Chapter 2047: Goodron's Song

After being struck by Tristan, the banshee reported that the mourning banshee was badly injured, and a pale ghost fire ignited in her eyes, staring at Tristan bitterly.
The paladin of the past was not afraid, and glared at the banshee floating in the sky.
Now he is also an undead creature, Gudron's spells and howling are not effective against the undead, purely fighting skills, he can hit ten banshees with one hand!
"Please calm down, Ms. Goodron, Tristan and I didn't come to kill you—"
"No one can kill me! No one!"
The funeral banshee interrupted Qiao'an's persuasion, excited and hysterical.
"Master, this crazy lady is too ignorant of etiquette, do you want me to teach her again?" Tristan looked at Joan.
"Forget it, I am a gentleman, and you are a knight, all decent people, bullying female ghosts, shameful."
"That...Master, you are a decent person, me, at most a ‘decent ghost’." Tristan corrected it quietly.
"You two self-talking villains! Don't be an old lady and don't exist!"
The two masters and servants (ghosts) broke into the tower without permission and did not put themselves in the eyes. The mourning banshee was almost blown up, dancing wildly with both hands, trying to perform the 8-level "withering death technique", which was unkillable. Ristan, at least you can take his master-the young mage who killed her once half a month ago and sent her back to the coffin.
"I told you, don't get excited."
Qiao An inspired three "mythological powers" and raised his hand to send "higher mythological countermeasures", directly reflecting the "death technique" to Tristan.
This necromantic spell that invokes negative energy is equivalent to a medical spell to Tristan, which dispels fatigue by the way.
"Thank you, Master." Tristan bowed gratefully to Qiao'an and took a shot of "death technique", which made him even more energetic.
"But, damn, how dare you..."
The funeral banshee was really dumbfounded, her mouth was dumbfounded, and she didn't know what to do.
"Again, we are not here to find faults, madam, can you calm down and talk to us calmly?"
Qiao An patiently comforted the mourning banshee.
"Never!" The funeral banshee trembled with excitement, and was guilty of old hysteria again.
"Oh, woman, woman..." Tristan raised his hand to support his forehead and let out a sigh, "You can coax, you can cheat, you can even beat and scold, but you can't reason with them, otherwise it will only change things. Worse."
Qiao An glanced at him, thinking that Tristan looks like a straight steel man, and his emotional experience seems to be unexpectedly rich...I have to find him if I have time.
Putting aside the distracting thoughts in his mind, Qiao An turned his face and continued to ask the funeral banshee: "Can't you really speak well?"
"No!!" The funeral banshee flicked her long hair and held her head high, in a posture that she would rather die than surrender.
Qiao An opened the storage bag, took out the "soul-binding bottle", and shook the banshee to report the funeral: "Do you recognize this?"
The funeral banshee carefully looked at the black agate sculpted container in the hand of the young mage, suddenly her complexion was earthy and she said nothing.
"With this, can you speak well?" Qiao An asked coldly.
The funeral banshee turned her head away from his sight, and replied in a whisper, "I have nothing to say!"
"Then listen to my questions and you answer truthfully."
Seeing her silent, Qiao An continued to ask: "First, tell me about your origin, and then tell me how can I help you eliminate grievances and make your soul sleep peacefully."
"Are you going to help me eliminate my grievances?" The banshee looked at Qiao Ann in surprise, with a face full of disbelief: "Could it be...you turned out to be a good person?"
"Presumptuous!" Tristan scolded with a sword, "Banshee, you really have a pair of eyes. Can't you see that my master is here to save you? Tell me your sad thing! Miss this time Opportunity, you will never meet a kind-hearted person who treats you like my master!"
The funeral banshee's eyes flickered, perhaps because of the pain in her heart that was touched by Tristan's words, she finally spoke and confided her life's tragic experience in the way of a bard.
...
Princes and nobles listen clearly:
I’m Gudron, the daughter of Giukki,
I am telling you a heartbroken past.
I have married three husbands one after another,
Work as housewives in their palaces.
However, among the three kings who have been married,
Sigurd is the most outstanding hero.
Pity him, magnificent and talented,
But my brother was murdered for no reason.
I have never been so sad and heartbroken,
The immense sorrow crushed me to death.
But the two brothers refused to let me go.
They once again designed to deceive their sister.
Carry me and promise me to Ateli as his wife,
This time it destroyed me even more,
I never expected that they would commit such a horrific trick.
I gave birth to my two wicked sons,
Called quietly into the room for a secret discussion.
Without killing them, I can't repay my grievances,
I had no choice but to bear the pain.
Although the two children are still young,
But sympathetic to my difficulties is very clear and righteous.
After taking revenge, I went straight to the beach,
I have long been filled with indignation against the of destiny,
In order to escape their arbitrary mercy.
But where did you think of the surging waves,
Instead of drowning me to death,
Instead, he lifted me up high and rushed to land.
Now that I have come to this country,
I had no choice but to survive God's will.
I became a bride again and went into the bridal chamber again,
There is the most against my wish.
I married the king of the Falcon family,
To raise sons and heirs for Yunaker,
They are justifiably heirs to the throne.
If I say that among all my children,
No one is more pleasant than Swahild,
Swahild lights up my hall,
As if the sun was shining brightly.
My baby girl is about to marry a foreign country,
I put on her new clothes embroidered with gold thread,
Unexpectedly this time the mother and daughter parting became a permanent formula,
Swahild’s golden hair,
Trampled ruthlessly into mud by the iron hoof of a steed.
My dearest family members died,
It was like a pine and cypress had broken all the branches.
I was deprived of all the joys of life,
Like young leaves in the hot summer,
The scorching sun wilted them.
...
Princes and nobles listen clearly:
Send my remains back to Niforgem,
By the tomb of my beloved Sigurd,
Set up a pyre from fir branches,
Let the fire burn my bones clean,
Burn my full sorrow to fly ashes,
Turn all the grudges in my heart into nothing.
All the men in the world,
I wish the fighting ceased and no more soldiers,
You will live more peacefully if you don't die in vain.
All the women in the world,
I hope you don’t have to live sorrowfully,
Never repeat the sad things of my life!
...
PS. Part of the content of this chapter is adapted from the Icelandic epic "Ada", a related poem by Sigurd’s wife Gudron.