After days of travel, the silhouette of Falling Leaf City finally emerged through the dust and the fading light of dusk. It lay like a colossal beast, sprawling silently upon the vast plains. The first thing to catch Corbin's eye, as before, was the "Tower of Dawn," piercing the clouds. This tower was not only Falling Leaf City's most prominent landmark but also the defensive heart and magical nexus of this border stronghold.
Legend held it to be a mighty magic tower, capable of marshaling immense elemental forces to protect the city, and simultaneously, an important branch of the Temple of Light within its walls. The crystal at its apex refracted the twilight into a rainbow of hues, symbolizing both the Goddess's compassion and an inviolable, sacred majesty. Vastly different from the tranquility of Windbreath Town, the overwhelming aura of a major city washed over them. In the air, amidst the clamor of voices, neighing horses, and rumbling wheels, they could faintly discern the distant tolling of a bell from the city center. The bell rang at regular intervals, solemn and dignified, as if reminding every soul within the city of the gods' watchful gaze.
The city gate was imposing, constructed from massive, dark cyan boulders. Banners snapped smartly on the ramparts, where guards in uniform armor scrutinized everyone entering and exiting with sharp eyes. Just as their party slowly approached the massive gate archway with the flow of people, a sudden commotion erupted a short distance ahead.
A contingent of knights in full silver-white plate armor, their chests emblazoned with the striking holy symbol of light, their capes embroidered with crossed swords and a sacred flame – members of the Temple Knightly Order – were pushing through the crowd. They were escorting a group of seven or eight dejected, ragged individuals, bearing the marks of blood and bonds. The leading Temple Knight Captain, a powerfully built man with a stern visage, reined in his warhorse. His gaze, like a lightning strike, swept over the onlookers who had paused due to the disturbance. His voice boomed, devoid of emotion, as he addressed the city gate guards and the populace:
"This man, 'Sand Rat' Jim, is the leader of a smuggling ring long entrenched along the Blackstone Frontier! This villain colluded with alien races, smuggled forbidden goods, disrupted border trade, and has repeatedly attacked the Goddess's merchant caravans! Several days ago, our Temple Knightly Order intercepted him near the Solon Mountains, approximately thirty li from the shadowed lands frequented by the Night Elves. He was caught red-handed! By the preliminary judgment of the Temple Tribunal, the evidence is irrefutable, his crimes unpardonable! Tomorrow, he will be taken to the central square and executed by hanging, as an example to all!"
The man called "Sand Rat" Jim, a fierce-looking, bearded middle-aged man, was held fast by two Temple Knights. His face was now a mask of despair and ash. He tried to curse, but a knight beside him unceremoniously slammed a spear shaft into his stomach. He grunted in pain, doubling over, unable to utter another sound. His accomplices were even more terrified, trembling uncontrollably.
A murmur of hushed discussion rippled through the onlookers. Their gazes towards the Temple Knights were filled with awe, while they cast looks of disdain and disgust at the smugglers condemned to die.
"Damn rats again!" "Hang them! Hang them!"
Even Knight Owen, who had visited Falling Leaf City many times, wore an exceptionally solemn expression upon witnessing this scene. He didn't show the excitement of the common folk but spoke in a low voice to Corbin, Matthew, Rhodes, and Lianna beside him:
"Mark this well. This is Falling Leaf City, a land of iron order under the Goddess's radiance. The Temple Knightly Order answers directly to the Holy See. They are not only guardians of the faith but also enforcers of order. Here, any transgression against the law or religious doctrine will be met with the swiftest, most severe punishment. 'Sand Rat' Jim was a notorious desperado on the frontier; I didn't expect him to fall so quickly. Remember, watch your words and actions."
Corbin and the others nodded silently, their impression of the city deepening – beneath its prosperity lay an unyielding iron fist.
Only then did Owen turn his gaze back to the towering city walls, the dense fortifications upon the gate, and the vigilant gazes of the regular city guards, nodding slightly in approval, not just for the magnificent defenses, but also for the swift, decisive order he had just witnessed.
