The sea breeze was cool, a rare day of calm winds and placid waters.
Chest after chest of gold coins was carried onto the deck and loaded into rowboats. A full ten million gold coins—the "hiring fee" for the first year.
Though termed a hiring fee, it was in truth annual tribute. But to make it sound better, the contract stipulated that besides refraining from initiating attacks on the Raging Tide Kingdom's ships, the Silent Night Pirates were also to offer whatever assistance they could. For instance, in the event of a storm, if the Silent Night Pirates happened to be nearby, they were obligated to lend a hand and rescue people.
This "happened to be" was really nothing more than a fig leaf.
Everyone in the Raging Tide Kingdom knew the Silent Night Pirates would never lift a finger to help, so if they didn't assist, everyone would simply assume they "happened" not to be in the area. Yet with this clause added, the ten million gold coins became a hiring fee for escort services rather than war reparations.
Boat after boat, piled high with gold coins, drifted toward the center of the sea, where a massive whirlpool churned—the agreed-upon trading site.
As the last of the rowboats laden with gold coins was swallowed by the whirlpool, Ariel came up to Anbaixiu's side and asked, "Are we heading straight for the Emerald Dream Forest now?"
Anbaixiu tried his best to maintain his composure. Even though he could still reclaim the gold coins he'd just thrown away from Aige, according to his original plan, he was supposed to take the money and slip away immediately.
Who could have guessed that the King of Raging Tide would have Ariel accompany Anbaixiu on this diplomatic mission to the Emerald Dream Forest?
The king's reasoning had left Anbaixiu with no room to argue.
"Mengge, it's not that I look down on you, but as clever as you are, your personal strength is just too weak. With Ariel by your side, she can at least protect you."
Curse that damn Mengge Grayriver. For a man who worshipped the Lord of Storms, what an absolute useless piece of trash.
Anbaixiu cursed the dead fool tens of times in his head before being forced to agree to the arrangement.
He had no other choice. If he took off right away, the Raging Tide Kingdom would likely discover they had been duped and might immediately turn hostile against the Silent Night Pirates. What would happen to his millions of gold coins each year then? How could Anbaixiu bear to simply give that up?
Originally, he had planned to script an incident: claim that Mengge Grayriver was ambushed and killed by Ryan assassins in the Emerald Dream Forest, his corpse completely destroyed, allowing Anbaixiu to make a clean exit. The Raging Tide Kingdom and Ryan were blood enemies anyway; one more life on the ledger wouldn't change anything.
But now that Ariel was tagging along, Anbaixiu had to devise another plan.
Fooling a legend was no easy feat, and framing Ryan would be even more difficult.
Anbaixiu said to Ariel, "Your Highness, I'll leave the helm to you for the journey to the Emerald Dream Forest. These past few days have been utterly exhausting; I need some proper rest."
Ariel nodded. "Rest well. You truly are exhausted. I will instruct the servants not to disturb you."
Anbaixiu hurried inside the cabin and entered his private quarters.
Because the Raging Tide Kingdom was dispatching formal envoys to the Emerald Dream Forest, the vessel was quite luxurious. Anbaixiu's quarters were spacious and expansive, not cramped in the slightest.
Anbaixiu carefully inspected every corner of the room to ensure there were no monitoring devices or surveillance spells, then cast several layers of wards to seal off all sound and aura before finally feeling safe enough to take out the hourglass artifact.
Aige had handed this artifact over to Anbaixiu without hesitation not because it lacked value, but because she knew the moment she held it that she couldn't use it.
The same applied to Anbaixiu. It was a dragon artifact—in fact, only a time dragon could wield it. No matter how much mana Anbaixiu channeled into it, the hourglass remained completely unresponsive.
On the contrary, Arthur Ryan, who served as the artifact's spirit, had rested for most of the day, regaining enough strength to manifest a physical form once more.
Yet compared to before, this wavering, ethereal silhouette looked like it could be blown away by a single breath.
Seeing Anbaixiu set up such elaborate wards, Arthur Ryan didn't seem at all concerned for his own safety. Instead, he asked curiously, "Is the Tyrant... truly dead?"
