Angel took a deep breath and stepped over the stone tablet.
In an instant, day turned to night. The dull daylight of the outside world scattered like the wind, turning into a pitch-dark and silent night.
Once again meeting the night, the changes in Angel’s heart were completely opposite to the last time.
Sanders once said, the sea here is not the sea of today; the night here also is not the night of now. They have both been suspended in time, frozen on the eve before the gods fell.
Looking up into the sky, there was neither stars nor clouds.
Though it was merely a common night, because it was the longest night of the old world, it carried the heaviness of history.
A series of footsteps came from beside him, it was Fafnir.
“I didn’t expect you to seek out this conniving merchant,” Fafnir’s scoffing voice rose next to Angel’s ear, “I advise you to leave; what she wants is not something you can afford.”
Angel: “I just want to give it a try.”
Having entered the Land of Repose, Angel naturally had no intention of retreating. Whether it was successful or not, he wanted to try.
Angel walked towards a nearby graveyard, which was still eerily quiet, with occasional wisps of phosphorescence drifting by.
Although it seemed desolate, Angel knew that beneath this land, many bones of the Undead Legion lay in slumber.
He walked lightly, as if through this method, he didn’t want to disturb the dormant skeletons.
As he turned along a quiet path, Angel saw a small bar that opened deep in the graveyard. The solitary light, the occasionally wind-lifted fabric surrounding it, and the delicate silhouette of a woman in the bar.
Almost identical to the scene before, except that this time, there were two figures at the entrance to the bar.
Only when Angel approached did he realize that one of the figures at the door was a Tomb Knight and the other was a person wearing a bow tie and a form-fitting suit.
To call him “person” was merely Angel’s first impression. When he saw the twirling pattern and fierce horns on the man’s forehead, he knew he had been mistaken; he was not a human, but a Half-Blood Demon.
Yet his attire made it hard for Angel to believe that this was how a Half-Blood Demon would dress.
It was more befitting of a butler managing an entire nobility estate.
“Stian, the store owner does not want to see you. Please leave,” the Tomb Knight’s droning voice came from inside his helmet.
The Half-Blood Demon, addressed as Stian, first glanced at Angel with his eyes, his gaze lingering momentarily on the Flame Mark on Angel’s earlobe and Angel’s pitch-black eyes, then turned to look at the Tomb Knight.
He flashed an elegant smile: “Knight, my surname is Stian Trofehr, and Stian is merely the least significant part of my surname. You may address me by my full name, or simply Trofehr will also do. Moreover, I simply wish to persuade the charming Lady Baltica with my sincerity.”
A scornful laugh came from the Tomb Knight’s visor: “Stian is the surname given to you by your mother, Trofehr is the ignoble title bestowed by the Sheep Demon, and yet you dismiss your mother’s tribal name with contempt. You truly are a disgusting hybrid.”
Stian maintained his delicate and elegant smile without any change in expression due to the Tomb Knight’s insults. The curve of his lips, the frequency of his blinking, even the control of his facial muscles, seemed as though they had been precisely calculated.
“While it’s true that I am a mix of the Neya Tribe and Demon,” Stian implied, “if I recall correctly, isn’t the Undead Legion also comprised of Half-Blood Demons?” In other words, we are the same, you and I. By calling me a hybrid, you are hardly any different.
The Tomb Knight scoffed coldly: “At least, I won’t become a pawn of Demons.”
After finishing his statement, the Tomb Knight no longer paid attention to Stian. This troublesome fellow, chased away time and again only to return, clearly set on lingering here, hoping Lady Baltica would agree to see him.
Moreover, what Stian hoped for from Baltica, was not for his own cause, but on behalf of the Sheep Demon who had granted him the ignoble title “Trofehr.”
The Sheep Demon, too afraid to come himself, sent Stian in his place.
As for the Neya Tribe, they had old ties with Baltica. Even if she was reluctant to trade with Stian, the connection with the Neya Tribe stopped her from forcibly sending him away.
The Tomb Knight ignored Stian, letting him stand elegantly at the bar’s door like a doorman.
He then turned his head to look at Angel.
Even though Angel had deliberately altered his eye traits, the Tomb Knight still recognized his face. If it had been someone else, they would likely have been driven out by now, but Angel… demanded a different consideration.