A shadowy figure flew across the boundless night sky, standing upon the thin clouds.
Beneath his feet lay a sprawling city of lights.
Even from several hundred ters above, he could vaguely hear the music strings and sll the fragrance wafting up from below.
"Saint Sem City, truly deserving of its reputation as the city of art." The artistic atmosphere seed to soar straight to the heavens.
The person high above sighed with admiration, his eyes roaming until they fixed on the only dim street in the city below.
The shadow dived downwards, finally landing silently in a dark and deserted alley.
With the sound of footsteps echoing, he walked out of the alley, where a pile of burning dead wood illuminated his face clearly.
Red hair, golden eyes, lazy yet handso.
It was Angel after using the Shapeshifting Technique.
Angel looked around; this was a street scorched by fire.
Chaos reigned everywhere—besides the burning dead wood at the alley’s entrance, the houses on both sides of the street also had rekindled flas and various charred and burnt remnants. Even the air was scattered with glowing embers.
A pungent sll perated the entire street.
A stone brick house on the left remained relatively intact. From a sign on the soot-stained wall, a few burnt words could be faintly discerned: Cypress Street West Lane 1-349.
This was Cypress Street, once the art gallery next to the Silver Heron Royal Palace, now turned into ruins.
Angel sighed imperceptibly and walked towards a nearby pile of fire.
This pile of fire blocked the street; upon closer inspection, it was a heap of street-side oily wood that hadn’t burnt out completely.
Angel squatted down, slowly extending his hand, attempting to sense the fiercely burning flas through touch.
"Young man, don’t do anything rash!" A hurried voice suddenly ca from behind.
Angel shook off the embers on his hand, stood up, and turned to look.
He saw a plump middle-aged woman, draped in a fireproof cloth, running towards him, urging him to get away from the fire.
"Young man, always think positively. Even if the house is burnt, as long as you’re safe, everything can start anew." The middle-aged woman was evidently well-educated. Although the ugly black fireproof cloth hid her attire, her obviously styled hair suggested she ca from a fairly affluent family.
However, the pretty curly-haired face was marked with soot, likely from the dust floating on Cypress Street.
When she saw Angel’s face, the middle-aged woman paused for a mont. His young, handso appearance, paired with a clearly expensive gentleman’s suit, didn’t look like soone who would despair over a burnt house.
Moreover, he wore a courteous smile with the deanor of a traditional noble, a stark contrast to the ember-scattered ruins.
"Are you... Did you lose a beloved painting? Is that why you’re feeling desperate?" The middle-aged woman seed to think her guess might be close to the truth and quickly murmured, "Were you influenced by the young man from yesterday? Sigh, that young man, foolishly thinking a painting could be more important than a life, recklessly rushed into the fire and almost got burned."
"Young people these days, they’re obsessed. Chasing trends, treating art as life."
"But this path has gone astray."
"Oh, why has it gone astray?" It was Angel speaking. Initially, he intended to stay and explain to avoid misunderstanding, noticing her good intentions; however, her ensuing words piqued his interest.
"Co here, and I’ll tell you. This fire is unusual, strange even, and it burns so fiercely that water can’t put it out; stay away from it."
"I think, madam, you misunderstood. I’m not having any suicidal thoughts; I’m just wandering around here." Angel moved around the fire to a safe distance.
"Wandering around here for what?"
Angel smiled without replying.
The middle-aged woman realized he wasn’t going to answer and decided to let it go. As long as he wasn’t suicidal, nothing else mattered.
"Even if you’re wandering nearby, stay away from these fires. They sotis rekindle, and whatever’s here may be burned beyond repair."
From her words, Angel understood she concocted a scenario in her mind. Did she take him for a scavenger?
"Why are you here in the middle of the night?" Angel asked in turn.
