Recognizing the immense supernatural power and the shared heritage of the elderly figure before them, Lucius instinctively knelt to the ground, his voice choked with emotion. "Honored master, our people are now under the cruel yoke of the Tartars. Our homeland lies in ruins and our people suffer unimaginably. The younger generation, though willing, lacks the strength to oppose the brutal rebel forces. We can only watch helplessly as our Dynasty crumbles. Since you too are of our blood and kin, we beseech you to intervene, to banish the rebel invaders and restore the glory to our people."
Morgana, too, regained her senses and swiftly joined Lucius in prostration.
She spoke with utmost respect, "I implore the venerable master to take action."
Morvel found himself mildly surprised by their actions, responding with a mocking chuckle, "I have secluded myself here for centuries. The affairs of the outside world no longer concern me. Whether the Chinese, Mongols, or Manchus ascend the throne matters not to me."
Lucius and Morgana felt a profound despair wash over them. They had assumed that the old deity's incredible power, capable of vanquishing rebel troops with a mere flick of his fingers, would effortlessly grant them access to the Imperial City and the rebel Emperor's head. Yet they had overestimated Morvel's devotion to the cause.
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