So, I love this era too much. It allows people like you and me to appear on the big stage of the Federation, shattering all the beautiful lies of the classical era one by one, and letting them see how fragile the things they love or believe in are. This is not progress, this is not civilization, so what is progress and civilization?" Chapter 92: No Conspiracy "The overthrow of feudal monarchs is indeed a progress. My experience makes it difficult for me to say 'no' to the new era." Corneille replied calmly: "But, Mr. La Marche, you can't say that. Because you still have the glory of a noble family name, so you can become a member of parliament at the age of only twenty-six." "Ah, I don't deny that, so what I am most proud of is my identity as a poet. I have won the recognition of others with my real talent and knowledge." Count Marseille pointed to his chest and said: "It feels great to become rich overnight, but my heart is empty. I have asked myself countless times whether I am a trend-setter or an actor who is driven to the front of the stage. But it is different for poets. There is no fake element in it. If you write good poems and they are recognized by others, you can become a celebrity and make a lot of money. Besides, do you think those nobles with traditional ideas would treat me, an illegitimate child, as their own? Even though the La Marche family is jumping around, it is only to protect themselves. They recognize orthodoxy from the bottom of their hearts, because compared with the new era of unscrupulous competition, they prefer the classical era in the past when they could win big by relying on titles.

Therefore, I want to praise the new era once again. Even if I am an illegitimate child, as long as I am rich and powerful, I can be recognized by the Duke; let my noble brother and I eat at the same table, and show our brotherhood in front of outsiders. In the past, even if a young lady from a prominent family like my sister-in-law was looking for a lover, she would not look down on someone as lowly as me. But now, I help her manage her private property, and she is willing to condescend to let me enjoy her noble body, let my lowly seeds defile her delivery room, give birth to illegitimate children for me, and even dream with me to replace my incompetent brother and share the power of the Duke of Berry. " Corneille's heart ached, because on the night when the Duke of Alva passed away, Angelica, with a relieved expression on her face, proposed a plan to share power when discussing the funeral arrangements with him. He refused, and the Count of Marseilles seemed intent on doing just that. Count Marseille continued, "The three extraordinary people you killed were all conservative and old-fashioned. I have tested them, and in their dull heads, they still have the idea that the Duke's position can only be occupied by the eldest son. However, even federal law stipulates that illegitimate children and legitimate children have the same rights to inherit property, not to mention that I have been legalized. These old-fashioned people will gradually become useless in this era, so if you kill them, I will feel sorry but also fortunate - they died because they fulfilled their value, at least they didn't become money-losing goods or my enemies. Mr. Corneille, I said that you are a person who can change the times, because I see a virtue in you: ruthlessness and the courage of a gambler. " "?" "At a time like this, do you still want to hide your true self? Yes, you have gained another virtue: hypocrisy that is as real as it is real. This will make you a top player in the world of fame and fortune." "You have a profound misunderstanding of me," said Corneille. Count Marseilles opened his hand and said, "Misunderstanding? You chose to make the Duke of Alva your puppet and acted like a real duke in Waite. If it were me, I would never dare to act on behalf of the duke so blatantly, nor would I dare to choose the duke who is obviously at a disadvantage. I'm curious, what did you use to control him? Violence, friendship? Deception? Drugs? Supernatural powers? It can't be love after all." "Don't insult our relationship. I have never thought of turning him into my puppet, and this is not a gamble... Count Marseille, your vision is too narrow." "narrow?" Count Marseille was incredulous: "Are you also living in the past? The new era has given you an opportunity. If you can't seize it, your later years will be as miserable as Don Rodick's. You betrayed the Duchess, and when you were powerful, she was helpless against you; you manipulated the young Duke, and when you were able to stand on your own, he obeyed your orders. You will eventually grow old, and the Duchess will punish you for your betrayal; you will eventually become incompetent, and the grown-up Duke will regard you as an obstacle to his power, and he will try his best to break free from you, and in turn ride on you to bully others!

