Morat Hansen (Part 1)

# Chapter 45: Morat Hansen (I)

A long silence.

But the old man seemed patient, unhurriedly waiting for Yordel's answer.

Finally, the secret guard's voice came from behind his mask.

"You shouldn't be here," Yordel said coldly.

If anyone had been present, they would have noticed how similar Yordel's hoarse voice was to the old man's.

The black-robed old man said nothing, only watching Yordel with a strange smile.

The old man's eyes did not move.

But as an Extreme Realm pinnacle, Yordel felt the old man's presence gradually pressing down on him.

"That night, all the Legendary Anti-Magic Weaponry in the kingdom capable of sealing Elementalists—three and a half pieces—each had their place." The black-robed old man leaned on his cane, bared his teeth, and spoke slowly:

"The Star Scepter, symbol of Royal Authority, forever in His Majesty's hands... The Judgment Gun, held by the Wing of Legend, guarding the Western Front... The Wrath of the Kingdom, in the manor outside the city, polishing his Immobile Bow... And the half-piece, the Supreme Shield, remaining with the Flower of the Fortress herself, up north at Dragonbreak Fortress."

Yordel drew in a soft breath.

"Only the last half-piece—the Supreme Sword, recently thawed—went with you, Yordel Gato, to the Lower City District."

"That same night, the Air Elementalist vanished at Red Quarter, where the Lower City District meets the West Ring District."

The old man bared his teeth again, his smile ugly: "I should praise you, really. The last time someone single-handedly sealed an Elementalist was back in the Ancient Empire's records."

Yordel's hand under his sleeve slowly tightened around that gray Cross Guard Short Sword.

"But—" Morat's pupils contracted, his tone shifting sharply:

"You were sent to welcome the Bloodline of the Kingdom. You should have stayed low, moved in secret. Why risk your life to confront the Air Elementalist head-on and seal him?"

"Don't tell me you wanted to be a champion of justice."

Yordel was silent for a long time.

The old man grew impatient, the wrinkles on his face shifting as he said:

"Or should I report to His Majesty and let him ask you himself?"

A long moment passed.

Facing one of the five most fearsome people in all of Constellation, Yordel took a deep breath and spoke in that same hoarse voice, flatly:

"That night, I saw Echeida Sackern at Red Quarter. At that time, he was... on Tales's escape route."

The black-robed old man's gaze remained fixed, as if this information meant nothing at all.

But no one knew that at this very moment, Yordel was weighing his words with extreme care.

"For Tales's sake, I had no choice but to act."

"The Supreme Sword is only half a piece of weaponry, but it was enough to seal the Air Elementalist."

The black-robed old man coughed lightly, and on his ordinary face, a pair of eyes suddenly blazed with sharp light.

"I trust you won't mind telling me every detail before you sealed him? From words to emotions, from actions to attitude? I'm quite curious—why did Echeida return to the Royal Capital, a place so dangerous for him?"

Yordel clenched his fist softly under his robe.

He had to be careful.

He was facing the Black Prophet.

He could not lie.

He could not.

"Echeida Sackern is a madman," Yordel said flatly.

The old man—the Black Prophet—chuckled softly, the wrinkles on his face shifting: "Of course, they're all madmen. So what? Even madmen have their words and actions, don't they?"

"Before he was sealed, he was very excited." Yordel weighed his words carefully as he answered slowly.

The old man rubbed his cane, his withered lips opening and closing: "You can never fathom their emotions... They're not even human anymore. What emotions could they have?"

These digressions won't distract him... Yordel thought to himself.

After a moment's hesitation, Yordel made his decision.

He had to speak.

He had to.

"He said," Yordel's hoarse voice came slowly from behind his mask:

"He had found a newborn Elementalist."

In history, the first recorded appearance of an Elementalist was around 1000 years into the Ancient Empire, approximately between Imperial Calendar years 825-835.

Imperial Calendar year 1000? From the Ancient Empire to the Final Empire, the Imperial Calendar was used for over 1,500 years before switching to the End Era. And this year is End Era 672.

