"What?" Nemo exclaimed. He didn't think that his current self was too filthy to bear. Of course, his hands were more important.
"No matter the reason, it's your sin to cooperate with the superior demon, child." The monk's voice was still soft, and the genuine concern in his words made Nemo a little horrified. "You have remorse, so for a small price, God can forgive you—do you know what happens to demon warlocks in general? You still have a chance to live innocently, and I am sincerely happy for that."
Nemo took a step back. No, this man doesn't look like old Patrick at all.
"I was the one who was attacked." He lowered his voice. "I don't think I committed any crime."
"But you have a choice, don't you? If you are attacked for no reason, you have many ways to preserve your spirituality as a human being - you can cut your throat with a dagger, you can bite off your own tongue or a blood vessel. You can let the vile demons be too late. Offer a deal, die a glorious and great death for my God—of course, I'm not condemning you, my child. There are times when people are confused. You see, aren't you in front of me now?"
"But I'm not loyal to you—" Just as he was about to express his position, Ann covered his mouth.
"May Chenni's glory be forever," Ann said solemnly, and she let go of Nemo and wiped his hand on his robe. "Thank you again, the communicator of divine grace. He was just a little surprised, we will persuade him well."
Oliver nodded with a stern face as well. He grabbed the writhing grey parrot firmly and left the perfume shop with Ann. The door of the store closed automatically behind him, and the bell on the door rang softly. The monk made a prayer gesture on his left chest, picked up a soft cloth, and continued to wipe the delicate glass vial.
"...he just meant, would it be better for me to kill myself as soon as I was attacked by Bagmoru?" Nemo asked in shock after making sure they were far enough away.
"He really thinks so. I know the Laddism in Roadmark Town doesn't have much influence... This is already the softest Worden faction. If you switch to the old school, they won't even ask for a reason, and it's best to kill you directly. 'Glory'." Ann's face was not very good-looking, "You better prepare yourself mentally. After all, free monks are civilians who practice voluntarily. Judgement knights are different. They have been brainwashed from childhood to adulthood - Cross is the knight commander, you Imagine for yourself."
Nemo refuses to imagine.
"But he did have a good idea," Ann said.
"What's the idea? Wait, I'll make it clear - I love my hands and don't want to dedicate them to any god at all."
"You see, the Church of the Penitents must have some information on Cross," she said. "And we have Oliver."
"Me?" Oliver, who was battling wits with the grey parrot, raised his head in confusion, with a grey bird feather sticking to his face. "Can I help?"
However, when they found a good place to live, An really answered this question. Even after getting Mrs. Edwards' deposit, she didn't lavishly enjoy it - the hotel they stayed in was probably the cheapest class on the edge of the capital, but as far as Nemo and Oliver saw it, it was better than anything they had ever seen. The rooms are to be refined and tidy.
The sheets and pillows smelled of sunshine and were neatly groomed. Fresh fruits are stacked in wooden trays with drops of water, and large fresh flowers are in vase by the bed. There was no hair or other suspicious hair on the floor, not even dust. In front of the huge window is a bay window composed of oak and marble, and the green outside the window leaves a blurred reflection on the smooth marble surface. There's even a small altar on the table, with a statue of Zeni - a Radish deity with long, curly hair and a beard, with an old sense of majesty.
Nemo showed his adventurous spirit on full display—he sat down on the bay window, leaning against the soft cushions, unwilling to move. Oliver, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the bed with a regretful expression, and was taken aback by the soft, sunken mattress.
"Charm." Allah settled down on the chair, crossing his legs. "This can be done."
"What?" Nemo straightened up. "Who, Oliver?" He failed to suppress the schadenfreude in his voice.
Oliver frowned, not seeming to like the idea.
"Don't think crooked." An grabbed a piece of fruit and gnawed it, a little inarticulate. "Young man, you are full of vigor, I won't ask you two what kind of mess you have seen - in short, charm is not what you think."
The two looked away at the same time.
"Alita on the Bridge is a masterpiece," Nemo protested in a low voice.
"The author certainly doesn't know much about magic," Ann said. "Come on, let me show you—"
She swallowed the fruit in her mouth, rubbed her hands casually, and walked up to Oliver.
"Look me in the eyes," she demanded.
Nemo could see clearly from this angle, and Ann's iris instantly lit up with a golden shimmer. And Oliver blinked, looking at her puzzled. "and then?"
The knock on the door sounded just right, Ann smiled slightly, and opened the door—the maid in the black dress walked into the room with a clay pot filled with fresh milk.
"Ma'am..." She opened her mouth when she met Ann's gleaming eyes. She stared at them blankly, the smile on her face gradually turning blank.
"Sweetheart, how old are you this year?"
"Nineteen years old." The maid replied mechanically in a calm and unwavering voice.
"Where is your hometown?"
"Kenyatta in Garland. My mother is Albane and our family grew up eight years ago from..."
"Enough." He comforted the little girl's curly blonde hair, and the glimmer in her eyes dimmed. The young maid didn't seem to notice what had just happened, she blinked and put the pot beside the fruit bowl. Then he bowed slightly and exited the room.
"That's it." She poured herself a glass of milk. "It's allure."
"But Oliver wasn't affected."
