I Will Be The Crowned King

"A believer of the Shining Star City Religion, a researcher at the Alchemy Room of the Bloodline, Anson Bach."

In the atmosphere where the air seemed to freeze, An Sen, whose face was covered in blood, looked at each other calmly, and said lightly, "If you don't mind, just call me An Sen."

Although he pretended not to mind, his heartstrings were so tight that he almost directly exposed the fact that he was not sitting on the chair.

Relying on the excellent quality of the bloodline of the Holy Grail Knight, he finally did not show his cowardice.

"Of course... nice to meet you, Anson."

Sear was stunned for a moment, and then his smile became more and more prosperous: "Bright Star City, you should know August of Bright Star City, right?"

"Ahaha, he is my old acquaintance for many years, I wonder how he is doing now?"

"I don't know." Anson raised his eyebrows: "I know him, but I don't know him - can we continue?"

"of course can."

Searle nodded with a smile on his face: "But dear Anson, I have to remind you that when you are participating in the trial, you deceive a Tuto, especially this Tuto is your opponent... That's not clear. Decide."

"No, but I'm telling the truth." Anson met the eyes that came out from the gap in the brim:

"As Tuto, don't you know if I'm lying?"

The tit-for-tat negotiation escalated the depressing atmosphere again. The two sides sitting on both sides of the blood-stained long table stared at each other coldly until the parchment reappeared:

"Was it an existing script, or a language first?"

This time the beam above his head fell on Anson's body.

"I think the words came first." Anson said first: "There are no symbols that accurately represent the meaning of each pronunciation, and language is just a meaningless howl among the same kind."

"This is really surprising, and I thought you would definitely speak first..." Sear restrained his astonishment and quickly counterattacked:

"I object - even if there is no writing, it does not prove that language does not exist; it is because there is language that there is writing, not the other way around, so there must be language first, and then there is writing."

Resisting the leg that was beginning to feel sore, Anson slightly increased the strength of his elbow.

Of course he knew what the other party was surprised about. This topic was no different from the previous one, and the advantage of being first was even greater. Anyone should choose "language first" instead of the latter.

But Anson doesn't think so.

"Against - language is the lowest-cost channel of communication within a group, but the premise of defining language is that it must contain the ability to express information, and words are the carrier of information, so there must be words first, and then there is language."

This answer made Searle laugh directly: "Question, is it not a language without the birth of words?"

"Sorry, I can't answer." Anson looked at him blankly:

"Because you have to have words before you can have language—your question doesn't hold right from the start."

Sear finally stopped smiling, and the corners of his raised mouth froze on his face.

Looking at his unfriendly expression at first, Anson, who pretended to be relaxed, took out his pipe from his arms, bit it lightly at the corner of his mouth, and some ancient memories began to emerge in his mind.

Ask, what's the key to winning a debate match?

Is it to refute each other's arguments point by point, to come up with practical evidence, to speak eloquently, or to make a brilliant statement in one sentence?

No, there is only one factor in whether the argument can be won or not—the right to define the subject.

Every debater who sees a topic will shape a subjective definition of it, subconsciously think that this definition is recognized by everyone, subconsciously output his opinion according to this definition, and subconsciously refute the other party's argument and his own imagination. … 99 percent of this debate will never be fruitful because there is no consensus on both sides.

The only way to win the debate is to let the other party also acquiesce to his own definition of the topic - I set all the scope, definitions and rules, no matter how reasonable you are, it is still a quibble.

The same is true in the context of public opinion. As long as you have the right to speak and interpret, the "double standard" is even a compliment, because everything I say is right, and you are wrong from the moment you open your mouth to refute, and it's ridiculously wrong. .

Lighting the pipe lightly, An Sen, who was brought back to infinite memories, spit out a perfectly shaped smoke ring.

"It's just… so much fun."

The surprised Searle suddenly laughed and even applauded: "Great, it seems that you have a very deep understanding of this game, and you are indeed an evolutionary of the magic path; I lost, and I was convinced."

After he finished speaking, he raised his right hand, aimed his index finger at his temple, and jabbed it in!

"Puff puff--"

Accompanied by the splattered blood plasma, Searle stabbed his raised index finger into his head one by one, and his trembling right hand was still twisting back and forth while poking.

At the same time, his left hand directly tore his throat, his palm went along the torn gap in the center of the collarbone, broke his ribs one by one, grabbed his heart along the gap, and finally burst out.

"Pfft!"

Without uttering a scream, Searle, who was digging into his heart, threw himself on the table in an extremely strange posture, and stretched out from his chest abruptly.

Looking at the left hand that was facing him, holding his heart, Anson, who was expressionless, slowly closed his eyes; when he opened his eyes again, the "tragically dead" Searle was sitting in his own again intact. On the opposite side, apart from the viscous blood on the oozing smile, there is no trace of what happened just now.

"Okay, let's continue."

Sierze, who held his chin in his hands, smiled more and more: "You have already won two rounds, as long as you win eight more rounds, you can pass this test."

"At the moment, it doesn't seem to be difficult for you; on the contrary, I should be more careful. Losing two games in a row is not a good sign, haha."

Anson still didn't show any expression, and his heart was extremely nervous.

He carefully observed Searle's "suicide" twice, and even opened the "ability" at the risk of revealing his trump card. The result was that the other party did not pretend, but actually killed him - from life reaction to magic The breath disappeared without a trace at the moment of death.

But this is not a good result, and it even makes things more serious: the opponent has the ability to resurrect from the dead, which means that if he wants to defeat Sirze, he must win ten times in a row to pass the trial!