Tales recalled the basic knowledge he had learned these past few days.

"So the Elementalists appeared over 1,300 years ago?"

But this was hardly the time for him to be lost in thought.

On the Sand Ground under the setting sun, Tales gritted his teeth, ignored the ache in his left shoulder, and charged at Lady Jinnie with his seven-year-old body straining behind a heavy wooden shield!

According to a fragment from the Ascetic's Tower: a merchant caravan heading to the Alchemist's Tower witnessed an abnormally massive bolt of lightning. That same day, a tribe hundreds of miles from the War God Desert was reduced to thousands of charred corpses.

Lightning?

Then why was the Air Elementalist's ability controlling air?

The Fantastic Four? Or an elemental bender?

Lady Jinnie shifted her feet without changing expression, her left wooden shield meeting Tales' at a precise angle.

"Bang!"

Most of Tales' momentum was deflected, and he lost balance, tilting awkwardly toward the side where his shield fell.

Tales panted, propping himself up with his sword, his heart uneasy.

Lady Jinnie saw his state.

She began scolding the boy with a cold face: "What are you thinking! Daydreaming on the battlefield is suicide!"

Tales shook his head, trying to force out the content he'd read in Chronicles of the Ending War: Heaven-Shattering Earth-Rending.

But it was useless. The thoughts about the Elementalists kept bubbling up in his mind:

The Alchemist's Tower, as always, remained mysterious and offered no explanation (their written historical records were now impossible to find), and the surviving records of the Ancient Empire also made no mention of the event. But this was enough to set the stage for the brutality of the later Ending War.

What were the Ascetic's Tower and the Alchemist's Tower? An organization? A place name?

Tales used the shield's center of gravity to swing his right arm—his wooden sword was no lighter than the shield—twisted his face, and spun around for a strike!

The war began in Imperial Calendar 1509, but no historical records could prove what sparked the Ending War. It was as if, overnight, both sides stood on opposite ends of the chessboard and began slaughtering each other.

Why? Why did a war that changed everything have no clear record of its beginning?

Lady Jinnie moved effortlessly, sidestepping the incoming blade, and lightly pushed the Sword Hilt against Tales' already off-balance body.

Gilbert, watching from the side, shook his head.

"Thud!"

Tales hit the ground again, face-first, eating sand.

Pfft.

Tales spat out the sand, pulled himself up with effort using the shield, and stood.

"Enough!" Lady Jinnie shouted, displeased.

"Seven attack forms, and you've only learned the shape—your efficiency is nothing like when you learned defense—"

"If you're not an idiot—"

"Then it means you simply have no mind for practice today!"

Tales panted, nodded with shame and apology.

"I'm sorry, Lady Jinnie—"

The Elementalists were rarer than even the legendary Dragon Horde. At least, more than forty dragons were recorded by name in history, but no more than ten Elementalists openly appeared and fought in the Ending War.

Ten?

Ten against the entire world?

"Kid!"

Seeing Tales still distracted, Lady Jinnie angrily threw down her shield and wooden sword: "Class dismissed! Get up at six tomorrow morning and make up today's progress!"

Gilbert frowned. He didn't know what was wrong with Tales either.

On the training ground, Lady Jinnie turned and called out to the Earl of Caso:

"He's yours until dinner—fix this state he's in!"

Gilbert smiled slightly, tipped his hat, and bowed.

Tales dropped his wooden sword in frustration and started dealing with his Left Arm—it was stuck in the shield again.

Even so, despite having many followers, it was the handful of Elementalists that caused the real massive casualties among the allied forces—the most famous record was in May of Imperial Calendar 1514, on the Wailing Mountains battlefield of the eastern front. The Mountain Elves' eight-thousand-strong Pilgrim Corps and the Morningstar Dynasty's nearly fifty-thousand elite Black Armor soldiers, who had been winning battle after battle, were annihilated overnight after the Authority Elementalist appeared.

Authority Elementalist? Authority?

