When it came to luxury goods, the most renowned across the continent were naturally crafted by the elves.
"My relationship with the elves is excellent. I can help you purchase all the luxury items you need. As for food, just make a list—I'm on great terms with the druids too, so there will be as much meat of any kind as you want."
Anbaixiu's words gave Gareth quite a start.
"I know you've done business with the elves, but you've managed to connect with the druids too? You're a lich!"
Weren't the druids currently in power throughout the Emerald Dream Forest all factions hostile to the undead? Fringe factions friendlier to the undead, like the Circle of Spores, had never held any real sway.
"You always claim I'm bragging, but when has a single word I've spoken not been true? If I say I can provide it, I won't deceive you."
The Dream Barrier was under his control now anyway. When the time came, if he demanded some livestock from the druids, wouldn't they have to obediently comply?
Anbaixiu's words were very convincing. Gareth reflected on his various dealings with him; regardless of how the lich usually boasted enough to make deities tremble, every single word had indeed turned out to be the truth.
"In that case, I'll discuss it with the dragons. We don't have to decide right now. When I get back, I'll have them make a list, and we can discuss it in detail."
Melina remained silent, watching the two elders converse, her admiration for Anbaixiu deepening even further.
*Father truly can accomplish anything. Not only do the elves have to show him respect, but he even calls the shots with the druids. He really is amazing.*
Having casually developed another major client, Anbaixiu was in high spirits as he handed the small box containing the Spider portfolio over to Gareth.
With that, the transactions for both portfolios were concluded. Once he finished speaking with the elves, Anbaixiu would bring Melina home.
He happily downed the wine left in his bottle, preparing to leave the tavern and send a letter to Catherine.
Right at that moment, however, that familiar sense of impending trouble surfaced once again.
Anbaixiu was filled with astonishment. Could those old peasant part-time bandits really exert an influence hundreds of kilometers away in elven territory?
While he was puzzling over it, the tavern door was pushed open, and a disheveled figure dressed in rags walked in.
He looked filthy enough that he seemed not to have bathed in years, yet his eyes shone as brilliantly as stars. Even with his face obscured by grime, those eyes made him appear extraordinary.
Anbaixiu recognized the disheveled youth at a single glance: Alan Watson, the paladin he had once captured.
*How did this kid end up here?*
Ignoring the stares of the other patrons, Alan swept his gaze across the tavern and instantly locked onto Anbaixiu's table.
Alan froze, blurting out in shock, "You?!"
Anbaixiu understood—this was the trouble he had sensed. Though he had no idea how the kid had gotten here, Anbaixiu stood up and said, "Don't start anything in here. If you've got business, we settle it outside."
Tavern tables and chairs were bloody expensive; fighting here was out of the question.
Utterly bewildered, Alan was dragged right out of the tavern by Anbaixiu.
Sensing excitement, numerous patrons crowded by the windows to watch Anbaixiu and Alan.
As for Gareth and Melina, both followed close behind Anbaixiu. Gareth in particular had recognized Alan as well, and was itching to give him another beating.
Anbaixiu dragged Alan a long distance, running until they reached a small grove.
With a barrier erected to shut out any possible surveillance, Anbaixiu finally addressed Alan: "Don't tell me you came here to pick a fight with me."
Alan had gathered his wits by now. Regardless of whether fate had willed this, he drew his battered longsword.
"Tell me, those civilians—were they killed by you?"
Tracking him for thousands of li, travel-worn and weary, Alan had come purely to avenge those civilians. No matter who his opponent was, he felt no fear.
Yet Anbaixiu answered without a second thought: "Those five civilians? I didn't kill them."
Alan snarled furiously, "I never said how many of them there were!"
Such a clumsy lie! How the lich had the nerve to utter it was an insult to his intelligence.
Anbaixiu, however, showed not the slightest embarrassment at being caught in a lie. Instead, he declared with absolute conviction, "What I killed were five bandits who blocked my path to rob me and tried to stab me to death, not the 'civilians' you speak of."
"You killed them, and now you slander them?!"
The longsword in Alan's hand began to radiate holy light. The sheer strength of that power made Anbaixiu's expression turn to surprise.
"You brat! You really reached the legendary tier?! And here I thought Ryan was putting out false propaganda!"
The kid was only in his early twenties!
Anbaixiu was genuinely envious. Had the Lord of the Dawn granted the boy some special favor during that descent last time? A legend in his twenties—that was practically cheating! Seeing Alan's dead-serious expression, Anbaixiu sighed helplessly. "Stubborn fool. Looks like unless someone beats you flat, you won't listen to reason."
Alan locked his gaze onto Anbaixiu. He had suffered the humiliation of being taken captive by Anbaixiu before, completely powerless to fight back. Today, his chance to wash away that shame had finally come!
Yet Anbaixiu's very next sentence was: "Gareth, he's all yours. Teach this kid a harsh lesson!"
