School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 163 --So You’re Bernie Brown?

Berkeley spoke gravely, "The cost must have been immense."

Mallo sneered, "Of course, the price is that the transformed monsters lose their sanity, becoming extremely violent and unstable, often going into frenzies. It’s unclear by what means Boswell commands these demon puppets to follow his orders."

"How many demon puppets does he have?" Owen inquired.

"It’s said to be three, but with the young lord’s return, it’s now two," Mallo pondered.

"However, Boswell is cunning and deceitful; whether he has other demon puppets is uncertain."

"The person behind this likely spent a fortune to have me assassinated," Owen speculated.

"It’s not money that could hire him, but rather materials," Mallo emphasized.

"Extremely rare materials."

Owen, still puzzled, asked, "In the earlier battle, the giant ape was already subdued by me. Why did it suddenly rally and grow two more arms?"

Mallo admitted, "Logically, the giant ape shouldn’t have undergone such a transformation. It’s unclear what Boswell has done. Our young lord also... acquired some peculiar changes."

The biggest difference between monsters and spellbeasts lies in one aspect.

Spellbeasts cultivate through their bloodline, knowing from birth the ways of cultivation inherent to their lineage.

Monsters, however, are different; they encounter changes in the world and, in a flash of insight, discern their unique path of cultivation.

For instance, upon the appearance of phenomena like the Celestial Inferno, many beasts, naive to the world and driven only by instinct, suddenly have their moment of enlightenment, as if touched by the universe itself, beginning to comprehend the methods of cultivation and embarking on the path of cultivation.

This results in an inherent deficiency in monsters; they cannot transform into human form unless their original form closely resembles that of a human.

Unlike spellbeasts, whose high-ranking bloodlines possess methods to assume human form.

The transformation of the rockwolf clan’s young lord into a werewolf was a shock to the rockwolf race.

"As far as we know, several nations have issued bounties for Boswell, dead or alive, though capturing him alive offers a richer reward," Mallo shared.

Owen chuckled, "With so many variations in Boswell’s demon puppets, everyone wants to delve into his secrets."

Mallo added, "Boswell’s return without success, having lost one of his three major demon puppets and injured the other two, means he will surely seek revenge."

Owen grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth, "What do you mean ’you’? From now on, we’re all in this together."

Finally, they descended the mountain, with Owen and his group quickly making their way to Loveflow City.

...

Aquaspirit Town.

Today marked the day of execution in Aquaspirit Town.

At the town’s center, numerous beings gathered.

Mostly humanoid creatures, they appeared to belong to various disadvantaged races.

Life is hard for the disadvantaged races on the continent, with many preferring the warmth of community, thus forming the origins of various towns and villages.

On the execution ground, three child-like humanoid creatures knelt.

Beside them, an executioner with a large sword stood, his expression stern.

An official on the platform solemnly pronounced the sentence for the three young-looking criminals: "The three accused of stealing military provisions are to be executed according to the law, effective immediately."

One of the children shouted in a raspy voice, "You’re all beasts! We can’t even fill our stomachs, yet we’re forced to contribute food to the front lines. How does that make sense? When there’s no food, you just take it, filling your own pockets..."

The official’s face darkened, and he slammed the table, bellowing, "Executioner, what are you waiting for?"

The executioner’s blade swept down, tracing a grim arc through the air as heads were sent flying, drawing gasps from the crowd below, who averted their eyes.

A tall figure stood among the crowd, fists clenched, then slowly released.

Watching the three children executed, his eyelids twitched slightly before he turned to leave.

Instead of going home, the tall man headed to the pharmacy, picking up a prescription.

The attending physician had advised that if the old medicine proved ineffective, a new, more expensive formula should be taken for ten days.

With insufficient funds, but no other choice, he nodded in agreement.

Walking down the street, when someone called him "Mr. Brown," he managed a forced smile in response.

As a teacher in the town, he still held a modicum of respect.

Just as he entered the alley, Mr. Brown heard the sound of commotion.

Glancing toward the alley’s entrance, he saw a neighbor clutching her child, weeping bitterly, with household items scattered and overturned as if recently ransacked.

A sense of dread tightened in his chest, and he hurried home with long strides.

Along the way, the sounds of crying and cursing from his neighbors were incessant.

Reaching his home, Mr. Brown saw the yard in disarray at a glance—the benches overturned, the bundles of firewood that had been leaning against the wall gone, and the door wide open.