One person, alone. Fifty-eight thousand.

What kind of power could cause such slaughter?

Almost like an atomic bomb.

Could Ashida do the same?

Just then.

Lady Jinnie, still in a foul mood, was rubbing her hands and about to leave when she saw a guard approach solemnly and whisper a few words in Gilbert's ear.

The next moment, Tales watched in astonishment as Gilbert's expression suddenly shifted to surprise and—worry, even fear?

The Earl of Caso, seasoned by rich diplomatic experience, unflappable and inscrutable—he too had moments of worry and fear?

Tales was still puzzling over it when he heard Gilbert call out to Jinnie, his face grave as he spoke:

"His Majesty has sent word."

"Lord Morat Hansen will visit Mindis Hall tonight."

"He wishes to see Mr. Tales."

Morat Hansen?

Who was that?

Then Tales saw it too, with equal surprise: the face of the First-Class Court Official, Kessel the Fifth's lover, Lady Jinnie, also changed.

It was shock, concern, and—

Gnashing teeth?

"He was bound to come sooner or later." Jinnie's eyes turned cold, her voice laced with frost:

"Faced with royal blood, the succession to the Star Kingdom's throne."

"The head of the Kingdom Secret Bureau, the 'Black Prophet' Morat."

"How could he possibly resist sticking his nose in??"

The old man in black—the "Black Prophet" Morat Hansen—said nothing more.

For the first time, Yordel saw that Morat, forever cloaked in mystery and eeriness, had shock and...

Fear?

"A newborn... Magic User?"

Morat's words faltered. He stepped back in disbelief, then abruptly looked up!

It worked—Yordel silently told himself.

Morat knew too many secrets, including those of the Magic Users.

But precisely because he knew too much, he was more easily distracted by such matters.

Overlooking what he truly wanted to conceal: Tales's communication with Ashida.

Like now.

"Impossible, the birth of a Magic User requires..." Morat's face was full of shock. The old man gripped his cane tightly, staring fixedly at Yordel's mask as if trying to pierce through that layer of purple crystal.

"Who is it?" Morat's eyes were almost manic.

"Who is the newborn Magic User?"

Morat stared at his son like a venomous snake, his pupils contracting sharply.

"You know how serious this is!" Morat's brows knitted tightly, his gaze focused, his breath quickening, his grip on the cane growing tighter: "The new Magic User—needs to be... dealt with... before it."

Yordel adjusted his breathing. Breathing—an action that should have been effortless for an Extreme Realm master—was now excruciatingly difficult.

It.

It?

The image of that black-haired, gray-eyed boy slowly grew clear.

"Leave them here with you... I'll go alone." In the Sunset Tavern, that stubborn boy's words and his resolute gaze faintly surfaced before Yordel's eyes.

Yordel gently clenched his fist.

Morat slowly narrowed his eyes.

"Ashida didn't say his name; he probably didn't know it either."

Yordel carefully sifted through the most truthful information, slowly organizing it into words: "Then, I sealed Ashida."

He truly didn't know Tales's name—Yordel told himself this—I didn't lie.

Morat said nothing.

The old man just looked at Yordel with a strange expression.

After a few seconds, Morat looked away.

"Good, you didn't lie." The old man used a declarative sentence, his eyes extremely grave.

"But it's also bad, because you truly didn't lie." Morat's face darkened as he added.

Yordel's heart relaxed.

He had fooled him.

"Now, by His Majesty's command, let us go meet this Mr. Tales." Morat reined in his gloom and gravity, his face once again breaking into that ugly, terrifying smile as he walked toward Mindis Hall.

Yordel's breath caught in his throat.

Morat rubbed his walking stick, revealing a mouth with only a few teeth left, and turned his head with a smile. "You shouldn't mind if I ask that child face-to-face about the truth of Red Quarter—like about the so-called new Magic User?"

"Don't misunderstand, it's just a professional habit, for instance—"

"—to see if you've been hiding something?"

Yordel's head snapped up!

Morat's smile grew even wider.