ich was fixed on their prey with a hunter's intensity, and noticed the movements of the two demon students in the front row as well.Huberlian had to admit, Lanche's bold choice of "facing the audience...Chapter 239: This Young Man Had the Eyes of a Saint.

The morning sun slanted across the surface of the sea, casting a shimmering silver glow.

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Whenever the hull cuts through the waves, the glow would sway slightly, as if the sea itself were breathing.

The chill brought by the sea breeze, even under the sun's rays, could not be dispelled.

On the second deck of this sizeable merchant ship bound for Llorym, the wooden furniture and decor were both intricate and cozy. Lord Francis sat at the dining table, a silk tablecloth spread before him, silverware laid out in neat rows.

In his middle years, he wore a dark gray suit with gold thread embroidery depicting his family crest. Though his eyes seemed weary, his meticulous attire still conveyed an air of solemnity and elegance. Even his slender fingers bore hints of past swordsmanship.

He gently picked up a piece of smoked salmon, put it in his mouth, and unconsciously kept his eyebrows slightly furrowed while chewing.

However, it's not because the chef didn't do well today.

"Oh, I'm afraid things are going to be difficult in Beijing this year."

He sighed inwardly, but kept it to himself.

The Protoss Empire has seventeen provinces.

Lilorom City exists in the most remote corner of the already impoverished southwestern province. If not for its coastal location, it would almost be a fortress city-state nestled deep within the forest.

Now, the Protoss Empire finds itself in a state of extreme danger with the kingdoms of Etherstel and its allies to the northwest. A full-scale war across the Northern Continent could erupt at any moment, all it takes is one spark to ignite this century-long conflict.

Although war might not reach their city in the southern hinterland, once it breaks out, conscription and taxation could become burdens too heavy for their remote and small territory to bear.

Not only that, but now the empire's most absurd decision is to amnesty the Resurrection Church.

This act of courting disaster, like seeking to skin a tiger, may seem to those powerful figures in the imperial capital to be a clever tactic of wielding power. It certainly instills immense fear and intimidation among the nations to the north. However, for ordinary people, it is undoubtedly a catastrophe.

Even in this border city, the people are on edge because of the cult members who wander its streets.

At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted Lord Francis's thoughts.

Do you have any plans this morning

As Lord Francis' words fell, a young man dressed as a commander walked in slowly. He was Francis' secretary and his bodyguard.

"My Lord, the guest has woken up."

The secretary reported in a calm and steady tone.

Francis slowly swallowed the food in his mouth and nodded. "Alright, I understand. Prepare some clear tea and fruit to be sent to his cabin; I'll be there shortly."

For those who have experienced a maritime disaster and may have gone without food for an extended period, it's generally advisable to consume some fruits and vegetables and replenish fluids before eating a full meal.

Recently, powerful storms have been plaguing the seas. As a result, passenger ships and merchant vessels in the Imperial port have ceased their southward routes.

The closer one gets to the sea area in the middle of the North and South Continents, the more frequent accidents become.

According to the Imperial investigation report, many disaster scholars believe that two extremely terrifying creatures fought a desperate battle in the waters south of here. Their unrestrained magical clashes further intensified the spread of natural disaster-level magic waves.

"Yes, master."

The secretary bowed slightly and then left the restaurant.

Before long, Francis finished his breakfast. He put down his cutlery, wiped his mouth with a napkin, adjusted his tie, and rose to his feet, leaning on his cane.

It was supposed to be a normal trip to the eastern port city, visiting old friends and conducting some business. But this time, there was a little twist.

Last night, a storm raged across the sea, with high winds and torrential rain whipping up massive waves that seemed to try and swallow their merchant ship whole. But for these seasoned sailors, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

However, suddenly a loud "bang" echoed through the air, piercing the night and reaching the ears of the sailors on deck.

An experienced sailor, with only the slightest sound, could tell the nature of what had been hit — wood.

The sailors peered down and saw what appeared to be a piece of wreckage from the ship. To their astonishment, however, a young boy was clinging to the wood.

This young man, who looked to be seventeen or eighteen years old, was like a child of fate. He was held fast by a piece of driftwood and carried by the current until he landed lucky beside their merchant ship.

What is even more heartwarming is that the recent collision did not cause him any harm, as if someone had used telekinesis to bring him to the side of the ship.

The crew immediately braved the wind and waves to rescue the boy.

Lord Francis also issued orders immediately, instructing the ship's doctor to treat the young man covered in wounds as quickly as possible and to give him every care he could.

The young man's brown hair was as smooth as silk, and his clothes were unique, as if he were a visitor from a distant land.

Logically, one shouldn't save unidentified individuals.

In this current era, the Protoss Empire is plagued with fear. Anyone could be labeled a "heretic" or "traitor" by those with ulterior motives, with just one misstep.

But Sir Francis always believed in the guidance of the fates and the principle of good and evil being rewarded. He would not harm the boy until he was sure of his identity.

"Alas, if in two years' time things truly become unbearable, I shall take Zethira to the Southern Continent. At least there they wouldn't be absurd enough to label the Goddess of Fate's church as a cult."

Lord Francis walked to the window, glanced at the turbulent sea and the unpredictable weather above it, and sighed.

Anyway, his daughter has been subjected to prejudice and discrimination in the Protoss Empire since childhood because of her demonic features. At worst, she could just give up her current noble status and start anew in South Continent.

Although it's hard to find a country in South Continent that treats demonkin equally, at least they wouldn't sentence someone to death for concealing their demonic features like the Protoss Empire does.

Lord Francis stepped out the door, pushing open the heavy hatch. The corridor, lined with flaming whale oil lamps, stretched before him, the flickering light casting a warm glow even in the midst of the sea.

His steps were steady, but his mind was constantly preoccupied with matters.

Finally, he arrived at the guest room and saw the secretary waiting at the door. After a brief exchange and a nod of greeting, Lord Francis knocked on the door.

Come in.

Hearing the gentle response from within, Sir Francis pushed open the door and stepped inside.

In this simply decorated bedroom, with all the necessary furniture, a scent of seawater and damp wood hung in the air.

A young man with brown hair was sitting on the bed. He had beautiful emerald green eyes, and besides his left eye being covered by a bandage, which ran from his black suit sleeve all the way to his elbow, it could also be seen peeking out from under his collar.

The intensity of his magic power is roughly only at the first rank level.

But he doesn't look like a seasoned warrior, with delicate skin.

Only someone with incredibly strong vitality could have survived such a fatal injury.

According to the secretary, at first the young man with brown hair seemed to speak an unknown language. But he had a magic card with a translation tool on him, and soon he was able to communicate normally.

Although they hadn't begun talking, after their first glance at each other, Francis felt he wasn't a bad person.

Because his eyes were clear, naturally harboring compassion and thoughtfulness, yet without a trace of being for himself.

Only to see the suffering of all beings.

That was the gaze of a saint.

(The End)

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