Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 363 Dawn Church 4

In less than half an hour, the fat little dog had eaten and drunk its fill and curled up at Caesar's feet, purring softly. He gently stroked the puppy's soft fur and carefully placed it in his backpack.

"Sleep, little one," he whispered, his fingertips tracing the bloodstains on his backpack. The soul gem at his waist glowed slightly, but it was still far from full - he needed more soul energy.

Caesars's leather boots echoed dully in the silence as he walked down the stone steps covered in gravel and dust. The mottled murals on the stone walls, depicting the lives of saints, now seemed to him nothing more than ridiculous decoration. The upper stone halls remained pitch black, and the residences of several cardinals were hidden deep within these winding corridors. He licked his lips, his black gloves tracing over each heavy wooden door, searching for anything worth taking.

About half an hour later, as Caesars stepped out of the stone hall, moonlight shone on his bright red magic robes. He took away a large amount of gold and silver utensils, some gems of lesser quality, and the storage rings of five cardinals. The moment he stepped out of the courtyard, the sound of armor clashing suddenly rang out—twelve fully armed paladins holding torches surrounded him.

"Heretic!" roared the leading paladin, the cold light of the unsheathed sword cutting through the night.

A sneer curled up at the corner of Kaisas's mouth. This so-called "battle" wasn't even a battle; it was more like a carefully choreographed execution. Shadow bolts rained down like a torrential rain. The first volley brought half the paladins to their knees. The remaining paladins barely had time to raise their shields before a second wave of shadow energy pierced their chests. Over thirty elite members of the Church were reduced to corpses in a mere thirty seconds. Their souls, transformed into wisps of white light, joyfully flowed toward the gem at Kaisas's waist.

Alarm bells rang through the night sky, and more paladins poured in from all directions. Caesars stood still, handling each wave of attacks with the ease of harvesting wheat. When the 107th paladin fell, the Soul Gem finally unleashed a dazzling white light, illuminating the entire courtyard like daylight.

"Finally enough."

Caesars weighed the gem with satisfaction, then looked up at the several-meter-tall golden cross atop the church spire. In the night, he spread his jet-black elemental wings and soared to the spire as lightly as a bat. With a slash of shadowy energy, the cross, a symbol of the divine power of light, collapsed. He caught it firmly and placed it in his interspatial ring. In the moonlight, all that remained was the empty spire and the pile of paladin corpses in the courtyard.

To ensure a continuous harvest of souls, Caesars deliberately controlled the scale of this hunt, not wiping out all the Paladins. He understood the principle of slow and steady progress, much like a farmer who doesn't harvest all his fruit at once, leaving behind enough "seeds" for next year's bountiful harvest.

After harvesting a sufficient number of souls, Caesars spread his jet-black wings and soared into the sky. As he accelerated at full speed, the shockwave from breaking the sound barrier exploded across the night sky. The deafening explosion was like a thousand thunderbolts exploding simultaneously. This earth-shattering sound instantly shattered the tranquil night of Gaslo City, waking countless residents from their sleep. Children cried and dogs barked, and the entire city was plunged into a brief chaos.

Having completed his harvesting mission, Caesars quietly returned to his attic cabin late at night. This seemingly ordinary cabin was cast with multiple warning spells and was his temporary shelter.

After simply replenishing some of his depleted magic power, Caesars couldn't wait to take out the recording stone that Fat Dog had recorded. This time, he rarely activated it directly with his own magic power, but instead activated a delicate magical device - a brass base inlaid with magic crystals, which could more stably display the image.

As the device operated, a light curtain, approximately three meters square, unfolded within the dimly lit room. In the image, Fatty's sturdy figure entered a strange underground cavern. The walls glowed with a faint, dark red light, and scorching lava flowed slowly through the gullies, illuminating the entire space with flickering light and darkness. Unlike the vast lava caves typically seen, this one was surprisingly narrow, barely a hundred meters in diameter, yet it exuded an unsettling sense of oppression. The gurgling sound of the flowing lava was clearly heard through the image stone, adding a touch of eerie atmosphere to the attic.

