Although Gawain considered himself a satellite spirit from another world, with ample knowledge and endurance, every ti he encountered sothing related to Tiel, he couldn’t help but think, "Damn, how could there be such a bizarre species in this world?" Just like now, staring at the sea demon form sprawled in the pool, big eyes staring back at him, he was particularly conflicted about whether to run a sanity check or heal himself first.
Because Tiel was continuously casting healing spells—to keep the prisoner alive.
As for Amber’s comnt about so of Tiel’s tendrils having a ntal uplifting effect, Gawain didn’t notice anything like that—he felt it might have sothing to do with his immunity to divine ntal interference. Many powers that disturb human minds seed ineffective on him.
"Now... let’s greet our guest," Gawain’s eyes twitched as he gazed at Tiel for a while, finally shifting his attention away from the sea witch and looking at the well-tied-up captive, who seed to be taking his last breaths. "What’s your na? What is your identity? What is your purpose?"
Clent slowly lifted his head, realizing what was happening the mont he saw Gawain. The terrifying creature restraining him crushed any hope for survival, but that didn’t an he would cooperate obediently: "No... comnt..."
Amber had been waiting for this response and imdiately chid in, "His na is Clent—though he’s disguised as a royal mage nad Duke."
"Duke..." Gawain wasn’t entirely clear on the specific personnel Francis II had sent to the border this ti, but a bit of guessing led him to realize that this imposter had likely been lurking around the now-deceased king. His expression beca subtle, "So, your mission was to kill the king? And your forces aim to sabotage these peace talks?"
Clent closed his eyes, adopting a posture of refusal to answer, while Soldrin stepped beside Gawain and whispered a few words.
"You’re disguised as a mage, but you’re actually a Druid," Gawain observed Clent with a calm deanor, "I think I know what you are—a lunatic from the Oblivion Association, am I right?"
Clent finally replied, "Say what you want, you’ll never understand our great cause."
"Actually, it’s like this," Gawain nodded, "I never intended to understand your cause; I only want all of you to disappear. Clent, right? Your operation this ti indeed exceeded my expectations; I admit I underestimated you—I thought you only stirred trouble in dark corners, didn’t expect you’d dare to make waves in such a major event... Let boldly speculate: if you can assassinate the king at the border, surely you’re up to sothing within the kingdom?"
Clent rely chuckled coldly, refusing to answer.
Gawain felt a bit troubled: he knew that the unremarkable old man (whose appearance might not even be real, given Oblivion Association followers’ adeptness at changing body forms) was likely a high-ranking mber of the Oblivion Association. Such prominent cultists not only had great power, but their ntal fortitude was extraordinary, rendering ordinary interrogation useless. Even mind-intruding spells might not breach their ntal defenses.
If only this were an Eternal Sleeper—Gawain might find a way to hack into the other’s mind, but dealing with a fallen Druid made things difficult.
As Gawain puzzled over this, Tiel in the pool suddenly broke the silence, "Perhaps... I can make him more cooperative."
Gawain’s eyebrows arched slightly, "Oh?"
"But this thod is one-ti only," Tiel spread her hands, so free tendrils unfurling as well, "At least according to our tests on those who claim to be ’Sons of the Storm,’ this approach can only be used once—then the person dies."
"...You monster!" Clent, hearing Tiel’s words, finally reacted, struggling violently and shouting, "What do you intend to do?"
"You hardly qualify to call others monsters," Gawain glanced at Clent, pondered briefly, and finally made a decision, "Tiel, he’s all yours."
While Gawain was trying to establish a controllable faction within the Eternal Sleepers, he knew that for most extre zealots, efforts at salvation or persuasion were futile, particularly with a true believer like Clent. The only proper recourse was to let Tiel try her "one-ti thod."
Receiving Gawain’s permission, the sea demon form of Tiel’s lower body imdiately split into several tiny tendrils, reaching toward Clent, who now sensed the imminent danger and began struggling even more—yet all his struggles couldn’t match the tendrils that held him tight, glowing with eerie runic light. Within re breaths, those new, tiny tendrils reached his neck...
Just then, Amber, standing beside Gawain, suddenly called out, "Wait a mont!"
Tiel paused, puzzled, and Gawain turned to Amber, "What is it?"
Amber appeared quite conflicted and hesitant but eventually took a step forward, looking up at Tiel, "I have so questions for him too... can you keep him alive for a bit longer?"
"I can," Tiel nodded, "He will live until your inquiries conclude."
Gawain curiously glanced at Amber and then at Tiel, "Very well, let’s proceed."
