Twice.” Caroline’s voice was muffled, and the tip of her delicate nose twitched. “I came with my father’s wagon. Talin Town’s pinewood is the best among the nearby towns.”
“Pinewood?”
“There’s a huge pine forest beside Talin Town. They say it also produces Black Pineheart that can be used for enchanting, but Father has never come across any.” As Caroline spoke, she suddenly pulled down her scarf and let out a tremendous sneeze.
Cyril frowned slightly. He immediately reached out and pressed a hand to Caroline’s forehead, then let out a sigh.
It was burning hot.
Even though he had done everything he could to keep Caroline warm, after enduring two days of wind and snow, the girl had still fallen ill. It was not as though Cyril had wanted to travel in weather this harsh, but he had no choice. He had no idea when the undead would move into Tarp, so he had been forced to make that decision.
The only fortunate thing was that the undead would not follow the same southward route he and Caroline were taking. Instead, they would move along La Rochelle’s northern border, uprooting the towns and villages lining that frontier one by one. If everything unfolded the same way it had in the game, then the path south he had chosen would not be disturbed by the undead.
But even so, Caroline’s fever was still a serious problem. Not only would it slow them down, but more importantly, in Road of Radiance, illnesses and wounds were treated by priests. And a small frontier town like this one was almost certain not to have a church, let alone a resident priest...
And the first place in his plan that definitely would have priests was the Northwind Tower.
Even so, it would still take at least three days to get there.
“Let’s go into town first.” Cyril gritted his teeth. At this point, all he could do was take one step at a time. He swung the large bundle onto his back with one hand, then used the other to take hold of the girl’s limp little hand and led her into Talin Town.
The road was covered in freshly fallen snow, with no traces of anyone having walked over it. Every household in Talin Town had its doors shut tight, and the silence lay over the place like the dawn after a festival revelry had ended.
But Cyril did not like that kind of silence.
With his years of experience as a Rogue, abnormal surroundings usually meant danger—especially in a town like this one, which was rural in truth. Such stillness was all the more eerie.
That thought had only just crossed his mind when he suddenly stopped. With one pull, he drew Caroline behind him, while the hand hidden beneath his robe closed around the hilt of the sword at his waist—
Not far ahead of him stood an old man in a black-gray robe, his back bent with age. He was sweeping the snow from the road, and behind him stood a small, shabby church.
“Outsiders.”
The old man’s hoarse voice reached them first. He straightened slightly, his gaze lingering on Cyril for a moment before shifting to Caroline at his side. Setting the broom aside, he turned and opened the gate to the yard. “May the starlight shine upon you. Have you come to pray to Lord Danya?”
Cyril frowned faintly. The unexpected appearance of this church suddenly stirred a trace of recognition in his mind.
There really had been a quest in the Northern Frontier related to a church.
And Cyril had taken part in it.
He studied the old man’s somewhat gloomy expression. By the time he stepped forward, his face had already changed into one of apologetic politeness. “May the starlight shine upon you. My younger sister has run into a bit of trouble. If possible...”
Before he could even finish speaking, a smile abruptly spread across the old man’s face. “Of course. Lord Danya treats everyone equally. You must both be exhausted. Come in and rest here first.”
He spoke hurriedly and ushered Cyril into the courtyard.
The courtyard was piled full of clutter. A large piece of wood had peeled away from the church door, leaving it patchy and uneven to the eye, while the outer walls were mottled and worn. As Cyril approached the entrance, he saw that the metal emblem hanging beside the door was thick with dust, showing no sign of having been cleaned in a long time.
He reached out and brushed away some of the dust with his fingers, finally making out the shape of the emblem: a droplet of water falling onto a six-pointed magic circle.
Seeing Cyril dawdling outside the door, the old man grew impatient and urged, “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and come in.”
Cyril looked up at him.
The old man’s face was filled with urgency and desire, like a spider watching an insect circle at the edge of its web without flying into it.
Such dreadful acting.
No, there was not even any acting at all.
Cyril could not help sighing inwardly. If circumstances allowed, he would have liked to recite The Actor’s Self-Cultivation to the old man from beginning to end. When pretending to be a devout priest, the very least one should do was wipe clean the emblem of the faith one supposedly served.
Still holding Caroline’s hand, he patted the back of it lightly, signaling for her to remain where she was. Then he quickened his pace and caught up with the old man as he walked into the church.
“Priest, times haven’t been too kind to you, have they?”
“So long as Lord Tris... I mean, Lord Danya’s glory can shine upon all things, then all our hardships are worthwhile.” The old man turned around, wearing a gentle smile, but his eyes burned with such brightness that it seemed as though flames were dancing inside them. He stared fixedly at Caroline, who still stood timidly by the doorway. “And that girl? Why aren’t you letting her come in—”
Before he could finish speaking, his pupils suddenly contracted.
Then his mouth fell open, and a mouthful of black blood sprayed out onto Cyril’s heavy clothing.
Cyril’s gaze remained icy. He twisted the broken sword—stolen from Caroline just moments ago—that was now buried in the old man’s stomach, then yanked it free with force.
Watching the old man stagger backward with both hands clutching his abdomen until he crashed into a battered long table, Cyril wiped the broken sword against his thick clothing.
“A short sword really is easier to use. With a knight’s sword, I can barely even draw it cleanly.”