Silent Crown

Chapter 133 Declare War!

Chapter 133 Declare War!

"Look at yourselves, gentlemen, what have you done?" The Shaman stared at the men in disappointment. "I invited you all to come here out of respect for you all, to prevent more bloodshed, but you’ve disappointed me.

"Ever since my return to Avalon, I’ve smelled the stink you’ve left behind. You turned this city into a mess where there are no rules or dignity. All you can see is money and power. In order to obtain these, you even betrayed the Professor, who has guided you for all this time. You let him be hunted down by others. In order to earn a tiny profit, you made every effort to flatter your new boss.

"I had hoped that my enemies would be stronger and purer. What a shame…" The Shaman shook his head. "I’m disappointed in both you and the master behind the scenes."

For a moment, everyone was silent. Alberto, Silo, and Werner did not reply. The silence was not one of speechless embarrassment, but one of extreme of rage with no need for words!

"I'm sorry, sir." Alberto sighed. "I'm really sorry." He raised his cane and knocked on his wheelchair. The cane and the hollow wheelchair collided with a crisp sound. It was sharp yet distant, spreading in all directions.

In the next moment, dozens of crossbows aimed at the Shaman would shoot, burying two of Avalon’s legends in the tavern forever. But the expected moment did not come. Nothing had happened. All was still, but the stillness was unsettling.

Stunned, Alberto knocked again, but there was no response. It was as if the people he had brought with him had all vanished. The signal faded without an echo. Alberto's expression changed.

"Gentlemen, you’ve gotten one thing wrong since the beginning." In the dead silence, the Shaman lowered his head. He lit the cigar between his lips and exhaled the pungent smoke, laughing lightly. "My era has never passed."

Surrounded by swords and crossbows, The Shaman raised his eyes, gazing around at those who wanted to kill him. The men fell down immediately.

One by one, they fell down on the ground for no reason. The heavy thuds kept repeating. The three men twitched with each thud. Then, there was silence.

"Today, I just wanted to emphasize one thing." The Shaman’s voice was hoarse, like scraping iron, sharp enough to rattle one’s core. "Even if I’ve been gone for nine years, even if you have made this city into a mess...Do not forget that I am the master here. And do not forget that there have been rules here!"

In the silence, Werner took the dagger out of the table and flew toward the Shaman. The Shaman reached out, grabbed his head, and slammed it down.

Boom! Warner’s face was crushed on the table by the seemingly frail old man. Now one could see how he had done it so easily.

The Shaman held him down as if scolding a disobedient child. His eyes were hard and cold as he said, "The rule is that when I say I’m back, you should kneel down and greet your king!"

Silo and Alberto's expression changed quickly in the silence. Both of them wanted to retreat now, but Ghosthand looked at them with a smile. They could not leave.

"Shaman, what do you want from us?" Alberto's voice shook.

"Alberto, you told me to look out the window just now. Why don't you go and look yourself?" The Shaman pointed to the window. "Go! Go and have a look, and tell me what you see."

Alberto hesitated, then stiffly rotated his wheelchair, and rolled slowly to the window.

It was silent outside the window. The once raucous market had lost all its voice. All sound was gone.

The market was still crowded, filled with merchants, farmers, butchers, beggars in the sewers, civilians, and workers squatting in the corner. They were still in their original spots with no differences. Everything seemed to have stayed the same. But they were not speaking, only standing there silently. The people who had been among them had disappeared without a sound.

Replacing them were the crowds, gradually gathering from all directions. They came from the alleys, the big roads, the rubbish heap, and the magnificent carriages. The crowd gathered in silence.

Some of them were old, and some were young. There were also beggars and children. In the past, they laid in the ditch like garbage, looked down upon by everyone. But now, their eyes were terrifying.

The day had begun in the morning, but now it seemed that all of downtown had finally been awakened from a nine year sleep. It was as if an old beggar, who had gone through a long winter, finally opened his turbid and cloudy eyes, and gazed coldly at those who were stupidly attempting to take power. Their eyes were ruthless and downright vicious!

-

Everyone that had gathered seemed to be waiting feverishly, staring in the direction of the tavern. When they saw Alberto before the window, their eyes became scornful. They’re lips were cracked open with a mocking smile.

Under their stare, Alberto's lips trembled. The blood in his face drained bit by bit until he became ghastly pale.

"How is it? Are you satisfied?" The Shaman stood behind him, holding down his shoulders. He leaned over and smiled, and murmured in Alberto’s ear, "See? They are my dogs. I don't need to recruit anyone, and I don't need to bargain with you. If I want to fight with you, then I will.

