Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 65 Dawn City

The "Seagull" sails on the sea, flying the flag of the Elven Holy Kingdom and possessing the world's most advanced magical power.

"Greetings, Cardinal. We are about to arrive at Dawn Port, the westernmost port of the Nunns Empire."

Paul Gibson, beaming, explained to the esteemed Cardinal Artoria Arlin, a second-class bishop of the Church of the God of War.

"Hmm," Cardinal Yarlin responded calmly.

He wore the standard priest's robes of the Church of the God of War, with two badges pinned to the front of his ornate attire.

—The golden longsword emblem represents a high-ranking priest of the Church of the God of War.

The golden sacred tree emblem signifies his courtly status—the chief secretary to His Majesty the Elven Holy Kingdom.

Count Artoria Arlin, as the plenipotentiary representative of the Elven Holy Kingdom visiting the Narns Empire, was responsible for negotiating matters related to the employment of servants.

Of course, Count Arlin was also ordered to secretly investigate intelligence related to the smuggling of high-grade spiritual materials from the Nunes Empire.

"My esteemed Lord Arlin, winters in the Narns Empire are quite cold. The Holy Kingdom Research Institute says there are no warm currents passing through this area. Would you like me to bring you a coat?"

I believe that under your wise leadership, we will definitely complete this mission successfully. My respected sir, I wholeheartedly and resolutely obey all your instructions…”

Slow, standing to the side, watched his colleague's performance with embarrassment.

This is a bit too obsequious, Slo thought. We're all colleagues. Even if Lady Artoria Arlin is of noble birth, there's no need for this...

"Colleagues, have any of you been to the Nunns Empire before?" Frantin Yulis's question drew everyone's attention.

"No, Ms. Frantin, this is my first time here."

"Ha, of course I've been to the Nunns Empire, more than once!" Paul's tone rose considerably when addressing his two colleagues.

"Ha, the Narns Empire is a backward and barbaric place. It's still an absolute monarchy here, and the nobles have become barbaric and ungentlemanly."

"Let me tell you, the lords here even have the 'right of the first night,' did you know that? What a barbaric and backward country! I feel sorry for the people of the Nunns Empire, let me tell you..."

This is outrageous! "Right of the first night"? That's fake. Are these lords of the Nunns Empire sick? Do they think society is not stable enough or what?

Is Paul just retelling a story from a literary work? Slow was skeptical of Paul's words, but he was too lazy to refute them and just listened silently...

"Thump, thump"

A waiter gently knocked on the cabin door.

"Your Excellencies, the 'Seagull' is about to dock."

"Alright, everyone, let's get ready quickly. It's impolite to keep the people from Nunn's side waiting," said Earl Arlin.

Cardinal Artoria Arlin, Second Class, of the Church of the God of War; Bishop Slo Gene, First Class, of the Church of the God of Death; Bishop Paul Gibson, Third Class, of the Church of the God of War; and Lady Frantin Ulis, Lady of the Court, were the key figures of this mission.

They disembarked one after another, and were greeted by nobles from the Dawn Province of the Narns Empire.

There were seven or eight people standing on the dock. At the front was an elderly man with gray hair, dressed in a dark suit, with an eagle badge pinned to his chest. His gray eyes squinted in the cold wind.

He was Baron Mikhail Ivanov of Dawn City, the envoy sent by the Duke of Dawn Province.

Behind him stood a young man in his early thirties, wearing a well-tailored dark gray overcoat with a gold eagle brooch at the collar, and a perfectly measured smile on his face.

He was the Duke's secretary, Alexei Viktorovich.

"Your Excellency Earl Arlin, welcome to Dawn Province."

The baron bowed slightly, his voice low, carrying the distinctive accent of the Narns Empire.

Yarlin returned the greeting: "Baron Ivanov, thank you for your hard work."

"This is His Excellency the Duke's secretary, Alexei Viktorovich."

Alexei stepped forward and bowed slightly to Yarlin.

His smile deepened: "Your Excellency Arlin, the Duke asked me to convey his greetings, but he is dealing with urgent matters in the capital and is unable to greet you in person. He apologizes deeply."

"Your Grace, you are too kind," Earl Arlin said with a smile.

The two shook hands.

