Dancing is not allowed on the grave

Syl wanted to learn more about Rosella's history from her, and asked, "What about the alchemist?"

"died."

"Dead?" Searle asked. "The Pope?"

"No." The magician shook his head, "It is said that he was killed by the devil."

Syl didn't understand, "Didn't he summon the Demon King?"

"Yes." The other party shrugged and spread his hands, "But the Demon King is too powerful, and the alchemist couldn't control him, so he was killed."

Searle: "..."

This is really sad for the hearer and tears for the listener.

The alchemist was like the legendary fisherman who picked up a drift bottle and released the devil, and poured himself into the devil's first sacrifice.

"I heard this from my friends in the Holy See of the Holy Light. It is said that there are books in the library of the Holy See that record this part of history, but most of them praise the great achievements of His Majesty the Pope. As for the devil and the alchemist, there are only a few words. In short It can be summed up in terms of evil and danger."

The female magician lowered her head and rubbed her bright red nails: "But even the books that want to banished the devil into the mud describe him as very handsome. I'm really curious what this epic handsome guy looks like."

"Just like now—" She raised her eyes, and her beautiful eyes fell on Lancelot in the corner, implying something. "I'm also curious about the face behind your butler's mask?"

Seale glanced there.

He doesn't pay much attention to appearance, and has no idea whether a man is good-looking or not, but Lancelot belongs to that kind of poke, even if you are [-] degrees nearsighted and don't wear glasses, you can tell at a glance that this is a handsome type.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this auction."

In the dimly lit auction room, the curtain opened with a "swish", and a beam of light hit the center of the auction table.

The man illuminated by the beam of light was wearing a blue robe with delicate golden patterns adorning the neckline of the skirt. His voice was clear and melodious, as if he was singing.

There was an uproar downstairs.

"Nancy?!"

"God, why is he here?"

Compared to the shock of the surrounding buyers, the reaction of the female magician beside Searle was much calmer. She squinted at the man and smacked her lips, "You bastard."

Seale: "You know him?"

"There are not many magicians who don't know him. I'm afraid you have heard of his name."

The Howling Throne, Nancy.

The throne is the highest honor for a magician. It is said that the current five throne mages in Losra are all at the peak level of a great magister, and this wind mage is no exception.

But what really made him famous was not his powerful magic power - Nancy was the most famous bard in Rosella, who had traveled to every land of the three empires, and could be called a household name.

This was nothing more than a black market auction held in a small border town. To invite such a strong man to sit in it inevitably caused a riot among the buyers present.

The mages put their staffs back into their black robes in fear, not daring to reveal the gleam of magic elements.After all, among the known mages in the entire Rossla continent, the only one who can win against Nancy is His Majesty the Pope of the Holy See of Light.

"His Majesty the Pope is the only god of law in Losra."

Syl was puzzled: "Aren't the five throne mages all the peak magisters? They are only one step away from the God of Dharma?"

The female magician's eyes dimmed: "It sounds right, but that step, there is a gap in the sky. Even the peak magister is just a human being with powerful magic power."

As for Dharma gods, they have already stepped into the level of gods with half a foot, and do not belong to the category of human beings.

For thousands of years, only the pope has reached this level, and the five elemental throne mages have been changing all the time, and no one has crossed that step for a long time.

While speaking, the auction on the stage has already started.The first and last items of the auction are usually worth a lot of money, and the first item on the stage is indeed a rare treasure.

"As we all know, epic is already the peak quality that human forging can achieve, and above that is mythical equipment that only exists in ancient mythology." On the auction stage, Nancy began to explain the value of this product around the display stand.

"You may have heard that half a year ago I brought back a raw ash stone from Nathaniel's volcanic ruins... That's right, this ash rose staff is exactly made of a raw ash stone, and the fire attribute bonus is as high as 80.00%. "

"Even the burning staff of Melotti, the current Mage of the Throne of Flame, the fire attribute bonus is only 60.00%."

The female magician next door to Syl ground her teeth.

There are many fire-attribute mages under the auction stage, who were aroused by Nancy's introduction and eager to try.

Nancy's next words pushed the originally dead atmosphere of the auction to a climax: "Now——I will draw a lucky buyer and give away this ashes rose."

The auction house boiled instantly, and at the same time, the beam of light in the center of the booth left Nancy and swept across the buyer's booth in an irregular manner.

Everyone held their breath subconsciously, for fear that the good luck would be blown away with a light blow.

The moment the light beam paused, the auction house stopped.

Countless envious or jealous eyes cast towards Syl, his scalp was numb, and he sat silently away from the female magician beside him.

Nancy stepped down the stage holding the slender staff with rose-like flames swaying at the top, stopped in front of her and gave a gentlemanly salute, "Dear Miss Melotti, this luck belongs to you."

Searle: "..."

What did he just say?

Throne of Flame, Melotti?Is it the one next to him?

The bard leaned over and took the hand of the female magician, kissed it and confessed affectionately: "You are the last rose on my barren land."

Sensational words seem to win the hearts of the people in Rosella, and Searle has discovered along the way that people here are not stingy with expressing their feelings with words.

But he still felt uncomfortable, so he tiptoed up and went to the corner to look for Lancelot: "Mr. Steward, shall we sit in another seat?"

"There is no other place, Your Highness."

"It's fine to stand somewhere else, I really can't stay here anymore, look at the ground."

"Ok?"

"It's all my goosebumps." Syl touched his arm as he said, looking cold.

Lancelot put on the windbreaker for him, and asked in a low voice, "It's still early, do you want to go for a walk?"

They have already handed over the goods to the auction house, and sitting here is just watching the cutscene. It is not up to them to decide how much they can sell for, and it is the same when they come back to pick it up after the auction is over.

"Okay." Syl nodded, got up and left quickly.

After leaving the auction house, Lancelot said, "The light just now was manipulated by a light magician."

"Oh." Searle suddenly realized, "It turns out that the lucky audience is predetermined."

After leaving the Black Market Street and passing through the dark corridor, he found that Lancelot was leading him back and forth.

"Where are we going?"

"take money."

Hearing Lancelot's answer, Searle didn't react for a while, and rubbed the back of his head before remembering that they didn't take the money bag when they teleported out of the tavern just now.

But it seemed difficult to retrieve the money bag from the warrior named Haydn in the tavern.

Syl kicked a cold, hard object under his feet.

He raised his eyes and saw a wooden board buried in ice and snow, which was probably a house beam from its shape.

Which house is this that was destroyed by snow?No, where is the snow coming from?

It's not winter in Losra Continent either.

Syl looked around blankly, and found that he was standing in front of the building that was originally a tavern, but at this moment, there were ruins in front of him.

Lancelot stepped forward, his black boots making a crackling sound in the soft snow.

He seemed to have noticed something, stopped, bent over and pulled out a money bag from the snowdrift, it was the one they had lost.

Some snow fell from the collapsed eaves and landed in the man's hair. Syl stood on tiptoe to help him brush it off, asking, "What's going on?"

"I used a little magic," said Lancelot.

"This is called a small spell?" Syl choked up. "...I mean, when did you use magic?"

"After you fall asleep."

When Lancelot mentioned this, he remembered the sentence he heard before falling asleep-"Leave the rest to me."

Syl's expression became subtle: "But why didn't you cast spells in the tavern?"

No, actually he wanted to ask, are all the trainee mages here so strong?

Lancelot touched his chin, "My magic power is too powerful, and I may accidentally injure Your Highness."

Searle: "..."

Mr. Butler is really cautious.

The author has something to say:

Thank you for a soft, forbidden nutrient solution, Chirp Mi!