ITF Chapter113

The sky was a dense, thick black. The torrential rain battered Wen Yan so hard he could barely keep his eyes open, and his face had gone completely numb. Yet, no matter how freezing the rainwater was, it could not extinguish the burning fire inside his body.

The downpour seemed to cease all at once. Oddly, even after the rain stopped, its pattering lingered in his ears. Half-conscious and dazed, Wen Yan felt something thick and heavy draped over his head, cocooning him within its folds before he was scooped up and carried away from the mud-soaked ground.

By reflex, he tried to break free, but the person said in a stern voice—

“Don’t move.”

The voice sounded somewhat familiar; it felt like he had heard it somewhere today…

Wen Yan remembered.

It seemed to be the officer who had taken pity on him in the evening and brought him into the Marshal’s Mansion.

Seeing that he was no longer struggling, Shao Cheng wrapped the cloak a bit tighter, slung him over his shoulder, and continued walking forward. He was clearly a cleric, yet he had managed to get himself to look like a ragged dishcloth. Shao Cheng thought he was asking for trouble, but he also felt the Marshal’s actions were far too irrational.

In a fit of rage, Pei Ming had forced the remaining half-glass of wine down the cleric’s throat, and then, completely disregarding whether he lived or died, ordered him to be thrown out.

If a life were truly lost, the Church would absolutely not let the matter drop.

He found an unused hunting cabin, laid Wen Yan down on a mat, and fumbled around to light a lamp. “You shouldn’t have done such a thing,” he said as he struck the flint. “The Marshal hates losing control the most. You touched his sore spot.”

“Did… what kind of thing?”

The cleric’s weak voice came from the darkness, and Shao Cheng looked over at him.

“The drug in the wine wasn’t your doing?” He asked, puzzled.

“What drug…” The cleric spoke intermittently. “I don’t know… what you’re talking about…”

The tinder was damp. Shao Cheng put down the tinderbox, no longer fighting with the fleeting sparks that flared up and died out. He had found this matter suspicious from the start, how could an ordinary cleric have the capability to drug the Marshal right in front of his face?

But if it wasn’t him, the problem would become even more severe.

“Was it really not you?” He said with a serious expression. “If you’ve been wronged, I can explain the truth to the Marshal on your behalf.”

The cleric, however, no longer answered his question. His mind seemed to have fallen into chaos, and he only muttered confusedly about being hot.

Shao Cheng stood in place, hesitating for a moment, and asked him in a low voice, “Are you in a lot of pain?”

Slightly hesitant footsteps gradually approached. Wen Yan squeezed the pill in his palm and let out a feather-light sigh.

How naive.

To trust others so easily.

He would suffer from it sooner or later.

*

When the sky grew bright, the man behind him finally stirred. He sat up from the mat, only to fall motionless once more.

It was unclear whether he was struck dumb or paralyzed with fear.

Wen Yan gave him some time to process reality before saying, “No need to be nervous, you didn’t cause those.”

The clerics were wrapped tightly in their clerical robes all day, making their skin fairer and softer than that of ordinary people, which only made the whip welts and bruises on his body appear all the more horrifying. Coming to his senses, Shao Cheng hurriedly averted his eyes from that slender waist and scrambled to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor.

“You’re actually quite gentle,” Wen Yan smiled, then suddenly remembering something, he raised a hand to touch the wound on the back of his neck. “Ah, but you did do this.”

He turned back to look at Shao Cheng with a touch of helplessness in his eyes. “I am a Beta, you know.”

The cleric’s nonchalant demeanor sent a chill down Shao Cheng’s spine. He had long heard of the corruption within the Xili Religion; some dioceses would specially raise beautiful young clerics to bribe high-ranking officials and aristocrats, using them to satisfy their perverted desires. But this was Shao Cheng’s first time witnessing it with his own eyes. For a moment, he found it hard to tell who was more terrifying: this cleric who had drugged him when he was off guard, or the people who had committed such heinous acts against a servant of the Lord.

“You…” Having pulled on his pants, he turned his head away, no longer looking at those glaring marks of humiliation. It was difficult to understand, and even harder to speak of. “How could you allow them to treat you like this?”

Wen Yan froze for a moment at the question.

He rolled over, lying flat on his back upon the mat, and stared up at the wooden beams overhead as he let out a few chuckles before raising a single finger.

“The first person to do this to me was a priest. I used this finger to gouge out his eyes,” he said in a flat tone, his gaze fixed on his own fingertip. “After that, I was sent to the Inquisition. But His Eminence the Bishop showed great mercy and brought me back. Except, I must forever harbor a heart of gratitude and atone for my sins.”

Shao Cheng’s movements to dress came to a halt.

As if talking to himself or reciting poetry, Wen Yan dropped an enigmatic line, “When the last remnant of the setting sun vanishes, the gates of hell shall open.” Having said that, he turned his head back to look at Shao Cheng and asked, “Are you a believer of the Xili Religion?”

Shao Cheng replied, “I am.”

“You’ve been deceived,” Wen Yan shook his head. “The Lord does not exist.”

Shao Cheng had never expected to hear such words from the mouth of a cleric. He finished adjusting his attire, picked up the cloak that had been wrapped around Wen Yan the previous day from the floor, and covered his scarred body.

Wen Yan seemed to find it amusing and started laughing again. He poked a hand out from beneath the cloak, gently and slowly stroking the soft fur, and said nonchalantly, “They all only ever strip me naked. You are the very first to wrap me up.”

Shao Cheng avoided his gaze once more.

Regardless of the reason, the reality was that he, just like those people, had done the exact same shameful thing.

“You’re wearing too little,” he said in a low voice. “You’ll be cold.”

Wen Yan laughed even harder.

It was too funny.

If he wore clothes that were too thick, how would he ever get noticed by a kind-hearted fool like him?

He sat up from the mat, the cloak sliding off his body, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He merely raised a hand to smooth back his messy hair. “Stop pitying me, you’d better pity yourself first. That well-equipped heavy cavalry of yours is about to be disbanded.”

He scooped his clothes up from the floor, glanced at Shao Cheng, and continued speaking as he dressed, “Why so surprised? Didn’t that respected Lord Marshal of yours tell you?”

Rather than this true-or-false news, what shocked Shao Cheng even more was that this cleric actually knew his identity. He didn’t take Wen Yan’s bait but simply stared at him in silence.

“If you don’t believe me, you can go and ask him yourself. I’m sure the upright and honorable Lord Marshal certainly wouldn’t lie to you,” Wen Yan ignored his hostile gaze and carried on of his own accord, “Your King has long run out of gold coins in his pockets. Cutting expenses is inevitable. Heavy cavalry costs so much money; sacrificing you is the optimal choice at present.” He paused, then looked at Shao Cheng and asked, “How old are you? Thirty?” He let out a sigh of regret, “Though it’s one man for one post in the military, don’t worry, the Lord Marshal will definitely secure a suitable job for you.”

Shao Cheng did not say a single word, but Wen Yan couldn’t judge his attitude from his expression. He fastened the last button on the collar of his clerical robe, picked up the cloak, and walked over to stand in front of Shao Cheng.

“Adjutant Shao,” he said earnestly, “I promise you; I can give you wealth and status, as long as you are willing to help me.”

Shao Cheng took half a step back on guard.

This cleric had a slender build and looked much younger than him, yet he gave him the illusion that his throat was about to be gripped by the other party.

But Wen Yan did nothing. He stood in his original spot, stretching out his arm to hand the cloak back to him.

“I hope you can help me,” he lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes trembling slightly along with his muffled voice. “If I return empty-handed, I am going to suffer.”

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