Simon sighed. He really didn't want to preach too much to a child, because, for one, it made the advice seem cheap, and for another, children found elders' empty words annoying.
"In short, nothing you do now is as important as studying hard. Don't go causing trouble, and don't do anything dangerous that would make me worry."
"Yes, sir."
"It's good that you understand," Simon said with a smile, "I'll make you something delicious, and I even brought you some dried mutton."
The boy seemed to forget his worries and became cheerful again.
The books Jonas had prepared for Simon this time were all theoretical works and biographies. Simon asked him to pay more attention to Alteration spells, including Detect Life, Detect Dead, and so on.
Enchanting is a profound skill, and transforming spells into combinations of enchanted runes and magic circles is also quite intricate. Simon still needed more books and resources to perfect his techniques.
Jonas had a good talent for magic, but he seemed to have a greater passion for swordsmanship, acting more like a Nord barbarian than a Breton with elven blood.
Thinking of martial arts, Simon once again thought of his magically modified internal energy, or rather, he had already achieved some results.
The Sheep Undead controlled the inner skeleton of the External Armor. Those scale-like small steel plates could form layers of power like muscles, providing Simon with extra burst power and greatly increasing the overall flexibility of the armor, almost like a normal master who couldn't project internal energy externally. This meant Simon could now use some slightly more advanced moves.
Additionally, the Undead had many other uses, such as for projectile mechanisms, which could achieve the miraculous effect of a Flying Sword. Simon planned to buy some iron ore when he returned and craft a few Sleeve Flying Swallows to try out.
This time, Simon prepared Pao Mo with mutton, or rather, mutton-soaked bread, for Jonas.
The soup was brewed in the Pure Land. Before Simon entered Winterhold, he pulled the iron pot on a handcart into the tavern.
A full fourteen quarts of delicious mutton soup, enough for everyone in Winterhold to have a bowl. In fact, Simon did leave the soup pot in the tavern, allowing everyone who came there to enjoy a fresh bowl of soup with large pieces of mutton.
The joyful people cheered praises of "Foodie," and the bard sang loudly, vigorously playing his worn-out lute. Steaming vapor and rich aroma filled the small wooden tavern. Music and clamor squeezed into the cracks of the planks and stones, even shattering the burning firewood in the hearth, while the sign above the door, reading "Frozen Hearth," still shivered in the cold sea wind—no one cared. The tavern wasn't closing today, and Winterhold residents, drawn by the delicious scent, were almost trampling the threshold.
Simon met the Jarl of Winterhold, a Nord man named Korir, dressed in simple linen clothes. He looked thin, and his clothes even thinner, but he showed no fear of the bitter cold. His eyes were bright and spirited, and though his golden beard and hair were mostly tinged with the gray of old age, he was still very energetic.
His voice was deep and persuasive when he spoke, and he didn't let his eyes wander when talking to people. Furthermore, he showed no prejudice against the College of Winterhold in his conversation.
Simon chatted with him about the history of Winterhold. The Jarl sighed repeatedly, explaining that Winterhold was once the capital of Skyrim, but the Oblivion Crisis brought them immense casualties, and then the Great Collapse in 4E 122 destroyed most of the city.
The city of Winterhold was built on towering cliffs by the Sea of Ghosts. The Great Collapse caused the cliffs to break and the land to sink, yet the College, located in the center, remained completely undamaged, and even the road leading to the College was not entirely destroyed.
No wonder many people considered this disaster a conspiracy by the College; such coincidences are rare in the world. However, Arch-Mage Savos Aren of the College repeatedly assured that the mages had no connection to the disaster.
Despite this, Winterhold truly declined, and to this day, it is only the size of a village, which is truly heartbreaking.
Simon had no great desire to delve into such history and gave a few perfunctory replies.
The Jarl, of course, saw his inattention, so he stated that if Simon encountered any trouble in Winterhold, he could come to him.
Winterhold, a village of a few people, trouble—Simon almost laughed out loud. What kind of trouble could he possibly encounter in such a place, or rather, if he really encountered trouble that stumped Simon, who could solve it?
"Of course, thank you for your kindness, Jarl Korir."
The Jarl nodded and turned to join the dancing crowd. They surrounded the bard like magpies circling a large tree.
In a certain moment, Simon suddenly felt that perhaps he could become a bard in the future.
Traveling all over Skyrim, exploring ruins, singing his own stories and others' stories everywhere—that sounded interesting.
Jonas ate until his belly was round, laughing carefree, sitting on a bench, clapping and cheering for those with excellent dance moves.
Simon huddled in a corner. When the festivities truly began, as the initial spark of joy, he became insignificant. However, this didn't make him feel lost; simply watching the smiles of others was also a kind of happiness.
The parting came quickly. Simon gave the remaining dried mutton to Jonas. The Breton Boy complained that he hadn't even finished the dried fish from last time.
"Share some with your classmates; don't just eat it all yourself."
"I did share! But they're so shameless, they always eat all of mine, so I hid some."
"Why don't you eat what you hide?"
"I hide it for so long, I forget about it. Hehe."
Simon shook his head. This little dummy.
After one last reminder to be careful not to cause trouble, Simon walked back.
On a night of continuous snow, the usually silent coast had new guests. Simon still stood on the shore, gazing at the ships salvaging shipwrecks. What was once a large fleet was now just one lone ship, drifting lazily on the sea. His calm mood was disturbed by a faint scent of blood in the wind.
Simon looked towards the muddy beach to the south. In the deep shadows of the night, there were several moving figures: one fleeing in front, with two or three chasing behind.
The air was filled with the scent of Necromancy. Simon had dealt with necromantic energy for so long that he could vaguely sense this unnatural, chilling aura.
The scent came from the fleeing person.
The pursuers also noticed the Troll, as he stood on a high reef, and the faint starlight and moonlight piercing through the clouds vaguely illuminated his form.
"Careful! There's a Vampire!" a high-pitched baritone shouted.
Simon now confirmed that the fleeing person was a Vampire. Such undead creatures, who prey on humans, should naturally be hostile to the world of the living.
The Vampire's cold, crimson gaze shot out from under his hood, meeting the Troll's gaze across the distance, as if a foul-smelling long snake lunged from that gaze, intending to tear Simon apart.
The Troll leaped back into the shadows of the rocks.
After a moment of silence, both the pursuer and the pursued had approached the reef. The Vampire seemed to decide that Simon would make an excellent hostage or food, so he ran behind the reef.
The pursuers, due to the distance, watched helplessly as the malevolent undead creature also vanished into the shadows. A strong red blood-light flared, which was the Vampire's Touch, a Necromancy spell that drains life.
"No!" They closed their eyes in agony, convinced that Simon had perished.
The next second, a sharp, piercing shriek, accompanied by a brief impact sound, rang out. The Vampire transformed into a rapidly flying, distorted form, slamming hard against the towering ice wall.
Silently, a colossal figure of steel stepped out from behind the reef, with the raging waves of the Sea of Ghosts behind him.
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