At the age of 21, Hilda grew increasingly beautiful and intelligent.

She assisted her father in resolving dilemmas and aided the impoverished women of the city in childbirth, perceiving no distinction between nobility and commoners.

She adored children.

Witnessing their smiling faces brought a smile to Hilda's lips as she dreamt of having a similarly delightful child with her fianceé.

Yet, this benevolent countess harbored an unusual passion.

Within her chamber, she amassed an array of lethal instruments, including 12 exquisitely crafted swords.

Upon hearing this, Fungha's brow furrowed slightly.

12 exquisitely crafted swords.

This immediately invoked memories of Xiaoy<unk>s task to gather the 12 swords of leniency.

Could it be mere coincidence? The story continued.

Suddenly, the beautiful and kind-hearted Hilda succumbed to the minations of a demon.

She lay upon a blood soaked bed, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of 12 children, slain by the 12 swords.

Soon, Hilda's deeds were exposed.

Her cruel methods of child murder provoked the eye of the entire city.

Overnight, the once beautiful and benevolent count was transformed into a bloodthirsty demon.

Villagers nailed her alive to the repentant stake, and the 12 swords pierced her body as retribution for the deceased children.

Clap, clap! The middle-aged man gently applauded, rousing the audience from their immersion in the tale, and thus concludes the story of the bloodthirsty countess.

As the story ended, the tavern erupted once more into a cacophony with patrons expressing their sentiments regarding the narrative.

Naturally, when it came to tales, few believed in their veracity.

Wasn't her father a counselor? Would a commoner dare to slay the daughter of a counselor? You take these stories far too seriously.

They are mere fabrications populated by random characters.

Have you ever witnessed that countis assisting a commoner in childbirth? Indeed, the middle-aged storyteller clapped his hands once more and declared loudly, "Today is not about tales.

" As for Hilda's father, he shall be mentioned in another story.

It is said that Hilda became entangled in a conspiracy against her father for due to the incident involving the death of a child.

Her father lost his seat as a councilman and ultimately perished on his way out of the city.

The guests continued to voice their loud skepticism, highlighting the inconsistencies within the narrative to assert that this was merely a fabrication.

Very well, I possess evidence.

The middle-aged man gently clapped his hands, and a servant approached, bearing an exquisitly crafted dagger.

The storyteller delicately cradled it in his hands as if it were a treasure of immeasurable worth.

This is one of the 12 deadly weapons collected by Hilda, and it was this very instrument that ultimately claimed its owner's life.

Now, should anyone wish to acquire it for their collection, it can be yours for the sum of 1,000 gold coins, the weapon once owned by the countis herself.

At this proclamation, countless patrons erupted in laughter, spitting their beer, leaving their companions adorned in frothy bubbles.

We thought this was entertainment at the tavern, not a sales pitch.

Do you take us for fools? To concoct a tale, only to pedal that wretched dagger for 1,000 gold coins? Only a fool would fall for such a ruse.

No sooner had the words left their lips than an unexpected bid rang out.

I will take it.

The entire room fell silent.

Turning to behold a pair.

A man and woman who had made the audacious offer from the back of the crowd.

Chapter 159.

The sixle silkworm rearing room.

Dam it.

Fong house silently cursed himself for quoting at such an inopportune moment.

In the face of the gathered gazes, he maintained a facade of calmness.

He spoke softly, commending the storytelling and admiring the exquisite design of the short sword, indicating that he could purchase it simply for its aesthetic appeal.

The implication was clear.

Money was no object.

He would buy it simply because it was visually pleasing.

Upon observing Fong How's appearance, the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves.

Gradually, they came to realize that he was the one who had rescued the merchant's daughter in the city and had been rewarded handsomely for his deeds.

While he was indeed wealthy, the crowd pondered whether such extravagant spending was wise.

After all, spending a thousand gold coins for a short sword simply to hear a story seemed rather imprudent.

Is there no one willing to raise the bid? This is a unique piece once belonging to a countess.

The middle-aged man continued to call out loudly, attempting to encourage the onlookers to increase their offers.

I remind you, should you continue to prattle, this gentleman may withdraw his bid, and then you might find it unsold.

" A nearby drinker boisterously exclaimed, eliciting laughter from the surrounding audience.

Those present understood well that such sales tactics often involve extravagant but ultimately useless items, even if they were claimed to be the possessions of countis.

Such artifacts would typically grace the auction houses of the nobility, not this venue.

The seller's eyes darted around, surveying the mocking patrons, and then fell upon a young man who had placed a bid.

Fong how gripped the shortsord, his palms slick with sweat.

Curse be it, if only he had quoted a higher price at the start, he could have profited more.

However, no one else raised their bid.

According to the tavern's rules, once a final price was declared, the short sword would belong to him.

The middle-aged man presented the sword to Fong Hao, stating, "Sir, it is yours.

Although you only spent a thousand gold coins, I must emphasize that this short sword is not a counterfeit.

" "Oh, is that so?" Fonha replied with a slight smile as he accepted the sword.

Its craftsmanship was indeed magnificent.

The entire blade was forged from an unknown metal, gleaming a brilliant white, adorned with intricate engravings that rendered it more a work of art than a weapon.

Short sword of atonement.

Purple.

Type short sword.

Damage.

Tier three.

Description.

A sword that has slain its own master.

It is said that anyone who possesses this sword shall walk the path to death in agony.

As he held it, all of the swords attributes were revealed before him.

A purple hued weapon with merely tier three damage.

It seemed its collectibility far outweighed its practicality.

Sit down for a drink.

It's on me.

Fonhow called out to the departing middle-aged man.

The man frowned at him but eventually took a seat.

The tavern owner promptly serve him a large mug of beer.

Fongo then inquired, "Did that countis truly kill 12 children? How did she managed to steal them from their parents?" The man took a sip of beer before speaking.

I have heard that some kind of drug was used to incapacitate the families of those children before they were stealthily taken away and killed.

"Heard," he continued.

Otherwise, the tale of the countest has been recounted for four or five decades.

You do not suppose I belong to that era, do you? The man stroked his face thoughtfully.

Fong Hao furrowed his brow, but chose not to press further.

Thus, it seemed the man before him was merely a storyteller, not a witness.

The veracity of his tale, therefore, was open to skepticism.

In your narrative, you mentioned the countess's collection comprises 12 pieces.

Do you possess the others as well? Fongho inquired further.

No, this one was acquired by chance, the man replied, shaking his head slightly.

Do you know the whereabouts of the others? I have a keen interest in these collectibles.

The man scrutinized Fong Howan, noting that this unfamiliar youth appeared rather affluent.

He realized he had set his price too low.

With a somewhat displeased expression, he drained his beer and handed the empty glass back to the barmaid, requesting another to be charged to his tab.

Fong Ho was indifferent and soon the second beer was placed before the man.