He came up with the idea of using the flesh and blood of the demon god to awaken other sleeping beings.
Theoretically, there is some kind of energy connection between the demon gods and those beings who have been "blessed" by them - just like a river, the demon gods are the source, and those who have been blessed are the downstream.
If a large enough stone is thrown into the source, ripples will appear in the water downstream.
But this is just theory.
Don't talk about him, it's probably the first time for the clan leader to hear this.
The old man didn't answer him, but turned around and waved to the four people carrying the box.
Kertison waved his hand behind him. The four people who maintained the levitation magic slowly lowered the box to the ground.
The sound of the silver box falling to the ground was deep and muffled.
The four people released their hands at the same time and took a step back. One person walked to the front of the box and squatted down, pressing his palm on the center of the complicated runes on the box lid.
He whispered something in his mouth, and the runes under his palm suddenly lit up, then darkened.
Click - the lid of the box popped open and opened a gap. He lifted the lid from the gap.
Dark red, thick, red like pus and blood oozing from an unopened wound mixed with uncoagulated plasma, overflowed from the box.
It's not a liquid, it's light.
A red, heartbeat-like light that alternates between bright and dark.
The old man walked to the box and stretched out his hand. He took out the piece of flesh and blood from the box. He moved very gently, as if he was holding a fragile porcelain.
He turned around, holding the piece of flesh that was still squirming, exuding a fishy-sweet smell, and too warm to be cut from a corpse, and walked to the center of the room.
He placed the piece of flesh and blood on the ground. There was an indentation on the ground, which was not deep and just big enough to accommodate the piece of flesh and blood.
The moment the flesh and blood was put in, a dark red light lit up at the edge of the indentation, extending along the wall, to the ceiling, and to the chaotic lines and twisted blocks of color on the murals.
The whole room seemed to be infused with some kind of life force, as if it had been awakened by something after sleeping for thousands of years, and was trembling slightly and continuously.
The old man raised the token in his hand. The token floated from his palm, flew to the sky in the center of the room, and suspended below the ceiling.
It began to spin slowly.
With each rotation, a silver-white halo of light spreads outward from the center of the token, passing through the walls, through the ceiling, through the floor, and spreading to deeper places.
The old man closed his eyes, moved his lips, and uttered some syllables that even Kertison standing next to him couldn't hear clearly, like ancient spells or some kind of lost language.
It's not singing or chanting, but it's that kind of rhythm, that kind of rhyme, that kind of feeling that every syllable seems to have been squeezed out from the depths of the throat with all the strength of the whole body.
Kertison didn't understand. He stood next to the door, holding on to the door frame with one hand, and saw the old man's lips opening and closing there, and saw the token spinning around there.
His other hand quietly reached into the inside of his robe and touched the cold, palm-sized metal prop inlaid with light blue crystals.
As long as he presses the button on the side, the prop will start recording everything that happens here and transmit the data to the clan leader in real time.
His fingertips stopped on the shell of the prop.
He looked at the back of the old man, watched him holding the piece of flesh and blood, chanting those incantations that no one could understand, and watched more and more runes in the whole room being lit up.
It's not the time yet.
His fingers moved away from the prop and dropped to his side again.
He continued to stand at the door, waiting and watching.
Vagrian capital, Valerilus City.
On the second floor of a noble building, a room was converted into a temporary office.
The room is not large, but the furniture is exquisite, with a carved oak desk, upholstered armchairs, and a ceramic fireplace that can burn wood in the corner.
The fire was burning brightly in the fireplace, the wood was crackling, and the whole room was warmed. The windows were closed, and the night was blocked out by heavy curtains.
There is a pile of paperwork on the table, like a slowly growing mountain.
Sangis sat behind the desk, closed the document he had just finished processing, and placed it on the "mountain" next to him.
The document fell on top, making a dull sound as the pages rubbed against each other. The mountain became a little higher.
Senate's, from the nobles, from the Chamber of Commerce. She had already processed many copies tonight, but she sent many more copies.
The documents that she has processed are pushed to the left, like a city that has been captured; the documents that have not been processed are piled on the right, like a city wall that is still growing and can never be conquered.
Her glasses slipped off the bridge of her nose, and she pushed them up with her knuckles. As soon as they were pushed up, they slipped off again. She was too lazy to push them up again.
Tsk. Looks like I have to stay up late again today. Sangis placed the quill in his hand on the ink bottle.
There was a knock on the door.
Not heavy, not urgent, three sounds, evenly spaced.
The knocking is very formal, as if a person who is very particular about rules is showing respect to someone who is more particular about rules than him.
"Come in."
The door opened. The waiter walked in, wearing a thick coat over his daytime uniform. He walked to the desk and stood still, bowing slightly.
"My lord, a councilor wishes to see you."
Sangis frowned. These guys were annoying her to death. Senate Those old guys had sent many people to take turns bombing her today.
Some were waiting at the door, some were blocking the back door, and some even got her itinerary from someone unknown and stopped her on the way.
In the corridor, they talked endlessly about how tight the empire's finances were, how extravagant and wasteful the new emperor's coronation ceremony was, and how heartbroken and worried they, the old ministers, were.
She listened to the whole thing expressionlessly, then said, "I will convey your opinions to His Majesty," and then left.
I went back to the office and closed the door, shutting out the mouths and faces of those old guys.
"Who?"
"Robieko Representative."
Sangis's brows relaxed. Robieko--The young man among that group of guys, one of the few parliamentarians with brains. His family is not the top in the empire, but it still has hundreds of years of history.
He is not the kind of playboy who relies on the shadow of his ancestors to live his life. He is the kind of person who has read a lot of books, walked a lot, done a lot of things, and is one of the few in Senate who works seriously.
He has worked with her before and handled some matters that required coordination between Senate and the royal family.
He is very capable and will not stab someone in the back.
"Let him come in." Sangis used his knuckles to push up the glasses that had slid to the tip of his nose, closed the spread documents on the table, stacked them, and placed them on the corner of the table.
The sound of footsteps came from the corridor, leather shoes stepped on the wooden floor, the rhythm was steady and unhurried.
The door was pushed open, not by the waiter, but by himself. He walked in and bowed slightly to Sangis.
The movement is not big, but it is very standard. It is the standard posture of the young congressman in Senate when he salutes the royal ministers. No more, no less.
"Sangis-sama."
"Congressman Robieko. What's the matter with coming so late?" Sangis smiled, but the smile didn't reach the corners of his eyes.
The fatigue from dealing with paperwork just now hung in the corners of her eyes.
Robieko straightened up, walked to the desk, sat down on the chair opposite Sangis, and placed the unsealed letter in his hand on the table.
"I'm here to ask you something."
His voice is not high and his speaking speed is not fast. He has the kind of tone that he has developed in Senate by dealing with various factions for a long time, and he can maintain a calm tone under any circumstances.
Sangis glanced at the letter but did not pick it up, waiting for him to continue.
"Your Majesty, can I meet you tomorrow?"