Morpheus exhaled deeply. The blood in his hands was thick and slippery, just like that of his former prey.
The sudden surge of power did not make him feel out of place or uncomfortable. Morpheus knew well that this was no good thing, for he never believed that Aztec gold would fall from the sky out of nowhere.
This world is always fair. At the moment when Lady Luck pays a visit, her twin sister, Lady Misfortune, often lurks behind, sneering.
Standing silently in a pool of blood, Morpheus' somewhat slender body was bare-chested, with black demonic markings and bloodstained hands exuding the evil and bloodlust unique to heretics.
His eyes were slightly dazed. A pair of clear pupils stared blankly at the corpse on the ground for a moment, then refocused.
The sound of hoofbeats in the distance grew closer and closer, then suddenly stopped.
Hadn't he experienced enough today?
He turned around, his brow slightly furrowed, and warily looked at the approaching figure.
A low-key black horse stood quietly. It was a purebred warmblood warhorse, and its appearance told Morpheus that it was an outstanding mount never seen in Hook County.
The man who dismounted had neatly groomed gray hair. His robe was a combination of black and gray, seemingly unremarkable, yet completely different from the missionaries who roamed the countryside. The fabric, with its faint sheen, appeared extremely luxurious, something no ordinary family could afford.
Impeccable. That was Morpheus' only impression.
He had never seen such a person in his village, nor did he know the exact price of such expensive clothing. Bowing his head, he silently picked up the dagger that the assassin had held in his hand until death, clearly showing his stance.
The other party, on the other hand, seemed completely non-hostile.
An old man who looked to be at least fifty years old strode towards Morpheus with a firm step, then stopped ten meters away from him. His eyes seemed not to notice the body on the ground at all; instead, he stared at the magic tattoos on Morpheus with great interest and softly exclaimed.
"You're really a different young master."
The old man's smile was as gentle as the sun.
His voice was deep and non-aggressive, like a whisper that one happened to overhear. Although he was no longer young, his back was as straight as a pine tree. His hands had thick calluses but did not look rough, and his cuffs were fastened with a delicate insignia, extremely proper.
Propriety, this thing was somewhat distant from Morpheus. From birth until now, he had always lived in a world that was almost barbaric and unrestricted. It seemed that those rules and regulations had never constrained this young man cursed by fate since his birth.
Of course, all that ends here.
"Master Morpheus, perhaps our meeting is a bit of a coincidence, but I'm sure I haven't come a moment too late. The bloodline of the Windthor family is especially perfectly manifested in you. Of course, allow me to introduce myself first."
The old man bowed gracefully, his movements as precise as a ruler, and his voice steady and clear.
"Pafa Renault, the butler of the Windthor family's ducal mansion. Just call me Old Pafa."
The dagger tightly held in Morpheus's hand did not loosen the slightest bit; instead, he squeezed it a little tighter.
No one can be certain whether everything in front of them is a fabricated trap. Even though Morpheus is only fifteen years old, and even though the roads he has traveled are not as many as the bridges some old conspiracy theorists have crossed, it does not mean that he will casually trust the words of a stranger in this world full of crises.
Moreover, the two corpses on the ground have already proven that the situation he is facing is far from as simple as imagined.
Trust should not be excessive. The corpses buried by betrayal and credulity have long covered the entire history of the empire and even the development of humanity. Morpheus took a step back and unceremoniously assumed a posture ready to attack.
Ten meters is a wonderful distance. It does not arouse excessive vigilance and hostility, nor does it seem overly distant. At least in this clearing thirty meters away from the forest, Pafareno maintained a distance that made Morpheus a bit embarrassed. This young man now showed a slight hesitation: should he attack or retreat?
Pafareno answered for him.
The old man who had been standing still a moment ago suddenly raised his arm, waved it ten meters away at the bare-chested Morpheus, and something seemed to flash through the air, followed by a "crackling" explosion!
Morpheus was struck as if by lightning, and his body flew out as if weightless!
Spinning through the air, he used all his strength to twist around just before hitting the ground, landing on all fours like a feline, looking extremely embarrassed. His eyes were fixed firmly on the old man in front of him, but he deeply concealed the shock within.
Don't show fear and dread to the predator; that will only get you killed faster.
"I mean no offense, sir. I'm just giving you a reason to let me finish speaking for now." Old Paffa bowed slightly, humble and sincere, not feeling the slightest bit of impropriety in bowing to a young lad who was barely out of his teens. "Trust me, sir. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't need a second attack. Even though your current strength is enough to engage high-ranking swordsmen, it's nothing to me."
The blunt words, like ice water, cooled down Morpheus' frantically racing mind. Lying prone on the ground, he slowly got to his feet but still remained silent, simply showing off his demonic tattoos as he stared at Paffa in front of him.
"Perhaps you haven't heard of this surname before, but from today on, it will accompany you throughout your glorious life." Without the slightest hesitation, Old Paffa revealed the news that would change Morpheus' life trajectory: "Morpheus Windthor, son of Duke Alkar de Windthor, your loyal butler has brought you a message from your biological father, the Duke himself."
Morpheus remained silent, as if he were mute.
Since fleeing from Hooktown Square until now, this young man had never said a single extra word.
"Duke Alkar Windthor has acknowledged your status as his heir, and now, you need to return to Constantinople with your butler, away from all possible dangers."
Morpheus remained motionless, only the long dagger firmly held in his hand trembled slightly. It sounded absurd that a noble duke far away in the imperial capital suddenly claimed to be his father. Just like the sudden outburst of power from Morpheus just now, in his view, neither of these was something to be cheered about. Taking a step back, Morpheus didn't hesitate to softly say in a slightly hoarse voice, "I refuse." Without any doubt or surprise, only a faint refusal, devoid of any other emotional undertones, made the old butler can't help but look slightly solemn. He couldn't imagine how much this child had endured to become like this... out of tune with the whole world.
"Although you are the noble young master of the duke's mansion, I can only carry out the duke's orders." Old Paff looked around. It was still quiet all around, but in this old man's eyes, nothing was as simple as it seemed on the surface.
Morpheus still looked expressionless, but inside, there was indescribable turmoil. Regarding this sudden and inexplicable turn of events, a young man who had emerged from the mountains and had never been exposed to such things would surely not be as calm as those old nobles. However, a few simple words from a suddenly appearing old man couldn't possibly make him so unsettled.
He was recalling, recalling what that old guy in Nair Village had once said.
"Perhaps you need to think about it. I don't think the duke would like me to tie you up and take you back. That would really be a disgrace to the noble demeanor." Pafa, who claimed to be the butler, seemed to talk a bit too much, but amidst the banter there was still a hint of sincerity that was hard to conceal. Morpheus could sense the other's sincerity, but he wasn't willing to simply trust him.
"I'm going back to Nair Village now."
After a while, Morpheus uttered his second sentence, then took a few steps back. Seeing the old butler bow slightly, as if respecting his choice, he tilted his body slightly, still keeping Pafa in his field of vision, jogged a few steps, and finally entered the dense forest around Hook Town.
Old Pafa never raised his head from beginning to end. It wasn't until Morpheus disappeared into the forest that he slowly straightened up.
He really seems to be a model of adhering to certain principles to the point of being pedantic.