"If I say I gave you an opportunity, then I did." He patted Alberto on the face and shook his head. "Unfortunately, you missed the chance."

The Shaman passed Alberto and stood before the window. His eyes were full of pride as he inspected his troops. He opened his arms as if to embrace them. The wildly enthusiastic people began to cheer. The sound was like a rushing tide, making even the ground tremble, startling countless birds. The tide-like cheer resounded in the still area. It was as if a king had reappeared, shaking the entire city with the will of a single person!

Amid the deafening cheers, the Shaman raised his right hand and asked the cheering crowd, "My sons, my knights, tell them who is your master! Who is the true master of this place?"

"Shaman!" the people roared. They raised their right hand and responded, shouting out the name, "Shaman! Shaman! Shaman!" It was a will that did not need to be described in words, an enthusiasm that could be felt without outright expression, an invisible crown and scepter of supremacy. The former Dark King, the Shaman, had returned!

In the incomparable frenzy, the Shaman turned. Seeing the three pale faces, he smiled, genial and tolerant. "Don’t be afraid. Today, I just brought my children with to say hello to you all. I will not do anything to you, but there is just one thing I want you to remember. Go back and tell your new master, Mr. ‘Robin.’"

The Shaman held his head up as high as he overlooked the parliament in the shadows. Eyes haughty and icy, he warned,"Avalon’s Shadow is not something you can touch. Don’t play with fire."

--

Soon, everything was over. The people who should have left did so, and the crowd that had gathered disappeared per the Shaman’s command. Stillness returned to the tavern.

Behind the bar, Ghosthand carefully wiped a glass and brought a shot of tequila to his master. "Sir, you have just returned. Is it okay to declare a war on parliament?" Ghosthand commented on his master’s declaration of war without restraint, "After all, they’re all important figures in Anglo. If they drive you away again, I'm afraid we’ll have to wait many more years. The next time you come back, you might find my tombstone."

"Don’t worry! Even if that’s the case, I’ll take your tombstone to battle." The Shaman shrugged. "Remember to make your tombstone a little lighter than usual. Otherwise, I won’t be able to carry it."

"I’ll tell the craftsman to make the tombstone look like a turtle shell, so it can double as a shield."

"Your loyalty is really comforting," the Shaman sighed. "I can't wait to carry your turtle shell to battle."

Ghosthand downed his glass. Rolling his eyes, he asked, "The more you do this, the more they’ll try to speed up the search for the Blood Path. What if they do find the way, and open Avalon’s Shadow?"

"That’s impossible. Avalon’s Shadow is the power left behind by King Arthur in this world. Only King Arthur’s will can activate the Blood Path."

"But King Arthur is dead."

Shaman smiled. "Do you really think that there is nothing else left in this world that can represent King Arthur's will?"

Ghosthand fell silent. After a while, he whispered, "Do you mean the sword in the stone?"

"Yes." The Shaman nodded. "Crazy King Arthur created it by imagining the sea demon, Leviathan, the king of all natural catastrophes, as his enemy. The souls of sinners and the dragon were sealed in the sword. They wail every night, never allowed to rest in peace."

"Isn't it a royal seal?"

"Not entirely. The most important part is now lost." The Shaman seemed to be drunk, speaking casually, oblivious to the fact that he had just uttered a deep and dark secret. "You know, King Arthur was a psycho. In the beginning, he was known as the Virtuous King, but later, he became Crazy King Arthur.

"At that time, his had begun to crumble, and he was unable to harness his immense power. The sword in the stone went out of control. The power that could fight off natural catastrophes went crazy. Nine-tenths of that power was controlled by Arthur's remaining strength, but the scabbard was lost.

"That’s the most important part of the sword. It’s not the most powerful, but it represents the scepter and will of King Arthur. Since then, the royal family lost the key to the Blood Path and could no longer inherit the holy name of Arthur."

Shaman downed a cup full of liquor and burped heartily. "Over the years, the royal family has been entrusting the church to secretly search for it. They finally found it somewhere, secretly took it back to the human world, and sealed it.

"But because of the advent of Avalon’s Shadow, the scabbard was secretly sent out of Avalon again. Unfortunately, there was an accident on the road, and the scabbard disappeared."

Ghosthand stared at Shaman, completely unable to digest the complex information from the past.

Seeing his confusion, the Shaman laughed joyfully. "It’s a really sad story, isn't it?" He poured himself a cup and drank it in one shot. He murmured in regret, "What a pity. Even if an ordinary person gets it, he can instantly inherit the name of Arthur and the power of the sword in the stone. It won’t be impossible to become the king of Anglo in one day, right?"