Chapter 122: scene

In Herbert’s eyes, the opponent’s layout methods were crude, all actions revealing an arrogant streak, obvious to any discerning person.

Who was plotting in the shadows? Did the princess know? Was anyone from the Albert Family involved?

Herbert had no doubt that once he returned to the capital, answers to these questions could certainly be found through clues.

Because the opponent seemed to disdain hiding anything.

But... why go back?

Herbert was in no hurry to return and expose the culprit to clear his name.

Those things that were once incredibly important to the naive youth held no meaning for him now.

He didn’t care.

Having arrived in a transcendent world with magic and gods, should he still be entangled in the melodramatic family ethics dramas of kingdom nobles?

That would be... too pathetic.

The revenge plot most favored by the old generation is not as complex as the honorable duels in Western stories.

Cultivate, grow stronger, then go back and give everyone involved a resounding slap across the face, and all problems will be solved.

It’s that simple.

There’s nothing in this world that one slap can’t solve.

If one isn’t enough, then two.

Still not enough, then keep hitting until it is.

If you act crudely and perfunctorily, I will be even more brutal and arrogant than you.

The Mist Monastery, which has existed for over a thousand years, is the oldest Monastery on the entire Southern Continent, preserving a complete Holy Knight Inheritance.

Normally, not just anyone is qualified to come here, let alone become one of their Disciple.

Since Herbert had come here, it was impossible for him to miss this precious opportunity; he was determined to obtain this Inheritance.

"However, it’s one thing to say it, but to truly obtain the Inheritance... it might not be that easy."

Perhaps to make the noble Disciple retreat in the face of difficulty, or perhaps someone was making trouble, the Monastery’s higher-ups assigned Herbert a very tricky task—reforming prisoners.

The Mist Monastery holds a special status and does not imprison ordinary human heretics; all prisoners qualified to be held here are extremely dangerous foreign powerhouses!

Sea monsters that annihilated several seaports, Dragons that destroyed several towns, fallen elves who slaughtered thousands, demons who incited slave rebellions, devils who plotted royal blood cases... each one was a rare talent.

For these beings, ordinary torture was meaningless; only long periods of time could wear down their will, which is why the Warden position had been vacant for so long before Herbert’s arrival.

Herbert had already made an initial inspection yesterday under the personal guidance of the Archbishop, gaining a preliminary impression of each prisoner.

The prisoners had various temperaments; most chose to ignore his arrival, a few were willing to communicate but their attitude was indifferent, more like they were just casually chatting to pass the time.

And there were a few prisoners who expressed their "enthusiasm" for him, the long-awaited Warden, each pushing the aggressiveness of their language to the extreme.

Recalling the events of yesterday, Herbert couldn’t help but sigh. To gain the Inheritance by reforming this group of fellows would likely take a lot of effort.

"Hey! Kid, you’ve been sighing for half an hour over there, are you done yet?!"

A mocking voice sounded from behind, and the evil being in the cage sneered at Herbert’s weakness.

"It’s only been one day, and you’re already scared? Do you want to cry and go home to your mommy?! Hahahaha!"

"If you’re scared, then get the hell out!"

In all fairness, the woman’s voice was not unpleasant; it was even husky and magnetic, possessing a unique charm.

However, the vulgar expletives interspersed as commas ruined this beauty, making the entire speech exceptionally harsh.

Herbert pursed his lips, turning to look at the tall woman whose face was obscured by red hair as messy as dry grass. Although she looked like a homeless person who might randomly appear on some street in the West, that was merely an external disguise.

The true identity of this one was, in fact, an evil Dragon who had once destroyed four cities of ten thousand people with her Dragon breath, and was ultimately suppressed by the Mist Archbishop himself!

Wrath, Ashbane, Demonic Flame—Valentina Demonic Flame.

Seeing that Herbert wasn’t scared away and even dared to turn and meet her gaze, Valentina seemed to find it amusing. She grinned and whistled at him.

"Kid, do you want to reconsider my previous suggestion?"

"You let me out, and not only will I not kill you, I’ll even help you get justice, how about it? Hehe, kill all those people! All of them!"

Valentina’s crimson eyes, like molten lava, glowed, and an astonishing murderous intent that made one’s soul tremble burned in her vertical pupils.

She continuously used inflammatory words to tempt Herbert, trying to ignite his anger and make him recall the humiliation he suffered during those days.

"Kill all those who deceived you, who humiliated you!"

"After all, you don’t want to stay in this dark, sunless place forever, do you?"

Herbert had listened silently throughout, occasionally lowering his head in thought, seemingly moved.

And just as Valentina thought Herbert had been swayed by her words, he suddenly spoke out of the blue:

"I say, have you not eaten in a long time?"

"Hmm?"

The Young Miss Dragon was startled at first, then quickly recovered, curling her lip in disdain and mocking:

"What, trying to tempt me with food? Hehe, do you think I’d care about such a thing?"

That’s it?

You’re trying to tempt me with this?

Who wouldn’t be able to resist such a temptation?!

Who are you looking down on?!

But Herbert, instead, chuckled, and said seriously, "No, I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to eat, the piping hot kind."

"Hmm??"

Then, Herbert didn’t give Valentina a chance to speak further. He strode out, lantern in hand, muttering:

"Steamed bear paws, steamed deer tails, roasted ducks, roasted young chickens, roasted goslings..."

"Hmm???"

Realizing she had been played, Valentina rose in a rage, spewing insults at Herbert’s retreating back.