I have never concealed my desire for the position of Duke of Berry, and I am not afraid that you will use props to record what I say to you... because everyone in Hequese knows it. So what if they know? The La Marche family cannot do without me. If my incompetent brother were to run the family business, it would only be ruined within one or two generations. Those who believe in orthodoxy cannot tolerate the fall of an ancient and noble family, so they must tolerate me. " "Rather than worrying about my later years, Mr. La Marche, you should first be careful about whether you will be punished." Corneille's answer was calm, while the Flying Lion accumulated anger. He knew that his relationship with Diaz would be misunderstood by outsiders. He was fine with whatever he did, but Diaz, his best friend, a friend who was like a brother, a friend he had known and taken care of for ten years... He would not allow outsiders to slander him, especially someone as disgusting as Count Marseille. Corneille stepped forward, bringing the Count of Marseille within striking distance, and struck him down with a simple blow of unrivalled force. His attack was blocked by the scimitar raised above the head by Count Marseille. The sound of the collision was crisp, and the vibration passed through the weapons, cracking his knuckles again. Corneille had already gotten used to such slight pain, and he coordinated his steps with the twisting of his body as he chopped at the left side of Count Marseille's head. When the sound of the collision rang out again, he turned and chopped at Count Marseille's head from the right side. The "Flying Lion" swaying from side to side left a rotating afterimage above Corneille's head, reminding people of the propeller of the navy's first steam battleship that had just entered service. Count Marseille saw the illusion of death during the slash. His Fortuna Protection was the same as Corneille's, both of which were the highest level at 20000 dinars per year, but the simple attack and defense showed the obvious difference in physical fitness between the two. Count Marseille was at a disadvantage in both speed and strength, and was therefore dominated by Corneille's fighting rhythm. Soon, Corneille broke the shield on his body, leaving a bloody wound on Count Marseille's left shoulder. The pain drove Count Marseilles crazy, and the threat of death gave him a new inspiration. He covered his head instead of his wound and said, "Don't fight yet, this place is very important! Wait, those wonderful sentences are rolling in my mind. Haha, the old man is right, those scenes close to death can squeeze out all the talents of people, just like he didn't sow seeds in his lover's birth canal until the victim walked into the house, just like I was in front of the person who wanted to kill me, I could finish writing a long poem with him as the theme! " "Change Mr. Don Rodic back to his original form, and I'll give you time to finish your poem," said Corneille. "Don Rodick? He can't change back!" "Then I will use moderate violence to help you remember how to change him back, and answer some questions for me." Corneille approached Count Marseille with his sword in hand: "Although I don't know what you are writing, you seem eager to finish it. Mr. La Marche, what will it cost you to stop me this time?" "Life." All the clothes on Count Marseille's body were stripped off, and as he became naked, the clothes on his body decomposed into pages of a book, and then reassembled into a graceful girl. The extraordinary power gave it extremely realistic details, as if a living person was standing in front of Corneille. Count Marseille hugged the girl and said nostalgically: "My magic is to reproduce the themes described in the original manuscript of my poetry collection. The more detailed and accurate the description of my poetry collection is, the more restored it is. Of course, the upper limit of what it can reproduce is the upper limit of the theme model of my poetry collection, and in most cases, the paper figures I reproduce are inferior to the original owners. Now, I have activated my first poetry collection, which is also the starting point of my debut. You should know that its theme is my mother, a charming and selfish foreign woman. My ability to seduce is inherited from her. She was a very weak extraordinary person. First, she became my biological father's mistress, and later she gained benefits by serving my adoptive father. When old Marseille died, she abandoned me and ran away. It's really hateful, so I debuted by selling her privacy in exchange for the appreciation of the nobles, and now, she is summoned out first, and becomes the sacrifice to stop you." Chapter 93: The Poet's Grip Corneille was not interested in the story of the Count of Marseille, who had already started fighting with the paper man when he was introduced.

Just as Count Marseille said, the woman was a very weak transcendent. In just a few seconds, Corneille chopped off her head, and the pure love shield on his body collapsed. The woman's head rolled to the feet of Count Marseille, who crushed it with one foot, turning it into waste paper, and said: "It is a unique skill for my mother to hook up with a duke. Great, your pure love shield is gone. This is just an appetizer. Writing has been with me throughout my life. Even though I live a luxurious and chaotic life, I have not forgotten to get up after they go to bed and write furiously to put my inspiration on paper. Have you ever been so madly pursued by a woman, and had your passion and passion sucked out of you? At that moment, you felt particularly calm, able to think about those deep and truly important things, to look into your heart and the stars. Great enlightenment will spread in your mind inadvertently. When your physical strength recovers and your passion returns, the enlightenment will be ignited and turn into inspiration that flies like sparks. However, Mr. Corneille, who seems to have no interest in women, should find it difficult to understand... Then, face my life well, Mr. Corneille, and continue to write poetry. " Corneille had experienced both the passionate demands of women and the pain of having his soul sucked out of his body. What he remembered most vividly was a dream in which the goddess holding the key twisted his body. Even so, Corneille still did not understand women. At least, after the pleasure, he thought of morality, responsibility and the future. He never thought and gained enlightenment like the Count of Marseille. Perhaps this is the difference between a poet and a warrior. He was engaged in tedious thinking, but his attack did not hesitate for a moment. It was only the energy fluctuations approaching from behind that made him turn around to deal with a more direct threat. What Corneille saw was three paper horses pulling a carriage towards him. In the path of the carriage, disintegrated poetry books kept falling. Celebrities, women, beasts, and even a heroic company of the Federal Armed Forces were pieced together from paper pages. At the