Pure white Holy Light gathered upon Alan's wrist. Under its warmth, the shattered fracture rapidly began to mend. A few minutes later, Alan rubbed his wrist, finding that it had nearly fully recovered.
"Holy Light really is useful—far better than healing potions."
Anbaixiu was immensely envious. If a lich broke a bone, he had to replace it; there was no way to simply regrow it.
Apart from lacking immortality, the paladins of Ryan were truly formidable.
Although any deity could have their own paladins, Ryan was different. Their paladins mastered more divine spells and excelled beyond other paladins in virtually every respect.
Utterly disregarding his dignity, Alan sat slumped on the ground, looking up at Anbaixiu. "What lies have you concocted this time? Why not make it quick and just kill me?"
Anbaixiu was in no hurry now. He replied curiously, "Looking so eager to die—doesn't giving up on life violate your tenets?"
Alan gave a bitter smile and explained, "I fought with everything I had to dispel evil and lost. Isn't dying at the hands of the undead precisely a paladin's proper end?"
Anbaixiu stroked his chin, pondering for a moment before asking, "Boy, did you commit treason? Filthy, down-and-out, completely alone... you look just like an oathbreaker in every way."
"I haven't broken my oath."
Alan's answer was brief, but Anbaixiu knew his guess was right. He had merely not broken his oath; he had not denied committing treason.
No way—has Ryan's Supreme Arbiter already made his move? Anbaixiu had thought it would take him a year or two of brewing to stir up trouble. Who knew he'd have his own son commit treason so quickly?
"Fine. Out of respect for your father, I'll begrudgingly give you an explanation. First, those five villagers you mentioned—I did kill them, but only because they tried to kill me."
Generally speaking, it was very difficult for the undead to communicate with paladins. After all, they were diametrically opposed.
To a paladin, anything an undead said was lies and curses—an absolute case of covering one's ears and refusing to hear a word.
Alan used to think the same way. But the undead saying this was Tiga Ultraman. Alan didn't know why, but he felt this lich was different from other undead. Perhaps because the last time he captured an entire city, he ended up not killing a single person.
Perhaps because his father had personally signed a special pardon to remove this undead from the wanted list.
Such treatment was truly unheard of.
In truth, Alan wasn't unwilling to hear Anbaixiu's explanation. Once he knew it was this lich, Alan had been willing to give him a chance to explain.
The reason he had attacked earlier was actually born from the exact same thought Anbaixiu held.
Beat him first until he was thoroughly subdued, then talk things over slowly. Communication would go much smoother that way.
Who could have anticipated that the one beaten into submission would still be himself? It wasn't much different from back then, except he had managed to struggle a little longer this time.
"You say they were bandits. Do you have proof?" Alan asked.
Anbaixiu spread his hands. "None. Believe it or not. When you run into bandits, killing them in self-defense is completely normal. I've never heard of having to prove one's innocence afterward. You're the one seeking to uphold your so-called justice, so you should be the one investigating. Don't you think that makes sense?"
Alan fell silent, knowing Anbaixiu's words held reason.
There were countless adventurers in this world, and bandits outnumbered the scales on a dragon. It made no sense to expect every adventurer who encountered bandits to record it with a memory crystal to prove their innocence.
Moreover, Alan was beginning to suspect Anbaixiu was telling the truth.
Those five old peasants had held high prestige in the village because they had recently been spending generously and frequently helping out the village's widows and orphans.
That raised a question: in this day and age, old farming peasants were lucky if they didn't starve to death. Where would they get the means to provide relief to the poor? Were they noble lords, or wealthy rural landowners and merchants?
Alan recalled many details he hadn't paid attention to before: for instance, despite being an impoverished village, there were several pieces of expensive, worn machinery. Most of the villagers had weathered, sun-darkened skin and wrinkled faces from long years of hard labor, yet Alan had noticed that every household had one or two nice new garments hidden away at home, not worn for everyday work. Furthermore, in the graveyard outside the village, there were several fresh graves, all without tombstones.
Each detail might have had a plausible alternative explanation, but taken together, they corroborated Anbaixiu's claim.
The destruction of the City of Alchemy had caused upheaval across the entire kingdom. Surely many alchemists had sought to flee the kingdom back then. Not every alchemist could afford an airship, nor could everyone teleport directly to another realm.
Those desperate alchemists might well have passed through that border village, only to be murdered by the villagers.
Everything lined up, lacking only conclusive proof.
Seeing Alan's changing expression, Anbaixiu knew the boy believed him. Smiling, he asked, "If you go back and investigate, only to find those villagers really had turned to banditry, what do you plan to do?"
A paladin could only wield power by upholding their oath. Anbaixiu wasn't entirely clear on what Alan's oath entailed, but it certainly wasn't the kind of flexible moral standard of a blackguard; otherwise, he wouldn't have tracked him for hundreds of kilometers over the deaths of five villagers.
If he discovered the villagers were bandits and pretended not to know, he might very well violate his oath and become a fallen oathbreaker.
Surely a paladin favored by the Lord of the Dawn wouldn't be finished off like that?