The carriages that had arrived early lined up on the dock; the black carriages had no coats of arms, but the paint on the carriages was very shiny.

Sloe rode in the second carriage, Frantin and Paul in the third, and Count Yarlin, Baron Ivanov, and Alexei in the first carriage.

The carriage left the dock and traveled along a wide stone-paved road into Dawn City.

Slo looked out the window from inside the carriage.

The streets of Dawn City are lined with three- or four-story buildings with gray-white stone walls, and the buildings are very close together.

The sky was overcast, and a north wind blew in from the sea, carrying a salty smell and a dry, cold chill; it was going to snow.

Sure enough, in less than fifteen minutes, snowflakes began to fall.

At first, the snow was sparse, but then it became denser, with snowflakes like goose feathers falling from the sky.

The carriage stopped in front of a gray building. Several guards with their hats pulled low stood at the door, their guns at their feet, saluting the arriving dignitaries.

"Gentlemen, this is the Dawn Province Administrative Office." Alexei stepped out of the car and stood at the door, gesturing for them to enter.

"His Excellency the Duke specifically instructed me to give you a tour of Dawn City first, and then we can discuss official business."

"Then I'll trouble you."

Alexei smiled and nodded.

The group walked eastward along the square in front of the administration building.

Alexei walked at the front, introducing the city as he went: "Dawn City was built more than four hundred years ago, and Dawn Port is the westernmost port of the Narns Empire."

Earl Arlin's gaze swept across the surroundings.

The snow was falling heavier and heavier, and a thin layer of white had accumulated on the ground. There were not many pedestrians on the street. Occasionally, you could see a few pedestrians wrapped in thick cotton-padded coats hurrying by, their necks hunched and their hands tucked into their sleeves.

"By the way, the old town of Dawn City is in the east, and several streets there still retain their original appearance."

Alexei said, "Would you gentlemen like to go and take a look?"

"Very well," Earl Arlin said briefly.

Slo followed behind them, glancing at Frantin, who nodded slightly.

One of their purposes for this trip was to check whether there were any unusual fluctuations in spiritual materials in Dawn City.

The source of the amber smuggled into the Holy Land has never been traced. Old towns and slums are places where things that are unknown to the public are often hidden.

After walking for a while, the street narrowed, and the buildings on both sides looked very old.

The plaster had peeled off, revealing the bricks and stones underneath. Some windows were boarded up, and the road was full of potholes, with snow and dirty water mixed together.

Alexei slowed his pace:

"This is the oldest residential area in Dawn City, inhabited by workers, vendors, and unemployed people."

Slo activated his spiritual vision, his gaze sweeping across the walls and roof on both sides. In the grayish-white spiritual vision, he could occasionally see a very faint trace of something on the wall, as if someone had cast a spell here many years ago, but it was no longer of any value and did not contain what he was looking for.

He glanced at Frantin, who also activated her spiritual vision, her gaze sweeping across the alleyway without any change in expression.

—No abnormalities.

There were figures moving in the alley. Several children were squatting in the corner, wearing ill-fitting old cotton-padded jackets, some even barefoot, their toes red with cold. They were looking down, but when they heard footsteps, they looked up.

Those were pairs of eyes devoid of light.

The children's eyes fell on the badges on their chests—golden longswords, golden raven feathers, and golden sacred tree emblems. Their gazes changed from curiosity to something else entirely.

A boy stood up. He was about eight or nine years old, as thin as a stick, with prominent cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and ears that were red from the cold.

His cotton-padded coat was too big, hanging loosely on his body, with the sleeves rolled up several times, revealing his thin wrists covered in chilblains.

His eyes were fixed on Yarlin.

His eyes were filled with hatred, a hatred that was about to overflow. His lips were trembling, and his hands were trembling too.

"Pointy ears," the boy's voice was hoarse, forced out of his throat, with a strange tremor, as if he were holding a piece of broken glass in his mouth.

"Pointy-eared bastard."

Several children nearby also stood up, both boys and girls, and stared at them.

"Pah!" Another boy spat on the ground.

A girl huddled in the back, biting her lip, her eyes red.

Slo noticed Alexei standing to the side, his smile unchanged, showing no intention of stopping them. His eyes darted between the boy and Yarlin, and the corners of his mouth seemed to curl up slightly.

