After listening to the Repair Bug's adventure story, Serana smacked her lips, still wanting more.
"So that grub became a new god? Just like those Star Orphans? Wow, now that I think about it, the plot of your story is actually just an adaptation of various myths."
Simon argued, "No, I really didn't think about those things at the time. Don't force this story to align with your knowledge; that would make it too coincidental."
After they chatted and argued for a while, Serana suddenly yawned. She said she was a little sleepy, and as she spoke, she kicked the table, floating lightly like willow catkins caught by a breeze, gliding through the air, flying over Simon's head, and skillfully flopping onto the bed. Serana rolled herself into the covers, narrowed her eyes, and softly said, "Ah, I'm going to sleep. Good night, baby."
Simon felt a bit bored. The Eleven Tone Copper Umbrella was playing "Opus 37," a soft yet cool piano piece that had accompanied him to sleep on countless nights. Simon blew out the horn lamp on the table, and the room was enveloped in warm darkness. Serana let out a peaceful sigh, like a contented little cat. She tried to pull the quilt tighter, her face glowing with a faint light, as if under Secunda's eternal gaze of a thousand years.
Simon came to the bedside and whispered in Serana's ear, "I'm going out for a walk. I'll leave the umbrella here. You just get some good sleep, okay?"
"Mmm, I—know—it…" Serana feigned cuteness, suddenly opening her eyes, her brilliant gaze making Simon momentarily dazed. The Vampire reached out and pinched the Troll's nose, "Remember to think of me in your heart when you see pretty girls, okay?"
Simon mumbled in reply, "Of course, of course, go to sleep."
Serana withdrew her fingers and closed her eyes again. Simon gently stroked his chest, his heart beating rapidly. This feeling…
That snowy train station, the girl who hugged him from behind. Simon turned around, the girl's face seemed veiled in mist, but looking closer, it was Serana's face.
"I will definitely think of you."
Simon went out. Their room was on the second floor. As soon as he stepped out of the soundproof field, the laughter from downstairs almost knocked him off his feet.
A Breton bard was playing and singing, and the guests were clapping and keeping time for him. The clinking of glasses was like rapidly spinning dice. The strong smell of alcohol and the aroma of food were heated by the blazing fire in the hearth, filling every tiny crevice of the tavern. In the golden firelight, the Nords' hair gleamed, the High Elves' and Wood Elves' skin gleamed, the Argonians' scales gleamed, the Bretons' eyes gleamed, the Orcs' scalps gleamed. The Khajiit were like comfortable balls of fur in the sunlight, while the Redguards and Dark Elves played the role of shadows. If they weren't wearing clothes, people might not even notice their presence.
Simon passed through the crowd, greeted the enthusiastic boss, and then pushed open the door to the streets of Whiterun at night.
The moonlight was bright, and the Guards patrolled the streets with torches, like fiery snakes. Young people would stroll out on such nights with a candle lamp. The crowd near the Gildergreen was denser, and from afar, a man could be heard preaching loudly.
"Oh! Great Ysmir, Dragon of the North, we honor your holy name, we call you a Divine, great Talos…"
Simon was drawn by this high-pitched and passionate voice. Beside the Gildergreen stood a twenty-six-foot-tall bronze statue of Talos. The God of War leaned on his longsword, treading on a serpent, looking down upon the world with majestic bearing. A man in a brown-yellow priest's robe raised his arms in a sky-embracing gesture, uttering intense words of praise.
Simon stood behind the priest and watched for a while. The statue of Talos under the moonlight looked even more different than in daylight. The mottled rust was like historical moss, crawling into the crevices of the armor, as if a strong vitality surged within the statue.
The priest, who was praising divine grace, had a surging heart-force within him, resonating with the statue, like a war drum that made observers feel a tremor in their souls.
A young man's voice came from beside Simon, "This person is very interesting, isn't he?" He spoke Nordic with a pure accent.
Simon was startled; he hadn't noticed the newcomer. He turned his head to see an Ebony Warrior almost as tall as the Troll.
"May I ask who you are?"
Ebony Warrior: "I am a man who seeks challenges. I see that you are very powerful, and I hope you can have a duel with me, you know, one standing, one lying down, how about it?"
The man spoke with a steady breath, his words simple and direct, exuding an undeniable confidence. Dressed in impenetrable Ebony heavy armor, and unusually tall, he gave the impression of towering mountains and an iron wall, with the demeanor of a true master, which greatly appealed to Simon.
"Nothing could be better. You set the time and place." The Troll grinned, his stark white fangs reflecting the moonlight, like cold, sharp blades pressed against one's throat, sending shivers down the spine.
"Three days from now, when Secunda rises from behind High Hrothgar, I will be waiting for you in the Chillwind Depths outside the city," the Ebony Warrior said, then turned and left. His tall figure merged into the crowd of lamp-carrying people in the night like a dark cloud flying into the shadows between the star rivers, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Simon took a deep breath, clenched his fists, then relaxed them, then clenched them again.
That person was different.
Unlike anyone he had ever seen, not even Boethiah's champion could compare to him. He was too strong; his heart-force soared as if it pierced through Mundus, high above, looking down upon the world. Simon looked back at the statue of Talos; the statue's eyes were blank and dead, but the posture was exactly the same.
"Ebony Bro, who exactly are you?" Simon murmured. He knew that Ebony Warrior; in the game, characters level 80 and above might encounter him and be challenged.
It would be a grueling, yet exhilarating battle.
…
Jonas noticed that his companions had been acting strangely lately.
One by one, they were either hunched over, peeking around, or occasionally letting out strange laughs. There were also those with deep-seated grievances. Although everyone wasn't entirely normal usually, for a scholar studying magic, having one's mind affected by strange powers was very common. But for an entire group to show such concentrated abnormalities was very odd.
He went to his mentor, Faralda, to report the situation, but the High Elf female mage said everything was normal and told him to focus and properly comprehend the profound elemental power.
Speaking of the elemental power, Jonas was fuming. He had been frantically studying the words in the book for the past two days, but he couldn't make any sense of it. He went to the Orc elder in the library for guidance, but was mercilessly mocked by the fellow.
"Hahaha, you really are an idiot! I've never seen an apprentice with such poor comprehension! Unlike you, others enter the treasure mountain and come out empty-handed…"
Jonas frowned, "Others? Many?"
"Of course, one or two every year. elemental power is not just for looking at with your eyes, but also for listening to with your ears!"
Jonas recalled the note in the dictionary—"This is just a prank by unscrupulous mentors."
Mentor Faralda's gentle and encouraging gaze was still fresh in his memory. The boy shook his head. How could it be a prank by mentors? This was a test! It seemed he still needed to work twice as hard!
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