Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 413: Chapter 87: A Mortal’s Story

His very presence drew many eyes, especially from the nobles who had trade dealings with the Albion Islands or kept a close watch on maritime affairs.

Several people quickly gathered around him, their faces plastered with eager smiles. Their words were filled with probing questions and flattery, desperate to make an impression on the man who held the lifeline of the Islands United Trade Association in his hands, hoping to get a piece of the pie in future trade.

Ostun handled them with ease, a habitually arrogant smile on his lips. His sharp gaze occasionally swept across the hall, lingering for a moment in Murphy’s direction.

The other was Ulysses, the Minister of Military Affairs of the Rotalia Empire.

As the only Empire on the Continent, after Ulysses ascended to the Legend rank, his prestige and tangible influence had already surpassed most experts of the same tier, faintly eclipsing even ordinary Legendary Knights.

Many nobles, and even members of the Church, wanted to approach and curry favor with him.

However, Ulysses walked with a steady pace, striding straight through the crowd toward one side of the hall.

"Lord Melfield." Ulysses stopped in front of Murphy, his voice even. "It was a long journey."

"Director Ulysses." Murphy nodded slightly. "Imperial affairs are demanding. For you to come in person, Director, shows the importance you place on this ceremony."

"The times being what they are, I had to come." Ulysses’s tone was indifferent. His gaze swept over Ostun, who was conversing with an Archbishop not far away. His eyes turned cold for a moment, but he said nothing more.

He turned slightly to the side and introduced the young man. "This is His Highness, the Third Prince of our empire, Charles Augustus."

The young Prince, who had been following half a step behind Ulysses, stepped forward at the opportune moment.

He was dressed in a well-tailored Imperial Court formal suit, exuding a noble air. Yet, when facing Murphy, his posture was exceedingly respectful. He placed his right hand over his chest and performed a standard salute. "Lord Thunder Sword, I have long heard of your renown. I am Charles Augustus. It is a great honor to finally witness your esteemed presence today."

"The trade between the Empire and the Monte Territory grows closer by the day, all thanks to your excellent governance. I have always hoped for an opportunity to visit the Northern Territory personally and experience the culture of the Monte Territory for myself."

Murphy sized up the young Prince. "Your Highness is too kind. The trade between the Monte Territory and the Empire is merely mutually beneficial. If Your Highness is interested, you are always welcome in the Monte Territory."

Upon hearing this, a trace of delight appeared on Prince Charles’s face. "Then I thank you in advance, my lord. I wish you a smooth and successful trip to the Holy City."

He exchanged a few more pleasantries with Murphy, asking about the climate in the Northern Territory and what he had seen on his journey. His attitude remained humble and polite throughout. Afterward, he tactfully took his leave with Ulysses to mingle with other important figures.

Time slipped by quietly amidst the clinking of glasses and hushed conversations.

During this time, an attendant with a demure and downcast gaze, while delivering drinks, quietly slipped a folded note into the crevice of Murphy’s wheelchair armrest.

Murphy’s expression remained unchanged. With a slight movement of his fingertips, he palmed the note and unfolded it under the cover of a gesture. On it was a single, simple line: "Catching up with an old friend. Side hall terrace. Quentin."

Without a change in expression, Murphy put the note away.

A few moments later, he maneuvered his wheelchair and excused himself from Archbishop John and the others beside him, using the pretext of feeling slightly unwell and needing to rest.

Led by an attendant, he passed through a corridor and arrived at a relatively secluded side hall terrace.

The terrace was much cooler in the night air, and the clamor of the main hall faded into a distant blur.

A figure stood with his back to the entrance, leaning against the railing. Hearing the sound of the wheelchair, he slowly turned around.

It was Quentin Thorn.

Compared to ten years ago, the appearance of this Legendary Knight of the Templar Order had hardly changed. He still had the same steady and resolute look about him.

"Lord Thunder Sword. Or should I say, I’m still more used to calling you Melfield?" A faint smile touched Quentin’s lips, his voice sounding somewhat ethereal in the night wind.

"It’s just a name. Call me what you like," Murphy said calmly. He stopped his wheelchair at the edge of the terrace, joining Quentin to look out at the brilliant lights of the Holy City below.

"Time really flies," Quentin said with emotion, his gaze distant. "The battle at Blackstone Fortress feels like it was just yesterday. Back then, you and I were fighting to the death, side by side."

"Yes, it really does." Murphy’s voice betrayed little emotion.

Quentin fell silent for a moment, then suddenly turned his head. "This banquet is boring—nothing but fake pleasantries. How about I take you somewhere to relax? Consider it a treat for our reunion."

Murphy glanced at him, pondered for a moment, and gave a slight nod. "Alright."

Following Quentin’s lead, Murphy’s wheelchair passed through even more secluded corridors, arriving at a private courtyard deep within the palace residence, where the atmosphere was exceptionally serene.

The courtyard featured a small bridge over a flowing stream and was elegantly arranged. A faint, soothing fragrance permeated the air.

Warm lighting, soft carpets, and low-hanging muslin curtains created an intimate and comfortable atmosphere.

This was clearly a place that offered special relaxation services. Although there was nothing overtly licentious about it, the meticulously crafted tranquility and the well-trained deference of the attendants already hinted at its purpose.

A female steward, dressed in a simple, elegant robe with a dignified bearing, silently approached. She bowed deeply to Quentin and Murphy, then led them into a spacious and warm private room.

Inside the room, two young women were already waiting quietly. Both wore simple, soft-fabric long dresses, their gazes lowered in a respectful posture.

"This is Rosalyn." Quentin pointed to one of the women, who looked to be in her early twenties. She had a delicate, pretty face and an aura that was both ethereal and distant. He introduced her to Murphy in a casual tone. "Her technique is quite good. She’s especially skilled at soothing the thighs."