I Will Be The Crowned King

"Clap! Clap! Clap!"

The middle-aged man in the tattered uniform of the Chamber of Commerce squatted under the frosted gas lamp pole, biting the half cigarette **** at the corner of his mouth; frozen blue and purple, his trembling hands tried to light a slightly damp match.

"Snapped!"

The attractive orange-red flames reflected on the sloppy cheeks of the middle-aged man, and there was a hint of joy in the tired pupils.

Suddenly, a heavy four-wheeled carriage galloped past the muddy street, and the black sewage rolled up by the swift wheels, which chilled him and drove away.

The middle-aged man froze at first, soaked his body from head to toe and shivered in the cold wind, and then slammed the still smoking match against the cigarette **** at the corner of his mouth.

It was a bright sky, and the streets with light snow were shrouded in thick fog with a strange smell. From time to time, passing eyes passed through the fog and the streets, watching the "lit cigarette" pantomime under the street lamp with almost indifferent eyes.

Just when the middle-aged man was still trying to "try", he inadvertently found a young man wearing an old coat and a bowler hat walking towards this side; the old coat covered with mud spots and snowflakes, look. It's extra warm up there.

"Excuse me, may I ask..."

"Cigarettes! Can you give me a cigarette and a match?" The middle-aged man who was shivering hugged his shoulders, stamped his feet and said impatiently:

"I haven't slept for two nights and lost my job... Give me a cigarette, or four coins!"

The interrupted young man was stunned for a moment, and then groped in his pocket; a silver watch chain was revealed from the inner pocket of the old coat under the opened collar.

Sterling silver bracelet!

Holding the body that was about to freeze, the middle-aged man whose pupils shrank suddenly began to secrete water incessantly.

While the young man was looking for the change, he stepped forward to put it together, his right hand was so cold that he "inadvertently" touched the collar of the old coat, and poked in with two fingers.

"Snapped."

The middle-aged man was stunned.

The touch from his hand told him that he was definitely not touching the bracelet of a pocket watch, but a certain wooden handle, which felt like…

The old coat in front of him was suddenly lifted, revealing the revolver hidden underneath.

The middle-aged man with a stiff expression swallowed his saliva, slowly raised his head, and found that the young man was smiling at him.

"me…"

"Your cigarette." The young man smiled and held his wrist, shoving a few coins into the palm of his right hand:

"Excuse me, how do I get to the Crown Tavern?"

Feeling the friction between the palm of the hand and the pattern on the surface of the coin, the familiar and unfamiliar touch told him that it was four silver coins... The middle-aged man's face immediately showed a pleasing smile:

"I-I know the way, I can take you there!"

"That couldn't be better." The young man smiled and covered the revolver under his arm again with his old coat:

"Please lead the way."

"well!"

The middle-aged man couldn't wait to nod his head, and he stepped out of his unconscious feet against the whistling cold wind. The smiling young man put his hands in his pockets and walked half a step behind him.

"Well, can I ask you something?"

"Speaking."

"You go to the Crown Tavern...what are you doing?"

The slightly ingratiating middle-aged man looked a little scared... He didn't think that this guy who could afford a sterling silver watch chain and had silver coins in his pocket as change at all times would be a "regular visitor" to a street pub in the outer city.

"Do nothing."

Looking at the staggering middle-aged man, the young man supported his shoulder:

"Just to meet a friend."

 …

"Carlin Jacques?"

Taking the note with the name written on it from Bronne, with a ring of order stamped on the end, Anson sitting in front of the fireplace couldn't help raising his eyebrows: "Is this person a priest?"

"Accurately speaking, a trainee priest." Bronn, who was sitting on the sofa, let out a breath of smoke:

"He hangs around in an area called the 'Crown Tavern' in the outer city all the year round. He usually does chores in the church during the day, and occasionally part-time missionaries. He gambles, drinks and chats in the pub at night and in the early morning."

Gambling, drinking... Anson's expression was a little weird: "Is he really a priest?"

