Knights and Magic Wand -
Chapter 68 - 68 54 Knight
68: Chapter 54 Knight 68: Chapter 54 Knight “How is that possible, how is that possible!?
How could he possibly have crossed the forest?”
Listening to the lord’s recognition and praise for that foreign young man, Boris cried out in alarm, his soul seemingly frightened away.
“Shut your mouth, you shameless wretch!”
Baron Eriv looked coldly at the village ruffian and scolded, “Your slanderous machinations against the Brave Warrior almost brought shame upon us, I really should cut off that venomous tongue of yours.”
“I would gladly do it for you, my lord,” said Knight Balfe, with nonchalant confidence.
“T-tongue?
No!…
No!
My lord, I was wrong, it was my stupidity!”
Boris, panic-stricken, knelt to the ground, desperately kowtowing and begging for mercy: “I was blind, I failed to recognize the good!
Spare me!
Please spare me!!”
Baron Eriv did not bother to look again at the despicable scene this lowlife was making, instead turning to look towards Leon.
“Young man, this person has repeatedly offended you with his vile methods, how would you like to deal with him?”
Leon thought for a moment, then asked the baron, “My lord, I come from Seryan and am not familiar with Orland’s laws.
May I inquire, for gathering a mob to rob, and then attempting theft with a sedative, what should be the punishment for such crimes?”
Baron Eriv nodded at the young man, more admiration growing within him: “In my domain, such a scoundrel deserves to have both hands cut off, then to be hanged and displayed publicly, and for all his property to be seized.”
After hearing this, Leon continued, “If I may be so bold, I’d ask that you detain him for now, my lord.
His crimes against me and my companions are not the only ones he has committed.
I wish to divulge all his transgressions to the villagers before delivering a collective sentence.”
“More crimes?…
Hmm, very well, it is good to do so.” Baron Eriv turned and ordered his house servants, “Take this filth away and lock him up until judgment.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Balfe roughly hoisted Boris, who was shaking like chaff, from the ground.
Amidst the wretch’s loud cries and screams, forcibly dragged him away.
With the clown temporarily exiting the scene, Leon’s gaze fell upon the two nearly identical treasure swords in Baron Eriv’s hands.
At this moment, if he did not see the connection between the two, he would be as foolish as Boris.
Removing the equally ornate sword scabbard from his waist, Leon presented it with both hands: “This Sword was found by my companions and me next to a knight’s remains.
It originally belongs to you, my lord.
Please forgive our presumption in taking it for our self-defense.”
Hearing Leon’s words, although Baron Eriv had long accepted such news in his heart, his eyes dimmed slightly.
He returned his own sword to his waist, then took the returned relic and slowly slipped it into the scabbard.
“Genuine Dwarf Steel, this is the ancestral treasure sword of the Farolis Family, the Thorny Blade, and it was also the sword my father carried before he disappeared into the forest.”
Baron Eriv handed the familial treasure that he had stored away to an attendant for safekeeping, then said, “The one on my waist is but a replica made later.
Leon, you have returned my family’s treasure to its rightful owner.
I won’t disregard this integrity and also thank you for bringing back the last message of my father.”
Leon bowed deeply, sweat beginning to form on his brow.
He decided it was best not to disclose to the baron the complete details of how he obtained the treasure sword.
Although it was the Spirit Realm Demon inhabiting Lokhak that had dismembered Eriv’s father,
Azeryan too had chopped off the head of the Undead Knight in the process.
Moreover, his soul had been used by Leon himself as a wick for a lamp…
Considering the situation had been forced, Leon doubted that the other party would blame him too heavily.
Yet, less said, the better – these details of violent encounters were better kept to himself forever.
Besides, after leaving the Cursed Land, the Wandering Soul that had been stored in the Pathfinder had dissipated the moment it appeared in reality.
What was it that Miss Lola had said?
The Wandering Soul had returned to the Dead Sea.
This was some form of soul returning to rest, buried in peace.
No wonder they had ended up near Selva Village, which had been the noble’s familial land before his demise.
“Alright, let’s not all stand at the doorway, have someone bring in more stools and chairs, come in and talk.” Count Trosa patted Leon on the shoulder with a smile: “And where are your companions?
Let me also meet the other two Brave Warriors.”
“I will call them over right now,” Leon responded with a bow.
It was a good opportunity to remind Lokhak and Azeryan to coordinate their story again, omitting some details about their experiences.
Such as the fight with the previous Baron Farolis and the fact that Lokhak had been possessed by a demon – better to avoid mentioning these if possible.
After all, their encounters with countless undead and the bizarre surroundings were sufficient to illustrate the danger they had faced.
When Leon, along with his companions, returned once more to the village elder’s large house, the nobles and knights who had gathered at the door had all entered the hall already.
The village elder’s large house had previously also served the function of gathering the villagers for discussions; accommodating twenty to thirty people was not a problem.
Carrying Azeryan, Leon stepped into the house first.
An attendant slightly stopped Lokhak, who was carrying a halberd.
“Leave the long weapon outside, I’ll look after it for you.
It would be disrespectful to bring it in to meet the lords,” the attendant at the door told the tall young man.
Wearing a sword or dagger was a part of a Martial Artist’s etiquette, but long-hafted weapons did not count, and were inconvenient to bring in for an audience with the esteemed guests.
“Oh,” Lokhak, not wanting any trouble, handed over the Knight Halberd he had been carrying on his shoulder.
The attendant went to take it with one hand, but unexpectedly, the heft made his arm sink.
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