Chương 120: The True Legacy of the God of Mischief

Richard blinked.

Judging from your conversation, I don't think you two have a normal partnership—but it doesn't matter, I'm not the flute, as long as you're happy.

Here, the flute continued: However, we are still not complete enough, not strong enough, so we cannot give you a gift package.

But at least, we are no longer useless fragments, but magical tools that can actually play a role.

Upon hearing this, Richard once again activated his Eye of Insight on the flute.

Sure enough, the text in the explanation section had changed.

[Note: This is a relic of the God of Mischief. Although incomplete, it can already greatly enhance the wearer's musical talent, double the power of music-related spells, and can also be used as a prop for ritual magic when necessary, bringing unexpected and surprising effects to spells.] Not bad~ It feels like it's worth a rare prop, especially for a poet like him.

At least it's not just taking up space for nothing anymore.

At this moment, the flute player changed the subject again: [Additionally, if you are interested, we can also provide you with valuable information about the God of Mischief.] Oh open!

Is this an information card that we haven't seen in a long time?

Richard nodded vigorously, indicating that he was certainly interested!

Then the flute slowly said: Then, please listen quietly.

People often assume that the fall of the god of mischief was a tragic accident.

But in truth, our master had long foreseen his own death. He accepted this fate with equanimity, unlike some self-proclaimed gods who claim to control slaughter, who writhe on the ground, leave their offspring everywhere, and struggle in an ugly and incessant manner.

He was not afraid of death; his only concern was that after his death, the world would be without laughter.

Therefore, before the destined war arrived, he voluntarily separated a portion of his power and entered the mortal world, hiding in the mountains of the northern part of the Primordial Continent, waiting for the arrival of someone favored by fate.

That person will have the opportunity to inherit his power and bring more joy to this world.

Richard felt his heart suddenly race.

Flute, do you mean that the god of mischief left behind a huge treasure containing divine power?

Are you serious? Or is this just a prank?

Could you be more specific?

The northern part of the Primordial Continent—the Primordial Continent is huge, who could possibly find it if we only talk about the north!

For a moment, Richard's mind was filled with question marks and exclamation marks.

Unfortunately, after revealing this information, the flute of the god of mischief fell silent and did not reply, as if it were just an ordinary piece of wood.

It seems it has said everything it could.

To find out more, perhaps we need to find the remaining pieces of the flute and piece it all back together.

Richard pursed his lips. Although he was itching to try it, he had no choice but to give up for the time being and put the flute back into his dimensional bag.

Just then, Grace's voice came over.

"Richard! Come and see! There's a three-legged dog here. The painter must have been lazy when he painted it, haha!"

Good grief, you still have the leisure to nitpick other people's mistakes, huh?

Richard smiled and shook his head, then turned and got back to cleaning up the battlefield.

About an hour later.

After finishing their work, the group left the painted world, dragging a vampire prisoner they had captured from the storeroom.

Richard turned his head and saw that as the last person left, the people and objects in the painting immediately began to change, and in the blink of an eye, they reverted to their original appearance.

And the man who helped him, Dunke, stands on the right side of the painting. Although his clothes are tattered, he stands tall and confident in the sunlight.

Richard smiled and gave him a hand-to-chest bow.

Turning his head, he found that Marek and his children were also looking at him with the same eyes—except for the third son, the young man seemed a little afraid to look him in the eye for some reason.

Malek bowed slightly, looking somewhat nervous, and said, "Mr. Targaryen, you thwarted the vampires' plot and killed the infamous Vespera. You are a true hero! I'm so sorry we didn't treat you well earlier—" Yes, well said!

But two or three sentences are enough; I'm afraid you'll develop into the next Holcher if you keep going.

Richard stopped the Earl and then politely declined his offer to move him and Grace to a larger room.

Seeing that the other party had not given up, he finally spread his hands and said, "If you really want to give me something—how about making me a truffle roasted pigeon for breakfast tomorrow? I haven't tasted it yet."

Huh?

Didn't we have this dish for dinner?

Marek didn't quite understand what Richard was saying, but he quickly agreed anyway.

"That's enough~" Richard waved his hand, then asked Jonia, who was standing next to him. He learned that Aisha had returned to normal, but had gone back to her room to sleep because she was too exhausted. He was completely relieved.

He concluded by saying to Isabella, "If there's nothing else, I'll go back to my room and rest too?"

The princess nodded, smiled, and said goodnight to the poet.

And so, this chaotic night finally came to an end.

I don't know how many hours later.

Richard opened his eyes in his warm and comfortable bed.

He faintly heard two melodious female voices outside the door, like the tinkling of silver bells.

"I wonder if Lord Targaryen has woken up yet—"

"The towel's cold, go and get another basin of hot water—" hiss.

Could this conversation mean that Marek, realizing his importance, specially sent a maid to serve him?

Is the classic plot of isekai novels finally going to play out in the life of this poet?

Oh dear, how could I possibly accept this?

Richard propped himself up, tidied his hair, and prepared to greet the maids.

Then he heard Grace's voice again.

"What are you doing standing here—huh? No need, Richard hates being disturbed when he's getting up—well, let's go."

Richard: "?"

A dozen seconds later, Richard couldn't help but roll his eyes as he watched Miss Red Copper Dragon push open the door and enter.

"What's the harm in letting them in?"

"That's too boring, my little poet. If you're so eager to be served, I suggest you find some more exciting and challenging maids—how about Amelie?"

"Oh, a highly skilled thief, what a great idea, so you can enjoy watching her backstab me, huh? —"

"That makes sense. How about I do it myself?"

Grace snapped her fingers, used magic to transform her clothes into a maid's outfit, and then climbed into Richard's bed with a grin.

"No, what are you doing? This isn't part of a maid's job! Waaaaah!"

Richard struggled, but because his head was embedded in the warm, fragrant valley, he could no longer speak.

After a while of playing around.

He finally managed to drive the dragon off his bed, completely abandoning any thought of finding a maid. He quickly finished washing up, left the bedroom, and went to the restaurant where he had eaten breakfast the day before.

Soon, everyone had arrived.

Fully recovered and brimming with energy, Elsa grabbed Richard's hand without a second thought.

The Schneider family warmly welcomed Richard to the table, a stark contrast to their attitude the day before.

Richard, however, didn't care about these details and just kept his head down, munching on the pigeon.

Whether to say it or not — This truffle-roasted pigeon is really delicious!

Soon, breakfast was over, and Isabella gathered everyone together again to discuss the upcoming itinerary.

She began by saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, through the interrogation of that prisoner, we have learned some bad news—" >