The Night Visitor

Chapter 60 The Night Visitor

The governor of Kunia—or, as they call him, the protector—was a young man probably not even twenty-five years old. He was emaciated, pale, and in poor health, but he behaved reasonably well at the dinner.

He didn't inquire much about Aoran and Alder's identities, simply welcoming them as honored guests. Towards the end of the banquet, he even delivered a passionate speech. Although it wasn't particularly effective, the enthusiasm he displayed and his dissatisfaction with the current state of Kunia and Sanctuary City were extremely evident.

This thin, frail young man seemed to harbor some ambitions and was quite eager to get Eoran's help... He didn't realize that the trust he showed in a stranger he had only met a few hours earlier was extraordinary.

And Olde realized it.

"He's practically worshipping you," he said slowly, standing in the guest room of the governor's manor.

"He's sick," Eollan replied, seemingly ignoring the question.

He was sitting on the big bed in the master bedroom, feeling its softness, with a look of curiosity on his face.

The suite Arnis provided for them had two bedrooms and an accompanying bathroom, with a rather rustic design. The master bedroom and the second bedroom were connected to each other to ensure that the servants or guards in the second bedroom could respond to a call at any time. In addition, it even had a study, a viewing platform and a reception room.

This treatment, which far exceeds what ordinary guests would receive, once again validates Older's conclusion.

"Really? What's wrong?" he asked.

“I don’t know either…” Aolan said, frowning. “But I can smell a scent on him that only someone who is about to die would have.”

These words made Old turn his head from the night view outside the window and glance at him.

In less than half a day, Eoran had transformed from an infant in a nutrient tank into the young man he was today, having learned many things without instruction, and even his mind had matured along with his body. Ald thought this must be some kind of insurance plan designed by their creators, intended to allow them to adapt and survive extremely quickly in any environment...

But the question is, why didn't that person let them grow up by their side, instead scattering them to various parts of the starry sea?

He banished these pointless thoughts from his mind and then asked, "Do you know what illness he has?"

Eoran shook his head, his pure purple eyes filled with confusion.

"I can't tell, but he probably isn't eating or sleeping well, and he's been living like this for a long time. These two things are taking a toll on his body, and if nothing changes, he'll probably die soon."

Olde narrowed his eyes like a wolf.

A governor so young, yet soon to die of illness, possessed lofty ideals: to change the privileged status quo of the sanctuary city, allowing the common people outside, still living in primitive conditions, to also enjoy a comfortable life...

This all sounds like a replay of some classic story.

As he was deep in thought, he suddenly heard a rhythmic breathing sound. Turning his head, he saw the young giant, who was over three meters tall, curled up on the bed in a ridiculous posture, fast asleep, his long, flowing silver hair covering half of his face like feathers.

After a moment of silence, Olde turned and left.

He opened the door connecting the master bedroom and the second bedroom, stepping inside. His muscles tensed instantly, and he entered a fighting stance. If he wanted, he could unleash a punch powerful enough to destroy the room... but he didn't. Instead, he allowed the clearly inhuman figure to hold a knife to his throat.

"Don't move."

The figure spoke in a strangely accented High Gothic, then repeated it in Low Gothic. It smelled of earth and grass. Ald stared silently at this creature that thought it was still protected by darkness, his gaze sweeping over its face before he gently shook his head.

"Don't move! Or I'll slit your throat!" it threatened, somewhat annoyed. "You Mon-keigh..."

Why is it always like this? Why don't they listen to what people are saying?

"Who are you?" Old asked in Low Gothic.

It didn't answer, but instead pressed the back of the bone knife in its hand forcefully against Ald's throat.

He had to relax his muscles so that this being, clearly of the Spirit Race, would think he had achieved his goal. He even had to feign discomfort, bending over and coughing. The Spirit Race member immediately took away the knife and even moved a few steps away from him to give him some breathing space.

Olde acted out the scene carefully, and only after a dozen seconds did he straighten up and raise his hands.

"I am a guest of Governor Arnes von Quisling." His face was contorted with fear. "If you're here for money..."

'

"Shut up, outsider!" the Elven race hissed. "What use would I have for your blood-stained filth? Shut your mouths and listen to me! Put your hands down too, what a strange posture that is!"

Ald silently did as he was told, and the Eldar breathed a sigh of relief. It had high cheekbones, sharp eyebrows, and dark eyes that gleamed with an amber light in the darkness. It wore some kind of lightweight armor woven from plant fibers, and the hilt of the bone knife in its hand was wrapped with vines.

It softened its tone and continued in Low Gothic: "I'm here to warn you that you'd better leave with your master as soon as possible. Antoran does not welcome any outsiders. And don't even think about allying with that dying lord. His speech may have been sincere, but his death is inevitable, and you can't help him."

"Is someone trying to kill him?" Old asked.

His tone now contained no trace of fear, only pure calm, and the Eldar didn't even notice.

It was immersed in a strange sadness, like an elder about to witness the death of a junior.

Ald had no prior dealings with the Eldar, but he had read about them in the Wolf Clan's library and the Ptolemaic Library. However, after discarding the obvious prejudices and discrimination, there was nothing left to believe. He could only be certain of one thing: most Eldar harbored contempt and disdain for humans.

Therefore, what we are seeing is quite interesting...

Moreover, its words indicated that it was also present at the dinner party, yet it failed to realize that Eoran was no ordinary person.

"Can't you hear me?" the Elven asked, glaring at him. "I told you, you can't help him! If you don't want to drag your master down with you, then leave now! According to the pattern, one of your merchant ships will land in the city in two days, and you and your master can board that ship and leave."

