Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 382: War of Annihilation 2

Fatty was a well-known regular at the Legion camp, his massive frame a fixture of the camp's landscape. Whenever he swaggered through the camp gate, his fat rear swung, the guards dared not stop him—after all, who would dare to argue with a monster?

But today was different. When the fat dog, crowned with the jeweled papal crown and draped in a scarlet silk cape, strode into the command tent like a victorious general, the previously noisy tent fell silent. A dozen officers in the meeting turned their heads in unison, their eyes nearly popping out. Someone dropped their wine glass with a clang, spilling red wine all over the floor.

"I'm here to claim my reward! I bit the Pope to death!"

The fat dog's voice sounded like thunder from underground, or the roar of a bear whose tail had been stepped on. With a casual flick of its stubby front paw, a corpse in a white robe was tossed into the center of the tent like a torn sack. The wound on the corpse's neck was jagged, clearly the result of a torn bite.

Vivian's eyebrows were almost raised to her hairline. She forced herself not to spit out the red wine in her mouth and turned to the mage sitting in the corner and said, "Quinn, go check it out."

The new Legion Mage—also the deputy commander of the Imperial Eagle Eye—stood up slowly, his gray beard trembling slightly with his steps.

Old Quinn crouched beside the corpse and pulled a scroll radiating magical light from his rumpled robes. As the scroll unfolded, a three-dimensional image of the new Pope emerged into the air. The old wizard squinted his dim eyes, glancing at the image, then at the corpse, finally even prying open the corpse's mouth to examine its teeth.

"Fat dog," the old wizard suddenly straightened up and pointed his finger, covered with age spots, at the crown on the dog's head. "Let me see your hat."

"You ignorant old thing," the fat dog snorted in dissatisfaction. The gemstones on the Pope's crown reflected light as it shook its head. It trudged up to the old wizard, its massive body casting a shadow that completely enveloped the thin old man. "This is the Pope's crown. If I were to sit in the temple now, those paladins would kneel before me!"

"You went to the temple with Caesars?"

Old Quinn narrowed his cloudy eyes, his rough fingers unconsciously stroking his belt. His deliberately lowered voice concealed a dangerous temptation, as if this sentence itself was a carefully designed trap.

From the camp rang the Roland Legion's drill horns. The dense, dark tents had encircled the Holy City like an iron barrel. Yet, the thousand-year-old walls remained impregnable, every brick imbued with the blessings of successive bishops. Old Quinn knew better than anyone that even if he managed to break down the gates, the price he would pay would likely drain the Roland Empire of its very last drop of blood—so for now, he could only hover outside like a vulture, waiting for the people of the Holy City to collapse first.

The fat dog blew hot, fishy air from its nostrils, and its muddy front paws slapped on Old Quinn's shoulder, leaving a clear muddy paw print on his magic robe. Sticky saliva dripped from the corners of its grinning mouth, and its red eyes stared straight at the storage ring on the old man's finger - which was undoubtedly filled with gold coins.

“You go back first.”

Old Quinn took two timid steps back, his wrinkles suddenly deepening in the shadows. "Once we've discussed it..." He deliberately emphasized the last few words, his fingers trembling like dry branches. "We'll naturally deliver the reward."

The fat dog grunted in dissatisfaction and walked slowly out of the tent.

"Quinn, are you sure this is the Pope's body?"

Vivian walked over to the body, her slender fingers gently brushing the bloodstained robe, a hint of doubt flashing in her icy blue eyes. She leaned over and stared at the pale face, the new Pope's face still frozen with fear.

Old Quinn placed his rough palm on his chest. "I swear on my honor as a magician, Master Vivian. This is indeed the body of the new Pope, who has been on the throne for only fifteen days." He lowered his voice and added, "The papal crown is a fake. The real holy relic was lost along with the old Pope. According to insider reports, the church is still secretly searching for it."

Gasps echoed throughout the tent. Several generals exchanged shocked glances, the light casting flickering shadows on their armor. The Legion had just surrounded the Holy City today, and the Pope of Saint Laurent had been murdered. It felt a bit unreal. But the Pope's body, with a broken neck, was now before their eyes.

