205 Eighth Throne

“I’ve never heard you curse before, so this is a habit you’ve changed over the past 1,000 years?”

These were Remides’s first words after she calmed down.

“So this is the first thing you’re asking?” William asked with a smile.

Remides looked at the man in front of her whom she had long forgotten his appearance and voice and took a few deep breaths before asking, “You’re really back?”

“Absolutely,” William nodded and replied. Then, he added, “As for the swear words… You might have to get used to it in the future. Of course, I’ll try my best to curb their use.”

To create sublime civility, the game would automatically block players’ vulgarities, but there were no taboos now.

“It looks like you’ve changed a lot over the years.”

Remides couldn’t help but smile and tease when she heard a speech that vaguely didn’t match the other party’s past image.

With that said, her figure began to blur. This was a change caused by her giving up on integrating all her selves on the timeline.

“Or rather, this is my original appearance.”

William shrugged and replied. Then, he looked around and said, “Let’s go back. This isn’t a suitable place to reminisce.”

Remides looked around the round table just like how William did back then.

She looked at the 13 Judges, including herself, and said with emotion, “This is history itself, isn’t it? I wonder what the Twilight Fortress looks like now. I remember that it has been sealed off ever since Dewey died…”

William smiled and said, “Let’s have a good chat when we’re back. I dare say that the current Twilight (Dawn) Fortress far exceeds your imagination…”

…

“Who… is the person who walked into the mist?”

The Tacma Church consultant, who had been thrown aside by William, got up from the ground and limped to Morton’s side.

The other party still knelt there piously.

The Bloodblade family’s duty that was engraved in their bloodlines and souls was to fight for the King of Mist. However, in this relatively peaceful era where there was no King of Mist, the restlessness stemming from their bloodlines and souls had always been unbearable.

Therefore, when the Tacma Church came to him and hoped that Phoenix Fire City could support the coronation of the new King of Mist, he agreed on behalf of his family even though he knew that the other party was most likely using him.

“He said that he’s an Elementium Silver merchant from the Blackwater Province. He came to Ava State to catch up with a pal of his and do business,” Morton looked at the slowly spinning egg-shaped mist and replied.

Then, he turned to look at the Tacma consultant and continued, “But there are plenty of problems with his claim—he said that his friend is in Moonlaw City, and Moonlaw City hasn’t had a Ranger return for centuries.”

“Is that why you’re certain that he’s actually a member of the Church?” the aged consultant patted the dust off his robe and asked.

“There’s also the Eighth Holy Spirit’s holy emblem hanging around his neck,” Morton replied and cast his gaze at the egg-shaped mist surrounding the throne.

It wouldn’t be long before the true King of Mist of Ava State returned to the mortal world after Remides Shadowmoon completed the coronation ritual.

The ghosts in the mist would be with her, making her the perfect ruler and the core component of the High Elves’ ancient path. From then on, High Elf society would be reorganized into a unified system, returning to a governing ecology ruled by the last names of the three core “paths”—King, Warrior, and Sorcerer.

It would be nothing like the present day—last names representing farmers, craftsmen, or merchants, divided into seven loosely organized city-states, all allowed to share power.

“You’re saying that there are no Rangers in Moonlaw City?” the Tacma Church’s consultant suddenly said. His tone was more puzzlement than doubt.

However, Morton—who was immersed in excitement—couldn’t tell the difference. He casually replied,

“It hasn’t happened in about 500 years. After all, how can those who have obtained a sorcerer-related legacy path who can stay in Moonlaw City give up their last name to become a Ranger?”

After hearing Morton’s answer, the elder fell silent for a moment before slowly saying, “But as far as I know, there’s indeed a big shot in Moonlaw City who used to be a Ranger… Moreover, I think you’re very familiar with that person.”

The expression on Morton’s face suddenly froze.

“You mean… the Ranger he’s looking for is actually Lady Shadowmoon?”

But how is this possible?

The old man nodded with a look of enlightenment.

“That explains it…” he muttered to himself.

Morton asked in confusion, “So that’s how it is? Lady Shadowmoon’s friends back then are already…”

“They’re either dead or missing. After all, it’s been more than a thousand years. The years are considerably long even for elves.”

The old man helped him finish his sentence and continued, “Think about it. A powerful magic chanter, a male, gray-haired, silver-eyed Stormland resident… By the way, he also carries the Holy Spirit Kane’s holy emblem. It should be obvious, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s impossible…”

Morton subconsciously shook his head after being enlightened. Then, he picked up the animal skin lantern beside him and stood up.

“No human can live for more than a thousand years!”

“He’s not human, child. Ever since the crazy emperor from 800 years ago decided to use the name William Kane as a tool to chisel open eternal time, his name no longer represents a simple human,” the Tacma Church’s consultant said.

With that said, he turned to look at Diana.

“In that case, your throne will be in danger.”

Morton also turned to look at the Eighth Holy Spirit’s prophet in confusion.

Ever since William stepped into the egg-shaped mist, this girl named Diana had abnormally lowered her head and quietened down. She stood rooted to the ground like a statue. Her body didn’t even undulate when she breathed.

No, it should be said that she wasn’t breathing.

“Whose throne?” Morton asked.

“My throne…”

A childish but dignified voice sounded from Diana’s mouth, echoing throughout the throne room.

“Hill, you went back on your word.”

The girl suddenly looked up at the Tacma Church consultant with an expression that didn’t match her age and gender.

As he spoke, the egg-shaped mist cocoon on the throne tore out a thread as if silk had been pulled out. It spread out and transformed into a humanoid figure that circled Diana. Then, the bronze holy emblem hanging around her neck emitted a faint light.