Warlock Apprentice

Chapter 1202: Section 1203 Refuting Miscellany

At this time, in an orphanage run by the church.

A blond woman carrying painting supplies suddenly lifted her head and stared blankly into the azure sky.

It wasn’t until her skirt was tugged by a chubby little fist that the woman came back to her senses, squatted down with a smile, and looked at the little girl in front of her, who was under five years old: “May, what’s wrong?”

“Sister Feng, Siegfried is about to give up.”

Her milky voice, shy motions, and eyes filled with pleading, when seen by the woman, immediately brought a beaming smile to her face.

The woman hugged May tightly, rubbing her tender cheeks vigorously before letting her go.

Then, she turned her gaze towards the other side, to Siegfried who was doing a “golden rooster independent” stance by the fountain.

Siegfried was the same age as May, and because he had maintained a pose for a long time, his chubby face was now flushed red, with tears glistening in his eyes, looking very wronged. However, he could not cry, no matter how wronged he felt. The head of the orphanage had said that boys must not cry, especially with May beside him.

Today, he had tried with great difficulty to exhibit “manliness” in front of May with this pose and absolutely could not make a fool of himself.

However, perhaps because he had been standing too long, and the sun was scorching, his face was beat red, his body steaming with sweat, Siegfried felt dizzy, saw a flash of darkness, and with a “plop,” fell into the fountain, splashing water everywhere.

After a while, Siegfried, determined to have heatstroke, was taken back to the dormitory by the church nun with a wronged look on his face.

Siegfried looked downcast, having failed to exhibit his masculinity in front of May, and even made a fool of himself, causing a surging sense of discomfort in his heart.

Thinking Siegfried was sad for not having a turn at painting, the nun comforted him gently, “It’s okay that you didn’t get a chance to paint this time. I’ve asked, and Artist Feng will come again next week. When you’re better, it will not be too late to paint.”

Siegfried responded gloomily.

On the other side, after kissing May’s little cheek and sending her away, the blond woman—Artist Feng, suddenly felt her earring move.

“You…”

“Don’t talk yet.” Feng interrupted the voice beside her ear, then with an agile movement, she jumped onto the statue in the middle of the fountain and then said, “Go ahead.”

From the earring came a teasing voice: “My dear old friend Mirafer, I’ve always been unaware of your interest in cross-dressing?”

The blond woman was none other than “Magic Painter” Mirafer Feng. He shrugged and said, “I can’t help it, this church only allows pure and spotless young girls to enter. Besides, as a painter, experiencing art from a woman’s perspective is also very interesting.”

“I don’t understand your kind of art,” muttered the voice in the earring before speaking again: “Wasn’t your target the third princess of the Heart Kingdom’s royal family? According to my positioning, how did you end up in the Kingdom of Saint Ysha?”

Feng: “I obtained the Mysterious Object from Tasya over half a day ago, but as I was preparing to return, I heard some rumors about the Kingdom of Saint Ysha, so I came here.”

“Some rumors?”

“I can’t detail it for you yet, but, this entire kingdom seems shrouded in an odd atmosphere, and I feel I might encounter something incredible here.” Feng glanced at the fountain below, the strange atmosphere wouldn’t spread into the water, so he chose to stand on the fountain’s statue to speak.”

“Another Mysterious Object?” The earring sounded an exclamation with a thick tone of jealousy: “A remote world at the end of its magic cycle actually produced two Mysterious Objects?”

“I don’t know if it’s a Mysterious Object, I’ll need some time to investigate… After all, Mysterious Objects bring chances as well as unforeseeable dangers.” Feng recalled how he had stayed for fifteen years just to obtain “Kael’s Lament” from Tasya, watching her to prevent any danger.

However, the “Kael’s Lament” on Tasya was part of her very bones, which was why it took a long time to observe. If the Mysterious Object here was a separate existence, it wouldn’t require such a long stop.

After a pause, Feng added, “We’ll talk more about this when there’s definite news. What is it that you wanted, Rekton?”

Suddenly, a series of crackling noises came from the earring, seeming like bursts of explosions and hissing sounds of leaking air.

After a while, Rekton gasped for air, his voice tinged with sadness: “My old friend, I have very unfortunate news to tell you, my experiment has failed again.”

“Since you’ve been trying to artificially synthesize a Mysterious Object, when has your alchemy experiment ever succeeded?” Feng quipped, “Besides, what does it have to do with me?”

Rekton: “You’re my closest friend, yet you cannot empathize with me, I’m so disappointed… Ah, if only I could obtain the Darkening Technique from the Death Faction of Odoros, perhaps I could reach the mysterious level.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. Next time I return, I’ll try to apply for permission to use the Book of Kael and look for the Darkening Technique for you,” Feng said with irritation, and then asked, “You contacted me, it couldn’t just be for this, could it?”

