Chapter 257: The Evening’s Evils.

Nero stood beside Master Theo at the entrance of the apothecary, the evening air cool against his skin. Bishop stood in the doorway beside his attendant,

“Don’t think about things too much,” Bishop addressed Nero, his tone warm but carrying an undercurrent of genuine advice. “The mind has a tendency to tie itself in knots when it consides a lot at once. It is best to sleep on it for now.”

Nero nodded, appreciating the sentiment more than he expected to.

“If you want to learn more,” Bishop continued, “you can come by anytime. But be careful to appease Lyon before you do. My brother can be… difficult to handle sometimes.”

“I will think about it,” Nero said. “Thank you, Mister Bishop. For everything.”

Bishop returned the smile, and his attendant gave a small, polite bow. They exchanged their final goodbyes, and Nero and Master Theo turned to leave, stepping back onto the street as the door to the apothecary closed softly behind them.

As they walked, Nero realized that evening was already approaching. The sky had shifted from the dull gray of afternoon to shaded of lilac and amber, tinged with the first hints of twilight. The shadows of the endless shifting sea of people stretched longer across the cobblestones, and the city’s lamps were beginning to flicker to life one by one.

He sighed and shook his head, trying not to think too much about everything he had seen and discussed with Bishop.

“Looks like you had a good time.” Master Theo suddenly said.

Nero raised a brow and glanced down at him,

“Is that so?”

Master Theo chuckled with a nod,

“Indeed. Your brows were all creased and knitted together before we got there. Seems like the doctor does know best.”

Nero went silent.

He paused for a moment, his steps slowing as a thought occurred to him.

Did Lyon intend for him to learn everything he had learned today?

The more he considered it, the more certain he became. Lyon had sent him here specifically, had handed him that package with the vial of his own blood, knowing full well what Bishop would discover and what conversations could follow. It was certainly orchestrated.

“But why?” he muttered to himself.

From everything he knew, the vast majority of Templars in the Crimson Crucible had little to no knowledge of sorcery. Their power came from the Seals. Sorcery appeared to be something else entirely…

The White Prophets, on the other hand, were different. They were seers, practitioners of esoteric arts, wielders of knowledge that bordered on the forbidden. Sorcery would be well within their domain.

He wondered if the Alchemists of the Verdant Ash Sea Order were also well versed in sorcery like the Prophets. He suspected that Bishop belonged to the Verdant Ash Sea, just like Lyon. If that was the case, then perhaps sorcery was part of their standard training.

He shook his head and decided to delay contemplating further until he got back to the Red House. There would be time to sort through it all later, in the privacy of his small chamber.

In the meantime, he decided to enjoy his day out to the fullest.

He took one last look at the apothecary, its windows glowing warmly in the gathering dusk. Then his gaze drifted over to the seemingly invisible line that divided the slums from the rest of the city.

He frowned.

As evening drew near and the city lights came up, the slums became darker and darker in contrast, making the line marking the divide even more apparent. It was as though the light itself refused to cross that boundary, leaving one side bathed in warmth and illumination while the other sank deeper into shadow.

Master Theo hailed a carriage, and together, they boarded it. The driver snapped the reins, and the horse began its steady trot back through the winding streets.

They passed through the market again.

Nero took in a deep breath as he appreciated the city that came to life with the fleeing sun. It just dawned on him that he had spent most of the afternoon learning from Bishop.

If everydah was like that, then things wouldn’t be so bad.

He huffed…

The air was filled with the aromas of roasted meat and spices from vendors opening up their stalls to begin the night. The sounds of conversation and laughter mixed with the clatter of wheels on cobblestones and the distant ring of a bell marking the hour.

Lanterns hung from posts and building facades, their flames flickering behind wooden pillars, casting pools of golden light and shadows that pushed back the encroaching darkness. Children ran through the streets, their shouts echoing off the walls as they played their final games before being called home for supper.

Nero took it all in, and for a moment, something shifted in him.

He suddenly contemplated his new outlook on life, this strange state he found himself in.

Even if it was just for a moment, he did not worry for his life. He felt a bit restless, and hidden within that restlessness was a waning battlelust, the constant edge of violence that had defined his existence since his life fell apart. And yet, beneath all of that, he felt a faint sense of relief as well.

Because no man truly craves death and pain, regardless of how used to it one might get.

He had been running for so long, fighting and consuming and changing, that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to simply exist without the immediate threat of violence.

It was strange. Uncomfortable, even. But not entirely unwelcome.

Just as Nero contemplated these things, his gaze drifted across the flowing crowd to his left.

And then, he noticed something very strange.

From the depths of the moving mass of bodies, he felt a rather strange gaze. It was different from the casual glances of passersby. This gaze was focused and it carried a certain feel that immediately drew his attention.

Instinct kicked in, and he instantly tried to locate the source.

The moment he did, he was met with the blank gaze of a pale-faced, long-haired man standing in the crowd, completely still, oblivious to the flow of bodies around him.

The people nearby steered clear of him, some of them glancing at him as though he were mad before quickly looking away and hurrying past. The man didn’t react to any of them.

He simply stood there.

Seeing this, Nero’s expression tightened into a deep frown.

Just as he began to contemplate what was wrong, he felt something very dreadful.

A thick thread of darkness seemed to coil through the air, painting the world a deeper shade of black. The sensation was visceral, like fingers of ice trailing down his spine. The stench of corruption filled his nose, like rotten meat and decay…

Without thinking, Nero instantly called out.

“Stop! Stop the carriage!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep