Pillar of Yita

”Gulp gulp...”

Fang Hong watched the middle-aged man before him with gray hair, scruffy beard, and an emaciated face. His throat moved up and down as he gulped down the drink with a boldness quite contrary to his current appearance. The rose-colored wine trickled down his beard like scattered tiny rubies, dripping onto his tattered clothes.

Delan let out a long breath, wiped his beard with his withered hand, and set down the small keg. His eyes seemed to light up, looking at Fang Hong with an unprecedentedly playful gaze. ”The Istania people believe it has a magic power, capable of bringing the dead back to life, because it resembles blood in color. The witch doctors believe blood is sacred, a magical substance—can you imagine that? Thus, locals once treated it as a holy relic that could cure all diseases, until ’you all’ arrived. I can hardly recall the last time I tasted it.”

Fang Hong glanced at the wine flowing on the ground and believed it looked like blood, perhaps its name originated from that. But as for its magical properties, he had tried it himself—nothing more than ordinary fine wine, not quite as endlessly memorable as it’s claimed. His knowledge of Eteliria’s fine wines was limited to the Moonlight Wine at the Fairy Residence, and Desert Blood only differed slightly in taste from the latter.

Locals considered Desert Blood to resemble the color of blood, thus revered it as a holy relic. Such an ancient theory of using likeness to cure likeness seems to have examples in every world, but it remains a primitive way of thinking.

Looking at the middle-aged man, Fang Hong finally confirmed that he merely wanted a taste of the fine wine. However, from his words, he picked up a few details. It seemed the man had tasted Desert Blood in the past, but in what manner? Desert Blood was a specialty of the Bain Region, a cellar treasure of the nobles, not something a commoner could covet. What could be the origin of this seemingly shabby and downtrodden middle-aged man?

As an Alchemist, becoming a guest of nobles wouldn’t be difficult.

Yet why was he trapped here, imprisoned by the arcanists, and seemingly content with it? At this thought, Fang Hong suddenly realized he previously misunderstood the situation, instinctively assuming this man was a prisoner of the arcanists. But now, knowing the arcanists were mere visitors here, could this person actually be a prisoner of the Lord Earl?

Yet being held in an outer prison didn’t signify an important status, so why had he lingered here for a decade?

How many decades does one have in life?

Fang Hong thought of the old scholar confined in the dungeon of the Grand Princess Palace, pondering if it was a similar situation where Delan’s stay was a form of protection rather than imprisonment? But judging by his living conditions, it didn’t seem so. If seeking protection from the Lord Earl, he wouldn’t be left without even basic research supplies of paper and pens, would he?

Suppressing his doubts, as time was of the essence, with the three outer dungeons already liberated and the Shield of Lufu regrouped, they had control over the fortress. Thanks, of course, to the sandstorm; ordinarily, their operations wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. Firstly, the harsh weather led to lax castle defenses, and secondly, the communication woes caused by the sandstorm affected not just the Invoker, but led to a complete collapse of all local communication systems as well.

Nevertheless, a military fortress inevitably has contingency measures. Since locals know the sandstorm better, it wasn’t clear when they’d react, but Fang Hong knew that every moment wasted reduced their opportunity further. With this in mind, he directly asked:

”Tell me about the arcanists’ secret—who do they truly serve? I’ve already brought you the Desert Blood; now it’s your turn to fulfill the promise.”

Yet he added at the end: ”You’re not an Istania person, are you?”

He guessed this from the man’s own tone, similar to how most Invokers wouldn’t typically say ”Invokers think cross-realm communication is costly”; they’d just say ”we think it’s outright robbery” to express their indignation.

Only when not part of the group does one’s tone carry a naturally outsider’s perspective.

There are also those who frequently use ”your country,” ”your society,” ”your forum,” belonging to a special group not part of this discussion.

Delan placed his hand on the keg, laughing as he said, ”It seems you can’t let go of your curiosity about my identity. Unfortunately, I’m just an ordinary person without the extraordinary past you imagine, and I’m not planning to discuss my past. Let’s stick to the point. Having had your wine, I’ll keep my promise.”

Fang Hong was unimpressed by his words.

Since overhearing the servants’ conversation, he believed about seventy to eighty percent of what Delan had said before. How could a prisoner know the secrets of the arcanists? When he claims to be an ordinary person, who would believe that?