“Of course not.” As soon as he received Feng’s promise, Rekton immediately grinned, talking about business—

“I just got the latest news. According to our monitoring, a Demon God True Spirit has just fallen on the barren face of the Abyss realm.” Rekton: “I know you bear grudges against Demon Gods, and the barren face is also connected to the Wizards’ Realm of the Southern Domain, so as soon as I got the news, I hurried to notify you.”

After Rekton finished, there was still no response from Feng.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

It took a while before Feng’s voice came through: “I’m aware. I felt something when my previous engagement with the Book of Kael suddenly dissipated.”

“Your covenant with the Book of Kael? This Demon God’s True Spirit has fallen, and it’s related to you?” After Rekton spoke, he suddenly realized, “That’s right, your disdain for the Demon God is strong, so it would make sense for you to do this.”

Rekton remembered the time he had come across a book on Feng’s bookshelf by chance.

The name seemed to be “Records of Plane Conquering,” a publication by a Wizards’ Alliance called Frostmoon from the Southern Domain. The title page of the book featured a painting by Feng—the Apocalypse Catastrophe, depicting the apocalyptic scene after the advent of the great Demon God with the rising sun.

Feng’s hatred toward the Demon God was stark and naked. Rekton conjectured that perhaps it had something to do with some experiences in Feng’s early years, but as with all wizards who had reached their level, life inevitably left some snow behind. Once the snow melted, no one but the person themselves could know.

Feng didn’t wish to speak of the snow in his life, and Rekton, respecting the boundaries of friendship, had never asked.

Rekton said, “Alright, since it’s your covenant with the Book of Kael, it seems that things must be settled by now.”

“The shadow of the Demon God should have dissipated,” Feng replied indifferently.

“I don’t know what the point is in you doing this,” Rekton muttered, “But since you already know, I won’t say anything more. I’m going to keep trying. Maybe I can succeed without the legendary Darkening Technique. But I’m running out of money to rent safe Mysterious Objects, which is troublesome… When you come back, remember to lend me the Mysterious Objects you acquire for a few days to study.”

“Okay.”

Rekton’s voice gradually faded, while Feng raised his head and quietly gazed at the sky, as if he could see the Abyss worlds far beyond the reaches of space and time.

After a long while, an elderly priest walked over and asked, “Wizard Feng, how did you climb up there?”

Feng’s face turned red as he jumped down from the central statue of the fountain, “Uh, I accidentally got some ink on the statue, so I climbed up to wipe it off.”

“Is that so?” The priest looked doubtful, but more than Feng’s climbing the statue, there was another matter he found more suspicious.

Just two hours ago, this self-proclaimed artist named Feng had come to the orphanage offering to draw portraits of the children for free, a task he claimed would take up most of the year.

While it was a generous offer, the priest had heard from a Nun earlier that Feng had been inquiring about something.

“I was told by a Nun earlier that you’ve been asking about the Holy Selection Conference?”

…

Time rewound to the not-so-distant past, in the Abyss, on the Desolate Face.

The sealed continent beneath the shadows of the trees.

Greerwu would probably never forget that scene in his lifetime.

The tall figure with golden hair, standing silently under that large, vivid green tree.

A deathly still, dark sky, a tumultuously undulating reddish-brown earth, and the Fire Tornado emerging from the plain provided the backdrop for this scene.

It was deeply engraved in Greerwu’s mind.

Time passed, and while Greerwu was still adorning his inner memories, a voice suddenly rang out.

“How chaotic,” the voice said.

It wasn’t the voice of the owner, nor did it come from Popota.

This voice was very special; it did not enter through the medium of air, but instead, like a wave of spiritual ripple, it went directly into his mind. Oddly enough, although Greerwu did not recognize the language spoken, he understood the meaning of the words. Yet, it was distinct from a mere mental ripple because it carried the texture of sound—

Indistinguishable whether male or female, it was profoundly cold, like a droplet of water falling on to the smooth, icy surface of porcelain.

Merely hearing this voice made Greerwu feel as though he was in the midst of icy snowfields.

Who was speaking? Greerwu turned his head, finally resting his gaze on the golden-haired figure.

There was no one else around; the owner seemed to have passed out, and Popota lay still, the only one capable of speech was… him.

As a newly devoted follower, Greerwu suddenly felt a surge of excitement. After all, the Demon God’s True Spirit had questioned him many times before, but he had not spoken until now, and this was the first time he had spoken!

Right, what did he just say… chaotic? What was chaotic?

While Greerwu was puzzled, he saw the golden-haired figure stretch out his hand, and from the tree created by the True Spirit Force, light points began to pour out slowly.

Like fireflies fluttering or as if stars were descending like water from the sky.

In the end, these green light points gathered in the hands of the golden-haired figure.