At this moment, thousands of miles away from Avalon, a carriage was moving towards the capital.
In the afternoon, the blazing sun shone on the wilderness. Dragged by sixteen hard-working horses, the carriage was running fast on the trail.
Public long-distance carriage was the result of Anglo's strong development of transportation in recent decades. The horses worked as the driving force, dragging the carriage along on the trail. Although the fare was high, there were still many people willing to use this convenient mode of transportation.
In the empty carriage, a young man wearing a black windbreaker leaned against a bench. He was thinking seriously about how to enjoy the cup of poor quality postprandial red wine in front of him. This was the last fun part of his trip.
Besides him, the long carriage only had a handful of people--an elderly couple returning home, a pathetic-looking writer, and a young couple.
The afternoon had been exceptionally quiet.
"Now the little brat should almost be in Avalon." Wolf Flute calculated the time it would take to get to Avalon. "With the teacher's letter of recommendation, he should have no problem getting into the school, and that notebook..."
After thinking of that, he could not help but want to laugh but the laughing movement would affect the new wound between his chest and abdomen, so he resisted.
From midnight four days ago to the present, he had changed his clothes and identities sixteen times, changed his mode of transportation countless times, and endured three tragic battles that almost resulted in his death, leaving ten dead bodies behind.
He had temporarily thrown his pursuers off track, but after a while they would probably catch up to him like wild dogs. How long would they chase him for the black box that was no longer with him?
Thinking of that, Wolf Flute could not help but want to laugh again, admiring his own intelligence, "Who would think that I gave that black box to a kid who I knew for no more than ten hours? Who would have suspected that a white-haired kid would be involved in this kind of thing? Is this the so-called 'Do one thing under the cover of another' by my teacher? I used myself to attract the force, but the real sacred object is secretly in the cover of the notebook, peacefully brought to Avalon to complete my mission. As long as it is still in Avalon, there will never be a problem..."
He narrowed his eyes, enjoying the warm sunshine which made him lazy and drowsy.
－
"Yeah, who could think of that?" A soft and tender voice spoke in front of him, startling Wolf Flute, yet he still felt as if he was sleeping.
If it were not a dream, how could the scene appear in front of him?
They were in a place at least three-hundred kilometers from any village. Other than frozen beef pasta, and chicken with rice, there was no other food available on the carriage. So where had this feast come from?
Fresh seasonal fruits and vegetables were covered delicately with salad dressing, emitting a sweet aroma. Fragrant French mushroom soup was thrown on the side, untouched.
Marseille fish and foie gras were crowded by huge lobsters, almost falling off the table. Vivid, and colorful pheasants cooked in red wine seemed too exquisite for anyone to be worthy of a glance.
Compared with that feast, fancy enough to squeeze anyone's wallet dry, the poor quality chicken baked rice Wolf Flute just finished seemed exceptionally lonely and poor.
"I have to say that this plan was very good," a young boy was saying.
Behind the table, the boy wearing a black dress slowly combed his golden long hair behind his ears, then put a napkin around his neck.
Finally, he held up a knife and a fork to his handsome face, he had a dazzling smile, "Unfortunately, some people have begun to doubt."
Wolf Flute's body subconsciously tightened. He clenched his flute, feeling music automatically reverberating inside of him. Just by snapping his fingers, he could summon the ghost wolves.
But even so, his heart was still uneasy, feeling repressed.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Boring question," the boy sneered at him. "Why don't you relax? After all, tension is useless." He pushed the French soup in front of Wolf Flute. "Would you like some? A hot drink will be better."
Wolf Flute was drooling. He swallowed his saliva, struggling to put an end to the temptation to drink the soup and kill himself. "What do you mean?" he asked weakly.
"That means that some people have begun to doubt it." The mysterious boy looked in Avalon's direction. "I am afraid that the extremely poor people of Avalon have started looking for that white-haired kid." He continued, "Some people have already offered considerable rewards for getting the notebook, regardless if the boy lives or dies."
"I do not know what you're talking about," Wolf Flute responded coldly.
"It does not matter if you don't know and it does not matter if you knew already. Anyway, it has turned into an interesting situation, but you do not have to worry about it. The Eastern kid will not get into big trouble...probably."
