Annand skillfully boiled the water and poured himself a cup of tea.
Then, he sat at the table and looked towards Salvatore slumped in the chair, "How’s the analysis going? Was it a success?"
"Of course it was successful," Salvatore yawned lazily and answered, "It’s almost dawn. Why aren’t you asleep yet?"
"I doubt I’ll be able to sleep today."
The young lord sighed, "Just when you were down in the basement analyzing, a big incident happened here.
"Just now, in the south of the city, over a hundred ’robbers’ with their faces covered, weapons in hand, and carrying over fifty barrels of Black Fire tried to sneak into the city."
Annand emphasized the word "robbers" particularly.
He believed the other party would understand what he meant.
"... What? Over fifty barrels?"
Even Salvatore was startled by the number.
It obviously shocked him into sobriety, as he choked back his half-formed yawn.
For he knew very well the kind of destruction more than fifty barrels of Black Fire could cause.
For example, to burn down Tan Juan’s ship, it took just over ten barrels of Black Fire. To ignite a building, one only needed to dip a cotton-wrapped arrow into the Black Fire, and it would at once burst into flames upon impact.
These fifty barrels of Black Fire...
If they were stacked around the house, Annand and Salvatore wouldn’t just burn to death, but the flames would engulf an entire street. After all, that thick black flame couldn’t be put out with water, nor could it be cut off from the air.
If the two wizards, Salvatore and Annand, were to perish, ordinary folk couldn’t handle such dangerous flames.
"Yes, fifty barrels. Thankfully, my guards were heading back to Frostwater Harbor today and encountered them on the way. By the Silver Baron’s blessing, I wasn’t unlucky."
Annand set down his teacup and went on, "My loyal and brave guards managed to infiltrate the crowd, detonated some Black Fire, caused chaos, and burned most of the robbers alive. When I saw the fire rise, I led the militiamen there and killed the remaining robbers.
"Now, there are still over twenty barrels of Black Fire left. I’ve submerged them in the icy water, as you mentioned before, covered them with leaves to block the light, so they shouldn’t explode easily."
Annan had a simple reason for not telling the truth here.
Because, likely, the truth might sound less credible than a lie...
Could forty unranked, young swordsmen in their twenties and thirties manage to kill over a hundred experienced private soldiers without a single death? And to fight them amidst barrels of Black Fire, yet not one of them suffered burns?
If Annand had told the truth, it would make Salvatore think Annand was hiding something.
"Fifty barrels of Black Fire... They’re really ruthless."
Salvatore gasped in disbelief and clenched his fists, "Where does Alvin Barber get the confidence from? Isn’t he afraid that we might survive by chance?
"I am the Tower’s Child of this generation; you’re the old Crow... I mean, one of only three sons of Earl Geraint. If any one of us survives, he couldn’t possibly live!"
Just the thought that he could have emerged from the basement to find himself trapped in raging flames, with no escape, condemned to be roasted alive, gave Salvatore a sudden fright.
"I’ve thought about this too."
Annand narrowed his eyes slightly and said deliberately, "And the conflict between us isn’t really that serious. It’s akin to a quarrel during a banquet, or a brawl after having a bit too much to drink, hardly a matter worth killing over.
"So, there’s only one possibility I can think of..."
"You mean, it wasn’t Alvin Barber’s doing?" Salvatore quickly caught on.
"At least he must have been acting on someone else’s orders, or was manipulated by someone else."
Annand confirmed, "The older people get, the more they have to consider, and the more they fear death. If he was forty years younger, maybe he would have decided to kill someone in a fit of anger. It’s even less likely for him to sacrifice over a hundred lives for such a trivial matter, as it would significantly reduce his control over his private army..."
"Unless, this was never a trivial matter to begin with."
Salvatore took over the conversation, "It’s not that he wanted revenge for the previous incident, but that he had the intention to kill you—or to destroy Frostwater Harbor—from the very beginning."
He had a moment of revelation, and couldn’t help but admire the young lord, who was only twelve or thirteen.
At that age, he himself was still foolishly catching fish by the river. Not to mention scheming or strategizing, he barely knew a few characters...
"It seems you discovered something from the Black Fire sample."
Watching Salvatore’s expressions closely, Annand’s mouth curved up in a silent smile, like a cunning young fox, "Would it be convenient for you to share with me?"
"It’s not something that needs to be kept secret."
Salvatore coughed slightly with embarrassment, "Actually, I’m the maker of this Black Fire."
Seeing Annand’s skeptical look, he quickly explained, "I checked it and found that it was a product from at least five or six years ago. Although they were sold under my teacher’s name, I was actually the one who made them during my apprenticeship... That’s why their stability is so poor."
