1487: 501.
What?
The King of Bone Biting wants you to do what?
Slay a god?
1487: 501.
What?
The King of Bone Biting wants you to do what?
Slay a god?
Hog doubted if his brain had a serious malfunction and desperately needed to find a competent doctor for a check-up, even considering, if necessary, undergoing a craniotomy for thorough examination.
Because, after regaining consciousness, he imdiately took the skull of the King of Bone Biting to the Psychic in Wolf Castle for inspection.
After repeated checks, the latter assured Hog that the item had no Spiritual Energy fluctuations.
Apart from so sentintal value, the skull had lost all its mythical powers after being desecrated by La Claw and “purified” by Lord Morphy.
In this continent abundant with Spiritual Energy, a Gold powerhouse can achieve many things, yet sadly, their remains hardly beco true “heavenly treasures.” At most, they serve as coveted casting materials for Necromancers, or high-grade crafting materials for others.
But if there’s nothing wrong with the skull, how to explain what happened to him last night during that “strange encounter”?
Linking that to the “simple task” given by the King of Bone Biting, Hog felt like his useful head was about to explode.
He scurried around in desperation as if a hot-pan ant, instinctively seeking help.
But who among those wandering about Wolf Castle now could possibly help him with “deicide”?
His constant running around only to be t with disappointnt completely deflated Hog.
After much thought, he still decided to seek help from his “old superior,” so he hid in a secluded area of Wolf Castle and used the Calculating Pearl to contact Sir Morphy, planning to discuss the matter with the cleverest and most cunning individual in his mind to get so valuable advice.
The bead connected quickly.
From Morphy’s side, slurping and exhaling sounds ca through, seemingly enjoying breakfast.
The Vampire Lord, who was eating “otherworldly instant noodles,” lapsed into silence after listening to Hog’s troubled description.
After setting down his fork to ponder, and with Hog anxiously awaiting for several seconds, Sir Morphy’s surprised voice finally ca:
“You said…
what does the King of Bone Biting want you to do?
I might have misheard, possibly due to ntal fatigue last night.
Say it again…”
Hog sighed, simplified his words, and said succinctly:
“That hulking fellow who claims to be the ‘King of Bone Biting’ tasked to barge into the sacred land of all Wolf People during the outbreak of Black Disaster and strangle the yet-to-be-born Master of Hunting.
You heard it right, Governor, my nominal ancestor is now asking , a crippled Jackal, to kill a god.”
“Oh, so I didn’t hear wrong.
Then…
maybe you should have your brain or thought processes checked—has the recent stress of acquiring Wolf Castle caused you to have hallucinations?”
Morphy quickly asked with concern:
“Do you need to contact a doctor for you?
I can make an appointnt for you with a psychologist through Crow, and although it is knowledge from another world, I guess it could be useful to you.”
“I can’t tell, Sir, I really can’t tell,” Hog nearly broke down.
He wailed with his face buried in his hands:
“Please, just et in person, and I’ll explain everything to you.”
“Mmhmm, alright, I’ll co over to Wolf Castle shortly and inspect my defenses while I’m at it.
Eat sothing in the anti, anything you want, don’t panic.
Deicide, after all, is just a minor issue.”
Morphy consoled him, leaving Hog on the bead’s side utterly dumbfounded.
What?
Did you say it’s a minor issue?
Have you gone mad from the recent pressure too?
Should we both go see a psychologist together?
And was that pleasurable tone in your voice for real?
Did sothing good happen?
The Jackal Tribe Chief slandered thus, calming itself with long sighs and short breaths as it awaited in Wolf Castle and about half an hour later, Morphy and Triss appeared in the skies above the castle.
Both were dressed as they used to be.
Since the leather armor from Old Edward was damaged in the battle with the King of Bone Biting, Morphy had donned the ceremonial Swordsman’s Robe of the Blood Vulture Duke again.
It looked elegant and imposing, but its practicality was indeed lackluster; after all, one could not expect too much from ceremonial armor.
However, Lord Morphy didn’t care now, as he wore the “Creator’s Legacy” underneath his armor.
The snug undergarnt, fitted with three different types of protective plates, already provided more defense than Old Edward’s flawed leather armor.
It was more concealed, body-hugging, and had an even-temperature feature, making Morphy unaffected by external climate.
Triss wore the sa protective gear under her Duke’s Mage Robe, and as a Psychic, she chose the Spiritual Energy-enhanced armor plates, allowing her to levitate nine smart red shuttle crafts, now repainted in the vampires’ favorite crimson color, by her side.
Those devices moved around her back, forming a “wing,” just as if “light wings were unfurling.”
However, the Duke’s current expression couldn’t be counted as pleasant.
Apparently, she had a disagreent with her dear one, answering Morphy’s inquiries coldly and swatting away his attempts at holding hands, a classic upset-girlfriend deanor.
After dropping Morphy off at Wolf Castle, she cast a teleportation spell and returned to Blood Vulture Corridor without even a goodbye.
This left Lord Morphy, who was slowly descending, with a face of resignation, and as he stood opposite the waiting Hog, they stared at each other for a few seconds before Hog, with a fawning face, ventured:
“Um…
Did you have a fight with the Duke?
I rarely see such discord between you two, who are the chosen ones like a matched pair in a romance.”
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