"I told you before and you didn't believe me. Why the change of heart now?" Anbaixiu asked, puzzled.
Arthur Ryan sat down opposite Anbaixiu with easy familiarity and explained, "Because the artifact has left the seal. By rights, the Tyrant should have appeared immediately to take it back. Yet more than half a day has passed without any stir. So what you said might actually be true."
Anbaixiu had never witnessed the Demonic Dragon Tyrant's might firsthand and didn't know whether Arthur Ryan was speaking the truth, but he believed the man wouldn't make light of a secret he had guarded for one thousand seven hundred years.
"Your Majesty Ryan, the Demonic Dragon Tyrant is indeed dead. Even his corpse was forged into the Ryan Empire's heirloom artifact. So rest easy—your mission was accomplished long ago. Next, I need to borrow the artifact's power to save someone, and I'll need your assistance when the time comes."
The reason Anbaixiu was being so polite was that Arthur Ryan's heroic spirit had fused seamlessly with the artifact; unless the artifact was utterly destroyed, there was no destroying this spirit. If Arthur Ryan decided to cause trouble when the time came to save someone, it would be an immense headache.
Still, business was always negotiable. It wasn't as though he had never made deals with paladins before. Anbaixiu was confident he could reach an understanding with this heroic spirit emperor.
Arthur Ryan fell silent for a long while before suddenly asking Anbaixiu, "Do you have any wine?"
Yet right after speaking, Arthur Ryan gave a bitter chuckle. "Look at me, talking nonsense. Dead men can't drink wine."
Anbaixiu said nothing. He simply retrieved a small bottle from his personal pocket dimension, filled with liquid as black as ink.
Anbaixiu handed the bottle to Arthur Ryan and said, "Try this."
"What's this?" Arthur Ryan uncapped the bottle curiously and tried to take a sniff, but as a heroic spirit, he had long since lost his sense of smell.
Anbaixiu explained, "A brew that can intoxicate even the undead. It contains trace amounts of abyssal toxin." He had gotten it from Phil the zombie fishman, copying down the brewing recipe in the process to improve upon later. He hadn't expected this last small bottle to come in handy here.
Arthur Ryan wasn't worried about Anbaixiu deceiving him and took a swig without hesitation.
The dark magic within the liquid brought a fiery, pungent sensation, and the abyssal toxin immediately left him dizzy and lightheaded. In his severely weakened state, just one sip was enough to make him drunk.
Even so, Arthur Ryan praised it with genuine delight. "Good wine! It's truly been ages since I tasted wine this good!"
"You mean it's been ages since you tasted anything at all, hasn't it? Your Majesty Ryan, you've had your drink. Isn't it time to tell me some stories?" Anbaixiu said with great interest.
Arthur Ryan's gaze turned misty, and he said languidly, "Stories? What do you want to know? My life was actually quite dull. Poverty and hunger in my childhood, then when I grew up, a paladin took me in as his apprentice. After that, it was just ordinary adventuring and living an ordinary life. There's really nothing worth mentioning about my life."
"You're far too modest, Your Majesty Ryan. If your life is considered not worth mentioning, then no one in this world can be called a legend."
Anbaixiu meant this with utter sincerity. Regardless of allegiances or factions, Arthur Ryan was undeniably a hero who had liberated the continent.
He was still profoundly curious about what sort of man Arthur Ryan had been in those days, and how he had managed to steal a time dragon's lifebound artifact right from under its nose. Historical records of the era were vague and ambiguous, and Anbaixiu was eager to hear the account directly from the man who had lived it.
His little notebook was already prepared. He'd list Arthur Ryan as the paper's second author—let's see if that chief editor dared reject his submission this time!
Arthur Ryan nodded. "All right, ask whatever you like. However, for every question you ask, you must answer one of mine. In return for this wine, I'll give you three questions for free. From the fourth question onward, we trade."
Anbaixiu took up his pen and asked, "Then for the first question: what was the turning point that made you want to slay the Demonic Dragon? The Tyrant was so overwhelmingly powerful at the time; how did a single paladin ever conceive the idea of opposing him?"
