Chapter 1067: Section 1068: Morheim

Although Fafnir did not specify, Angel understood that the disgusting smell she referred to must be those demons lurking in the shadows.

“It’s bearable, they only showed up after nearly three hours,” Angel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he made no move.

The rustling sounds from downstairs indicated that the guests had entered, yet Angel remained deep in thought, unperturbed.

It was not until the crisp sound of wind chimes traveled from the courtyard to the attic that Angel leisurely descended the stairs.

As soon as he appeared, he immediately felt several intense gazes sweep over him. While discussing accounting issues with Canaan outside the courtyard, Angel’s peripheral vision also glanced towards the direction from which these stares had come.

He did not have a comprehensive understanding of demons, and many of their appearances were quite bizarre, so he could not immediately recognize which demons were present. However, judging by their aura, not one of them was below Intermediate Rank.

Nevertheless, not all were completely unfamiliar; there were exceptions.

Among them was a demon that Angel recognized at first glance, and a name immediately came to mind.

It was a skinny white-skinned demon, small in stature compared to other demons, without wings, and it had a very common pig tail. Such a seemingly frail demon was avoided by all others, sitting alone under the shade of a tree in the courtyard, looking quite comfortable.

“Morheim,” Angel whispered the name in his mind.

This name, within the Frostmoon Alliance… or rather, throughout the entire Wizards’ Realm, was one that could strike fear into the hearts of many.

It became famous because Morheim once fought a legendary and protracted battle against Monty, the undisputedly strongest wizard of the Southern Domain—a battle that was well-documented.

In that battle, Monty emerged victorious, with Morheim fleeing as the outcome.

The fact that Morheim could fight Monty for several days and still escape even in defeat speaks volumes of Morheim’s power.

The reason Angel recognized Morheim at first sight was that its appearance had already been published by Frostmoon’s magazines, and when Morheim fled, it had paid the price of its left eye.

This did not mean Morheim lost its left eye; if it were a mere loss, Morheim had a thousand ways to restore it. Its left eye was missing because it had been thoroughly sealed by Monty.

Angel could clearly see that the six-pointed star pattern was right at where Morheim’s left eye should be, with tadpole-like patterns moving on it, typical of a magical seal.

“Shopkeeper, shopkeeper?” Canaan called several times before waking Angel from his reverie.

“What is it?”

Canaan waved a pouch: “The payment has been collected, all in Demon Gold Coins.”

Coming to realization, Angel nodded: “Understood, then let’s begin the magical experience tour.”

Angel took a deep breath, forcibly shifting his thoughts, and with a calm expression told everyone, “The magical experience tour will now begin. Please relax your guard, do not resist… Lastly, I hope everyone cherishes this opportunity. The journey is only once and will not be repeated.”

When the rhythm of the ocean covered the demons, some entered the Illusionary Realm directly, while others checked for safety before entering, like those that Fafnir described as being “full of the disgusting smell.”

Angel noticed that Morheim, when covered by the ocean’s rhythm, went into the rhythm without any resistance, but its sealed left eye remained open, its eyeball moving chaotically.

Even, its left eye glanced at Angel.

It was as if its left eye had developed a separate consciousness from Morheim itself.

Angel turned away, no longer looking at Morheim, and walked over to Fafnir. Just by entering Fafnir’s vicinity, he felt a breeze that swept away the filth from his body, and the watching eyes from afar or the shadows also disappeared at that moment.

“You seem quite interested in that pig demon,” Fafnir opened her eyes and looked towards Morheim, her gaze coincidentally meeting its wildly moving left eye. However, unlike the eye contact with Angel, Morheim’s left eye panicked for a moment upon meeting Fafnir’s gaze, whirling around before hastily shutting its eyelid, pretending as if nothing had happened.

So it really is a pig demon, huh?

What kind of demon Morheim was had always been a matter of speculation among the human wizards, with no consensus reached. The widely accepted answer was: a pig demon. However, Morheim differed markedly from other pig demons, such as having white skin, no antlers, and a slender body.

Unexpectedly, Fafnir confirmed that Morheim was indeed a pig demon.

“Morheim, it’s quite famous among humans,” Angel paused, “Its left eye is a mark left by humans.”

“Oh, is that so?” Fafnir too was surprised, having not paid particular attention to that pig demon before, treating it just like any regular guest. She had not expected Angel to be most concerned not about those who spied on him, but this inconspicuous pig demon.

Fafnir looked closely at Morheim, her lips curving with a hint of interest: “Indeed, it is somewhat interesting.”

Angel also turned back, noticing that Morheim’s left eye had opened again, staring intently at Canaan.

