Chapter Forty: Appearances

Chelsberg’s entire face was flushed crimson, but with his mouth blocked by Weir’s foot, he could not utter a single word. He could only glare furiously at his soul master guards, signaling them to come to his aid. Yet, who could have guessed that those guards misunderstood his intent? They seemed to think it would damage the Earl’s reputation if news spread that a noble of his stature was so humiliated by a mere boy. In their eyes, this fat Earl belonged to the breed of arrogant, cowardly nobles—always eager to save their own skin. His look seemed to tell them to stay silent, not to meddle. Thus, with such misguided thoughts, the soul masters, who could have easily pulled Weir away or even killed him, all made a baffling gesture—they tilted their heads back and gazed up at the stars, ignoring everything unfolding before them.

Seeing their reaction, the cunning fat man immediately realized they had misunderstood him. Yet, now pinned to the ground by Weir, his bloated body lacked the strength to escape; his mouth was stuffed by that filthy foot, and for all his effort, he could not utter a single syllable. Helpless, he could only look to Semily and the others for assistance.

“All right, Weir, help Che... help the Earl up, would you? I suppose he was just too agitated,”

Semily, the fair-faced youth, suppressed his laughter, stepped forward with a calm expression, and subtly tugged at Weir’s sleeve. He then donned an apologetic look, helped Chelsberg to his feet, and forced Weir to bow respectfully toward the Earl. “My deepest apologies, Lord Earl. Weir is new to the Magic Guild, and he’s not yet familiar with all the rules…”

“Not familiar?” Chelsberg, face red and voice low, growled, “No matter how unfamiliar he is, he should at least know I am an Earl!”

Chelsberg was about to vent his fury at Semily, but at that moment Weir suddenly adopted a look of sudden realization, exclaiming in surprise, “Oh heavens, this gentleman is the Earl? My apologies—please forgive what I did before. But of course, you are an Earl, and surely wouldn’t take offense at the actions of a mere boy, would you? After all, it would tarnish your dignity. I trust you’re not so petty, are you?”

Though Weir spoke with apparent sincerity, his eyes clearly betrayed a mocking amusement. By tossing out such a grand accusation—damage to the Earl’s dignity—if Chelsberg continued to fuss, he would truly seem lacking in composure.

Chelsberg’s jowls twitched, but as an Earl, his social skills were far beyond those of ordinary men. He drew a deep breath, his expression returning to normal, and gracefully pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his mouth—“Damn that brat! He made me eat so much dirt!”

“Of course, by the authority of my title, I forgive you, young fool!”

“Oh, thank you so much, Lord Earl…” Weir replied with a faint smile, emphasizing the words “Lord Earl,” utterly disregarding Chelsberg’s murderous glare. He offered an impeccable salute, and before Chelsberg could speak, he turned and rejoined Lise and the others.

“Hey, kid, you’ve gotten yourself into big trouble!”

As soon as he returned, Lise, shedding all pretense of ladylike composure, hooked her arm around Weir’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Yes—big trouble indeed…”

Weir gave a bitter laugh, rubbing his temples. It wasn’t that he feared Chelsberg’s revenge, but rather how he would explain this to Weiling, that little girl. He certainly couldn’t confess, “Sorry, Weiling, I just couldn’t stand your father, so I knocked him flat with a kick.”

At that moment, the fair-faced Semily came over as well. He glanced at Weir, his expression somewhat odd, and after a long, contemplative pause, sighed, “Weir, you’re far too bold…”

“That Earl’s status in the Vira Empire is beyond imagination,” Vest interjected abruptly, looking at Weir. “And his temper is not the best.”

“Is there a single noble of the Empire who has a good temper?”

Weir replied coolly, “In any case, let’s focus on leaving this place!”

“That’s true!”

Semily shook his head helplessly. “We’ve wasted too much time here—those bandits will surely catch up soon, so we’d better hurry!”

“Oh, no, none of you are leaving!”

Just then, a chilling voice sounded behind them. Weir quickly turned toward the source—a figure clad in a black robe had silently appeared by a tree barely a dozen meters away. The stranger extended an arm and snapped his fingers.

“Snap!”

With a crisp sound, several emerald points of light flickered in the darkness nearby. Suddenly, a shrill whistling sliced through the air, and before anyone could react, a dozen energy arrows screamed toward them—two soul masters were killed on the spot!

“Damn it!”

Semily cursed, drawing his wand to cast a spell, but Weir shoved him to the ground.

“Whoosh!”

A meter-long arrow whistled past, its sharp tip narrowly grazing Semily’s shoulder, spraying a flood of crimson blood.

“Scatter! Everyone scatter!”

Weir’s shout jolted the group to action. In danger, their first instinct had been to cluster around Chelsberg for his protection, forgetting entirely that their assailants were archers—gathering together only made them easier targets!

“Find cover!”

Several soul masters shouted, hastily dragging Chelsberg behind a tree, while Weir helped the fair-faced Semily into a hollow for concealment.

“Hm?”

The shadowy figure uttered a surprised sound, but soon his eyes glinted with amusement. “You know how to flee and hide—hmph, nothing but rats…”

With a cold snort, a gigantic serpent emblem appeared on his robes. He reached out, and a nearly two-meter-long energy spear shaped like a snake materialized in his hands, its slender form flicking its tongue as if alive.