"You! What the hell do you mean! Get your ass back here—"

The prison door suddenly appeared out of nowhere at the bend, and Herbert pushed it open and walked straight in.

Clang!

The massive door closed, instantly cutting off all sound and aura from within.

Herbert staggered a bit, let out a long breath, and shook his head with some difficulty.

He wasn’t afraid of the Young Miss Dragon’s attitude; he had seen plenty of it in his past work, and it even held a somewhat nostalgic familiarity.

However, the pressure emanating from her was truly difficult for him to bear.

"Tsk... is this the Dragon’s might of a Dragon? It’s truly absurd."

Yesterday, with the Archbishop’s protection, Herbert felt nothing, but today was different; the experience was incredibly stimulating.

Even though Valentina’s power was heavily sealed, the Qi flowing from her was still terrifying; just conversing made Herbert feel suffocated.

He had to adapt for a good while just to manage to speak; staying any longer, he feared, would truly expose him.

Herbert shook his head, feeling more and more that the task was arduous and the Dao was long.

It should be noted that Valentina was placed in the outermost position, having the lowest threat among all the foreign prisoners; he couldn’t imagine how terrifying the beings deeper within would be.

So, how exactly does one reform such a dangerous monster?

By appealing to their emotions and reasoning with them?

By using power and appealing to their self-interest?

By using a big stick and appealing to true feelings?

Hiss...

It feels like none of the methods I can think of are very reliable.

Forget it, I’ll worry about it later!"

After a moment of serious thought, Herbert chose to stop thinking.

Evasion is shameful, but it’s truly useful.

Awakening memories, Pure Oath, civilizing foreign races... too much has happened, too little can be done. There’s no point in dwelling on it; he can only take things one step at a time.

"Since things are like this, I should eat first."

Herbert had missed lunch due to sorting through his memories. Instead of going to the cafeteria, he turned towards the kitchen.

This wasn’t the Duke’s residence, so there were no servants specifically leaving food for him. The kitchen contained smoked jerky and black bread.

It was unappetizing, but enough to fill his stomach.

Although this behavior wasn’t entirely compliant with the rules, given the Albert Family’s years of generous donations to the Monastery, it was unlikely that any ignorant Cultivator would nitpick over such a small matter.

"Speaking of which, if I find it agonizing to uphold the oath, others should feel the same. How do they relieve the pressure in their hearts when they can’t hold on?"

Herbert nodded in greeting as he passed some Ascetic Cultivators, noting down the details about them.

Worn clothes, gaunt figures, silent... but surprisingly, not many wounds on their bodies.

"It seems only a very few Ascetic Cultivators choose the pain of self-mutilation to suppress desires. So how do the others resolve it?"

Herbert pondered this question as he entered the kitchen. Just as he was about to pick a suitable long baguette, his pupils suddenly contracted.

Just now, he had inexplicably twitched his nose, precisely smelling a very faint yet strangely familiar scent amidst the complex aromas of the kitchen.

Heather scent!

?

?

Is this right?

This, this isn’t right.

"Hiss!"

Herbert was silent for a long time. After a lot of mental preparation, he finally mustered the courage to slowly look towards the source of the scent.

In a bucket in the corner, he saw a dead fish floating belly-up on the water, its mouth wide open.

?

"Hiss... it’s a Grass Carp!"

.

.

Dinner was stewed Grass Carp.

Herbert didn’t touch a bite.

Let alone touching it, he didn’t even go to the cafeteria.

He didn’t want to accidentally eat the ’essence porridge’, but he couldn’t actively warn others, because that would inevitably be noticed by a certain fish-lover.

No choice, it’s fine if I suffer a bit; let them enjoy this blessing.

Chewing hard, dry bread in his room was already quite good.

Chewing contentedly on the hard bread that could be used as a weapon to bludgeon someone to death, and thinking of the tragedy in the kitchen corner, Herbert couldn’t help but hum lightly.

"Heh, that guy too. It’s one thing to let Brother Fish die with grievances, but why didn’t he even let him close his mouth afterwards? So impolite."

This was too blasphemous.

However, on the other hand, ’You are not a fish, how do you know the joy of fish?’ Perhaps they were deeply in love...

After a period of wild thoughts, Herbert reined in his wandering mind and began to ponder silently.

He wasn’t gossiping about that person’s identity, nor did he want to gain the appreciation of the Monastery’s upper echelons by tattling; he wasn’t that bored.

Regarding others’ unique fetishes, he always didn’t understand but expressed respect and blessings.

After his eyes were opened, he suddenly realized something: he seemed to have unintentionally discovered a bug that could be exploited... ah no, a feature.

Forbidden communication between a Cultivator and a fish, is that blasphemous enough?

More than enough!

Such an absurd act, let alone Cultivators who have taken the Pure Oath, even Cultivators of other oaths should suffer a backlash.

Humans cannot, at least they shouldn’t.

However, such a blasphemous thing happened so vividly in an unnoticed corner, and no one heard the Grass Carp’s lament.

Up until this moment, everything in the Monastery was normal; Herbert hadn’t heard any news of a Cultivator breaking their oath and suffering harm.

"Is the news being suppressed? Or is it... similar to ’a priest’s intimate interaction with a little boy’ not counting as breaking a vow? Is it fine as long as it’s not between men and women?"

Grass Carp ≠ Breaking a vow?

Tsk.

Damn it, I’m already in another world, l