AWB Chapter 38: A Bountiful Harvest
Chapter 38: A Bountiful Harvest
Composing himself, Xireen glanced at the white package in Owen's hand and shook his head slightly, saying:
"Gold pounds are not needed for the time being."
"Could you check if we have any residual influence from the 'True Creator' on us? If so, could you purify us and then send us to the South Bridge area?"
"If we were to appear on the street now, it would be too conspicuous."
High on the swing, Bernadette gently raised her hand, and glimmers of clear starlight fell upon Owen beside her.
The starlight seemed to merge into his body invisibly, then stirred up wisps of thin black smoke.
Cyril glanced at Owen, who was covered in starlight, and then at himself, who hadn't experienced anything. Clearly, only he was affected by the "True Creator."
This guy seems to be always unlucky. If there weren't a "Wheel of Fortune" in this world, he would have suspected that the other person was rejected by fate.
As he drifted off into thought, Bernadette glanced at him and said softly:
"You originally had some residual malice and pollution within you, but during our conversation just now, they spontaneously dissipated."
"Uh..." Sirion opened his mouth, but didn't say anything for a long time.
He didn't want to delve into this topic, but the "secret seeker," who was quite persistent in certain aspects, would definitely dig deeper into the secrets.
Seemingly sensing his thoughts, Bernadette on the swing chuckled softly, then waved her hand. The dense, intertwined green vines around her quickly contracted, revealing the dark night outside, tinged with the dim yellow light of lamps.
Cyril felt his feet slip and then he plummeted downwards.
Subconsciously, he created a strong wind blowing upwards. Although it was not enough to ride the wind like the "Wind-Centered Ones", it could at least slow down his falling trend.
The whistling wind had barely begun when Cyril's feet touched the ground, causing him to stumble slightly before quickly regaining his balance.
He suppressed his spiritual energy and stopped the strong winds blowing around him. He looked up somewhat awkwardly and saw that the vines that had not yet completely faded were only about one floor above the ground.
A yellowed parchment fell from among the retreating vines, accompanied by Bernadette's voice:
"We'll meet again, and I hope you'll have more information next time. Of course, I'll pay you a satisfactory reward."
Cyril raised his hand, and under the effect of "object manipulation," the parchment landed precisely in his hand.
Above were lines of delicate, still-wet ink:
Sequence 6: Recorder
Main material: One complete Brain of Asman, a cursed object of an ancient vengeful spirit.
Additional materials: three pages of a diary with a history of over 22 years, 10 ml of mercury, 10 drops of honeysuckle essential oil, and 30 ml each of seawater, lake water, and glacial water.
Cyril: .....
It's not that it's useless, but it's rather pointless.
Knowing full well that I am a "Master of Magic," she still gave me a potion recipe from the "Recorder." Was she doing this on purpose, or did she just happen to have a copy of the "Recorder's" potion recipe?
He sighed slightly, feeling a pang of disappointment. He turned to look at Owen, who had just gotten up from the ground and was looking at him with a resentful gaze.
"I was supposed to land smoothly, but you suddenly created a strong gust of wind, and then I lost my balance."
Somewhat embarrassed, Sirion looked away, then handed over the parchment, changing the subject as he did so:
"Have you considered changing your faith? The 'God of Steam and Machinery' has no authority over the realm of destiny, so it's not suitable for you."
"Huh, why?" Owen opened his eyes wide in confusion, somewhat unable to keep up with the other person's train of thought.
Sirion said seriously, "Don't you think you're too unlucky? Maybe you should consider changing your faith to something that can change your luck."
For example, a yellow and black king who controls good fortune, or a little snake that hasn't turned into a baby yet, or even the queen of fear and misfortune if all else fails.
After a two-second silence, Irving glared at him: "I feel like you're shirking responsibility. Every time I have bad luck, it's because of you."
"Moreover, although I am not a devout believer, faith is not something that can be chosen casually like a commodity."
Cyril nodded slightly, not arguing with the other party about the issue. In this world where a true god exists, faith is sacred and deeply rooted.
He looked around and quickly confirmed his location, then said, "Let's go back first. We're not far from Wildy Street."
"Tonight has been full of unexpected events, I really don't want to run into the patrolling sheriff again."
"You mean those two walking over from across the street?" Owen pointed ahead.
"What bad luck..."
After muttering a complaint under his breath, Cyril dragged Owen and slammed him into the wall next to the courtyard.
.....
32 Wildy Street, Irving's home.
Xi Ruien lay half-reclined on the sofa, looking out at the sky that was already turning a pale white, and sighed silently.
In just three streets, they encountered two groups of patrolling sheriffs. If it weren't for the fact that the "apprentice" could easily pass through walls, they would probably have been eliminated on this last stretch of road tonight.
Composing himself, he looked at Owen: "Let's start dividing the spoils. I need to get back before dawn."
Irving pointed to the calendar not far away and added quietly, "Not only that, have you forgotten? Old Fils gave us all the holidays we were entitled to, and we have to go back to school today."
…（⊙_⊙；）…
"..." Cyril pursed his lips, then said:
"It's alright, old Fils said back then that he would guarantee we could graduate on time."
Irving sighed and rubbed his forehead. "He was just saying that to comfort you, and you actually took it seriously?"
Cyril tilted his head back, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "Then I'll go tell him, Professor, you don't want to lose two more students in your class, do you?"
Irving: ....
"Whether I can graduate smoothly depends on you."
"A fortune teller like you're afraid of exams?" Before the other person could answer, he waved his hand again:
"Let's divide the money first. I need to hurry back. If I have time, I can take a nap."
Irving nodded, said nothing more, and unwrapped his white shirt, revealing several gold bars the size of ink blocks, along with neat stacks of gold pounds, a few gems, and a gun.
These were all taken from Jacob's wallet by Cyril during the time when the Black Wolf Society members and the out-of-control Extraordinary were in conflict.
"Casinos are definitely a lucrative business," Sir Ryan remarked softly.
If it were another gang, they might not be able to easily steal so much cash, jewels, and gold bars.
He estimated that even from this small portion they received, the total value was already around £2000.
After they divided the cash among themselves, Sir Ryan looked at the two stacks of cash, a gold bar, two gems, and a pistol in his hand, and his mood was slightly swayed.
He finally experienced the feeling of sudden wealth. Although the money might not even be enough to buy the materials for his next series of potions, it was undoubtedly a huge sum for him who was still in debt.
And they also unexpectedly gained a potion recipe from the "Recorder." Although they didn't need it urgently and there were other ways to obtain it, no one would complain about an unexpected gain.
After packing up his spoils, he said goodbye to Owen and hurried home before it was fully light.
.....
Meanwhile, in the Backlund Bridge area, inside a casino controlled by the Black Wolf Society, explosions and gunfire echoed continuously.
But strangely, there was no sound or even a light outside the casino; it was like two different worlds, just a step away.
Before long, a superhuman squad, armed to the teeth, wearing light armor, carrying steam backpacks, and holding steam rifles, emerged from the casino building.
There were several other people around them wearing the same style of long black trench coats, looking energetic, like seasoned night owls.
These people were a mix of men and women, and of varying ages, but their expressions were strangely similar, a mixture of envy and sighs with a hint of heartache, as if someone who was always frugal suddenly saw someone squandering money in front of them.
Two groups of people with completely different styles had just emerged from the casino building and hadn't even had time to separate when a sudden gust of wind swept through the area, followed by a robust figure in a dark blue priest's robe descending from the sky.
He first glanced at the casino building in front of him, which was filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood, then swept his gaze over the crowd present, and asked in a deep voice:
"What happened here?"