Vivian straightened, her long golden hair gleaming coldly in the magic lamp. She suddenly drew her sword, the sharp tip of which lifted the Pope's chin, leaving a fresh bloody mark on the corpse's neck. "Improve him on the stake," her voice was like a blade tempered by ice. "Put him on the field outside the holy city's west gate. Let those priests hiding behind the city walls see clearly how fragile the protection of their faith is."

As the attendants trembled as they lifted the body, Old Quinn noticed a fresh mark on the Pope's right ring finger, where the ring of power, a symbol of status, should have been worn.

Within the solemn Holy City, the news of the Pope's assassination in the Temple was vigorously concealed by the Church's top brass. However, when the Roland Legion erected the first blood-stained stake outside the city gates, this pathetic blockade became a complete joke. The coronation ceremony of the new Pope seemed like yesterday, with those majestic magical portraits still posted in every corner of the Holy City, and the golden-embroidered robes gleaming in the sun. But now, it became a bitter irony.

Fear spread through the streets like a plague. Vendors closed their stalls early, devout believers hid their holy emblems beneath their lapels, and even the ever-present white doves of the temple vanished. The weathered reputation of the Church of Saint Laurent crumbled once again, the shattering sound piercing the thick city walls. Outside, the heavily armored armies of the Roland Empire closed in, their gleaming spears forming a steel forest. The Church's only response was to tightly close the magic steel gates, adorned with reliefs of saints—an act reminiscent of an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

In a modest mansion in the western district of the Holy City, several dusty old men sat in an ivy-covered courtyard. Caesars would have been horrified to see them—it was none other than the long-missing Depero and his companions. They had braved countless dangers to sneak back into the Holy City, secretly supporting a somewhat promising candidate to ascend the papal throne. But the unfortunate man, barely two weeks into his tenure, was murdered in the temple dedicated to the gods.

"It's time to move." Depero stroked the cracked crystal on his staff, his voice hoarse like weathered sandstone. "If we delay any longer, we won't even be worthy of being called stray dogs." His hunched back cast a shadow over the mottled stone wall, his once wise eyes now as hollow as hollowed-out holy vessels. The courtyard was filled with the scent of aged wine and despair. "The legendary Valkyrie has returned..." The old man suddenly coughed violently. "Where her blade points, no living thing associated with the Church will remain—even every brick and stone in the Holy City will be crushed to dust."

“Depero, where should we go?”

The old paladin Wrathion asked in a hoarse voice, his wrinkled hands tightly gripping the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white from the effort. His once bright eyes were now bloodshot, but they still shone with a determined light.

Depero slowly exhaled, his gaze looking southeast over the towering walls of the Holy City. "Go home," he said in a low, firm voice. "Return to the Surao Valley. This is our last chance, Lacio. If we don't leave now, we'll never be able to leave."

Depero leaned wearily against a carved oak chair, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the armrest. "The Valkyrie's intentions are clear as day," he continued, his voice thick with suppressed anger. "She has no intention of letting the people of the Holy City escape alive. These days of assassinations are just the beginning..."

The muffled beat of distant war drums echoed through the window, and Depero's eyes sharpened. "I estimate it will take at most two weeks, once her legions have completed their deployment, for the general offensive to begin. During that time," he shook his head with a wry smile, "we'll have to be on guard every day against daggers and poisons lurking in the dark."

He turned his gaze southeast again, and through the smoke-filled sky, he seemed to be able to see the Surao Valley thousands of miles away - there were emerald green slopes, clear streams, and the peaceful life they had sworn to protect. The afterglow of the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting mottled shadows on his weathered face.

In front of the wooden gates of the Legion camp, Caesars lay on a cushion inside the hide tent, eyes closed, resting. A fat dog, as sturdy as a bear, lay lazily outside the tent, ears drooping, dozing. Suddenly, there was a slight tremor in the ground, and hundreds of luxurious carriages pulled by fine horses slowly slowed down and stopped neatly at the camp entrance.

The carriages of these carriages were engraved with various shining magic emblems - the hexagram emblem of the Magic Guild, the purple-gold griffin of the Royal Mage Corps, the Book of Wisdom of the Imperial Capital Magic Academy, and the iconic ice crystal totem of the Northland Tower, which glowed with a faint blue light in the sun.

