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"Are you all fools!? You actually handed Malin over just because he demanded it!?" Bishop Maiseer Schmidt of the Church of the War God looked at the lady before him with furious anger: "That child is a Magic Warrior! Do you know how many years it takes for our Church of the War God to produce such a treasure!?"
"Then why did you let your people teach him a good lesson?" The lady asked without lifting her head as she trimd her fingernails with a nail clipper.
"That’s because that little brat Maiseer did sothing wrong! If you do sothing wrong, you have to be punished! But even if it’s punishnt, it has to co from us! We must not let an outsider like Malin do it!" Bishop exclaid, roaring, "It’s been three days! Why haven’t they returned? Could Maiseer have died!? Has Malin fled in fear of his cris?!"
"Maiseer, what kind of person do you think Mr. Malin is? Even if he killed Maiseer on the spot that day, what could you do to him, challenge him to a duel?" The lady sighed and pointed to another ntor of the Goddess of Harvest Church sitting across from her: "You old fellow, can’t you maintain your composure in the face of calamity like the young girl from the Goddess of Harvest Church?"
"That’s called a poker face!" Bishop Maiseer exclaid with an extrely exaggerated expression.
......
"Three days! Our communication with the North has been cut off! No one knows what’s happened up there! Dammit, why is this happening!" The Archbishop of the Goddess of Harvest Church, Sydney region, stood in front of the little girl who was obviously confused with a blank expression.
But he had to complain. Malin Gaiate, in the eyes of the higher-ups of the entire Goddess of Harvest Church, was a crucial figure. The safety of this child weighed heavily on many hearts.
The Mowish family had been inquiring about Malin’s whereabouts for two days in a row.
The Elven ambassador offered to send a Ranger squad of eight to try and rescue people at the Northern front line.
The Dwarves cursed daily at Sydney’s Departnt of Foreign Affairs, and the Archbishop was sowhat confused as to why the Dwarves would co to the Departnt of Foreign Affairs—they would be better off looking for the unfortunate scapegoats there than at the Church of Justice.
Then the younger brother of the Sayer family gave him an answer—the Dwarves didn’t dare to curse in the halls of the Church of Justice.
"Enough. Although Malin looks like a child, he’s actually an adult," said ntor Et Selk, slumping in his chair.
"Shut up! If sothing happens to Malin, who was entrusted to you by Old Hoffman, let’s see how you die!"
"Heh, if sothing were really to happen to Malin, I’d be dead long before that old man could kill ," Et Selk said with disdain.
At that mont, everyone turned their heads to the corner where, under their attention, more than a dozen tree roots erged from the ground, forming a door. Then, the doorway’s azure reflection rippled as Malin erged with Maiseer.
"See, I knew they’d be all right. It’s just you old folks always clucking around like broody hens," Et Selk complained as he was smacked to the ground by an Archbishop’s Psychic Palm.
"Always yapping, you bloody brat from the Sayer family!" After smacking him, the Archbishop quickly approached: "Three days, what happened in the North?"
"Chaos Spirit Tide. The original plan was to take this kid for a round on the battlefield, but after the Spirit Tide ca, we were trapped in the North, non-stop for three days." A sowhat travel-worn Malin extended his hand to shake with the Archbishop, then turned to the old man approaching from the Church of the War God: "I’m returning Maiseer to you, safe and sound. The lad did okay on the battlefield and has earned my forgiveness."
After speaking, Malin turned and said farewell to Maiseer, then headed for the exit.
"Malin! Where are you going?"
"Going to take a bath. Oh, and consider this a gift from this junior to you, old man." Malin threw sothing over his shoulder, which the Archbishop caught. It was a string of finger bones.
"The purified finger bones of a Chaos Priest?" The Bishop from the Church of the War God examined the war trophy in his companion’s hand: "There must be at least twenty Chaos Priests here; quite a heavy gift indeed."
"Of course. I haven’t killed that many Chaos Priests in my lifeti. He’s a good kid. Old Hoffman is truly blessed," the elderly Archbishop said, laughing contentedly. He turned to his colleague: "Bishop Maiseer, it seems your Apprentice also has sothing to give you."
So, Bishop Maiseer of the Church of the War God turned and saw the boy before him. Having not seen him for three days, he barely recognized him—this kid with shoulder-length hair now had a shaved head and scars on his scalp and face. His apprentice robe was clean, but Bishop Maiseer was not foolish enough to think this boy had survived three days in the North wearing such unsuitable clothes for the battlefield.
While he wanted to berate him, considering Malin’s words and the long, cloth-wrapped object in the boy’s hands, Bishop Maiseer still nodded at him: "Maiseer, my child, do you have anything else to say?"
"During the three days in the North, I realized more than once how foolish my previous thinking was. Bishop Maiseer, please forgive my foolish and impetuous behavior during the competition, and you too, Archbishop of the Goddess of Harvest Church, please forgive this foolish child. It was Mr. Malin who made see that the self-esteem I had on the tournant field could one day kill on the battlefield."
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