"Oh, you’re asking ? I went over to Birch Lake to check on the fish... I used to feed them every night, but the fire prevented from visiting these past few days. Now that the fire’s mostly out, I wanted to take a look." She didn’t hide her schedule and explained it in a few words while shaking her leather pouch, heavy with breadcrumbs.
Birch Lake. Angel rembered that Birch Lake was not far from the Silver Heron Palace, which he intended to visit. He suggested, "I’m headed that way too. If you don’t mind, we might go together? I’d also like to hear what ’gone astray’ ans."
"Sure, sure," the middle-aged woman replied with a smile.
On the way to Birch Lake, Angel learned the middle-aged woman was nad Connelly. She used to reside on Cypress Street and had a son who was so obsessed with art that he nearly sacrificed his life for it.
"When I say they’ve gone astray, I realized this from observing my son."
"Do you know why my son is obsessed with art?"
Angel guessed, "Because he loves it?"
Mrs. Connelly shook her head, "I wish it were love, but it’s not. His heart isn’t truly passionate about art; his obsession cos from environntal influences."
Connelly sighed, gazing at the distant, bustling Saint Sem City nightscape, and softly said, "The Central Empire is also known as the Nation of Art, and Saint Sem City, being its center, is naturally called the City of Art. The artistic atmosphere here is intense—most are raised amidst art’s subtleties from childhood: paintings, music, theater, sculpture, architecture..."
While Connelly is now affluent and worry-free, her past was different; she was once a farmwoman associating with the impoverished class, leaving no room for her son’s artistic pursuits. However, once he attended school, his classmates constantly discussed art. To blend in, her son began studying it.
Connelly, as a mother, knew her son well. His supposed passion for art was actually a form of infatuation, a self-induced drunkenness in the heavy artistic atmosphere.
Such instances aren’t rare in Saint Sem City.
Art’s outcos are elegant, but the process of achieving art is tedious and trying—hardly anyone has the patience to love art for its own sake. Environntal compulsion, simple as that.
In a conformist society, those who don’t follow the crowd are bound to be alienated and excluded.
Connelly previously dismissed this concern until her son nearly sacrificed his precious life for art; only then did she start taking it seriously.
"Initially, Queen Rowling advocated for a love of art because the Empire had experienced a devastating war, and in the aftermath, most people were imrsed in the pain of ’loss.’ She hoped to rekindle the people’s hope through art."
"She probably never expected that the art in Saint Sem City would eventually lose its essence. Art for the sake of art itself is not true art."
As Lady Connelly spoke, they happened to arrive at Cypress Lake.
Not far from the shimring lake surface, it looked serene and inviting under the starry sky.
"Young man, I’ve arrived. I’m going to feed the fish now. Rember, don’t go near the fire, and don’t be like my son, sacrificing for art—that’s foolish behavior."
Lady Connelly waved to Angel and then walked toward the lakeside with a bag of feed.
Watching Connelly’s slightly plump and unattractive figure, Angel lowered his head and chuckled softly: compared to most people in this city, the farr-born Connelly seed to understand life better.
It is precisely because of people like Connelly...
"That’s why I love humans."
Angel smiled and turned around, heading toward the Silver Heron Royal Palace.
The brief companionship with Connelly, listening to the values of an ordinary person, was just an insignificant little interlude. However, this little interlude still occupied so space in his mory. If Angel were to write a wizard’s travelogue in the future, he might include her story when writing about the city of art.
Setting aside this little interlude, Angel reached out his left hand, slowly opening the fist he had been holding. A few sparks gently floated out.
The sparks ascended, transforming into small flas before Angel.
"It really contains a trace of special fla power," Angel remarked. "Though very faint now, it still carries the taste of Dangross."
Angel watched the fla, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Although it’s just a tiny spark, its residual warmth is quite remarkable. If it truly ignites, its temperature might only be slightly lower than Kelonkcro’s.
Moreover, the special hidden aning within this fla is not mixed; it’s quite pure, suitable for refining many magic ores requiring pure fire. No wonder Fritz takes an interest in Dangross.
