Simon had been rowing for a long time, and the small boat in the distance had already docked on a floe beside an iceberg. When they also disembarked, Torine put on her helmet, looking very serious. Smooth floe connected to towering white mountains, and a person in a black hooded mage robe was wandering by the iceberg.
"You, Mage over there! Hey, I'm talking to you! Turn around!" The Guards friend pressed his longsword at his waist, full of authority.
The Mage turned his head, revealing a rough, wrinkled face beneath his hood. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, slightly hunched. Seeing Simon and the other two arrive, he raised the pickaxe in his hand and waved it as a greeting.
Torine strode up and asked, "Citizen! You are currently on Winterhold territory. If you behave, nothing will happen, but if you commit any crime, I will immediately take you to Bitter Prison!"
"Oh, hehe, who do I see? A Nord Guard, a girl, good for you. And then, an—outsider, no, no, actually also a Nord, and a Breton child. Very good, this might be a good omen. After so many years of searching, there should be a result."
Torine frowned at his words, turning to glance at Simon and Jonas. Her helmet obscured all her thoughts. The female Guard questioned the Mage, "Who are you? State your name and purpose for being here, Citizen!"
"I am Septimus Signus, a great scholar, a seeker of truth. I have come here guided by fate. Here, beneath the white, there are brass mysteries, divine treasures…" The man calling himself Septimus Signus stammered, trembling either from cold or excitement. His voice also trembled, and as he continued, it grew deeper, as if submerged in water, blurred and indistinct.
Torine nodded, "So, just an old man who writes idle books." This Septimus Signus was a famous Mage and scholar, who had published many research papers on magic and history. Some even called him the wisest man, but for the Nord, anything not about combat or smut was not considered proper good writing.
"Those are not idle books; they are treasures that spread wisdom! Nord are as resistant to enlightenment as ever, hmph, barbarians…"
"Silence! Citizen, you are suspected of insulting the great Skyrim and her people. Now, you either pay a fine of fifty gold coins, or you go to prison!" Torine reprimanded, showing no mercy.
"You… you, you, I…"
Just as the atmosphere grew tense, Simon suddenly let out a long "Oh—"
Jonas quietly asked, "What is it, sir?"
"I know what this person is talking about."
Beneath the iceberg was a giant Dwemer machine, actually a treasure chest, which could be opened by finding the right method. The treasure inside was a copy of the Oghma Infinium, a handwritten copy of Hermaeus Mora's treasured knowledge.
It was that disgusting octopus-eyed head again, a lingering ghost. And what this half-old Mage called the guidance of fate was just him flattering himself; in reality, he was just Hermaeus's servant and sycophant.
"You what, you what, hurry up!" Torine drew her longsword, looking aggressive, completely devoid of the gentleness she showed Simon.
Two blazing flames appeared in the old Mage's hands, seemingly intending to resist arrest violently. However, the next moment, a long rope flew like a dragon, tightening around Septimus Signus's neck. A faint electric current flashed, directly knocking the old Mage unconscious. He twitched twice on the ground and then lay still.
"Wow! That's amazing!" The boy exclaimed.
Simon walked over and removed the enchanted lasso from Septimus Signus's neck. This was just one of the five interlocking rings; there were six in total, one master ring and five subordinate rings, designed to bind a person completely—hands, feet, head, and body—ensuring the victim could not move an inch.
Torine stepped forward and patted Simon's arm, "Well done!"
Simon reached into the Mage's pocket and rummaged around for a while, indeed finding a cube and a sphere. Made of brass with crystal eyes, they were two beautiful objects. The round one was a tuner, used to activate Dwemer mechanisms, and the square one was a lexicon, used to record Dwemer research information.
Alas, seeing these two things in his hands, Simon sighed.
Fate, oh, it's so bizarre and strange. Hermaeus calls himself the Daedric Prince of Fate, but He also has limits. The limit of the infinite is what makes people most despair. Yes, Simon did not know what the future held, but he also marveled at the strangeness of the world. These two items were essential for the main quest of the game, pointing to one of the ultimate artifacts in the game, the elder scrolls, which contained all mysteries.
There were many elder scrolls. They transcended time and wielded its immense power. Reading them could blind mortals or cause mental confusion, yet the mysteries within still drew people in droves, such as the Moth Priests who mastered the art of reading them, or the Dwemer who cleverly peered into them. Using the elder scrolls could banish enemies into a temporal maelstrom. When Alduin, the World-Eater, ravaged Skyrim, three heroes confronted Him at the Throat of the World. The old man Felldir opened the scroll and chanted a spell, casting Alduin into the temporal currents.
Epic sagas were all contained within the elder scrolls, and the elder scrolls themselves participated in these sagas, a divine artifact that integrated inside and out, transcending destiny.
Simon inhaled softly, feeling an inner yearning—to find the elder scrolls, to obtain it, to gain wisdom…
Jonas gently patted Simon's hand. The Troll's hands were covered in enchanted tattoos, their grayish-red skin looking like burnt ash and wood shavings.
"Sir! Sir!"
"…What is it?"
"You zoned out!"
"Hmm, it's nothing." Simon hoisted Septimus Signus onto his shoulder, intending to take him to the Foodie's shop. When he woke up, there would need to be an explanation.
Torine asked, "Are you still going to see the prison?"
"…" Although he didn't know why this woman was so fond of prisons, Simon didn't refuse, "Let's go."
After rowing for a long time, they arrived at a calm island reef, covered in gravel. In the distance, Simon saw several massive Frost Atronachs leisurely walking across the land.
"These are?" Simon was also surprised; he had never been here in the game, and the map didn't show such a place.
"This prison is guarded by these big guys. Doesn't it look like a Mage's work? It actually is. They use some strange methods to summon these clumsy creatures. No one can escape from Bitter Prison; they can only serve their sentences obediently." Torine sighed, "Actually, not all Mages are bad. No, I think we shouldn't hate them anymore. Collier always talks about how prosperous Winterhold once was, but that couldn't have happened without the College's help, just like this prison. Now everyone's hearts have turned to ice! They won't open up again…"
The female Guard removed her helmet and looked at Simon with sincere eyes, "Foodie, your shop is liked by people from both Winterhold and the College. You might be the turning point. Winterhold needs the College, and the College also needs Winterhold!"
Jonas was stunned.
Simon smiled, "The fact that you can say these things proves you are more suitable to be a Jarl than Collier." Yes, Torine still disliked Mages, but she possessed the political wisdom to compromise.
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