The time went back to two days ago. The motorcade was creaking along the muddy official road. The wheels ran over the accumulated water, and the muddy water splashed on the vehicle board like splashed ink.
Nuoyaji was sitting in the driver's seat of the front carriage, his head falling bit by bit. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in almost three days.
He closed his eyes and thought for a little while.
Then he heard something in the car.
It rustled like a mouse gnawing something. Nuoyaji opened his eyes and frowned. This carriage was filled with dry food and tents. A mouse could chew everything up if it got in. He
He patted the car board and the sound stopped. After a while, it started again. He sighed and asked the convoy to stop.
Several mercenaries caught up from behind.
"Open." Nuoyaji said.
The crowbar was inserted into the crack of the door, and when it was pried hard, the door shaft made a sharp creaking sound. The mercenary opened the door, and sunlight poured into the car, illuminating the tightly piled sacks and wooden boxes.
In the gap between the sack and the wooden box, there was a small figure wearing a dark cloak. The hood of the cloak was pulled low, covering most of his face, only revealing a pointed chin and crumbs at the corner of his mouth.
The little guy was holding half a piece of dry food in his hand, and there was still some crumbs in his mouth that he had not swallowed. He was frozen there, like a wild cat caught in the headlights.
Several mercenaries looked at each other. The captain looked at the little guy, looked back at Nuoyaji, and asked with his eyes: What is going on?
Nuoyaji pushed through the crowd and walked up, bending down to take a closer look. Under the hood, a few strands of white hair were exposed, hanging down on the side of the face.
There is a shadow on the edge of the hood, the outline of the shadow is irregular, and something sticks out from under the hood, like two small, slightly curved horns.
The red eyes were raised from under the hood, the pupils were vertical, and in the depths of the pupils there was a trace of confusion of not waking up and the grievance of not having enough to eat.
Nuoyaji froze. It was as if someone had used a body-holding technique to immobilize him. His whole body was fixed there, his eyes staring at that face without blinking.
White hair, red eyes, horns. The white hair hangs down from the edge of the hood, glowing with a cold silver luster in the sun.
The red eyes reflected his face, and there was also a trace of instinctive nervousness when being surrounded by so many people.
The horns on her head were very small and thin, extending diagonally back from her forehead, like the antlers of a newborn deer. They were not completely hardened yet, and the tips were still soft. There were no scales on her cheeks.
The mercenary next to him was a little worried. He looked at the little girl, then at Nuoyaji, and finally couldn't help but speak.
He whispered in a tone of "I know this is none of my business but I think I should say something anyway": "Sir, please let her come down and leave quickly."
Nuoyaji didn't move, still staring, as if there was a swarm of bees buzzing in his head.
The Cursed One who turned half of the continent upside down in his previous life, the uncrowned demon lord who had to be suppressed by Ninth-Tier Legend Venerable of Ten Thousand Spells himself, is currently huddled in the ration pile in his carriage, holding half a piece of rations in his hand with bread crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth.
The corner of the little girl's mouth twitched, and the "instinctive nervousness" in her red eyes began to transform into "Is this person sick?"
She carefully hid the half piece of dry food in her hand behind her back. The movement was very gentle, but Nuoyaji saw it.
Nuoyaji took a deep breath and took a step back. He couldn't stare like this, it was too suspicious.
As an adult, he stared at a little girl hiding in his carriage. After being reported to the empire, the punishment for certain things was to have the mage use electric spells to directly electrocute him to death - not metaphorically, he was electrocuted to death for real.
The laws of the empire are very strict about this kind of thing. If you are caught, the Mages Guild will execute you by electrocution. It is euphemistically called "purification", but in fact it is to let you experience what it means to be struck by lightning from the sky.
"Don't be nervous." Nuoyaji said in a deliberately soft voice that he had never used before facing big people, "I'm not a bad person."
The little girl took out the dry food from behind, took a bite, chewed it, and swallowed it. She didn't answer or run away.
Nuoyaji looked at her shabby cloak, the worn soles of her shoes, and the small teeth marks she left on the ration bag. Then he did something that everyone present did not expect.
He turned around and said to the mercenary behind him, move the rations in the empty car in front to make room for her to sit. Then he turned to the little girl and said, "You don't have to hide in that car, there is enough rations."
The little girl glanced at him, then at the cleared carriage, then climbed out of the pile of dry food, patted the bread crumbs on her body, walked to the carriage, and climbed on.
She moved very skillfully. After she sat down, she took out another piece of bread from the dry food bag beside her and took a bite, her cheeks bulging.
Nuoyaji Looking at all this, I always felt that something was not right. A demon who was supposed to turn half of the continent upside down in the future was quietly munching bread on his carriage at the moment, looking harmless and even a little dazed.
Did he come early?
Or was the world line so disrupted by that storm that even the fate of Fuyila changed?
The motorcade continued to move forward. Nuoyaji was riding on the horse, looking back at the carriage from time to time.
Sometimes the little girl was gnawing bread, sometimes in a daze, and sometimes she fell asleep leaning on the dry food bag. Her white hair was scattered on the sack, like a handful of snow that had been left carelessly.