"Apprentice priest." The young bachelor emphasized again:

"He runs an underground reselling market in the outer city, specializing in buying and selling some suspected illegal books and collections of broken families, many of which are related to the old gods."

Well, still a priest who buys and sells old gods and illegal loot... Anson's expression is even weirder.

"By a coincidence, I got information from an informant that Carlin Jacques is very likely to hold one of the four great magic books scattered in Clovis City - the evidence is that he writes every once in a while. Can come up with some relatively rare, but very common magic books."

Bloane took a puff on his pipe: "I've also been told that he once showed up at the Crown Tavern with a red-haired man who called himself home."

"I need you to investigate this guy named Carlin Jacques to find out if he really has information on Draco Wilts; way to get it."

In the quiet midnight, the ice blue eyes reflected the sleeping Lisa in Anson's arms, as well as the face that fell into deep thought.

"I have two questions."

"Please speak." Bron put down his pipe and adjusted his sitting position slightly.

"First of all, I am very grateful to the professor for giving me this opportunity. Really, it has always been my dream to help the professor." An Sen with a sincere expression, but a bit tangled in his eyes:

"But why me - you already have clues, witnesses, and even the details of this person, why did you suddenly hand this task to me who still doesn't know anything?"

"Are you surprised?" Bloane asked rhetorically.

Anson nodded vigorously: "It's surprising."

"I'm surprised too." The young bachelor sighed:

"But Professor Mace Hornard clearly told me before he left that all tasks involving The Great Magic Book and Draco Wilters must be taken care of by you... Anson Bach, and I'm only allowed to help."

Black Mage left Clovis City?

Anson blinked quickly: "Why?"

"I don't know, the professor didn't tell me." Bloane shook his head slightly:

"What's your second question?"

"Inquisition." Anson was a little confused:

"I'm currently being watched by people from the Truth Seeking Order, and I've promised to go to the club once a day; if I show up in the outer city, it's almost certain that they will notice me."

"You don't have to worry about that."

Referring to the courthouse, Bloane suddenly showed a somewhat half-smile expression: "If they notice something, they might as well tell them what we're talking about today."

Um? !

Anson looked stunned.

"This is also one of the professor's arrangements."

Bronn explained: "At the moment, the professor has to leave the capital for a very important matter; in order to avoid being noticed by the Church of Order, we have to do some more conspicuous activities to convince them that the professor is still collecting the "Great Magic" Books, and the whereabouts of Draco Wilts."

"Of course, I'm not saying these two things are unimportant; but now that the professor's identity has been revealed, we need to be more cautious next; it's worth sacrificing some secondary intelligence until a solution is found."

"I see."

Anson nodded solemnly.

From this, we can also see the important rankings of various things for the black mages: life is the first, the opportunity to be promoted to "Apostle" is second, and the old gods organization is second...

As for the "big plan" of the Old Gods school...well, it's probably something like "additional options"?

Otherwise, when he was in Thundercastle, he would not have seen that things were not going well and turned around and ran away, leaving the task of "determining the fate of the old gods" to a tool like himself.

"Anything to watch out for?"

"have."

Looking at Anson's cautious expression, Bronne's eyes showed admiration: "Two points in total."

"First, Carin Jacques may look more flamboyant, but in fact is extremely cautious; he is very familiar with the Crown Tavern and the surrounding streets; once he perceives the danger, it is difficult to catch him again."

The young bachelor sighed: "That's one of the reasons why I didn't do it for a long time. Otherwise, I could find a few gangsters to solve the problem."

Anson understood.

"Second, he is not strong, but he should have a lot of special items on his body - the caster can fix a certain 'magic' to an item after the fifth stage - so be careful, it is not a last resort, Don't try to use violence to solve problems..."

…………

Helping the middle-aged man who was soaked all over, Anson crossed the street and found the "Crown Tavern" under a narrow dilapidated building.

It was just dawn outside, when the tavern business was at its most deserted; a few taxis were parked outside the door, and a few hangover alcoholics were lying beside the carriages, lying on their vomit with empty wine bottles. .

"This is it, sir."