Rushing inside, he found his wife and the quilt on the floor, every item in the house turned upside down, even the corner of the wall where he had hidden some emergency money was pried open—all gone.

But he didn’t care about that.

He helped his wife to her feet, "Are you alright? Who dared to break in and steal?"

Though he asked, he already had a clear understanding in his heart.

With the dragons and angel race at war, the frontline severely disadvantaged, everywhere began to levy food and goods.

War wasn’t just a simple word; the cost of resources it demanded was immense.

His wife’s lips were pale, her grip on his arm tight with panic, yet she managed to speak clearly, "It was the soldiers who came to loot for grain, claiming we had to return the food. I told them we hadn’t taken any, but they started looting anyway."

For a frail woman, facing several intruders who began to smash and grab without fainting or screaming, she had shown tremendous strength.

Mr. Brown’s lips twitched slightly.

Previously, when grain passed through Aquaspirit Town, it was stolen in the night.

Eventually, three children were caught and blamed for the theft.

With the grain missing, it naturally needed replenishment, and now searches were being conducted in every household.

Those three children were so naive, thinking that by stealing the general’s grain and distributing it among the villagers, they were acting as heroes aiding the distressed.

So naive!

Now they had been captured, executed, and the military grain they distributed became the perfect excuse for the soldiers to loot more.

Mr. Brown’s family had hidden their grain in two places: half in the kitchen and half under the bed.

Now, all of it was gone.

Even the few items left in the house that could possibly be sold for some silver were swept away by the soldiers, like the bundles of firewood in the yard.

There was no place to voice their suffering.

War harmed those at the bottom the most.

Despite his anger, Mr. Brown whispered comforting words to his wife, "It’s alright. We didn’t have much of value for them to take anyway. Oh, I received my wages today. I’ll cook some porridge for you."

His wife chuckled, "With what rice?"

Mr. Brown’s face fell; even the rice had been stolen.

A surge of resentment rose from the depths of his heart.

When had he ever suffered such indignities during his more spirited days?

Tears welled up in his wife’s eyes, trying not to cry, she comforted, "I’m not hungry. You should rest. Even if the soldiers hadn’t come to loot, that old lady next door would have stolen from us."

Seeing his wife’s gaunt face trying to smile, Mr. Brown felt a pang of sorrow.

He had once resolved to give her a better life, yet she had hardly enjoyed a single day of it.

Mr. Brown was about to boil some water, contemplating going outside to scrounge up something to eat when suddenly, with a loud bang, the courtyard door was thrown open, and the sound of footsteps approached noisily.

Squinting his eyes, he covered his wife with a cotton blanket and stepped out of the house.

Three constables walked in, scrutinizing him, "Are you Bernie Brown?"

Bernie Brown, expressionless, responded, "What can I do for the distinguished officers?"

Seeing his acknowledgment, the lead constable snapped, "Take him away."

The two behind him rattled the chains in their hands, moving forward to shackle him.

Mrs. Brown gasped in shock, but Bernie Brown raised his hand, "Hold on, what law have I broken?"

"You’ve been found out," the constable sneered.

"Your citizenship recommendation letter is forged. During wartime, people like you are subjects of intense scrutiny."

The thing feared most during wartime is the presence of outsiders in the heartland, either refugees or spies.

Aquaspirit Town prohibits the free movement of the lower classes.

A citizenship recommendation letter is essentially an identity document combined with official proof of changing one’s ancestral home.

With the war at its peak, having Bernie Brown’s recommendation letter exposed as a forgery could only spell trouble.

Given the government’s methods, if he were indeed taken away, he would likely end up in prison doing hard labor, which would be considered getting off lightly.

The most probable outcome would be conscription into the army.

Just a few days ago, Aquaspirit Town posted a conscription order, demanding five hundred soldiers from each village to join the front lines.

With an impassive face, Mr. Brown pleaded, "My wife is bedridden and cannot be left alone. Please, officers, show some compassion as if you never caught me."

Like a tiger fallen into the plains, he flexed his wrists.

One of the three constables, upon seeing the bareness of Mr Brown’s home, showed a hint of pity.

However, the other two, with cold expressions, retorted, "These days, who doesn’t have their own troubles? Come on, no more dawdling."

The chains clinked, ready to be looped around Mr. Brown’s neck.