It was a tiny little thing, but Sloan saw it.

The Baron stood half a step behind Alexei, expressionless.

Sloan's heart sank.

"What are you doing here?"

The boy took a step forward, his voice rising, sharp and shrill, unlike anything a child could produce:

"You've come to steal our people? You've already taken all of ours!"

"My father went to the Holy Land! Three years! He hasn't come back!" His voice grew louder and louder, as if he were shouting, or perhaps crying:

"My mother is sick! We don't have money for medical treatment! She's dying! Do you know she's dying?!"

He shouted and wiped his tears with the back of his hand, but the more he wiped, the more tears he shed, and his face was covered with snot.

"You kidnapped my brother too! He said he was going to make money, but where's the money? Where is it? We can't even afford black bread anymore! You pointy-eared bastards!"

His voice was completely broken, like the sound of a piece of cloth being torn apart.

He bent down and picked up a stone about half the size of a fist from the snow, covered in snowmelt and mud.

He raised the stone above his head, his hands trembling, but the hatred in his eyes burned even brighter.

"You stole my father! You stole my brother! You emptied our mines and enslaved our people!"

A boy next to him also picked up a stone, and then another one.

A little girl picked up a large piece of broken brick from the ground, held it in both hands, unable to lift it, and stared at them.

"I hate you all!" The boy's voice was no longer speaking, but more like a howl, the sound of a wounded animal.

"I hate all of you! You long-eared monsters!"

An old woman emerged from the depths of the alley, leaning on a cane; her hair was completely white, and her face was deeply wrinkled.

She stood behind the children, not stopping them, but looking at Yarlin with something heavier in her eyes—not hatred, but despair.

A middle-aged man with a limp also came out of the house. One of his trouser legs was empty, and he was propped up by a wooden stick. He leaned against the door frame, panting heavily, staring at the foreigners in black robes. His lips trembled, but he didn't say anything.

"Smack."

The boy threw the stone.

The stone struck Earl Arlin in the chest, bounced, and fell to the ground.

Yarlin didn't move, letting the opponent attack.

"Thud!" Another stone hit him on the shoulder this time.

*Slap!* *Slap!*

Several stones flew over, some hitting him and others landing on the ground, splashing up snow water.

The little girl finally managed to throw the broken brick in her arms, but she was too weak, and the brick fell in mid-air, hitting her own foot. She burst into tears.

Paul was startled, took a step back, and his face showed fear.

Frantin stood still, but her hand was already on the short sword at her waist.

Slo took a step forward, intending to block Arlin's path, but Arlin raised his hand to stop him.

"Step back," Yarlin said.

Sloan retreated.

Yarlin stepped forward and squatted down to be at eye level with the boy. His black robe had a few gray stains on it, and he looked into the boy's eyes.

The boy held the third stone, his hand trembling; anger burned within him, making him shake all over.

His face was covered in snot and tears, and his lips were covered in blood—he had bitten them open himself at some point.

"Little fellow, may I ask your name?" Count Arlin's voice was calm, without anger.

The boy didn't answer, biting his lip hard, causing the cut on his lip to bleed again.

"Little one, how old are you?"

Tears welled up in the boy's eyes again, but he didn't cry out loud. He just wept silently, holding the stone, his whole body like a frozen statue.

Count Arlin reached out and gently grasped the boy's wrist as he held the stone.

The boy struggled for a moment, but couldn't break free.

"I didn't have an easy time when I was a child either," Yarlin said.

The boy paused for a moment.

"My father was a miner. When I was six years old, the mine collapsed and he was buried underneath. When they dug him out, he was already dead."

Count Arlin's voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the alley could hear it.

"When I was eight years old, I became an apprentice to a blacksmith. I worked twelve hours a day, was often hungry, and was frequently beaten."

He took the stone from the boy's hand and placed it on the ground.

"I sympathize with you. I'm telling you this to let you know that not everyone with pointed ears is against you."

The boy's breathing was still rapid, but the hand that had been holding the stone had been lowered.

"Your father went to the Holy Kingdom and hasn't returned for three years. Do you hate him?"

The boy shook his head.

"You should know that some things are not just one party's fault."