The shadow of death rapidly receded from Julian's body.
He leaned against the wall, gasping violently, his heart pounding like a drum.
That intestine, stained with corrosive digestive fluid and emitting a foul stench, dangled less than half a foot from him on the ground, still twitching faintly with nervous energy.
Julian's gaze passed over the remains of the terrifying creature now pinned to the wall and landed on the mysterious savior who had crashed through the window.
It was that European buyer with the unique aura he had seen at the auction preview.
He was a middle-aged man, around forty years old.
His figure was tall and well-proportioned like an ancient Greek statue, brimming with a sense of power and harmony.
The impeccably tailored black tailcoat seed sowhat out of place in this tropical colonial city.
Most striking was the silver dal he wore on his chest, a combination of a cross and a sword.
Under the dim glow of the kerosene lamp, that dal reflected a captivating light.
In his hand, he held a steel crossbow of ancient design, its body engraved with intricate Latin prayers and rose patterns—clearly no ordinary weapon.
That earth-shattering arrow from monts ago had co from this very killing machine.
The man didn't imdiately look at Julian. Instead, he slowly walked to the Night Shadow's corpse, extended a hand clad in white silk gloves, and expressionlessly pulled the silver crossbow bolt from the wall.
As the bolt was withdrawn, the Night Shadow's pale head, like a leather pouch filled with putrid fluid, fell to the ground with a dull *thump*.
The man pulled a pristine white linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and ticulously, painstakingly wiped the filth from the crossbow bolt before returning it to his quiver.
Only after completing this task did he turn and cast his gaze upon Julian, who was still in shock.
"Mr. Julian Belloc of the French Academy." He spoke in flawless, accentless classical French.
"The nights in Saigon are perhaps a bit too... enthusiastic for a scholar like yourself, accustod to studying ancient texts in a quiet study."
It was impossible to tell from his tone whether it was mockery or a simple statent.
Julian took a deep breath, forcing himself to recover from the lingering fear.
He straightened his posture, regaining the elegance and composure befitting a top French scholar.
"Please forgive my discourtesy, sir." He gave a slight nod of acknowledgnt. "I do not yet know how to address my savior."
"You may call Guillau," the man replied. "A... rather unremarkable servant of God."
"Mr. Guillau." Julian repeated the na. "You seem... to know my identity quite well."
Guillau's response was cold and direct. "Your I.A.R.C.'s eyes are spread across the world, but not all shadows are within your sight."
I.A.R.C.
Hearing the term from the other man's lips made Julian's heart skip another beat.
Not only did this man know his na and identity, he was even fully aware of the organization behind him!
"No need for surprise." Guillau saw through the turmoil in Julian's mind. "Our eyes may not be as nurous as yours, but our history is far more ancient than your Federation, which was established less than three hundred years ago."
He gently tapped the silver dal on his chest with a gloved fingertip.
"The Knights Templar." He uttered this na, which should have vanished into the river of history but still thundered through the ages, with a tone of sanctity and pride. "Perhaps you are more familiar with our current title—The Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon."
The Knights Templar!
That legendary knightly order that dominated the Middle Ages, established the world's first transnational banking system, possessed a military force rivaling that of a nation, yet was ultimately annihilated on that Black Friday in 1307 by King Philip IV of France and Pope Clent V under charges of "heresy"!
Historical records claid they were utterly destroyed, their assets divided, their knights sent to the stake.
"It seems history books are not entirely reliable," Julian remarked, having already suspected the man's identity.
"History has always been the victor's lie," Guillau said, a look of utter disdain flashing across his face. "We were never destroyed. We rely went underground, transforming from God's army on earth into His... scavengers in the shadows."
"Scavengers?"
"Correct." Guillau's gaze swept over the Night Shadow corpse on the floor, which was slowly dissolving into a pool of black water, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. "Filthy heretics like this, which desecrate God's creations, are the garbage we need to cleanse."
"Our mission is to hunt down these heretics globally, recover those tainted holy relics, and maintain our Lord's order and glory in the mortal realm."
Julian finally understood the source of the unique, dieval knightly, classical, and ascetic aura emanating from this man.
They weren't knightly imitators; they were living fossils who had persisted from that era to the present day!
An extrely conservative, extrely zealous, yet powerfully effective ancient religious organization!
"Then, Mr. Guillau." Julian keenly grasped the key point. "Your presence in Saigon is also for a holy relic?"
"Indeed." Guillau admitted without evasion. "That thing known as the Tai Sui."
He paused, then narrated the "truth" as they saw it in a tone imbued with sanctity.
"According to our Order's literature, which has never been made public. That thing is... a fragnt of the legendary 'Garden of Eden,' a projection of 'God's Flesh and Blood' in the mortal world."
"After Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden, this fragnt also fell, corrupted by chaos, and beca the... ugly, heretical form it takes today."
"It belongs to the category of holy objects that must be purified. It absolutely cannot fall into the hands of any heathens." Guillau's ice-blue eyes fixed intently on Julian. "Especially not into the hands of those blasphers."
Everything beca clear in Julian's mind. The blasphers Guillau spoke of were undoubtedly connected to the Black Lotus Sect.
He represented I.A.R.C., needing this Tai Sui as a "divine dicine" to save his companion's life; his core purpose was utilization.
The Knights Templar before him, however, viewed this Tai Sui as a "fallen holy object"; their core purpose was destruction and purification.
"Mr. Guillau." A helpless, understanding smile appeared on Julian's face. "Between us, we share a common enemy, yet have diatrically opposed ultimate goals."
"A very accurate summary." Guillau nodded.
"Then, saving tonight was likely not rely out of a knight's sense of honor?" Julian probed.
"Of course not." Guillau's reply remained frank to the point of coldness. "I simply did not wish for the sole buyer representing I.A.R.C. to die so ignominiously in the maw of a lowly, worthless heretic before tomorrow night's auction begins. That would rob my subsequent plans of much of their... enjoynt."
"And," he glanced at the I.A.R.C. work ID on the floor, already corroded beyond recognition, "... your people also seem quite interested in a certain Black Lotus stronghold in Saigon. I need you to tell all the intelligence you've gathered."
This was a direct transaction.
He exchanged Julian's life for a temporary intelligence-sharing arrangent with I.A.R.C.
Julian knew he had no right to refuse.
He was alone, while the other side had at least three highly trained, unfathomably powerful knights.
He had just witnessed Guillau's miraculous archery skills firsthand.
Faced with such an absolute disparity in strength, any attempt at bargaining would be foolish and laughable.
"Deal." Julian replied succinctly. "I can tell you everything I know. In exchange, I also need to know how much you understand about the Black Lotus Sect."
"They are our enemies." For the first ti, genuine emotion entered Guillau's voice. "Since we first set foot on this Eastern land, we have been dealing with these rats hiding in the gutters."
"They steal holy relics, desecrate divine miracles, and attempt to tarnish our Lord's glory with those filthy Eastern sorceries."
The chessboard in Saigon had grown increasingly complex and perilous with the Knights Templar's entry.
Julian was like a dancer walking a tightrope, with a bottomless abyss beneath his feet, and allies and enemies standing at either end, both ready to draw their blades against him at any mont.
He had to send a telegram about everything that had happened here to Lin Jie in New York before dawn, as fast as possible.
Because he had a strong premonition.
The auction would likely not conclude in the civilized manner of "highest bidder wins."
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