"What's more important?" Nemo's attention quickly shifted. Oliver followed up himself, so it wasn't a matter of allowing delays. After this day's experience, he couldn't imagine anything more serious that could happen.
"Mr. Vergil is good at mind control, but we all know that he can never control you." Oliver stretched out his left hand covered with metal armor, and straightened the armor on his neck awkwardly. "Here we... uh, got some information. He is especially good at erosion spells. If he finds out that you are more powerful than a demon warlock, I don't know if he will act as an exorcist."
"I saw Dylan and Mr. Cross in the nave just now, and they didn't mention it." Nemo moved the mask to the top right of his head.
"Actually I tried to inform them, you know—but they seem to have bad luck, they've been fighting, and the magic interference on the call is too serious. It's safer for me to come in person than to wait." Oliver down He said like a bean, "Don't worry, there is still an answer outside. I gave her the crystal that received the message. Those disposable crystal pieces can still be used... What are you laughing at?"
"No." Nemo couldn't control the smile on his face. "I thought one of the explanations would be 'I want to see you'."
Oliver choked for a moment, and his face turned suspiciously red. He was silent for a few seconds, and silently buckled the helmet back on his head.
"…but that's a problem." Nemo sympathetically changed the subject. "If this happens, I can't deliberately let him control it."
"Yeah." Oliver said, "He appears to be completely two people from the rumors, you have to be careful. And you have to move fast, because Ou… "
"Aurore is coming soon, and the Church of Silent will be closed soon." Nemo continued smoothly. "If necessary, I will try to imply Mr Vergil's advance."
Oliver's chuckle came from his helmet, and he was a little bored: "Okay, let me guess, Dylan and Mr. Cross should go to find human sacrifices for sacrifice."
"That's it, Lord Captain." Nemo's voice was much lighter.
"I should make you my deputy head."
"There's only five of us!... So what are you going to do now, Ollie?" Miraculously, Nemo found himself at peace.
"I haven't figured it out yet, the most urgent task is to solve the potential danger of mind control." Oliver's equally brisk voice came from the armor of the silent knight, "Well, I think about it... Have you found Baglmore? 'Uncontrollable' due to its talent?"
"I found it, but Bagelmore is following Mr. Cross." Nemo scratched his hair, "After all, you can't use the communication crystal, at least Bagelmore has always been able to find me... Ah." He suddenly stopped The act of grabbing the hair.
"You have an idea?"
"Come with me, Ollie." Nemo avoided the sinister thorns on the armor and tapped the metal on Oliver's chest lightly. "But it might hurt you."
Duran Fergil is making final preparations.
He unfolded the tool bag, and there was a faint smell of blood from the badly worn buffalo hide. Inside is an entire row of brushes, each well-maintained, with a warm luster on the wooden barrel. Vergil brushed the tips of the pens, as if counting silently.
After he retracted his hand, he froze for a while, then carefully took out an exquisite crystal bottle from his pocket and put it next to the paintbrush. They were neatly arranged, the colors were dim, and they somehow resembled a funeral procession.
This day has finally come.
The relaxation and anguish that the goal is about to be achieved poured into his throat together, but there was no emotion in the mixed emotions that had the slightest bit of joy. To be honest, Duran Fergil doesn't care about the incoming O'Lore, but he tends to get things sorted out before the place shuts down completely. Taking a step back, even if the Church of Silence is really closed, he believes that with his knowledge of this place, it is more than enough to save a demon believer in the chaos.
Fergil raised his hand—he saw calluses in his eyes, and the inexorable smell of death lingered between his fingers.
He knew what his reputation was, and he had no intention of accepting it. Duran Fergil has never been a silent hero who "protects the people". His hands have indeed ended countless troubled demons, and even a few "compatriots" who are also demon warlocks. But it wasn't out of any virtue, he knew it all too well.
The root is just a very selfish and cold wish.
He puffed out his chest and sucked air into his lungs as hard as he could, as if he had never really breathed. He stared at the brushes and "paints" on the wooden table, which had been his last warmth, and he had turned them into a murder weapon himself. The tall man lowered his head and slowly rolled up the leather bag with gentle and careful movements.
Only one last step left.
But Vergil's "last step" brought him no small surprise. The obedient-looking demon cultist returned shortly after sunset, as he expected, but Fergil never thought—
"Are you...?" Virgil held the barrel of the pen and looked at the guy behind him. A silent knight was following Nemo Wright step by step, while the handsome and pale black-haired youth bowed his head slightly, and his clothes had been changed into the style of abyss church believers. It's just that he didn't put on the mask seriously, and he held the black staff firmly in his hand.