To one side of the gate, a plainly dressed woman knelt in devout prayer towards the Tower of Dawn within the city, murmuring to herself, seemingly unfazed by the recent interruption. A merchant's assistant from a nearby caravan only let out a loud sigh of relief after the Temple Knights had moved on:
"Praise be to the Goddess! May the Goddess's light forever illuminate the land!"
Passing through the deep, shadowy gate tunnel, the city's vibrant景象 unfolded before Corbin and his companions like a scroll. Broad stone-paved streets, wide enough for four or five carriages abreast, were flanked by a dense array of shops, their signs numerous, their wares dazzling. Pedestrians thronged the streets, their attire far more splendid than that of Windbreath Town's inhabitants.
Corbin noticed that at almost regular intervals, small statues of the Goddess of Light or exquisite holy niches could be seen at street corners or in small squares. Passersby would frequently pause, some offering a wildflower, others simply performing a brief gesture of touching their chest in reverence. What put him more on guard was that among the patrolling city guard squads, he occasionally spotted one or two individuals whose attire differed slightly from the regular guards. The holy symbol of light on their chests was more intricate, and their expressions were particularly stern. Their gazes were sharp as eagles, sweeping over the crowds without a trace of emotion, carrying an undeniable air of authority.
The group moved with difficulty through the crowded thoroughfare, their destination a lesser temple of the Goddess of Light in the western district, which housed a healing sanctuary for commoners and mercenaries. Owen's face grew paler from the jolting ride, but he gritted his teeth against the stabbing pains that occasionally shot through his left arm.
After traversing several streets and gradually approaching the area that emanated a faint, sacred aura, Owen suddenly halted, his expression grave. He addressed Corbin, Matthew, Rhodes, and Lianna:
"Listen up, all of you. Falling Leaf City isn't Windbreath Town. The Temple's influence here is far greater than you imagine, and its rules are ironclad. When you meet a priest of the Temple, no matter what they say, you must respond with utmost respect and perform the proper salutations, especially when greeting the Goddess of Light."
Matthew seemed puzzled, unconsciously rubbing his nose and muttering, "Priest Greyson in Windbreath Town never made us be so formal every time…"
Owen's gaze sharpened instantly, glaring at him. His voice, hoarse from weakness but no less stern, cut in: "You brat! Greyson watched you rascals grow up from bare-bottomed whelps; of course, he wouldn't fuss over it with you! But this is Falling Leaf City, one of the Church of Light's largest strongholds in the Western Marches! Beneath the radiance of the Tower of Dawn, order is absolute! Do you think disrespecting the clergy merely earns you a scolding?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the young faces, now somewhat pale from his words. Rhodes instinctively swallowed, his hand unconsciously tightening on the hilt of his sword. Even the usually composed Lianna held her breath.
Owen lowered his voice, a note of undeniable warning in it: "Let me tell you, here, faith in the Goddess and adherence to doctrine are ingrained to the bone. If your words or actions show the slightest disrespect to the Goddess or Her clergy, and it's noticed by those sharp-eyed 'Enforcers' of the Holy See, or worse, you provoke one of those 'Martyrs' – fanatical enough to uphold doctrine at any cost – they won't show you any mercy or reason! At best, you'll be publicly flogged and then dragged off to the Winter Duchy in the south to fight the undead, forever bound to death. At worst… Hmph, being 'purified' on the spot as heretics is not unheard of! When that time comes, not even I could get you off their retribution list unscathed! All of you, keep your heads down and execute every courtesy perfectly. Remember this!"
The four of them listened, their expressions graver than ever, etching Owen's words deep into their minds. Behind Falling Leaf City's splendor, it seemed, lay inviolable iron laws.
Soon, they arrived at the healing sanctuary in the temple's western district. It was a pristine, solemn white building, guarded at the entrance by men in simple monastic robes. Inside, the sanctuary was well-lit, the air filled with the scents of herbs, antiseptics, and a faint, soothing incense of sacred lilies. Murals depicting the Goddess descending to perform miracles and heal the sick adorned the walls, lifelike in their detail. Acolytes in light-colored robes hurried about. Upon seeing Owen's party, identified by their knightly insignia, a young acolyte approached, first performing a standard gesture of reverence by placing his palm flat over his left breast, and asked gently, "Good day, may the Light be with you. How may I assist you?"
