Chapter 45: I’m really sorry, Xiaoqiang didn’t die?

——Is this guy Pavlov’s dog or what?

Vis wiped a cold sweat from his brow.

He knew the knights followed orders, but he never expected such blind loyalty.

The thing opposite them had only its upper body left resembling Norsen himself. Anyone could see it was a wraith.

And yet, that lady knight still treated him as her superior?

“Hey, Miss Morfiana, you… better calm down.”

Vis cautiously stepped back, putting some distance between himself, the female knight, and Norsen.

“Look closely. That’s no longer your Knight Commander. It’s just a wraith possessed by the Devouring Soul Lord.”

His attempt to bring reason back to her fell on deaf ears. Morfiana seemed like a magical puppet, following whichever command was input first without question.

Yet the wrist holding the sword was clearly trembling.

After only a few seconds of hesitation, Morfiana still hadn’t plunged her sword in. That seemed to have completely exhausted Norsen’s patience.

“What’s the matter, Morfiana? Crushing a cockroach is hard for the ‘Strong Crown’ of the Heine Thionshu family?”

“I…”

Morfiana stared ahead.

Vis could see the red eyes lacked any light.

“Commander, I want to ask—”

After a long silence, Morfiana spoke, lost and vacant.

“How exactly did my sister die?”

The eldest daughter of the Heine Thionshu family, a gifted Holy Patrol Knight, a rising star from the barren Rolls Territory, a poor place, hoping to join the Knights’ Hall and rise to Knight Commander—

Such a capable and promising female knight had fallen two years ago during that massive catastrophe that nearly swept the entire northern human realm.

Although she received generous war death benefits and was posthumously honored as a heroic knight,

it all felt too hollow.

The family had lost the hope of regaining noble status through leadership, and nothing could make up for that.

Morfiana felt far inferior to her sister—

whether in bloodline inheritance, magical talent, knightly combat skills, or fighting spirit.

But she had tried her hardest to become like her sister, hoping to embody what others expected “a knight should be.”

Strictly abiding by the creed, obeying every command, charging bravely into any battle.

Had she succeeded?

Had she truly become a knight like her sister?

Morfiana wasn’t sure.

But one thing was clear.

She seemed destined to—

“sacrifice”

—here.

Just like her sister’s fate.

So,

she inevitably lifted her head to look at Norsen.

“Commander, the team my sister was on back then was also led by you as Knight Commander, right? Could you please tell me again—how did my sister, Knight Orfikana, die?”

Norsen’s face, already void of life, darkened instantly.

Not because he was moved by anything—

just because he was annoyed.

She was nothing more than a trivial scion of a fallen noble family.

Allowing her to complete her last order as a knight before death and granting her a glorious posthumous medal and honorable funeral was already an act of generosity.

And now, at this moment, she didn’t know her place and hesitated?

Was she taking herself too seriously?

Norsen gave a sarcastic laugh.

—Fed up.

The mist trembled and wailed mournfully. The pitch-black aura no longer drifted slowly as before.

It was as if the wind tunnel behind had reached its maximum setting, the raging storm sweeping the dark fog forward, enough to wipe out everything ahead.

It was over.

(Alright, although wasting some unnecessary time, it made the story more realistic. Now it’s time to proceed as planned… Oh right, I still need some proof—)

Norsen raised his hand again, parting the black fog.

As was the old tradition, he picked up one of the “victim’s” personal belongings to take back.

After all, whether high-ranking military records or commoners below, everyone loved to hear the tragic story of “your hero is gone, leaving behind only this scrap of a scarf after the fierce battle.”

But behind the dispersing mist,

the figure that should have been erased without a trace was still standing perfectly intact in place.

“Hm?”

Norsen paused, making sure he wasn’t mistaken.

It wasn’t a delayed death a few seconds after being crushed.

He was genuinely alive, even unscathed.

Vis stood in the center with his back to the enemy, protecting Morfiana as well.

“Oh? That’s truly unexpected. So Morfiana didn’t finish you off in the training grounds, not just because she’s an incompetent fool…”

Norsen looked slightly surprised, let alone the female knight who was protected by mercenaries once again.

Morfiana’s wide eyes regained a faint gleam, shedding some of her shock and finding herself again amid despair.

(He was clearly about to die a moment ago… but he actually took the hit? Are we sure he’s really a mercenary?)

Vis spat out some sand brought in by the wind into his mouth, then sneered nonchalantly:

“Sorry, I’m just like a cockroach, struggling and won’t die no matter what.”

Norsen wasn’t offended at all. Instead, he matched the tone with a laugh:

“Hehehe, no wonder you originally escaped from the Devouring Soul Lord’s ‘Dark Blight’ here, it wasn’t all luck… Fine, I acknowledge you. As a mercenary, you indeed have some commendable qualities—must be that cloak, right?”

He lifted his chin, eyes commanding.

Vis wore that sandy yellow cloak—

The “Returning Traveler’s Dust.”

He had snatched it out of his magical pack at the very moment Norsen raised his hand to summon the storm, only half putting it on, barely covering his shoulders like a raincoat, using it as a last-ditch defense.

Judging by the current situation, it had indeed saved him.

Physical defense unknown, but magical protection was solid.

The white “Returning Traveler’s Dust” he’d had before was already a magical protective gear.

Now this golden one he had just barely obtained as a consolation prize should be even better. If it hadn’t improved, Vis would really be pissed.

“Out here, if you don’t have some trump card to rely on, I doubt you’d survive the prologue.”

While Norsen was still in the mood to talk nonsense, Vis hurriedly put the cloak on properly. But he certainly wouldn’t lose face verbally against this kind of opponent.

“Good, good. You’re already more interesting than most of those knights. Fine, let’s upgrade the cockroach to a cricket—how about that? Is it worthy of some teasing?”

Norsen wasn’t in a hurry to crush the bug underfoot.

“Perfect timing to test the new ‘Blessing’ I just obtained—let’s see what kind of power it really holds using the skull on your shoulder.”