Once again, Old shook his head.

"I have a few things to correct you on," he said. "First, Arnis von Gisling will not die. Second, we will not leave on a merchant ship. Third, there is no master-servant relationship between him and me."

The spirit race was stunned, but before it could even unleash its fury, two points of crimson-gold light flashed before its eyes. Immediately afterward, an aura far more terrifying than the most revered dragon it had ever seen enveloped it, rendering it speechless and causing it to tremble involuntarily. Confusion and bewilderment surged together on its face, so unlike any human's…

Several dozen seconds later, it finally spoke again.

"Who...who are you?"

"It's none of your business, and besides, I'm the one who has the right to ask questions now."

Ignoring the complex emotions, including anger, that arose on the Eldar's faces at those words, Ald continued, "Do you know Arnis?"

'

""

"I suggest you don't confront me with silence," Ald said, clenching his right fist so tightly that a chilling creaking sound was heard in a fleeting moment.

The Eldar stared wide-eyed in shock, even instinctively uttering a string of their language. Ald didn't understand its meaning, but didn't continue with the threats.

He had already observed this Eldar; the calluses on its palms didn't belong to a warrior, but rather to a farmer. Therefore, despite its assassin-like work, it probably spent most of its time farming. Coupled with the smell of mud and grass all over its body, it was likely an anomaly among the Eldar, certainly not one of those who roamed the world, raiding and capturing people for slavery.

In this situation, he was willing to be patient.

And the Spirit Clan did not let him down.

"I know him, but he doesn't know me," the Elven race finally spoke. "I watched him grow up, as did his father."

Ald frowned, looked it up and down for a moment, and then asked, "So you're some kind of...watcher?"

The Spirit Race member took a deep breath and forced himself to resume his expressionless demeanor.

"My duty is to guard this city. Antoran does not belong to you. If it weren't for the fact that driving you out would only bring unnecessary war and death, we would have driven you shameful invaders out long ago."

"I don't care about these historical issues. I just want to know, who wanted to kill Arnis?"

The Elven race hesitated for a moment.

Olde clenched his left fist.

"You barbaric monkey!" The Elven race was provoked by the terrifying voice, and it growled angrily. "Can't you see I'm thinking?!"

Old didn't answer immediately; he heard a very faint breath, almost like the sound of wind. It came from behind him, or more precisely, from the door that connected the master bedroom and the second bedroom. He subtly lowered his left hand, reached behind him, and brushed it against the door with unusual gentleness.

The breathing sound faded away, and the Eldar spoke again, clearly annoyed.

"Everyone!" it declared forcefully. "Everyone he knows wants to kill him! They all want him dead!"

Old wasn't too surprised by the answer, but he still pressed on, "Why?"

The Elven race scoffed and replied, "Because the vast majority of them are shameful and depraved villains. I have been in charge of their care for seventy-six years and have witnessed countless atrocities."

"Who is the mastermind?" Old interrupted it, asking the same question.

The Elven race was stunned, then uttered a name.

At 5:25 a.m., Arnis von Gisling awoke in pain and torment.

Since he became an adult, he has never had a good night's sleep. Even lying on the softest bed, he feels pain all over his body. The most severe headaches are almost excruciating, to the point of being piercing his bones. Many times, he wished he could just smash his head against the wall and die... But when he thinks of his father, he finds the strength to live again.

He had sworn to his father to carry on his legacy. He could not die until he had accomplished that task.

He grabbed a handle hanging from the ceiling, panting, and struggled to sit up. His room had many tracks in the ceiling that would allow him to move around the room by himself without asking for help, even though he was perfectly capable of having others take care of his daily needs, but he didn't want to.

One reason was the intense pride born of his illness, and another was suspicion. He no longer knew who he could trust in this city.

The young man gritted his teeth, pulled the handle to extend it, then leaned against it and began to put on his clothes.

He decided to greet the two guests with the utmost solemnity; they were no ordinary people, he could tell at a glance. Although he had lived in the City of Sanctuary his entire life, some things didn't require knowledge or experience to understand. For example, the silver-haired giant—he was very likely an angel of the God-Emperor...

Thinking of this, Arnis couldn't help but smile slightly.

Although he didn't know why an angel would visit Kunia, which hadn't been noticed by the empire for over a dozen centuries, his arrival was a good thing.

"God-King, help me," he thought. "The people of Kunia are suffering, your people are weeping..."

A dozen minutes later, he finally got dressed and washed up. Then he took a deep breath, went to his door, picked up the cane that he was reluctant to use in front of his distinguished guests but had to use, and pushed open the door.

However, to his surprise, someone was already waiting outside the door.

The handsome silver-haired angel smiled and nodded in greeting. The first rays of dawn shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the corridor, casting a golden glow upon him. His eyes shone like jewels, pure and beautiful.

"Good day, Governor Arnes," he said softly. "Old and I have something we want to tell you."

After saying that, he turned to the side so that another person could come into Alnis’s view.

The man's hands were stained with blood, his face calm. Though far shorter than Aeolan, he inspired far more fear. His features were deep-set, but the crimson brand and his red-gold eyes shattered the harmony, making him appear almost inhuman...

The young governor nearly cried out, until the guard named Old spoke first.

"Someone is plotting to poison you," he said, his voice unusually calm. "They're all dead."

After several seconds, Arnis von Gisling finally managed to squeeze out a few sounds.

"6

"Huh? W-what?" he asked, bewildered. "What did you say?"

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