"What the hell!" Master Kandel jumped down from the front carriage, his signature beard shaking with an exaggerated expression. "It's only been a few years since we last saw this demon dog, and it's gained a lot of weight! It's almost as big as the wild bulls in the northern wilderness!" He widened his eyes, staring at the pair of glowing magic patterns on the fat dog's back.

The fat dog lazily raised his eyelids, and when his scarlet eyes caught sight of an old acquaintance, he uttered a few trembling hums from his nose, not even bothering to wag his tail. Kandel stamped his feet in anger: "Fat dog! Go wake up Caesars!"

The fat dog simply buried its head in its paws, shook its short and thick tail symbolically twice, and even closed its eyes.

At that moment, the tent curtain was opened by a white hand. Caesars came out, rubbing his sleepy eyes, his black magic robe still showing marks. He chuckled and touched the fat dog's round belly with the toe of his boot.

"Master Kandel, if you want to order this guy around now..." Before he could finish his words, the fat dog's ears suddenly perked up. Caesars shook his head helplessly, "You have to take out some delicious food first, otherwise it won't bother to pay attention to you."

"I really brought some goodies this time," Kandel rubbed his hands mysteriously and took out two crystal jars from his storage ring. "Golden-veined honey from the Highlands, a treasure that even the royal family rarely sees. But..." He hesitated, "I can only give you two jars. It's not that I'm stingy, it's just that this stuff is too rare. The Ogre Tribe only sent a small bucket!"

The fat dog lying nearby immediately pricked up its small, triangular ears. Even Caesars showed a rare look of surprise. He knew full well that the Highland Magic Bees were among the rarest magical creatures on the continent, their golden wings naturally adorned with flame patterns. Only a few bee colonies could survive the long, cold winter, and with the Highland's fleeting spring and summer, every drop of honey condensed into a miracle of nature.

The fat dog eagerly approached, its wet nose twitching, its scarlet eyes fixed on the two glittering crystal jars. As Caesars stored the honey in his storage ring, he let out a whine, his saliva pattering onto the ground like pearls from a broken string, soaking a large area of ​​the floor.

"Kaesus," Kandel suddenly lowered his voice, his rough fingers nervously rubbing the edge of his robe. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you... Can I... bring my family over?" The usually arrogant master alchemist now seemed a little uneasy. Kaesus knew that Kandel was originally from the Saint Laurent Empire; this secret had never been a secret between them.

"Your family... is in the Holy City now?" Caesars asked cautiously.

"No, no," Kandel shook his head, his gray beard trembling, "They are hiding in the small town of Twilight on the southern border. There should be... about a dozen descendants alive." When the old man said this, a hint of uncertainty flashed in his turbid eyes.

"Master Kandel," Kaisas frowned awkwardly, "This kind of thing requires the approval of Lady Vivian. I'm just..."

"No need to alarm that lord!" Kandel interrupted hurriedly, taking out a letter branded with Black Eagle wax from his arms, "As long as Carlos nods and lets them go, it will be fine. Now the Hawkeye spies are blocking the Dusk Canyon, and those damn crows won't even let go of a mouse!" As he spoke, he stomped his feet hard, and the jeweled staff made a crisp sound on the floor.

Caesars smiled brightly and took out a silver Hawkeye badge. "I can handle such a small matter! As Hawkeye's deputy commander, it's no problem for me to accompany you to Dusk Canyon. But I have to report to Lady Vivian first. You know her temper. If she summons me suddenly and I can't find anyone..."

"Hurry and come back!" Kandel rubbed his calloused hands together, his cloudy eyes beneath his graying brows filled with anxiety. He turned and walked towards the carriage, the pendant at his waist swaying gently with his steps. "I'll ask the driver to give the horses some fodder. We'll have to go..." The old man's voice suddenly choked, and his eyes were filled with worry as he looked towards the dusky canyon.

Caesar noticed the old man's trembling hands and could not help but quicken his pace. The magic patterns on his magic robe shimmered in the sunlight. He turned around and shouted, "Give me half a quarter of an hour!"

Kandel nodded silently, his bony fingers unconsciously stroking his staff. Beside the carriage, four bay horses were munching on hay, the driver humming a tuneless tune as he added fresh alfalfa and black beans to the trough.