The boy spread out his hands, smiling happily, "After all, this is a rare repertoire enough to make me happy for two or three months. It is worth celebrating!"
While speaking, the boy snapped his fingers.
The waiter suddenly appeared, holding a bottle of old wine with an old label. The mellow aroma of the glass in the teenager's hand spread.
The boy shook the glass. "My collection, white wine from King Louis's era. Would you like to try?"
"No, I have mine," Wolf Flute answered coldly.
The boy scoffed and glanced at Wolf Flute's glass, "If I were you, I would not touch it. After all, bad wine is bad wine, even with poison. It won't change that much."
"What did you say?"
"Well, it's rare material called Agave. It has a fast reaction, only three minutes will be able to stop a mammoth's heart. Other than the strong smell of alcohol, there are no other shortcomings."
The red wine in the boy's glass suddenly changed into a slender test tube. In the test tube, an insect slowly twisted, turning pink due to the hot temperature.
The larva of the scorpion moth was a heterologous creature that was used to test poison. Even a little bit of toxicity would make it grow ahead of schedule...
With the tilt of the test tube, the larvae rolled into the red wine, followed by a harsh scream.
As if a block of magnesium was thrown into water, the red wine started boiling, then evaporated.
In the tube, there was only a moth fluttering its deformed wings. Feeling confused under the sun, it ran into the glass over and over.
"Disgusting. I suddenly don't have an appetite anymore." Wolf Flute grimaced.
The teenager 's brow wrinkled. He softly sighed, "If I knew this, I would have let you die earlier."
"Hey, you…" Wolf Flute began.
"Our happy conversation ends here, Mr. Wolf Flute …" The boy interrupted his words, raised his eyebrows arrogantly, his handsome face full of indifference. "Before leaving, I hope you can struggle for a few days longer. But as a reward for chatting with me, I will remind you of one thing."
His figure became more and more hazy, but in the blur came a cold voice, "Never are there so many people coincidentally traveling together…"
-
Right at that moment, Wolf Flute woke up from the short dream, sweating.
He began to open his eyes, but felt like staying in the dream for a long time. He was waking up now, everything was still in its original position.
The cup of red wine was still intact, exuding a fragrance.
He silently held the glass in front of him, staring at the rest of the passengers through the red wine. They were all either tired or excited.
Finally, he saw the secret of those deep eyes.
There seemed to be gentle footsteps coming from the top of the train. Underneath the floor, it sounded as if there were some creatures scuttling around.
"Even my last moment of fun was ruined..." Wolf Flute sighed. The red wine fell to the ground making a sizzling sound. "You guys make me mad."
--
The night was getting closer and closer.
An old man called Ghosthand was still smoking his pipe. He was like an ordinary old man in Avalon, sitting on a long bench in the street, getting some cool air in the summer night.
"Are you sure you saw him living here?" he asked.
Next to the bench, a dirty tramp squatting on the floor nodded, and pointed to the hotel. "An Eastern kid, white-haired, also with a dog, it can't be wrong."
"I hope you know the cost of lying to the Shaman." Ghosthand threw a heavy wallet into the tramp's arms and waved.
In the shadow of the alley, a bunch of burly man rushed out. They blocked the entrances of front and rear doors quietly. The leading two men raised a hammer and broke the door.
Leaving two men to watch the gate, the rest of the armed men suddenly burst into the hotel.
The passing crowd was scared, hiding as they looked in shock in the direction of the hotel. A loud noise came from the hotel, as if someone was breaking into the rooms. Scared guests screamed, and were forced to shut themselves up from the threatening men. The proprietress fumbled behind the counter, whimpering.
After a burst of the sounds of beating and hitting, everything became silent.
Someone got a signal from the distance, frowned, then whispered in Ghosthand's ears, "Sir, no one."
Ghosthand continued smoking silently, and looked at the tramp next to him.
Under his gaze, the tramp was petrified. He trembled, and his eyes became puzzled and frightened.
"Continue looking," Ghosthand said softly.
Another burst of screaming sounded. Loud crackling sounds came from the three-story hotel. The violent search and destruction had begun again.