Chapter 2047 The Song of Gudron

After being struck by Tristan's sword, the Banshee was seriously injured, pale will-o'-the-wisps ignited in her eyes, and stared at Tristan with hatred.

The paladins of the past were not afraid, and glared at the banshee floating in the air.

Now he is also an undead creature, and Gudron's spells and howls are ineffective against undead. Simply competing in fighting skills, he can beat ten banshees with one hand!

"Please calm down, Ms. Goodrun, Tristan and I didn't come here to kill you—"

"No one can kill me! No one!"

The Banshee interrupted Joan's persuasion with an agitated and hysterical expression.

"Master, this crazy lady is too ignorant of etiquette, do you want me to teach her a lesson?" Tristan looked at Joan.

"Forget it, I'm a gentleman, you're a knight, they're both decent people, it's shameful to bully a female ghost."

"That...Master, you are the decent person, and I, at most, can be regarded as a 'decent ghost'." Tristan corrected in a low voice.

"You two villains talking to yourself! Don't pretend that my mother doesn't exist!"

The two master and servant (ghosts) broke into the tower mausoleum without permission, completely ignoring themselves. The banshee was almost blown out of anger, dancing wildly with her hands, trying to cast the 8-ring "withering technique", which couldn't kill the special Ristan, at least he can vent his anger on his master—the young mage who beat her to death half a month ago and sent her back to the coffin.

"I told you all, don't get excited."

Joan activated three "powers of myth", raised his hand and launched "advanced myth countermeasures", directly refracting the "death technique" to Tristan.

This kind of necromancy, which invokes negative energy, is like a medical spell for Tristan, and it dispels fatigue by the way.

"Thank you, master." Tristan bowed gratefully to Joan, and after taking a "withering spell", he seemed even more energetic.

"But, damn it, how dare you..."

The Banshee was really dumbfounded, she was tongue-tied and didn't know what to do.

"Again, we're not here to find fault, ma'am, can you calm down and talk to us calmly?"

Joan calmed down the Banshee patiently.

"Never!" The banshee was trembling with excitement, and fell into her old habit of hysteria again.

"Oh, women, women..." Tristan raised his hand to his forehead, and sighed, "You can coax, deceive, even beat and scold them, but you can't reason with them, otherwise it will only make things worse. Worse."

Joan glanced at him, thinking that Tristan looks like a straight man of steel, and his relationship experience seems to be unexpectedly rich... I have to talk to him when I have time.

Putting aside the distracting thoughts in her mind, Joan turned around and continued to ask the Banshee, "Can't you really talk well?"

"No!!" The Banshee flicked her long hair, held her head high, and put on a posture that would rather die than surrender.

Joan opened the storage bag, took out the "soul-binding bottle", and shook the banshee, "This one, do you recognize it?"

The Banshee carefully looked at the container carved from black agate in the hands of the young mage, and suddenly her face turned pale, and she remained silent.

"With this, can you talk properly?" Joan asked coldly.

The Banshee turned her head away from his sight, and replied embarrassingly, "I have nothing to say!"

"Then listen to my question and answer truthfully."

Seeing that she was silent, Joan continued to ask: "Tell me about your origin first, and then tell me how I can help you eliminate your resentment and let your soul rest in peace."

"You want to help me get rid of my resentment?" The Banshee looked at Qiao An in surprise, her face full of disbelief: "Could it be...you are a good person?"

"Presumptuous!" Tristan yelled angrily with his sword, "Banshee, you really have a pair of eyes for nothing. Can't you see that my master is here to save you? Tell your sad things! Miss this time!" Chances are, you will never meet a kind-hearted person who treats you as well as my master!"

The banshee's eyes flickered, perhaps because of the pain in her heart touched by Tristan's words, she finally opened her mouth, telling her life's tragic experience in the way of a bard.

...

Princes and nobles, listen clearly:

I am Gudron, daughter of Giwki,

I am telling you the sad and heartbroken past.

I have been married to three husbands,

To be housewives in their palaces respectively.

But of the three kings who married,

Sigurd is the most outstanding hero.

Pity him in his youth and talent,

But he was assassinated and killed by my brother for no reason.

I've never been so heartbroken with grief,

The great grief overwhelmed me.

But the two older brothers refused to let me go,

They once again designed to deceive their sister.

Promised me to Atley as wife behind my back,

This time it broke me even more,

I didn't expect them to come up with such a trick.

I gave my two wicked sons,

Quietly called into the room for a secret discussion.

I can't avenge my revenge without killing them,

I had no choice but to bear the pain and give up my son.

Although the two children were still young,

But he is sympathetic to my difficulties and understands righteousness.

After revenge I went straight to the sea,

I have long been filled with indignation at the god of fate,

Be sure to die to escape their willful mercy.

But who would have thought that the waves would be roaring,

Instead of drowning me,

Instead, they lifted me up high and rushed to land.

Now that you have come to this country,

I had no choice but to live on in accordance with God's will.

I was a bride again and walked into the bridal chamber again,

It's the place where I want the most.

I married the king of the House of Falcon,

Bearing sons and heirs for Yunakr,

They are legitimate heirs to the throne.

If it is said that among all the children I have borne,

No one is sweeter than Swahild,

Swahild lights up my hall,

Like the sun shining brightly.

My precious daughter is about to marry a foreign country,

I clothed her in new clothes embroidered with gold thread,

Unexpectedly, this time the separation of mother and daughter became a forever farewell,

Swahild's golden hair,

Trampled ruthlessly into mud by the horse's iron hooves.

None of my dearest family members are left,

Like a pine and cypress breaking off all its branches.

I've been robbed of all the joys of life,

Like young leaves in the heat of summer,

The scorching sun made them wilt and wilt.

...

Princes and nobles, listen clearly:

Send my bones back to Niflheim,

By the tomb of my beloved Sigurd,

Build a funeral pyre of fir branches,

Let the fire burn my bones clean,

Burn all my sorrows to ashes,

Turn all the hatred in my heart into nothing.

all the men of the world,

I wish the fighting would cease and no more swords be used,

If you don't die in vain, you will live more peacefully.

all the women of the world,

I wish you would live without sorrow,

Never repeat the sad events of my life!

...

PS. Part of this chapter is rewritten from the Icelandic epic "Eda", related poems of Sigurd's wife Gudron.