Clent struggled with every ounce of strength in him, seemingly at the brink of despair, yet he continued cursing loudly, "One day you’ll pay the price! You aren’t even worthy as God’s feast! You’re re leftovers to be spat out by the deity after a full al! I will never yield! I WILL NEVER YIELD!!"
Amidst this cursing, several tendrils, emitting a murky purple magical glow, cold and slick, began creeping up Clent’s neck, crawling into his ears and attaching to his scalp. The unimaginable terror and ntal pressure gripped Clent’s heart, as if endless illusions unfolded in his mind. Illusory sounds of ocean waves resounded in his ears, and within the layered waves, countless indistinct whispers lay hidden. In those maddening sounds, he recalled every horrifying legend of the deep sea—the end of endless storms, the chaotic dark deep-sea, the palace of the God of Storm, the banquet halls for sea demons and monstrous creatures...
The eyes of this Oblivion Association believer widened, and in his last mont of self-awareness, he suddenly flinched, sensing a vision more horrifying than death itself, instilling an urge to surrender—but it was already too late.
The tentacles had already probed into his ear canals, scalp, and even eyes, rendering this Oblivion Association believer’s brain incapable of free thought.
Tiel looked down at Clent, who had finally quieted down, and shook his head: "I don’t know what your God likes to eat, but your God should be quite delicious."
Even Gawain felt goosebumps all over his body at the events unfolding before him. Watching Clent’s bizarre state and Tiel’s creepy tentacles, he couldn’t help but mutter, "Couldn’t you make this scene a bit... gentler?"
Tiel thought for a mont: "I could turn the tentacles pink."
"Never mind..." Gawain quickly waved his hand, then looked at Clent, "Can I ask him now?"
"Anyti," Tiel nodded slightly, "but try to be precise with your words for a more efficient answer."
Gawain acknowledged and ca before Clent: "Is it true that Francis II is already dead?"
The skin on Clent’s face trembled, and a deep, hoarse voice ca from his throat: "I... killed him myself..."
Gawain continued to ask: "Is Prince Edmund your accomplice? Is he under the control of the Oblivion Association?"
"Edmund... Moen... needs Anzu’s throne; he is a... collaborator of the Oblivion Association..."
"Collaborator, and not under control of anyone..." Gawain furrowed his brow. The confirmation of Prince Edmund’s patricide from Clent was surprising, but more than surprise, he felt confused, "What does Edmund want? Is it just for the throne?"
This was the part he couldn’t understand the most—Francis II was advanced in age, and Prince Edmund was the first heir to the throne. The talented prince had no need to take such an extre step. Why did he have to make such a shocking move after Francis II carried out border negotiations, even going so far as to cooperate with the Oblivion Association’s cultists?
Perhaps because this question was a bit complex, Clent hesitated for a few seconds before slowly replying: "...Edmund... doesn’t just want to be the King of the Second Dynasty... He wants... the glory of the First Dynasty, he wants... Anzu’s heyday. What he wants is... true royal power."
Clent muttered a few more words, his face then assuming an eerie smile: "Naive and foolish pawn..."
This must be this Oblivion Association mber’s true evaluation of Prince Edmund.
Hearing Clent’s answer, not only did Gawain show a pensive expression, but even Soldrin beside him instantly thought of many things.
"True royal power..." The High-Ranked Ranger frowned, looking into Gawain’s eyes, "So he had to do these things after leaving the royal capital?!"
Gawain just sighed and then imdiately thought of sothing.
He quickly asked: "Is Silas Loland an inforr?!"
"Silas Loland... is loyal to... Edmund Moen..."
As expected!
Silas Loland’s loyalty wasn’t to the King! It was to Edmund! But why?
Perhaps... the Duke of the East’s loyalty was actually to ’Moen’, the true power of Anzu, rather than the puppet royal family supported by the northern parts?
Gawain deduced Silas Loland’s stance based on the logical reasoning a prominent aristocrat of this era might possess. After a long contemplation, he suddenly asked a new question: "Has the peace treaty at the border been signed?"
"It has been signed..."
On hearing this critical answer, Gawain took a soft breath, and after pondering for a few seconds, he asked the final decisive question: "Is there soone from your side near the Typhon Emperor?"
Clent’s facial skin twitched violently, and he squeezed out a word from his throat: "...Yes."
"I see..." All doubts were answered, and all puzzles seed to unravel smoothly. Gawain had always sensed the clouds of war looming over Anzu, but now he finally saw the truth behind these clouds, "Edmund, and you, what you want is not a war between Typhon and Anzu... what you want is a second Anzu Civil War!!"
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