Aftermath

"Lord Macht!"

The shouts came from the other end of the street.

Several knights in armor, wielding long spears, and a dozen or so ordinary-looking people ran towards them. Their faces were a mixture of panic and concern, and their footsteps made a series of shaky, crisp sounds on the now-normal ground.

The lead knight stopped a few steps away, his gaze sweeping quickly across the scene—Mahat, leaning against the wall with a horrifyingly empty hole in his chest, and Macht, not far away, leaning against the ruins, covered in blood and clutching half a broken Duncan.

The knight's gaze lingered on Macht's face for a moment, then abruptly shifted to Duncan. He scrutinized the blood-stained face, his brow furrowing deeper, but the wariness in his eyes ultimately overcame his confusion.

"Who are you?!"

He raised his lance, the tip pointing at Duncan. The other knights immediately spread out, forming a semicircle, their weapons aimed at the unfamiliar, heavily wounded man.

The residents then gathered around Macht.

"Lord Macht! What's wrong!" a middle-aged woman carrying a vegetable basket exclaimed, dropping the basket and scattering vegetables everywhere. She knelt down, wanting to touch but not daring to touch the hollow hole in his chest that constantly emitted light and dust, her hand hovering in mid-air, her voice trembling.

"Lord Macht! You, you are... Oh, right, monk!" Another man waved behind him and shouted into the distance, "Go to the church! Martha, quickly go and find the priest!"

The young girl whose name was called paused for a moment, then responded with "Oh, oh!" twice, lifted her skirt, turned and ran. Her high heels clicked on the pavement. She was running too fast, stumbled, and fell to the ground. But before she could even rub her twisted ankle, she immediately got up and rushed out without looking back.

Another male resident realized what was happening and shouted to his companion, "Right, right! Someone go and call the town's herbalist! Quickly!"

The scene became somewhat chaotic for a moment.

The knights remained focused on Duncan, their lances unwavering. The lead knight turned his head towards Macht's direction, raising his voice to inquire, his tone respectful yet urgent:

"Lord Macht! Shall we attack? Please give your instructions!"

Macht did not respond.

He sat quietly against the wall, his purplish-red eyes gazing into the void before him, the scattering light dust from the hollow chest casting flickering, faint shadows on his face. He seemed to be listening, yet it was as if he wasn't hearing anything at all.

Duncan lifted his heavy eyelids and looked at Macht. He coughed twice, swallowed the metallic taste in his throat, and spoke in a hoarse voice:

"... teacher."

He took a breath before continuing.

"Should I stop them from attacking me?"

"You haven't lost yet. During a fight... utilizing everything around you... isn't against the rules."

He tugged at the corners of his mouth, a bitter smile tinged with self-mockery.

"I climbed up here step by step, dirty and filthy, through mud and scheming."

Macht remained silent.

The residents surrounding him looked anxiously at him, then at Duncan, then at the knights who were on high alert, at a loss for what to do.

Time passed second by second in this eerie silence.

A gust of wind blew from the end of the street, swirling up a few withered leaves from who-knows-where, which brushed against the stone ground, making a soft rustling sound.

Then, Macht uttered two words very softly.

"Boring."

His voice wasn't loud, but it stood out starkly amidst the chaotic concern and tense hostility.

Everyone fell silent for a moment and looked at him.

Macht's gaze slowly shifted to Duncan. He looked at him for a few seconds; in those empty eyes, there seemed to be a faint light that flickered and then went out.

He spoke again, each word spoken slowly and evenly, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself.

"Lord Duncan."

You win.

The street fell silent instantly.

The knights' hands, gripping their weapons, visibly trembled. They exchanged bewildered glances, their faces filled with astonishment and disbelief.

Those who have been Goldification will have no memory. They will still believe that this is fifty years ago.

"Duncan... sir?" The leading knight repeated the title, his gaze shifting back and forth between Macht and Duncan, trying to find the corresponding name in his memory.

"Lord Duncan? How is this possible...?"

He didn't finish his sentence.

A calm, steady voice, husky with the patina of years, came from behind the crowd.

"Old friend, it must have been a long time, hasn't it? Although I don't feel it at all."

"And Duncan."

The crowd spontaneously parted to both sides.

A person walked over unhurriedly.

He looked to be in his fifties, with his hair neatly combed back, revealing a broad forehead. He had thick, dark eyebrows and a high nose. His eyes were deep-set, and clear wrinkles were etched at the corners of his eyes and mouth, bearing the marks of years of hardship and weight. He had a neatly trimmed gray-white goatee on his chin.

He wore a dark, formal coat, its style dignified, the buttons fastened meticulously. Underneath, he wore a crisp white shirt with a crisp collar. A slender metal badge adorned his chest, its base embellished with delicate tassels that swayed gently with his steps.