Anbaixiu had expected an inspiring, thrilling answer, but to his surprise, Arthur Ryan replied placidly, "Then you've wasted a question. You probably won't like the answer. My reason for wanting to kill the Tyrant was simply my master's dying wish.
"I was born a common serf. I never even saw my parents. I scraped by for a few grueling years before my master took me in. He was the one who told me of the Tyrant's existence in this world, and he was the one who showed me the path.
"A paladin, you know, always has to take an oath. I was young back then, with no inkling of how daunting an oath it was to liberate the entire continent. But once sworn, all I could do was keep striving toward it. Honestly, if you hadn't told me the Tyrant is truly dead, I would've thought I had failed."
This answer was indeed unexpectedly plain.
Yet Anbaixiu wasn't disappointed. How many people who swore an oath in the brash folly of youth could spend their entire lives striving to uphold it?
Legendary figures always possessed extraordinary qualities; it wasn't just talent or luck. Willpower was an equally crucial factor that set them apart from their peers.
More importantly, this contradicted the tall tales the Ryan Empire boasted of. According to Ryan's historical chronicles, the founding emperor was of noble birth, born with boundless compassion for the suffering of mankind. In his youth, passing through a devastated village and fighting off magical beasts, he was moved by the call of the Lord of the Dawn, swearing an oath to slay the Tyrant and liberate the entire continent.
Just this alone could extort several hundred million out of the Ryanians as hush money. What a massive profit!
"Second question: how did you steal the Demonic Dragon's artifact?" This was what Anbaixiu was most curious about.
Stealing an artifact from a time dragon sounded utterly absurd. That was a time dragon—could a creature capable of manipulating time even fear ambushes or theft?
"That question is indeed worth talking about. Do you know of the Cult of the Dragon?" Arthur Ryan asked.
Anbaixiu replied, "I've heard of them. During the Demonic Dragon's reign, the Cult of the Dragon flourished. They called themselves servants of dragons and revered dragons as their deities."
Arthur Ryan explained, "Correct. The Cult of the Dragon once served the dragons, so the Tyrant was always at ease around them. But I had a friend within the cult. He informed me of the exact time the Dragon Sacrifice ritual would commence. For the duration of the ritual, the Tyrant had to focus entirely on digesting the power of faith gathered from across the continent. Taking advantage of the Tyrant's distraction, I stole his artifact."
"Just like that?" Anbaixiu felt it sounded almost like child's play.
"Just like that. In truth, the power of faith was the key to the Tyrant's downfall. Attempting to wield faith before condensing a godhead might grant immense power in the short term, but that power is uncontrollable and invariably breeds trouble. While digesting the power of faith, the Tyrant completely lost awareness of the outside world."
Anbaixiu understood completely. When mortal beings attempted to use the power of faith, they could only use it as an external plug-in—like the redcaps using faith to gain temporary magic immunity, or Anbaixiu using faith to condense the Golden Throne. None of that involved internalizing it into one's very being. If one tried to forcefully integrate it, the resulting power would be formidable, but the backlash would be immense.
"One final question: regarding your wife..."
Anbaixiu was eager to ask about the hundreds of versions of wild unofficial histories surrounding Empress Ryan, but Arthur Ryan hastily interrupted him. "What nonsense are you spouting? I never got married—where would I get a wife?!"
Anbaixiu: "..."
This guy wasn't even married when he stole the artifact? Those bastards in Ryan had fabricated history yet again! All that drivel about Arthur Ryan sharing a tearful, passionate farewell kiss with his wife before the final battle against the Demonic Dragon—it was all made up to swindle tears out of naive girls.
Arthur Ryan's expression grew excited, and he said to Anbaixiu, "Your three questions are done. Is it my turn to ask now?"
Anbaixiu was tempted to point out that those three questions were a free gift, meaning he should get to ask another before Arthur Ryan got his turn to question him.
Still, it didn't matter. Consider it a tribute to the legend who liberated the continent—he'd let him have a free question.
"Go ahead," Anbaixiu said. "What do you want to know?"
A mix of anticipation and nervousness in his voice, Arthur Ryan asked, "You mentioned that after slaying the Tyrant, an empire was founded... Could you tell me what kind of country it turned out to be?"
Chapter 189