The bone ball at the top of the staff floated with his movements.
"Mr. Vergil. I was smashed by the silent knight, and I controlled him first." Nemo Wright's voice was not loud, and his speech was as vague and brief as before. "As for bringing it back... I think he should be of some use to the action."
Silent knights are usually of demonic origin, but after swearing allegiance to the bishop of the abyss, they can acquire dangerous spells that alter their physical fitness. Strength is an important indicator of the success of mind control. Although the strength of the silent knight is not as good as that of a real demon warlock, it will never be controlled by an ordinary demon believer.
Then there is only one answer. There was an unpleasant premonition in Virgil's heart—that staff, if it was a mind control weapon...
It's not impossible, Vergil's mind is spinning fast. No matter how inconspicuous the strength of a single team member is, this Black Badge team is a snake class after all—and their team members have also mentioned that this staff is not an ordinary thing.
"It does work," Virgil said in a deep voice, "...but are you sure he won't get out of control?"
"No." Nemo glanced at the bone ball floating on the staff, "I have controlled something stronger, and it has never failed."
"Well."
"Although it's not a very good weapon. But this..." Nemo weighed the staff in his hand, and his tone was a little stiff. "Seventeen spiritual drainage circles, five exploration runes, and eleven control immunity circles. Can this data convince you? Since you know the Church of Silence well, you must also have a lot of research on abyss magic."
From the stiff tone, the demon believer seemed a little unhappy, Fergil thought. He made a rough estimate of this data, and the design is very subtle. According to his years of experience, although this kind of matching ratio is extremely rare, it is absolutely feasible. Wright shouldn't be talking about it - after all, designing a reasonable array of magic and making it suitable for a type of weapon is a terrifying amount of calculation.
Unless the other party knows their strengths in advance, and completes the adaptation calculation for the weapon designer in just one day, it will take a month.
Things are getting in trouble, he thought. If this thing was in Wright's hands, he wasn't sure if he could successfully control the other. And there are probing runes, once he fails to control, Wright will definitely find out. Rather than trying to get this staff away... It's better not to have any trouble with this demonic believer until you reach your destination.
"I understand." Vergil's expression softened and he nodded, "I trust you."
The demon believer took out a Clebator salamander heart from his waist bag and slowly stuffed it into his mouth. The silent knight behind him trembled slightly, and the black smoke that rolled along the edge of the cloak made a trembling trace in the air.
"I've got about the same information over there." Virgil pinned the rolled belt to the belt around his waist. "I'm afraid we have to act tonight, Mr. Wright."
"Isn't the guard at night tighter?"
"It happened suddenly. When the sun rises tomorrow, it is estimated that there will be complete martial law here." Vergil sighed and said with some melancholy. "It can only be tonight. I can tell you the details slowly on the road... To be honest, with an obedient silent knight, things will be a lot easier. I have to thank you."
"… Hmm." Nemo responded simply.
"Let's go. When you get there, you can contact your head."
"Don't I need to prepare anything?" Nemo didn't take that sentence.
"Don't bother you." Virgil reluctantly twitched the corners of his mouth. "I'm all set."
He did prepare everything, as he did many years ago. Was that hundreds of years ago? Vergil couldn't remember.
That's what he was wearing back then. Carrying a large bag and a small bag alone, there are traces of paint all over his body. Easels and drawing boards were tied beside the package, and brushes and paints hung on wide belts. It's just that there were no murderous medicines and materials in those packages at the time, only all kinds of dried food.
He was unusually thin at the time, despite being tall, and his fingers could feel the obvious sunken cheeks. There is not the slightest smell of other people's blood on his body, only his own. Rothko's forests are vast and beautiful, a place for a quiet death—especially for someone who is being corrupted by the toxins of the abyss.
That memory is too early, he may not be as free and easy as he remembers, but he is determined to reject the undignified death on the hospital bed.
Time flies so fast, Vergil grins at the old stone bricks under his feet. When he first came "here", there was not even a shadow of Silent Church. There is only one huge, slowly decaying skeleton.
and a person.
Even if all other memories fade, only that one segment will not blur or disappear. He might have just fastened his easel into the soil, or he was sitting on a tree stump looking at the weird skeleton, counting the proportions with a paintbrush. A voice came from the tree, cold and dissatisfied. Pronunciation is also a bit strange, not very standard—
"Human," said the unfamiliar young man leaning on the branch, "what are you doing?"
"Painting." He raised his head and replied obediently, deciding not to care about that special title.
"anything else?"
"Wait," he continued. "and you?"
"… me too."
,Wonderful!
(m.. = )