Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 414: Chapter 87: A Story of Mortals

With that, he walked over to another girl, this one younger—around fifteen or sixteen, with a more delicate face.

Murphy frowned slightly, the movement almost imperceptible.

Quentin seemed to notice his reaction. He glanced at the girl beside him, then at Rosalyn, and laughed heartily. "What’s wrong? Not satisfied? Let me tell you, Murphy, I’ve saved the very best for you."

He walked back to Murphy’s side and lowered his voice, a playful glint in his tone. "This young lady, Rosalyn, has quite the background. Eight years ago, during the selection for the new Saint, she managed to make the Morning Star Bell let out the faintest of chimes. Rosalyn Novik, from that ancient Monk Clan famous for generations of seclusion, ascetic cultivation, and unwavering faith. So? Am I not good to you?"

Murphy was silent for a moment.

’In my long life, I’ve seen so much that this sort of thing should no longer surprise me.’

’Things far more absurd and sordid were commonplace in noble circles. Some were even outright cruel.’

’And even beneath the radiance of the Church Court, the shadows ran just as deep.’

But seeing it all tied to Quentin—the "hero" who had once risked life and limb for his faith and the common folk at Blackstone Fortress—still sent a faint ripple through his heart.

’Everyone has many sides. It’s unfair to judge someone by a single time and place, and ten years is more than enough time for a person to change.’

"Yes," Murphy finally replied, his tone flat. "You are very good to me."

Quentin seemed pleased with this response and clapped him on the shoulder. "The best is yet to come. Once the Morning Star Bell rings, everything will be better."

He laughed as he walked back to his spot, signaling for the service to begin.

Rosalyn moved behind Murphy. A pair of slender yet steady hands settled gently on his shoulders and neck, beginning to knead with just the right amount of pressure.

Her movements were truly skilled. Her fingertips seemed to move with a strange rhythm, unerringly finding every tight knot of muscle.

"My lord, is this comfortable?" Rosalyn’s voice was clear and calm, betraying little emotion, as if this were nothing more than an ordinary task.

"It’s fine," Murphy replied curtly, his eyes closed.

"If you’re not satisfied, just say so. Don’t be polite," Quentin chimed in from the side, his tone casual.

Murphy nodded but said nothing more.

His gaze fell on Rosalyn’s lowered eyelashes. Her ethereal aura was at odds with her surroundings, yet somehow, it blended in strangely.

He suddenly wondered, ’If Elizabeth hadn’t rung the Morning Star Bell back then, if she hadn’t become a Saint, what would her fate have been?’

’Considering William IV’s character and the Royal Family’s circumstances, I fear... No, that wouldn’t happen.’

’At least, as long as I’m around, I would never let Elizabeth fall into a situation like Rosalyn’s.’

’But...’

Still, Murphy felt something was wrong.

’Just because something exists, does that make it right?’

’I’ve never considered myself a Savior, and I’m powerless to change the many established rules and dark corners of this world.’

’And yet...’

Just then, Quentin’s voice broke the room’s tranquility. "Speaking of which, what are your thoughts on this trip to the Holy City? Which way do you think the winds on the Continent will blow from now on? We old-timers have to find a sturdy roof to shelter us from the storm, don’t we?"

Murphy kept his eyes closed, as if lost in the soothing massage. His voice was steady and emotionless. "The position of the Thunder Sword is, first and foremost, the position of the Monte Territory. No matter which way the wind blows, protecting the peace of the territory and the welfare of its people is my duty. As for the Church Court... as long as it does not stray from its righteous path, it will naturally have our respect and support."

Hearing this, Quentin’s face broke into a knowing smile, clearly satisfied with the answer. "Well said, well said. Protect your foundation, respect the established order. That’s the safest path."

He didn’t press the matter further, sighing in comfort as he enjoyed the ministrations of the young woman beside him.

After a while, Quentin seemed to have had enough. He turned to Murphy and asked casually, "Want to join me in a bit?"

Murphy opened his eyes and looked at him calmly, then shook his head. "No, you go on ahead. I’ll just rest here for a bit."

A flash of clear disappointment crossed Quentin’s face, but he didn’t insist. He shrugged. "With a long life, it’s good to try new things every now and then. Well, I won’t disturb your rest, then."

With that, he stood up, slung an arm around the young woman’s shoulders, and waved to Murphy. "I’m off, then. We’ll catch up later."

And with that, he led the young woman out of the quiet room.

Only Murphy and Rosalyn remained in the room.

Rosalyn stopped her massage and asked softly, "My lord, would you like to retire to a room to rest? I can show you the way."

Murphy nodded.

Rosalyn then pushed his wheelchair down another quiet hallway, arriving at a more private and lavishly decorated room.

The room was spacious and exquisitely furnished, with the faint scent of a sleep-inducing incense lingering in the air.

Rosalyn closed the door and turned to face Murphy, her expression calm and deferential, ready for the next step.

Murphy raised a hand, stopping her.

"That won’t be necessary," he said. "I don’t require any of that."

Rosalyn froze, her expression showing no surprise. She was clearly accustomed to the varied requests of her clients.

Her gaze lingered on his legs for a moment before she lowered her eyes, her voice still perfectly calm. "If my lord is concerned about... a lack of vitality, we also have special potions and incenses available. They can help my lord recover his vigor. The effects are excellent. Many of our guests have used them."

Murphy glanced at her. Her face remained placid.