"That's right. It can only govern people whose magic level is lower than their own and who are mentally defenseless," Ann said. "Oliver's magic level is higher than mine, so it has no effect on him. The lower the magic level, the more charm. The better the effect, the less likely it is to be discovered. Disarming is easy - just touch the object of your charm. My magic power may not be able to overwhelm the old men of the Rad Cult, so only Oliver can come." She looked No regrets whatsoever.
"... But the other party is a person who repents of the Holy See, so he can't be defenseless at all, right?" Oliver asked a little uncomfortably.
"Important information will be mixed with hinting spells of resistance to charm when it is passed, but I don't think no one will bother with gossip. Besides, the magic level of the Radical cultists has always been high, and their will is very firm. They There is generally no trouble in this regard.”
"Wow, dear Oliver, you're going to charm the old men of the Holy See!" Nemo cleared his throat and recited in a bard-like tone. "May Zeni's glory shine on you, and I will write a hymn for you—"
Oliver grabbed the pillow on the bed and threw it neatly into Nemo's face.
"Okay," he covered his face and let out a sigh between his fingers. "Teach me."
Oliver learns quickly. In less than five minutes, he was staring at Nemo with his golden eyes. "Loop around the room," he whispered gravely.
Nemo poked out his ears, "Your eyes are beautiful, Ollie, it's worth doing ten laps." He said sincerely, "But I'm so tired today that I can't jump."
Oliver shifted his target in disappointment: "Baglemoru, roll."
The grey parrot looked into Oliver's eyes dazedly, and rolled obediently on the tablecloth. The wicked smirk on Ann's face disappeared. She stared at Nemo, who was about to fight Oliver with a pillow, and held her breath.
Nemo Wright was unguarded, but he didn't show even a second of confusion, which only meant one thing - his magic level was much higher than that of Oliver Ramon's monster. It made no sense at all that Bagmoru, who was supposed to be the source of his power, was inferior to Oliver.
Is the cultivator's conclusion really okay
She took a deep breath, pushing almost all the air out of her lungs. Hoping that her choice was correct, Ann closed her eyes and prayed for a few seconds—hoping that her soft heart would not lead to a terrible disaster from the abyss.
Practicing Charm is relaxing and enjoyable. But by the time they set foot on the steps of the Church of the Penitents at dusk, Oliver and Nemo's faces were as stiff as slate.
"Can't it be tomorrow...? I think I can practice again." Oliver's eyes were blank.
"You're skilled enough." Ann dismissed his request ruthlessly.
"...Will we be recognized? Even if it becomes a black badge, the wanted order will not be removed, right?" Nemo rubbed his face.
"The Holy See in the capital of Garland doesn't care about third-row criminals at the border."
"Am I really not going to get killed on the spot? In case, I mean in case—"
"You just went to consult today, remember. This is not a butcher's shop in the market. They won't chop your hand directly with a machete. They will definitely make a bunch of things first." , "I don't know which bishop you will meet, but the bishop's magic level is about the same as mine at best - even if Oliver drinks too much, his monster-like magic will not make the other party detect charm! Heck, you must Did I say it clearly—" It doesn't feel good at all to admit that I'm not as good as the younger generation.
However, the two juniors still looked worried.
"I'm waiting for you outside - I've been in this business for too long, they might recognize me. Get in!" Anchao pushed behind the two of them.
The two swallowed their saliva in unison and rushed to the door. They pushed open the door with heavy hearts and squeezed through the crack of the door into the huge church. In the end, Rao was two unbelieving guys, and was so shocked by the majestic scenery in front of him that he forgot to breathe. The afterglow of the setting sun filtered through the stained glass and cast countless traces of light on the wooden floor. In the center of the wall they were facing hung the religious emblem of the Radhist religion—three white feathers joined end to end, a beautiful triangle. Chenni's gigantic statue was much more elaborate than the one in their room, with its arms outstretched as if to embrace the visitor.
Several monks were wiping the rows of benches, and now they were looking up at the two of them.
Nemo made "uh" a few times, but he couldn't get a word out. On the other hand, Oliver calmed down first: "Please... Excuse me, is the Bishop here?"
"Are you two...?"
"My friend was attacked by demons. We need to repent to the bishop, er, repentance." Oliver recounted his prepared remarks. "I have to make sure that he is not eroded too much by the demons."
Although Nemo, who was looking around, didn't look unusual, the devout monks accepted the unconvincing rhetoric. One of them politely led the two to the left corridor of the church and told them to wait for a while in front of a wooden door.
"Sir Bishop is receiving guests, please wait a moment for the two of you." The cultivator saluted with a serious expression.
The corridors are bright and clean, the floors are spotless, and the wooden doors are decorated with beautiful reliefs. No blood, screams and pine oil torches in the dark, Nemo breathed a sigh of relief.
But he couldn't take it easy for long.
There were footsteps and conversations at the end of the hallway, mixed with a strange but terribly familiar sound, like a wooden wheel rolling over a smooth floor.
Nemo turned his head sharply. The old man who looked like a bishop was walking toward them, except that he was not alone in that direction—Cahill Edwards was sitting in his wheelchair with an unstoppable gentle smile on his face.
"What a coincidence, you two." He nodded at them. "We meet again."
,Wonderful!
(m.. = )