He was Gluck Weise's lord, Duncan's father-in-law.

If we disregard the fifty years that were essentially "Goldification" in his career, his actual age is considerably younger than Duncan's at this moment.

Gluck approached, his gaze first falling on the hole in Macht's chest, lingering for a moment longer than usual, before moving to Duncan, who was leaning against the crumbling wall, almost covered in blood.

His face showed no particular expression, but a complex and heavy emotion flickered in his deep eyes. That emotion was like a stone thrown into a deep pool, creating ripples before quickly sinking to the bottom and disappearing into a dark, unfathomable abyss.

He took a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his coat, opened it, took out a cigarette, and put it in his mouth. Then he took out a match, struck it, cupped the flame in his hand, and bent down to light the cigarette.

Take a deep breath and slowly exhale a bluish-white smoke.

Then, as if he had completed a necessary preparatory task, he looked at Macht again and asked, his voice as steady as ever:

Anyway, old friend.

Is it alright?

Macht looked up at him. Because of the dissipation of magic, his face appeared somewhat transparent in the glow of the setting sun.

He paused for two seconds before answering, his voice lower than before.

"Hmm, not really," he replied calmly. "At this rate, it'll probably take about ten more minutes."

Gluck held a cigarette between his fingers, his knuckles clenching slightly.

He was silent for a moment, then naturally handed over the cigarette case in his hand to Macht.

Want one?

Macht looked at the pack of cigarettes, neither accepting nor refusing. His face was expressionless, only his purplish-red eyes were quietly staring at Gluck.

Gluck waited a few seconds, and seeing that he didn't move, he withdrew his hand and took out another cigarette from the pack. Then, he leaned down, got close to Macht, and used the embers from his own cigarette to light the new cigarette for him.

Macht took a drag.

He slowly exhaled a wisp of bluish-white smoke, his purplish-red eyes slightly narrowed behind the smoke.

The flames flickered briefly between the two, illuminating their calm, expressionless faces.

"I still don't understand, although I did sense something..."

Gluck straightened up, took a half step back, and stood still. The two men, one standing and the other sitting, separated by rising smoke, each smoking and neither speaking.

"This... Lord Gluck!" The middle-aged woman beside her finally couldn't hold back anymore, her voice trembling with tears, "Lord Macht... Macht might still be saved! The priests will surely be here soon..."

"Lord Macht! The monks! The monks are here!"

Shouts came from afar, accompanied by hurried and chaotic footsteps.

The girl named Martha, who had run away earlier, led two middle-aged monks in white robes, panting heavily, as they pushed through the crowd and rushed in. She seemed exhausted, collapsing to the ground, but still managed a smile. The monks also looked anxious, flipping through Holy Scriptures in their hands.

"Make way! Make way now! Where is Lord Macht?"

They rushed to Macht's side, but froze when they saw the clear, hollow hole in his chest and the constantly dissipating magical dust. The older monk's face turned pale, his lips trembled, and the Holy Scripture in his hand fell to the ground.

"This... this... if the magic power has dissipated to this extent..."

Macht took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled. The smoke blurred his empty eyes.

"... What is this?" he whispered, as if asking a question, or perhaps talking to himself.

Gluck stood beside him, watching the two bewildered monks and the genuine, futile anxiety on the faces of the surrounding residents.

"Weise's guardian deity deserves to be treated this way, old friend."

"This is the opposite of what you think 'malice' is," he said, his voice not loud, but clear enough to reach Macht's ears.

"'Bona fide'."

Macht remained silent.

He raised his eyes, his gaze slowly sweeping over every face surrounding him—an anxious woman, a girl who couldn't believe it, a pale-faced monk, a knight with clenched fists, and many more residents who had rushed over upon hearing the news, crowding at the back, their faces filled with worry and bewilderment.

Their eyes, their emotions, were clearly reflected in his purplish-red pupils.

He stared at it for a long time.

"... Yeah."

I don't quite understand.

He withdrew his gaze and turned it back to the empty hole in his chest. The speed at which the light and dust dissipated seemed to have increased slightly.

"Fine, that's enough for me anyway. The dissipation of magic is beyond repair."

"Monks and such..."

"Monks and such are of course useless."

A new voice came from above the crowd.

The sound wasn't loud, but it clearly drowned out all the noise.

People instinctively looked up.

Lowell descended slowly from mid-air, the hem of her clothes fluttering slightly in the rising evening breeze.

"But I can."

After he finished speaking, he slowly descended, landing precisely between Macht and Gluck.

"Sorry to interrupt your touching farewell. Teacher Ma, such a promising Demons, can't die!"