It was completely understandable; postgraduate students could occasionally be exploited by their advisors like that...
However, Salvatore’s mentor...
"...are you referring to Teacher Benjamin?"
A rage also surfaced in his eyes, "They originally planned to use Teacher’s Black Fire to burn us to death. In this way, they’d deflect the blame while framing Teacher. And clearly, they haven’t checked the marks within the Black Fire, or they would’ve realized that the Black Fire wasn’t made by Teacher."
"No, not necessarily. After all, if you were the one who killed me, the outcome would be the same."
Annan narrowed his eyes slightly, "But, this is a good thing."
"Of course, it’s a good thing, senior. Since the other party resorted to such roundabout and highly risky conspiracies, it undoubtedly admits that they lack the power to confront us head-on. At least we don’t have to worry about Transcendent assassins anymore."
The boy spoke slowly, "As such, it’s almost time for us to strike back."
"How do we strike back?"
"Naturally, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
Annan’s mouth curved slightly upwards, and he waved his hand cheerfully, "I will return those Black Fires... back to where they came from. To his territory, to his home, and then... boom!"
"Although that old man might have been coerced by others, whether his actions were voluntary or not, what does it have to do with me? Now everyone knows that we are the victims, the right to vengeful justice is presently in our hands... No matter what we do, at most, we might be chastised by busybodies."
Annan spoke calmly, "Our actions are undoubtedly just, my friend. Justice is the freedom to do as one pleases."
Salvatore noticed that when Annan spoke these words, his eyes were as cold and unfluctuating as ice. It was as if he held no regard for human life at all...
Although Salvatore also wholly supported vengeance, at least, when spoken aloud, no matter if one’s heart felt awkward, sorrowful, or jubilant, there should still be some fluctuations.
But Annan had none of those fluctuations. His tone was so flat, it was as if he were saying "move that from here to there," devoid of any human emotion.
Not even the joy of revenge, the hatred and anger when he was plotted against, could Salvatore detect from him.
Salvatore couldn’t help but shiver.
It was as if, as if Annan truly was a person from Winter...
Only those who worshipped the Lady of Cold Blood would possess such bone-chilling eyes from birth.
Salvatore’s heart shuddered slightly.
All supernatural powers in this world come from curses—every single one.
Spells are naturally no exception to this category.
Once wizards lose the balance of their powers, they become out of control. They are devoured by the curses they wield.
For example, a transformation wizard’s body might partially or wholly turn into a statue or gold; prophet wizards might see numerous false and chaotic futures, unsure whether they are in dreams or reality; soul-reaping wizards might have their souls torn apart by the spiritual bodies surrounding them, or simply become twisted half-man half-spirit monsters...
Even if the powers don’t lose balance, if they continuously violate the core curses of their school, they’ll still be devoured.
And the curse of the Disabling School is the gradual loss of emotions.
Passionate wizards who learn and inscribe spells from the Disabling School might even become schizophrenic—their emotions seem to freeze each time they cast a spell.
Those feelings that now value and now disregard, now resent and now cold-bloodedly, will gradually lead one to doubt whether their decisions were ever genuine... and may even go mad because of it.
On the other hand, those who are emotionally detached from the beginning are best suited to delve deeply into the Disabling School’s spells.
The Winter Duchy even has a high-ranking wizard advancement profession called the Hand of Winter, organized by the Duke of Winter himself. The conditions and curses are kept secret, responsible for the internal surveillance and interrogation within Winter Duchy.
But Salvatore knew of the abilities of the Hand of Winter:
Legend has it that the Disabling Wizards, who have completely frozen their emotions, are emotionless watchers.
The pure black ice that crystallizes from their hearts is enough to freeze their enemies’ concept of time. In an instant upon touch, it renders one powerless to resist, and it can even completely seal a specific memory or an emotion from deep within the enemy, turning enemies into friends... or making the spies of others forget their mission and loyally serve the Winter Duchy.
...Perhaps Tan Juan was not suitable to study under me.
The place where he belonged most was that perpetual winter country to the north. Only there could he comprehend what true coldness, what heartlessness, means... in all senses of the words.
The Kingdom of Noah, on the other hand, is too warm.
...No, not just too warm, even the Royal Capital is becoming a furnace, lacking only to roast His Majesty the King over a fire.
Everywhere in the kingdom is steaming hot, and before one knows it, the entire Kingdom of Noah is about to become a complete mess...
At least people with emotions are much easier to get along with than emotionless monsters.
Salvatore sighed, his tone somewhat softer, "You go to sleep first. I’ll have people recover those Black Fires and store them in the basement. Tomorrow when you wake up, I’ll tell you about the precautions.
"Then, you can prepare to advance."