Alan gave a bitter laugh. "What else can I do? Make the truth public, then let the kingdom's laws handle it. That village is now under dwarven rule, so naturally it will follow dwarven law. My responsibility is only to expose the truth; how to punish them must be decided by the locals."
Anbaixiu nodded, speaking sincerely, "You really have grown a lot since before. Well then, farewell. I hope next time we meet, we won't have to draw our swords."
Melina quietly sent a soul transmission: "Father, why not kill this paladin?"
"Ryan's division is imminent, but it still lacks a rebel leader. James Watson, the Supreme Arbiter, is already old. He isn't qualified to lead a new Ryan. But this kid is different. I have a hunch that the Lord of the Dawn has already handpicked him to become Ryan's new king."
Anbaixiu's words came from the heart.
Like himself, James Watson was an old relic of the past era. Having grown up under Ryan's extremist indoctrination since childhood, the old man had exhausted all his strength just maintaining his present sense of fairness; he probably couldn't fathom or envision what a Ryan stripped of extremism would look like.
Even if Ryan fractured internally, James Watson couldn't serve as a banner.
Without a new ideology and new principles, how could Ryan's rebels distinguish themselves from the orthodox regime? Without such a clear, prominent banner, how could they unite sufficient strength to overthrow Ryan?
Alan, however, could.
Anbaixiu finally understood why the Lord of the Dawn favored him so greatly—it wasn't merely for his martial talent. A twenty-year-old legend was indeed formidable, but no matter how formidable, one person couldn't fight a hundred alone.
Ideas, however, could inspire countless people.
Alan came from noble birth, yet before he could reach his father's heights, he was nailed to a pillar of shame and plummeted to rock bottom, only to rise as the youngest legendary paladin and once again become a rising star of the empire.
Yet at this pinnacle of fame and success, Alan had chosen treason.
Only sheer, utter disillusionment with Ryan could drive him to make such a choice. And being capable of making it showed Alan saw more clearly and felt more deeply than his father.
As long as Alan remained true to his heart, he would soon distill new principles from these painful trials.
Such was the life trajectory of most great figures.
Once Alan completed this metamorphosis, he would become the new banner of Ryan. He would be able to answer the questions of all who were lost, and with a single rallying cry, summon countless followers to overthrow the Ryan royal family and become the new king.
The only concern right now was that Alan was still too weak.
The youngest legendary paladin sounded impressive, but a single accident could easily claim his life.
Anbaixiu opened his private dimension. With a command, two little clumps of shattered glass carried out a longsword.
Anbaixiu held out the sword to Alan. "A gift for you. A paladin cannot go without a good blade."
Alan took the sword in confusion. Drawing it, surprise immediately washed over his face.
Alan knew swords well, so the moment he unsheathed it, he could tell this was no ordinary enchanted longsword. He had never seen its engravings before, and the materials were exceptionally rare. He only recognized adamantine and mithral among the costly special metals; the rest were completely beyond him.
Anbaixiu explained, "This is an anti-magic weapon unique to the elves. It can dismantle almost any defensive spell, and it carries an extra sharpness enchantment. Slicing through iron like mud might be a slight exaggeration, but ordinary armor certainly won't stop its edge."
Alan was stunned. How precious must such a sword be? Why would this lich give him something so valuable?
Sure enough, Anbaixiu immediately followed up: "This blade cost two hundred thousand gold coins to make. If you say 'Praise the God of Alchemy,' I'll give you a twenty percent discount."
Alan thrust the longsword straight back into Anbaixiu's hands. Forget two hundred thousand gold coins—he didn't even have two coins on him. To say nothing of praising the God of Alchemy; if he uttered those words, the Lord of the Dawn would strike him dead with a single slap.
Mortals with faith could not casually offer praise to other deities; it was considered an egregious betrayal.
Anbaixiu chuckled, producing an IOU.
"No problem. Just leave a thumbprint. You can pay it back slowly."
Alan sensed ill intent. When had this lich ever engaged in a losing proposition?
Yet Anbaixiu gave him no chance. Seizing Alan's hand, he pressed it down, instantly leaving Alan's fingerprint on the magical contract.
"You!" Alan froze. How was this lich so fast?
A mage seizing a paladin's hand to force a thumbprint? Even though Alan had been off guard, that speed was ridiculously swift.
Could this lich have cast Haste just to swindle him?
Anbaixiu stowed the IOU away, dropped the longsword, and walked off.
He claimed it cost two hundred thousand gold coins, but in reality, the material cost was only two to three thousand. This was a legendary boon shared with him by Catherine, so it wasn't a standard method of forging magic weapons, enabling the cost to be suppressed to an unbelievable degree.
Yet on the open market, a magic longsword with such potent anti-magic capabilities was worth far more than two hundred thousand gold coins anywhere.
With everything set down clearly in black and white, it was about time for that old fellow James Watson to cough up some gold coins!
Anbaixiu still held a grudge over how he had failed to get a ransom last time and was hunted down by men sent by the old man instead. But now the tables had turned. The old fellow was now a Ryan rebel; he would definitely have to pay this two hundred thousand.
Chapter 289