"I haven’t really seen Dangross unleash its full firepower before; I didn’t expect it to be quite impressive," Angel muttered, grasping the floating fla tightly, extinguishing it.
Without further delay, he took great strides toward the palace.
His visit to Saint Sem City this ti was to bring Dangross back. And Dangross, at this mont, was deep within the Silver Heron Palace.
Throughout the journey, the guards and knights seed to be completely unaware of Angel’s presence, allowing him to pass as if in an empty realm.
After passing through a series of elegantly designed palaces, Angel arrived before a high wall.
He could sense Dangross was in so corner within the high wall.
This gray wall had no visible door; to enter, one needed to input magic power to find the hidden passage or simply fly over.
Clearly, ordinary people couldn’t achieve this.
Inside the high wall was where the Silver Heron Royal Wizard Group resided.
Angel did not choose to fly over because he was right before the hidden passage. If he could walk through, there was no need to waste energy.
As Angel’s body made contact with the wall, the previously perfect wall suddenly rippled like water waves, engulfing Angel’s figure.
When Angel reappeared, he was inside the wall.
Standing right before him was a middle-aged beautiful woman wearing a light red wizard robe.
"Neya." Angel softly called out her na.
"Master Pat." Neya quickly bowed in ceremony. Upon sensing unfamiliar energy entering within the walls, she imdiately flew over, thinking there was an external enemy intrusion. Unexpectedly, it was Angel who had arrived.
"No need for excessive ceremony; I’ve co to take Dangross away this ti," Angel said.
Neya’s face flashed with embarrassnt. When she returned, she learned Drue had sent word to Frode about Dangross setting Cypress Street ablaze. At that mont, she realized Drue had inford Angel, probably fearing Dangross and hoping Angel would promptly take this troubleso ancestor away.
Although Neya also sowhat feared the flas Dangross produced, suggesting Angel to take Dangross away through implication would bring disgrace upon her.
Besides, she worried it might offend Angel.
"Actually, Dangross is quite fulfilled here, and lately it’s been researching the art of pottery-burning. Perhaps the master could allow it to stay a bit longer?" Neya said with so reservation.
Angel: "Better not. I’ve seen the situation at Cypress Street; it’s extrely severe."
Neya: "It’s okay. Cypress Street is burnt, but it can be rebuilt; there were no deaths."
Angel: "I’m afraid if it stays longer, without restraint, it might burn half of Saint Sem City."
Pausing, Angel continued: "Let’s go. Since you’re here, why don’t you lead the way?"
Neya sighed gently in her heart and nodded: "Please follow , master."
Soon, Angel was in a backyard paved with rubies, where he saw Dangross rolling on the ground.
Dangross had its eyes closed, flipping its entire hand over the exquisite rubies, wearing a face of enjoynt. Beside it, an elderly apprentice in a fiery red wizard robe was flipping through a handbook on a stone bench, occasionally using a red feather pen to gently dot toward Dangross, causing so fiery liquid to sprinkle over.
Dangross did not dodge or evade, allowing the liquid to soak into its skin, continuing to roll on the gems, moaning as if intoxicated.
This scene was rather unsightly, and Neya couldn’t hold back a couple coughs.
"Ahem."
The elderly apprentice imrsed in the handbook, raised his head in confusion. Upon spotting Neya and the man behind her, he abruptly sprang up.
"Ma-ma-master," the elderly apprentice murmured with a slight trembling.
"Is he Fritz?" Angel asked. He had seen a title on the open handbook in the elderly apprentice’s hand—Boiling Blood Red Water.
Cypress Street had been burnt because Fritz attempted to refine a material for Boiling Blood Red Water, which resulted in an accident.
Neya nodded: "Yes. Fritz had been confined by earlier, but this morning Dangross ca to plead, so I let him out again, only ordering him to stay by Dangross’s side."
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