She doesn't talk, she doesn't like to talk. Nuoyaji tried asking her-"Where are you from?"
She looked at him and didn't answer.
"Where are you going?"
Then she took out the glowing red stone from her pocket, shook it in front of Nuoyaji, and stuffed it back. Nuoyaji didn't ask any questions.
Western Mine, almost there.
The next afternoon, the convoy turned a corner along the dry river valley, and a dark outline appeared under the gray skyline in the distance. That was not a mine, but a mountain.
There was something shining at the foot of the mountain, not water, but a metallic sheen.
The sound of flapping wings could be heard in the sky.
It wasn't a bird, it was so big that the wind blew down from above and made the carriage's tarpaulin rustle. A huge griffin swooped down from the clouds, with a wingspan of more than twenty meters. Its feathers were dark brown, with a golden sheen on the edges, and it looked like it had been plated with gold in the sunlight.
Riding on the back of the griffon is a knight in full armor. The breastplate of the armor is engraved with the emblem of a griffin with wings spread. Below the emblem are a few lines of small characters that cannot be clearly seen.
There were several people sitting behind the knight, wearing ordinary clothes instead of armor. They huddled behind the knight, holding on to the saddle straps, and the wind blew their hair upside down.
The mercenaries were nervous. Some drew their swords, some raised their spears, and some cocked their crossbows and pointed them at the sky.
Nuoyaji raised his hand to signal everyone not to panic.
The griffin circled in front of the convoy, and every time its huge wings flapped, a small storm mixed with sand and dead leaves stirred up on the ground.
Then four huge claws stepped firmly on the open space about twenty steps in front of the convoy, the tips of the claws embedded in the soil, splashing a small piece of dust.
The knight rolled off the back of the griffin, his armor shining coldly in the sun, and a short sword on his waist. He took out a cloth bag from his arms, walked up to Nuoyaji, and handed the bag over.
Nuoyaji took it, opened the bag and took a look. Inside were gold coins, imperial gold coins, of very good quality.
"Master Meweiro asked me to bring these people out along the way." The knight's voice was muffled in his helmet and he pointed behind him.
The people on the back of the griffon were climbing down awkwardly. A knight reached out to help him, and first he lifted a little boy down, then an old woman with gray hair, an old man with weak legs and feet, and finally a sloppy man who jumped off the back of the griffon.
Nuoyaji's eyes moved away from the gold coins and fell on the man.
Nuoyaji's heart beat suddenly.
Chaluoke, Chaluoke·Weil.
Nuoyaji put the gold coin bag into his arms and nodded to the knight. "Thank you, Lord Meweiro, for me."
The knight didn't say anything else. He turned over on the griffin, flicked the reins, and the huge raptor spread its wings and flapped violently, setting off a gust of wind that made Nuoyaji's robes rustle.
The griffin soared into the sky, circled in a circle at low altitude, then flapped its wings and flew high, and soon became a small dot on the skyline.
Nuoyaji turned around and walked towards the man. Chaluoke was still standing there with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking at the mountains in the distance boredly, not knowing what he was thinking.
The little boy stood next to him, holding his arm, standing on tiptoes to look in the direction of the griffon flying away. The old woman was helping the old man tidy up his collar that had been blown away by the wind, moving slowly but carefully.
"Let's go, take a rest over there first, and I'll arrange for you to get on the bus later." Nuoyaji had a gentle, not-near-near-far smile on his face, like any ordinary caravan leader who was kind-hearted and willing to pick up strangers on the road. His eyes started from the old man It swept over the woman, the old man, the little boy, and finally landed on Chaluoke. Just like falling on any stranger, it paused for a moment naturally, casually, without any special meaning, and then moved away.
It's him.
Nuoyaji walked to the back of the motorcade, picked up a fairly flat stone under a crooked neck tree, sat down, took off the water bag from his waist and took a sip.
When he screwed back the lid of the water bladder, he did something seemingly casual - he waved to Chaluoke.
The amplitude is very small, like calling a friend over for a chat. It is not abrupt or deliberate, and it will not make Chaluoke feel being scrutinized, nor will it make the people around you feel that there is anything unusual.
Chaluoke saw it, he hesitated for a moment, and then walked over.
His steps were not fast, but each step was firm. The soles of his boots made a clicking sound as they ran over the gravel. He walked to Nuoyaji and stood in front of him, looking down at the young magic apprentice.
"My lord, what do you want from me?"
Chaluoke's voice is hoarse and deep, with a sandpaper texture that has been polished by alcohol and time for too long.
Nuoyaji didn't beat around the bush."Chaluoke·Weil."
Chaluoke's eyelids twitched. The movement was small, but Nuoyaji saw it.
"This name has spread throughout the countries of the mainland. A genius who was even praised by Venerable of Ten Thousand Spells created his own independent spell when he was twenty years old and defeated the strongest magician of the Southern Continent - the one who is close to the strongest Seventh Tier."