The middle-aged man with a flat face pointed at the door of the tavern, shivering in the cold wind: "I wish the ring of order to protect you and find your friend."

"Aren't you going in?" Anson asked curiously:

"It's still early, and it's cold outside."

"No, don't go."

The middle-aged man shook his head desperately, but his eyes stared straight at the sign on the door of the tavern: "I owe them a lot of money - I want to keep these four silver coins, buy clothes, eat a meal, and have to change jobs. ."

"The king and the emperor are at war, and the tobacco business in the empire can't continue, but maybe the steel factory is willing to recruit a few quick-handed porters."

Looking at the middle-aged man's hands that were frozen blue and purple, and didn't look like they were very quick, An Sen could only nod his head: "I wish you good luck."

"Good luck to you too, generous sir."

The middle-aged man waved his hand and staggered around to leave.

Just as Anson was walking towards the tavern, the middle-aged man who had not gone far suddenly turned around and shouted to him in a very mysterious tone:

"By the way, if your friend hasn't come yet, I suggest you sit in the tavern for a while."

"The Crown Tavern at this time has a 'special event' that is not found anywhere else!"

Special event?

Special in what department...where?

An Sen twitched the corners of his mouth nonchalantly, took a deep breath, and quickened his pace towards the tavern.

Pushing open the door, a heat wave mixed with the smell of alcohol and sweat rushed toward his face; An Sen's expression changed slightly, and his eyes quickly swept across the hall in front of him.

An empty bar, a mess of tables, a floor full of booze, vomit, food waste and some unknown liquid...and the grunts mixed in this horrible garbage dump, plus the coachman enjoying a delicious breakfast.

That clergyman who sold Old God's loot...here?

A little suspicious, An Sen stepped over a sleeping alcoholic, found a fairly clean table and sat down, ready to wait for the other party to appear.

Just when he wondered if he would order a drink, a slightly familiar voice suddenly sounded from the corner of the tavern:

"Gentlemen, my good gentlemen, I understand what you are thinking, and I know how dissatisfied you are with the Church of Order!"

"This **** church, this 'noble' ring of order, it can't give you luck, it can't give you immortality, it can't tell you the truth, and no matter how many times you wish, it will never, ever come true!"

"Actually it can't give you anything - oh, except for 10,000 clear rules, plus a loan you can't pay in your entire life!"

Um? !

An Sen was shocked, and looked at the source of the voice: a priest in a black robe, standing among two or three tables of guests with different expressions, rolling his eyes and speaking eloquently.

"But think about it carefully, think about the guys who tell you how bad the Church of Order is and how good the old gods are." The drunken priest danced:

"They tell you that Mutter the Great Lord of the Dark Arts, Pluto the Master of Blood Magic, and Ayton the Master of Destiny—they can give you luck, give you immortality, tell you the truth, and fulfill your wishes ."

"These ancient gods, accused by the Church of Order as heretics, are so amazing, so wise, and can do so many things."

"Then why are they still under the Ring of Order, the Church of Order that can't do anything..." The priest snapped his fingers while saying "Crack!":

"Is it down?"

"Or I'll ask another question." The black-robed priest raised his right index finger to his audience:

"Yes, as you said, the Church of Order is very incompetent. It only has the ability to make money and spend it; we can't do anything without money. But..."

"Those who invited you to join the old gods, did UU read www.uukanshu.com also tell you **** like 'the great old gods need your dedication'?"

"If it's not, that's fine. Anyway, there's no loss. I don't believe anything that doesn't cost money."

"If so, then I'm a little confused."

"These old gods who can give you good luck, give you eternal life, tell you the truth, and still see your wishes... Why are you still short of money?"

"Or that you 'contribute' money to them, and they promise you good luck, eternal life, and the fulfillment of your wishes, which is actually similar to... spending money on services?"

"And it's still the kind of service where the price is not transparent, the project is not clear, and it can't be fulfilled and can't be complained about?"

"Well, do you think this sounds like a liar?"

The black-robed priest grinned on the table and looked at his audience with a sincere expression.

Anson was stunned.