The cave was engraved with strange magical patterns. This wasn't a natural lava cave, but one created by magic. Two half-human, half-beast demons were bathing in the lava. They began to roar incessantly at the appearance of the fat dog.

The fight between the fat dog and the demon creature began. While the fat dog was stronger in terms of strength, he was far behind in agility. The two demon creatures coordinated their attacks, attacking the fat dog from both sides, their sharp claws repeatedly scratching the fat dog's skin. They always attacked where the pale flames weren't visible.

The bruised, fat dog suddenly arched its back, its scarlet eyes gleaming with a terrifying ferocity. As it let out a deafening roar, the blood-red magic patterns covering its body suddenly twisted and distorted, moving beneath its fur like a living creature. In an instant, a pale, eerie flame erupted from the magic patterns, condensing across its sturdy body into a ferocious flaming armor. The dancing pale flames scorched the surrounding air, distorting it.

The fat dog raised his head again and let out a soul-shaking howl, the sound waves containing a terrifying mental shock. The demonic creature in front of him suddenly froze, a pained expression twisted on his scaly face, and his red eyes instantly lost focus - obviously suffering a terrifying attack that struck his soul directly.

In the instant the demonic creature fell into a trance, a fat dog, swathed in pale flames, suddenly appeared in a shadowy form. Its fang-filled maw precisely bit into the demon's thick neck. With a teeth-grinding sound of bone-crushing, the demon's head tumbled to the ground, splattering purple-black blood. The fat dog spat out the scraps of flesh in its mouth, pale flames flaring across its blood-stained fur, like a vengeful demon returned from hell.

The fat dog was very clever. It repeated its old trick, and the other demon easily bit off its neck. Instead of eating the demon, the fat dog put it into its storage ring. As it left the lava cave, it tossed the demon's head into the portal, its mouth wide open with a slight upward curve.

"That damn fat dog deliberately threw its head out of the portal just to scare me. But this thing is also a good thing, it can be made into a domineering helmet!"

The next morning, the hungry fat dog was awakened by delicious food. When it opened its eyes, it saw a hideous demonic creature, howling and rising to its feet. Caesars was laughing so hard that he was bent over backwards, holding a large piece of pickled meat in his hand.

"Master Caesars was afraid you'd catch a cold, so he prepared to cover your belly with pickled meat slices. I just took out the meat slices, and you woke up!"

The fat dog pointed its paw at the demonic creature's head, demanding an explanation from Caesars. Just as Caesars was about to explain, the fat dog leaped up and bit the pickled meat into its mouth. With the meat in its mouth, it spun around, opened the attic door, and ran downstairs, its stubby tail wagging.

Caesars leaned against the door frame, looking at the scene in front of him and couldn't help but sneer: "This dead dog has become a spirit, it's even playing tricks on me!" He narrowed his eyes, thinking of the cunning look of the fat dog when it took advantage of his unpreparedness and wanted to rush downstairs with the pickled meat in its mouth.

A plump figure scurried past, and the fat dog kicked up its hind legs, about to dash back into the kitchen, only to be quickly grabbed by Cecilia's swift ears. "Ouch!" the fat dog cried out in pain, its four short legs thrashing in vain before it was flung over the kitchen threshold.

"Fat dog, have you forgotten the kitchen rules?"

Cecilia, hands on her hips, her apron still stained with flour, glared down at the glutton. The fat dog immediately tucked its tail between its legs, its wet eyes rolling pitifully. The head maid remained unmoved. "Put down your food bowl and wait outside. I'll fill it up!"

The starving dog hung its head, its blood-red tongue licking its nose intermittently, and could only let out a few aggrieved groans from deep in its throat. It slowly used its nose to push the gnawed, tooth-marked magic steel food bowl to the kitchen door, then collapsed to the ground with a plop, its fat body spread out like a piece of dough, only its cunning eyes still glancing into the kitchen.

A mouth-watering blend of aromas wafted from the kitchen: the rich, creamy aroma of bread intertwined with the charred fragrance of pan-fried cured meats, the rich flavor of thick stew entwined with the savory aroma of freshly sliced ​​golden cheese. The chubby dog ​​twitched its moist nose, greedily sniffing every whiff of delicious food, its saliva dripping unconsciously onto the polished marble floor.