Corbin, Matthew, Rhodes, and Lianna immediately recalled Owen's earlier warning. They quickly emulated the gesture they had seen the woman on the street perform, placing their right palm upward before lightly touching their left breast, and bowed slightly in response: "Good day, may the Light be with you." Matthew's movements were a bit stiff, his eyes filled with awe, terrified of making a mistake.
The acolyte led them to the reception area. Soon, a middle-ranked priest in formal white robes trimmed with gold arrived. He was about forty years old, with a serene face and profound eyes. As he walked, the hem of his robes seemed to stir without a breeze, carrying a natural air of dignity. The priest's gaze swept over them, finally resting on Owen, the most severely injured. He nodded slightly, his voice calm yet tinged with an undeniable authority: "Good day. May the Goddess's radiance guide the lost lambs back to the true path."
Lianna immediately stepped forward, performing a graceful and devout salutation: "Good day, Reverend Father. May the Goddess's radiance guide your path."
Corbin, Matthew, and Rhodes followed suit, repeating Lianna's greeting and etiquette as precisely as possible.
Seeing their proper observance of courtesies, the priest's expression softened slightly. He nodded at Lianna, then turned to Owen. "Knight, your devotion is known to the Goddess. Please, come with me. May the Goddess's mercy alleviate your pain."
The priest led Owen to a clean treatment room, gesturing for him to remove his armguard and lie on the examination bed. When Owen's left arm was exposed, though there were no horrific open wounds on the surface – clearly, it had received initial treatment – the arm's shape had an unsettling distortion. The normally smooth lines of his arm now showed unnatural protrusions and indentations at several joints and bone connections, as if the bones within had been forcibly dislocated. The skin was stretched taut over these areas, faintly revealing the contours of hard objects beneath. Owen's attempts to even slightly move his fingers were visibly difficult and sluggish. Even the experienced priest frowned slightly upon carefully examining the arm. He could tell this was no mere flesh wound; the internal damage was far more complex and challenging than it appeared. Owen, too, knew that Priest Greyson in their town had limited skills and had done his best; the unnatural shape was clear evidence of bones that had not been fully reset.
Afterward, he closed his eyes, his hands hovering over Owen's injured arm, and began to softly chant ancient and sacred prayers. It was a language Corbin had never heard before. Its syllables were strange and solemn, possessing a unique rhythm and an undeniable sense of power. It was as if each syllable cast subtle golden ripples into the air, resonating with the unseen holy power in the space, ultimately forming a bridge of communication with some great entity.
As the prayers continued, the priest's fingertips began to emit a visible, soft holy light. The light grew richer, like flowing liquid gold, slowly suffusing Owen's arm, enveloping his entire left limb. Where the holy light passed, some of the misaligned bones shifted back into place. Owen's tightly furrowed brow seemed to relax somewhat.
Corbin watched quietly from the side, his mind in turmoil. This is truly… too 'convenient.' Mutter a few prayers, bow to a god, and you can channel power comparable to, or even exceeding, precise surgery? On Earth, an injury like this would likely mean amputation, or countless painful operations and a long recovery, with no guarantee of full restoration. This world's power system is so direct it's enviable, and yet… a bit difficult to comprehend its principles.
He instinctively touched the hilt of his sword, gaining a more direct sense of this world's "power" and the "rules" behind it, along with a measure of awe.
The holy light persisted for about a quarter of an hour before gradually dissipating. The priest opened his eyes, fine beads of sweat on his forehead, clearly having expended considerable energy. He sighed heavily and addressed them, "Everyone, please be prepared. This knight's injuries are far more severe than they appear. I have done my best to restore most of his bones and repair some muscle alignment, but…"
He looked at Owen with a hint of regret. "Knight, your left arm… I'm afraid it will never again wield a heavy sword as it once did. Unless you can implore a Lord Bishop to intervene, perhaps in conjunction with certain precious holy relics, there might be a sliver of hope for a complete recovery. But the cost…" He shook his head, saying no more.
