"People die and sink into the sea, emotions mustn’t be shed excessively..."
Annan blinked.
He had heard a similar proverb, but it was in the Winter Duchy.
"...In our place, there is also a similar saying, ’People die and are buried in the soil, grief must not be excessive.’"
"Ah, grief..."
Isaac scoffed, "That kind of thing isn’t popular here.
"Although it’s always said that people from Winter are barbaric and brutal, people from The Holy Nation are rigid and arrogant, and people from Noah are cowardly and greedy... and those underground can’t even be called human. But if you ask , the biggest problem lies right here in Dennisiowa.
"When relatives and friends are murdered, what they think of is not grief — but revenge. You can’t rely on the King or the Privy Council, and there’s no such thing as justice. The gunfire in the alleys, the poisoned dagger behind your back, and the cannon fire from the depths of the sea are the true forms of justice."
"...I suppose that’s not a problem. It’s understandable."
Annan shook his head, "When people can’t attain ’complete justice’, avenging their kin becos a form of ’imperfect justice’. It’s an ultimate ans out of sheer necessity."
"That could at most be considered a pale and hollow justice."
Isaac let out a light sigh, his face less troubled now, "But what’s sad is... this has beco Dennisiowa’s ’entire justice’.
"In a place where you can only rely on yourself to avenge a blood feud, even if you’re harmless, don’t commit cris, and rely live your own days... you might still die suddenly any day. In a place where you can only trust yourself, and even your parents and children are unreliable, and your brothers and sisters might betray you at any mont... there is no place for ’grief’, a word too rciful.
"And moreover... sinking the dead into the sea is rely to avoid trouble."
"Trouble?"
Annan asked, puzzled.
"He’s referring to the undead, sir."
The stall owner answered Annan’s question.
"If a body is not buried in ti—or hung for public display too long, it might beco a vengeful spirit if the ’funeral’ isn’t completed... Whether that really happens, no one knows. But around here, nobody’s foolish, and everyone prefers to err on the side of caution, being very wise."
After the crowd had dispersed, Annan and Isaac, who still stood in the sa spot, were conspicuously visible. Thus, the stall owner quickly realized that they must have co on purpose, rather than being re passersby.
But as the owner of the gambling stall, what he was best at was "reading people."
Who could be offended, who could not, whom he needed to eliminate quickly, and whom he had to treat with utmost courtesy...
And watching as the stall owner approached.
The people around imdiately dispersed further—fearing they might overhear sothing they shouldn’t. The two children had already been taken back inside the gambling stall. They had been "sold away" and were now the stall’s "personal property."
They either shrunk back inside the gambling stall or stood far away at the street corner on guard. They stood by a puddle of fresh, warm blood, idly chatting as the street beca deserted in an instant.
"Sir... have you co here to investigate sothing?"
The stall owner asked politely.
He glanced at the twin-snake staff that Annan was holding, as well as the fluttering off-the-shoulder robe, and the nurous geotric pendants hanging on Isaac..., and bowed his head very respectfully.
Normal people going out on the streets wouldn’t wear such eccentric and impractical clothes, let alone carry such a fancy staff—topped with a crystal ball even larger than one’s own fist, from which one could even see flowing light!
And he had seen clothes with geotric patterns like those before. They were unique attire for the instructors of the Jade Tower... Generally speaking, the more types of geotric patterns there were, the higher the status they symbolized.
But this person had almost every kind of pendant on his chest.
...Could it be that the Tower Master or Tower’s Child of the Jade Tower had personally co?
Of course, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of a fraud.
However, the stall owner was confident in his ability to judge people—this calm and unflappable deanor, as well as the extrely abnormal affability and oppressive feeling emanating from that white-haired dwarf, were not things that could be faked.
At the very least, they were two Formal Wizards, "Committee" mbers, or even higher-ranking ones.
And he was just a gambling stall owner in so pirate faction in a port city. Although he was considered upper-middle rank within the gang, even the old Ritualist who had joined them a few months ago had a higher status than him.
He was, after all, just a mortal.
In a place like the United Kingdom, Transcendents were nobler than ordinary people on many levels. They could easily beco nobles, could insert themselves into any industry regardless of experience... and even easily beco mounted police, who even the great pirates viewed with respect.
Noticing his extrely respectful deanor, Annan asked with interest, "How do you know that we didn’t co here just for fun?"
"Your accent, it’s obviously that of a great noble from Winter. And you’ve probably never been to our parts... But that gentleman next to you, he clearly looks like a local."
The gambling stall owner, who looked like a tavern keeper and seed like he might say at any mont, "This is how you play the ga; you really are a talent, my friend," appeared so friendly in front of them. This attitude could even be described as nearly humble.
"And if it were locals bringing foreign friends sightseeing, they obviously wouldn’t bring them to a gambling stall. At most, they might just co take a look.
"If they saw a ritual like the one earlier, they would probably leave quickly—I’ve seen so big shots before. Although they don’t care about whether we lowlifes live or die, when they see that kind of ’unclean’ ritual, they still get shocked... They leave hurriedly before people are hanged."
The stall owner spoke softly, his right corner of the mouth involuntarily rising, revealing a slightly mocking smile.
Although those big shots, when ordering soone’s death, wouldn’t hesitate even for a mont, when they actually saw hooks piercing cheeks, and blood mixing with tongues or eyeballs popping out, they would turn pale with fright.
Compared to those "big shots", this young man holding a staff, with silver-white long hair, skin so pure white it seed to glow... and a face as beautiful as a princess’s, showed no reaction when he saw that scene.
Neither fear nor excitent. No disgust, and no pleasure.
On his face, there was only an almost divine compassion.
The stall owner imdiately confird, this must indeed be a true superior.
Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in the stall owner’s head.
It was like he had a burst of inspiration, and he suddenly guessed a possibility—
Earlier in the tavern, he seed to have heard that this generation’s Grand Duke of Winter was not very old, and that he often liked to gallivant around other countries...
This dwarf, as beautiful as Dennisiowa’s Little Princess, with an exceptionally noble aura and skin white as though glowing...
—Could it be the Grand Duke of Winter?
Reviews
All reviews (0)