For some reason, Canaan showed a wry expression, then shook his head at Morheim’s left eye and walked away.

This batch of magical experience tours ended quickly, without any anomalies.

But Angel discovered that those demons’ expressions all showed a hint of strangeness, as if they had thought of something and each left the shop on their own.

“I thought there was going to be another fight,” Angel muttered to himself. So many demons just left without a sound?

Fafnir snorted coldly, looking supremely arrogant, as if to say: With me here, who dares to make a move?!

After all the customers had departed, Angel summoned Canaan and asked what had happened between it and Morheim.

“That customer, ah,” Canaan suddenly laughed: “It was quite interesting. Its left pupil could change like ink, continuously transforming into words—using the Demon Language.”

“What was it transforming into?” Angel asked.

“I didn’t look closely, but it seemed to be saying something about digging something out…”

Fafnir interrupted at this moment: “The row of Demon Language it wrote was: ‘Gouge out the eyes.'”

Canaan then realized as well: “Right, it seemed to be asking me to help gouge its left eye out. It clearly appeared to have embarked on a journey of experience. I don’t know why, but its left eye could still convey meaning. Quite amusing.”

Gouge out the eyes? Angel felt puzzled. It seemed its left eye really had developed a consciousness of its own?

…

Meanwhile, outside in the world beyond the Twilight Mountains, a vast shadow flew across the sky.

It was like a blanket of dark clouds pressing down on the Twilight Mountains, casting them in a gloomy pallor.

If one looked closely, they would realize this shadow was not a cloud at all, but a gigantic floating ice platform, wrapped in a dull, grey mist. This platform hosted nearly a hundred figures.

Among them, the figure in the forefront wore a pure, translucent Frost Gown. On both the front and back of the wide garment were crescent moon patterns. His face was obscured by a silver mask, which was part of the Frostmoon silver crown he wore, intricate and magnificent.

He was Monty, the leader of the Frostmoon Alliance, and also the man at the pinnacle of the Wizards’ Realm of the Southern Domain.

Sinafa stood by Monty’s side at the moment, her curse having been lifted by his lordship these past two days. A body of conflicting energies made her resemble both an unapproachable glacier and a fierce flame under the scorching sun.

Sinafa watched as the Twilight Mountains drew closer, their undulating lines plunging into the dark horizon, while beyond that endless mountain range was their destination.

“Lord Monty, what is the current situation in Lassudral?” Sinafa asked.

Monty was silent for a moment, his gaze penetrating the silver mask as if he could see the vastness in the distance.

After a while, Monty spoke: “The target has not yet arrived.”

Sinafa calculated that if the target had not yet arrived, they should still have enough time.

“However, it’s odd that though the target has not arrived, the atmosphere in Lassudral has already begun to feel strange,” Monty said with confusion, the information he received suggesting something unusual about the situation in Lassudral.

Monty’s words drew the sideways glances of nearby wizards, including Samantha, Kanter, and Sanders. Everyone turned to look at Monty.

“The eye I left in Lassudral is currently in the eye of the storm,” Monty said, scrutinizing the incoming information: “Energy tumult, Abyssal Awakening… and a mysterious shop deep in rumor.”

The information Monty received was fragmented, and even after his analysis, it was still unclear.

Energy tumult, somewhat understandable.

Abyssal Awakening, many wizards might be unaware of it, but Monty had spent years in the inner layers, even entering Demon City incognito, so he was not unfamiliar with the concept of Abyssal Awakening.

Monty briefly explained the meaning of Abyssal Awakening to the wizards.

“Does this mean that once the Abyss awakens, the path to lordship will be clear? Isn’t that equivalent to our Legendary tier?” one wizard exclaimed in surprise.

“Not exactly,” Monty said. “Abyssal Awakening gives demons the ability to break through their limits, simply meaning they have the potential to become lords. What happens in the future is still uncertain.”

“So, it’s similar to the mark of the Thief of Time? And it’s not even as strong as the Thief of Time’s mark.” The mark of the Thief of Time implied that one had the potential to pursue the truth—a concept, or an ideal sought by wizards. In the eternal depths, in the unyielding clouds.

The potential of truth was clearly far more powerful than the mere potential of becoming a lord, as bestowed by the mark of the Thief of Time.

Speaking of the Thief of Time’s mark, suddenly a wizard said: “I remember that both Illusion Demon and Lord Monty have been marked by the Thief of Time?”

The gazes of those present immediately locked onto Sanders and Monty.

However, Sanders remained expressionless, unreactive. But the brows hidden behind Monty’s mask deeply furrowed.

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