Nuoyaji's voice was neither high nor low, and his speaking speed was neither fast nor slow. He was not reading a memorized manuscript, but stating some facts that he was very familiar with and very sure of.
Chaluoke's eyes changed.
How should I put it? It was like a pool of stagnant water suddenly getting windy. The wind was not strong, it only ruffled a small area of water, but that small area was enough.
Those eyes were no longer as scattered, tired, and uninterested in anything as before. They became sharp. Like a knife that had been hidden in the sheath for too long, someone finally pulled out a section and exposed the edge.
Chaluoke's pupils shrank slightly, his jaw tightened unconsciously, and even his standing posture changed - his feet were slightly apart, his center of gravity was lowered, and he was ready to use force or dodge at any time.
"You--"Chaluoke started.
Nuoyaji didn't let him continue.
"As for how you are now." Nuoyaji's tone changed, from stating the facts to evaluating the current situation, and from evaluating the current situation to--"It's really disappointing.
He actually couldn't get up because of a single blow, so he was willing to be an ordinary miner, wasting his talents and everyone's expectations."
Chaluoke's face sank.
He is not a person without temper, he is Chaluoke Weir, the genius who once defeated the strongest magician at that time in the Southern Continent.
Even if he is down and out now, even if he is sloppy now, even if he looks like an ordinary middle-aged miner now.
His pride was still there, but it was hidden so deeply that he thought he had lost it. But at this moment, Nuoyaji seemed to know all his stories.
"What do you know--" Chaluoke's voice was hoarse and low, like sandpaper rubbing.
"I understand." Nuoyaji took over his words.
"Your best friend, your beloved teacher, your lover - they all died because of that disaster. Only you survived." Nuoyaji's voice was neither high nor low.
He moved his eyes away from Chaluoke's face and looked at the mountains in the distance. His voice was calm, as if he was talking about something that had nothing to do with him, but every word was like a nail, hammering into Chaluoke's heart one by one.
"So you are so decadent, giving up on yourself, and living like a waste. Do you think you are punishing yourself? Do you think they can survive if you live a more miserable, tired, and miserable life?
Do you think that you are loyal to them if you don't get stronger, fight, or do what you should do? You are just using their deaths to make excuses for your own cowardice."
Chaluoke's breath has changed. It's not anger, but something more depressed, heavier, and even more inexplicable. It's like a stone that has been pressed in my heart for too long.
A crack was forcibly opened, and what came through the crack was not light, but more darkness and moisture. The air around him seemed to become oppressive.
In the distance, Fuyila was sticking her head out of the carriage to look for the bread she had dropped under the seat. As soon as she dug the piece of bread out of the gap, she felt something, and her red eyes turned in the direction of the crooked-neck tree.
Nuoyaji did not give in. He stood there and waited, waiting for Chaluoke to calm down.
Chaluoke's clenched fists slowly loosened.
"You don't have to ask me why I know this." Nuoyaji's voice softened, and his speaking speed also slowed down, "I am not from any force, not sent by the empire, not from the tower.
I'm just a..." He paused, "A person who wants to change the world."
Chaluoke looked at him.
"I want disasters that take away lives to stop happening, so that people can live happily in a stable world."
Nuoyaji was not impassioned when he said this, his face seemed to be full of vicissitudes of life.
He had recited these words in his mind countless times, starting from the first day of his rebirth, until the edges of each word were worn away. Speaking out of his mouth now, it was as plain as if he was reading a signed contract. But Chaluoke heard what was behind those words.
"So, help me." Nuoyaji looked into his eyes.
Chaluoke was stunned there. He was silent for about five seconds. His lips moved and then closed, and his Adam's apple rolled up and down, as if he was swallowing a mouthful of non-existent water.
He opened his mouth.
"Okay."
Nuoyaji exhaled a long breath in his heart, with a calm expression on his face, and nodded.
This is the correct usage of a reborn person. It does not mean "correct usage" of knowing someone in the past life, finding someone in advance, and pulling someone into the team, but it means knowing where the person's pain points are, what he wants, what he is afraid of, and why he is like this.
Then reach out your hand when this person needs to be helped the most, with moderate strength or moderate strength, and at a time that is neither too early nor too late. These things were all told to him by Chaluoke in his previous life, and he vomited them out one after another after he was drunk.
Those broken glass shards from the portraits were stuck in Chaluoke's heart for so many years and could not be pulled out. Nuoyaji just picked them up and pieced them together to create a painting. Then he took the painting and asked him - is this you?
Although this is a bit sorry for Chaluoke, let's just think of it as doing it for the world. Nuoyaji silently made a favor to Chaluoke in his heart.
"Okay, then tell me." Nuoyaji said, standing up from under the tree and patting the bark chips on his back, "Have you seen anything unusual before?"
Chaluoke took out his pipe from his pocket, lit it, took a deep breath, and exhaled a cloud of gray-white smoke.
"Before..." Chaluoke frowned, as if he was recalling an experience that he was not sure whether it really happened, "A storm flew here. And then--"
He paused.
"A golden, three-headed dragon appears here."
Nuoyaji's expression did not change, but his fingers paused on his knees for a moment.