Gareth let out a booming laugh, stepped forward in front of Alan, and said, "Kid, remember me?"
Alan's pupils contracted to pinpricks. It was that Headless Horseman! The man had shrunk his frame, and the appearance of his armor had changed, which was why Alan hadn't recognized him earlier.
Back then, Gareth had given him a brutal thrashing—he hadn't even been able to overcome a single finger.
Bitter memories surged to mind, but Alan showed not the slightest panic. Instead, he smiled and said, "Of course I remember. But I am no longer the person I was back then."
His longsword slashed out, brilliant Holy Light condensing into a blade that cleaved toward Gareth's chest.
This strike already carried some of the Silvermoon Knight's former brilliance.
Gareth let out a sound of surprise. After not seeing him for such a short time, Alan was like an entirely different person.
As the blade light closed in, Gareth reached out and caught it bare-handed, his five fingers crushing the Holy Light energy designed to counter the undead.
Yet before Gareth could retaliate, Alan had already blinked behind him, thrusting his light-wrapped sword directly toward Gareth's armpit—the joint in the armor and the spot most vulnerable to penetration.
As long as the tip pierced Gareth's body, the Holy Light's power would surge within to ravage his undead form.
Yet the strike did not land as Alan anticipated. Gareth was as if he had eyes on the back of his head; without turning around, he sensed Alan's every motion. Flexing his right arm, he drove an elbow strike straight into Alan's sword.
Immense force traveled down the blade, nearly dislodging Alan's grip on the weapon. He retreated swiftly to dissipate that unmatched power.
Having knocked Alan back in a single blow, Gareth finally turned around and praised him, "Not bad, really not bad. You've improved tremendously. You advanced not long ago, didn't you? Turns out you're not half-baked after all."
Anbaixiu rolled his eyes. This headless live-in son-in-law—who was he mocking?
Alan eyed Gareth warily. The enemy was even more formidable than he had imagined; victory was unlikely, and a temporary retreat might be best.
His legendary boon granted him unrestricted blinking and teleportation, so escaping shouldn't be difficult.
Just as Alan prepared for a strategic withdrawal, Gareth thumped a fist heavily against his own chest.
The black armor dissolved into a dense cloud of dark smoke, sucked into his belt.
Stripped of his armor and clad only in a thin robe, Gareth faced Alan bare-handed and said, "Come on, let me see what you've really got. That strike wasn't your full power just now, was it?!"
This was blatant provocation. Alan took a deep breath and swung his sword at Gareth once more.
The blade light cascaded like moonbeams. Gareth reached out a hand once again toward the flawless gleam of the sword, crushing it just as effortlessly. What he had done earlier had not been due to the strength of his armor; even without magical armor, he could still shatter the blade light with his bare hands.
Yet Alan did not blink for a sneak attack this time, choosing instead an open, direct offensive.
The sword moved in Alan's grip like a sphere of radiant brilliance, its trajectory impossible to discern with the naked eye.
Gareth no longer arrogantly caught the sword bare-handed. Instead, he used nimble footwork to dodge Alan's attacks, speaking even as he evaded: "This feels a bit like the old days. When a mob of paladins hunted me down back then, a few of them were just as good with the blade as you. A shame they weren't legends, or I would have died long ago."
Alan offered no response to Gareth's praise, simply executing everything he had learned to his absolute limit.
The swordsmanship he had practiced bitterly since childhood, the techniques imparted by the Silvermoon Knight, and everything he had picked up from enemies on the battlefield—facing a powerhouse like Gareth, Alan melted all these techniques into a single crucible under immense pressure. No longer constrained by fixed forms, every move was as elusive and inspired as an antelope hanging by its horns.
Gareth went from dodging leisurely at first to having to raise his hands in parries.
*This kid's talent is absurd. He's treating me like a sparring coach!*
Gareth marveled inwardly, then stepped up his power by a notch.
Alan suddenly discovered that no matter how he swung his blade or from what angle he attacked, Gareth was always one step ahead. That broad palm was always waiting in precise position for his wrist to collide into it, forcing Alan to constantly alter his strikes.
Several minutes passed like this, yet neither had managed to land a clean blow on the other.
Anbaixiu grew impatient, calling out loudly, "Gareth, quit playing around. I'm in a hurry."
The moment Anbaixiu finished speaking, Gareth seized Alan's wrist. With a sickening crunch, Alan's wrist was crushed to pieces, and his fingers lost their grip as the sword clattered to the ground.
No matter how extraordinary Alan's talent was, he was ultimately no match for Gareth, a Headless Horseman who had carved his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood for centuries. Time is a genius's friend—with more time, the gap between them and their peers only widens. But time is equally a genius's enemy, especially when their opponent is another genius who holds a several-hundred-year lead.
Anbaixiu walked over to Alan's side and said slowly, "Now, can you listen to what I have to say?"
Chapter 288