As Caesars entered the castle dining room with a leisurely pace, the morning light filtered through the stained glass, casting iridescent shadows on the high-backed chairs. He had barely taken a seat at the head of the long table when the wooden door was suddenly flung open by a gust of air. A saint in pitch-black robes floated in like a shadow, her wide sleeves billowing like dark clouds as she moved.

"Marquis Caesar, you went to the Church of Dawn yesterday!" The saint's voice was like an ice-hardened blade, cutting a chill in the warm restaurant.

A playful smile played at the young marquis's lips, his slender fingers tapping lightly on the gilded armrest. "Her Highness's information network is truly renowned. Just a few hours later, Saint Laurent's secret report reached you." He spoke as he pulled a shimmering blue stone from his bosom. With a flick of his wrist, the stone traced a perfect parabola through the air.

"Some of these mysteries are beyond the comprehension of even someone like me." Caesars's gaze followed the path of the image stone. "The information recorded here may be able to answer some of your questions about the Church of Dawn."

At this tense moment, the creaking of a dining cart's axles echoed from the restaurant's side door. A maid in a white apron slowly wheeled a three-tiered silver dining cart in, the greedy dog ​​diligently pushing from behind with its chubby body. Its scarlet eyes fixed on its food bowl at the bottom of the cart—piled with golden charred edges of roasted meat, shavings of cheese, and crusty bread. Its sleek tail swung in a shadowy shadow behind it.

The Saint flipped her robe sleeve, tucked the image stone into her bosom, and her black boots swung toward the door. "Excuse me," she said without turning back, her black robe whipping up a gust of cool, fragrant wind as she turned. As a key figure in the Saint Laurent Church, she always enjoyed breakfast meticulously prepared by her own chef in her private prayer room.

Inside a makeshift prayer room in Rose Castle, thick curtains blocked out the sunlight, leaving the room dim. Elderly Depero hunched over, his wrinkled hands tightly gripping his staff. Elderly Barov wiped sweat from his forehead, his heavy robes soaked with perspiration. Paladin Instructor Wrathion stood in the shadows like a statue, his stern face devoid of any emotion.

In the center of the room was projected an image of the Church of Dawn: scarlet runes on the altar, twisted demon statues, and clergy who were supposed to serve the light, performing blasphemous rituals.

The saint in black robes clutched the prayer book tightly in both hands, and her rapid breathing caused her veil to rise and fall constantly.

"This is... devil worship! Those people actually believe in the devil!" The Saint suddenly slammed the table, a crisp shattering sound echoing through the room. Her usually pale face flushed crimson with anger, and her slender fingers dug deep into her palms.

Depero looked at the familiar faces in the photo—all bishops he had personally ordained—and couldn't help but let out a bitter smile. The elder, who had served two popes, pondered a heavy question in his heart: When the pope degenerates into a necromancer, when bishops worship the demons of the abyss... is the Church of Saint Laurent still worth saving without a thorough baptism of blood and fire? After just one purge, how many would survive?

Barov tremblingly drew the holy seal on his chest, while Wrathion's armor shone coldly in the shadows, like a sharp sword drawn from its sheath.

"Your Highness, that altar is at least several hundred years old." Depero tightened his white priest robe, a look of deep worry on his face. "According to our investigation, those people from the Church of Dawn have long infiltrated the church's upper echelons. Now, almost all of the church's authority has fallen into their hands."

Upon hearing this, the elderly paladin, Wrathion, trembled slightly beneath his armor. He slowly raised his wrinkled face, a sharp glint in his cloudy eyes. "This is truly a fatal crisis. If these heretics continue to control the lifeblood of the Church, the foundation of our faith, which has been steadfast for centuries, will be overturned." The old man tightened his grip on the holy sword at his waist. His voice was heavy and firm. "A great purge must be launched immediately. Otherwise... this Church, which has strayed from its faith, will have no further need to exist."

The candlelight in the room flickered, stretching the shadows of the two people very long. Depero unconsciously looked out the window in the direction of the Dawn Church, as if he could see the spire gloomy in the twilight.