Owen was silent for a moment, his face betraying little emotion, though his grey eyes seemed to have dimmed somewhat. He tried to move his left arm. Although the acute pain was gone, a profound stiffness and weakness emanated from the limb, as if it were no longer his own freely controlled appendage. He gave a self-deprecating smile. "Heh, looks like I can take a break for a while. It's about time I rested."
A flicker of sadness crossed Lianna's eyes, while Matthew and Rhodes looked concerned.
The priest prescribed some herbal remedies for Owen to aid his recovery, instructing them on the dosage. The consultation fee was naturally steep, consuming nearly half of the savings they had brought.
After settling Owen, Corbin's mind remained unsettled for a long time. Owen's plight, the priest's "convenient" yet prohibitively high-threshold treatment, and the stern order represented by the "Enforcers" and "Martyrs" in Owen's warning—all of it made him realize: the power of the gods was magnificent and direct, but it also came with strict rules, high costs, a distance mortals found hard to bridge, and an absolute authority that brooked no defiance.
This intensified his desire to explore the path Elder Lysander had mentioned—a path that seemed less reliant on divine favor and more focused on individual understanding and mastery of principles, the path of 'knowledge' and 'magic,' purportedly linked to the ideals of an ancient Magic Goddess.
He remembered the note Elder Lysander had given him, with an address written on it – "The Whispering Athenaeum."
The next day, Corbin, following the address on the note, went alone to Falling Leaf City's old quarter. The architectural style here was starkly different from the grand, sacred edifices of the main city. Most buildings were low, ancient stone houses, and the streets were much narrower, yet brimming with the bustle of daily life.
After much winding and turning, he found the shop named "Whispering Athenaeum" deep in an inconspicuous alley. The storefront was small, with a faded wooden sign hanging above the lintel, inscribed with a few archaic characters.
Pushing open the creaking wooden door, a mixed scent of old paper, ink, and some strange spice wafted out. The interior was somewhat dim, with tall bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, crammed with books of varying thickness. Many of the book covers bore not the familiar holy symbol of the Goddess of Light, but peculiar symbols and arcane designs.
An elderly man with a monocle, his hair white but his spirit vigorous, sat behind an oak desk piled high with books, engrossed in a weighty tome. He seemed to sense someone entering and slowly looked up, his gaze behind the lens sharp and profound.
"Young man, looking for something?" The old man's voice was somewhat hoarse, yet possessed a strange penetrating quality.
Corbin composed himself and stepped forward. "Greetings. I was sent by Lysander Green. My name is Corbin."
Upon hearing this, the old man put down his book and scrutinized Corbin carefully, a barely perceptible smile touching his lips. "Ah, old Lysander. His letter did mention a promising young man would visit. It seems you are the 'little fellow' he spoke of. I am Elias, the keeper here."
He gestured to the surrounding books. "As you can see, we only collect knowledge that prefers not to be spoken of 'aloud.' Those who revere the 'Eye of True Knowing' will find kindred spirits here."
"The Eye of True Knowing?" Corbin repeated, a stir in his heart.
"A symbol, an ideal, child," Elias said meaningfully. "If you are interested, there will be a small gathering here in seven nights. Perhaps then, you will find what you seek."
Corbin nodded, solemnly noting the time of the gathering. He realized that this seemingly ordinary bookstore was indeed the special place Elder Lysander had mentioned. In Falling Leaf City, the gods' radiance was omnipresent, order strict. This formed a subtle contrast and tension with the hidden pursuit of 'knowledge' itself within the Athenaeum, and its unique form of 'reverence.'
He left the bookstore, his heart filled with anticipation and a touch of nervousness for the upcoming scholars' gathering. He was also more alert; in this world shrouded by divine authority, any deviation from 'tradition' could entail unknown risks. The path to knighthood was shadowed by Owen's injury, and his own path, it seemed, was quietly opening a new chapter.