Of course, it is impossible for one's own strength to defeat an apostle, just having a chance is already a great advantage; but this does not change the situation in the slightest.

And the difference between the other party's two suicide methods is also very suspicious. Could it be related to the resurrection conditions?

Just as he was thinking quickly, the theme of the third round of debate had emerged:

"What color is the blood?"

Um? An Sen's pupils shrank slightly.

This, what kind of topic is this, do you want to start with the definition of color and blood?

"Ah, this time I'll start first." Searle's weird laughter had already sounded:

"My conclusion is that blood...is blue."

Almost at the moment when the words fell, An Sen, who had not recovered from his confusion, immediately felt a deep and icy aura suddenly blowing towards his face.

This is... the magical breath of the desecrated mage!

An Sen, who was already very familiar with this, raised his head despite the discomfort, and then the image that appeared in front of him made his eyes widen again.

Searle, who was smiling all over his face, was looking at himself playfully, and on his body, around him... all the splashed plasma, the speed of justice visible to the naked eye turned blue!

This... An Sen froze in place as if he had been petrified, and cold sweat spread all over his forehead instantly.

The next second, an indescribable icy touch came from inside his body; in a trance, he immediately realized what had happened - his own blood was also turning blue!

Without hesitation, Anson resolutely opened the casting range and tried to resist according to the method that August had taught, restoring the color of the blood in his body to its original state.

But in front of that power, his spellcasting range was almost as if it didn't exist, and he could only watch the color of his blood turn into a gloomy blue; at the same time, under this power, even his own consciousness was It began to become blurred, and Cyr began to appear in double vision in his line of sight.

The perception of the body, the color of the world, is leaving him little by little, and even the biting cold is slowly melting away, replaced by nothingness that does not exist.

In the end, it is completely dark.

Snapped--

Anson, whose breathing stopped, tilted his head sideways and slumped on the chair.

At the end of everything, what reflected in his pupils was Searle's malicious smile.

"It's... so sorry."

Looking at Anson who was dead, Searle, who was smiling more and more, sighed softly, and asked with regret: "I told a lie, a very inappropriate lie - I told you August A friend of mine, but really...we'd be better described as a mortal enemy."

"Because he completely denied my conjecture that black magic and conjuration magic have overlapping paths, I had to come to Boredim to try to prove him wrong and I was right, and finally fell into the trap of the apostles. ."

"But you also lied, your breath full of August from head to toe can't be blocked at all. I knew from the second you came in that you definitely have a great relationship with him - withdrawn as August Sturt, he wouldn't accept someone staying in the same room as him for a long time."

"So, you paid dearly for lying to an apostle; your struggle is like a worm on a cobweb, meaningless."

"Of course, you can be proud of being able to hold on to the third round in front of me." Searle nodded solemnly, but the smile on his face remained undiminished: "Speaking of who was able to last so many rounds last time. , or a six-member team that cooperates tacitly."

"So there is no need to be ashamed, no need to regret, you have proven yourself to be a qualified conjurer; from the same evolutionary path, Sirzetutor is your witness."

He stood up and gave Ansen Bach's corpse a serious salute—except for the ever-present smile on his face.

And just as Searle was about to sit back down again, something suddenly caught his attention.

"This pipe... how does it have a magical reaction?"

Taking the "Mist Pipe" at the corner of Anson's mouth, Silze's face showed infinite curiosity, and he repeatedly looked at this seemingly ordinary thing, but it had a magical response, and it was not weak.

In fact, from the moment Anson stepped into the door, he had felt it; although not intense, but very persistent, strangely like a spellcaster who can only breathe out and not inhale - if not for seeing clearly The figure of the other side, Searle even once suspected that he was facing more than one opponent this round.

If you just imprint the magic on an item, the magic should change with the passage of time or the shrinkage of the casting range, but the thing in front of you can still use it even if the casting range is not opened!

How... how did this happen?

Not only that, in addition to the pipe in his hand, Searle also felt at least five or six different magical reactions from Anson's corpse, covering all three major pathways.

Could it be that he found a way to transfer mutant power from living things to objects? !

Sirze's expression suddenly became serious. As a conjurer, he knew exactly what this technology meant; once such technology was promoted, it would definitely cause a sensation in the entire True God world!

And if you can understand the core skills inside and pass the third round of trials, maybe...

"Cough cough... Uh, can you give me my pipe back?"

The sudden voice made Searle look surprised for the first time.

He looked in amazement at Anson Bach, who slowly got up from the chair and was unharmed from head to toe. He was so surprised that he subconsciously handed the pipe over: "You..."

"I...just like you just now."

Anson paused, took the pipe handed by the other party a little nervously, and smiled at the other party: "Dead, then...cough, cough, and alive again."

"Alive?"

Sear murmured to himself~www.readwn.com~ with an incredible expression on his face: "This, this is impossible, how could you, an ordinary evolutionary magician, master the high level of 'denying death'. Order spell magic?!"

"No! I don't feel the sign of the domain opening. You didn't resurrect yourself from the dead by magic, but its ability... also wrong!"

It turns out that this guy's ability can deny death... An Sen raised his eyebrows, deliberately did not speak, and began to have more calculations in his heart.

"Tell me, did August do something to you?!" Searle suddenly stepped forward, the smile on his face gradually distorted with ferocity: "Say, isn't it!"

"I really do not know."

Resisting the fear in his heart, An Sen pretended to be leisurely and continued to smoke his pipe: "So, can we continue?"

"Fourth round of debate - did life come first or did death come first?"