moment when the mud kicked up by the horses' hooves was about to fly into Corneille's eyes, he jumped onto the carriage and saw that the three large wooden boxes in the carriage were empty. The Count of Marseille's "life" was fully displayed on the road passed by the carriage. The paper horse raced wildly, carrying Corneille away from Count Marseille's direction, and Corneille's "flying lion" repeatedly stabbed the paper horse's body with a force that would not kill it immediately, triggering the "weakness check" to figure out the secrets and flaws of the magic performed by Count Marseille. After taking Corneille far enough away, the carriage began to make a sharp turn, trying to throw Corneille off. After seventeen attempts, they succeeded. Corneille smashed into the nearby forest like a cannonball, and their bodies, which were riddled with holes, were smashed to pieces by the rolling carriage. Cornell landed on the ground, putting the owl and its three cubs in his arms aside. Behind him, a tall Phoebe tree collapsed with a loud bang. He chose this tree as a victim to cushion his landing, but he didn't expect there was any life living there. Before being thrown out of the carriage, he learned some information: Count Marseille's magic came from Brigitte, the goddess of war, fire, women and art, a god widely believed in the northwest of the continent. She had hardly ever cast her eyes on the Federation in the east of the continent, and naturally had no followers. Count Marseille was able to obtain the divine arts bestowed by the goddess, probably because his mother was a follower of Brigitte. Perhaps, because he was born in the Federation, Brigitte did not grant Count Marseilles the more combat-oriented war or fire magic. In the Federation, Brigitte's magic is considered unpopular among the unpopular, so when Count Marseille performed the magic, even the most knowledgeable supernatural being could not tell a thing or two. No, there is one person who knows. In the memory of the full moon night, the fragrant flowers surround the dam, the black tide circulates back and forth, and the forgotten waves drift in the sand. The little beauty with silver hair and blue eyes took the even younger him for a stroll on it, telling him the knowledge that was as profound as the night sky. She enjoyed the entertainment, but young Corneille stared with eyes wide open, confused. "Laurel (Corneille's nickname), I want to give you a gift. Your childhood will pass away, but it will become an immortal memory." The beauty placed one hand on Corneille's head and stretched the other hand toward the sky. She turned her white wrist and lowered her palm, calling for the rain to wet the sea. The golden rain made the sea surface sparkle with a magical light, and reflected the brilliance of the stars in Corneille's eyes. She was right, his soul was infected by the beautiful scenery, and he unconsciously and more tightly grasped the hand of his companion. Suddenly, a white smudge broke his memory. A monster made of paper pages appeared at the edge of Corneille's vision, and it was the influence of the monster that made him fall into memory.

In the black silhouette of the forest, white outlines suddenly emerged one after another. During his trance, Count Marseille's "life" also found him. "Mica." Corneille called out her sisters by their nicknames: "I have become stronger than before, much stronger, but now the road that connects you and me is long and steep." Corneille used his magic for the second time, and a red wave of air enveloped his body. He entered a strange state, as if the ending of the story had been written, his great victory was already destined, and now he was just filling in the details for the inevitable victory. He swung his sword, first destroying the monster that could only drag him into his memories. The air waves shredded the pages of the book, causing them to fall like snow, and he, in red, walked through them and collided with a new opponent. Count Marseille's poetry collection combines fantasy and reality, making his "life" particularly fulfilling, but in the face of Corneille's brutal magic, his "life" is reduced to the essence of paper. Piercing the chests of celebrities, beheading beauties, wrestling with monsters, marching swords into the faces of entire armies. Every time Corneille shredded a piece of paper, the memory of the Count of Marseille writing the poem would unfold before him. No matter whether the memory was romantic, passionate, decadent or sad, Corneille remained unmoved and disdainful. All he did was move forward and return to the Count of Marseille's sight. Corneille's road back home was littered with the wreckage of Count Marseille's "life". The poet's creations, which were full of inspiration and passion, were but insignificant footnotes to his series of victories. In the blink of an eye, Corneille pierced through the last obstacle between the two men, the cardboard-wrapped Irian Trastamara. Even though he was the leader of the royalists, Corneille did not hesitate for a second. "What do you think of my poem?" Count Marseille asked in a trembling voice. “It’s gorgeous and technical, but too empty.” Corneille replied: "Perhaps, your magic is divided into two stages: the first stage is the reproduction of the things described in the poem; the second stage, after the reproduction of the things disintegrates, the poem itself will drag people into hallucinations. Unfortunately, it can't trap me. Because someone has shown me a rain that can infect the soul and wet the sea. Compared with her, your fantasy is too poor. " Count Marseilles' blood ran cold and his face turned as pale as death. In his 27 years of life, he played many roles, and the one he was most proud of was the role of a poet. That was his first dream, as pure and beautiful as first love, and it contained the little humanity of Count Marseille. At the same time, the poet's identity is like a coin, the other side of which is the extraordinary person. Strength is the pillar of Count Marseille and the means for him to quickly achieve class transition. As a result, Corneille tore both of them apart with brutal and ruthless violence, dealing a heavy blow to the Count of Marseilles' self-confidence both spiritually and materially. "It's the same situation as when you fought Archbishop Anmita. You used magic to destroy magic. Goddess Hathor not only gave you the ability to destroy Hathor's magic, but also the magic of other gods..." Count Marseille's mumbling was interrupted by Corneille's cold gaze. He was sure that the person in front of him was Corneille, but he was completely different from the Corneille just now. Divine magic has no ability to change the personality of a supernatural being. Corneille's values ​​and thoughts between struggle and daily life are consistent. So, what is going on with the monster in front of him? Fortunately, although Corneille's magic was powerful and strange, it did not last long. Before he could get close, the red light disappeared without a trace. This chapter has not been reviewed