Chapter 6: Unbelievable (Part 1)

When Rodhart heard that the queen had become a vampire and was being coerced by the newly arrived cardinal, his face turned indescribably grim. Anger, shock, pain, and sorrow—several emotions fought for dominance on his face, so much so that Asa even worried his expression might shatter under the strain of his twitching facial muscles. He snarled through clenched teeth, "That bastard... he actually... actually..."

Asa, of course, knew the relationship between Rodhart and the queen, but he still decided to tell him this news first. Because even though it was hard to accept, it was necessary for Rodhart to know. Only by confronting the truth could he think of a way to deal with it.

And Asa firmly believed that Rodhart would be able to bear this blow. He had been through far worse, more heartbreaking, and hopeless situations, so no matter how agitated he was, he would eventually calm down.

Sure enough, after the shifting expressions on Rodhart's face subsided, he fell into silence. A while later, though his face was still pale, he had regained his composure. Finally, he nodded and said, "I understand. But what do you plan to do now? Have you already told the Prime Minister about this?"

Asa quickly shook his head. "We can't spread this news carelessly for now, or the entire capital will descend into chaos. The most critical issue right now is that necromancer who's posing as a cardinal. He's the true culprit behind everything. If we can deal with him, all these problems will be resolved."

"But I can't bring the Teample Knights to confront him. I'm only acting as the deputy commander, and as long as he holds the title of Archbishop Ronnis' successor, he can keep the Temple Knights at bay. And the most critical thing is that we can't handle this matter openly. After all, he's a legitimate cardinal appointed by the Pope himself. Even if we know he's a member of the Necromancer Guild, no one else would believe it."

"So everything must be done in secret. Don't worry, I just need you to lure him to the right place. I'll take care of the rest."

"What about Christine... Is there any way to heal her? I remember the old gentleman at the Magic Academy is a master of his craft. Would he have a solution?" Rodhart asked, his eyes filled with anxiety, like a prisoner awaiting a final verdict.

Asa hesitated for a moment, then mumbled, "Maybe... perhaps... it's possible..." He glanced at Rodhart's face and found it hard to imagine how such an earnest expression might crumble under the weight of cruel reality.

Rodhart seemed to understand something. He let out a bitter smile. Asa had never seen such a sorrowful expression before.

In the Dehya Valley, four necromancers who hadn't yet departed were discussing the letter they had just received.

"I think this is a rare opportunity," Nopolinot said first.

Another necromancer shook his head and replied, "But it's obviously just a power struggle and personal gain. Gathering necromancers to intervene for such reasons? What is Dehya Valley, a den of thieves?"

Master Aiden didn't speak, merely casting a calm glance at the acting Guild Master.

The Marquis, holding the letter in his hands, was deep in thought. The letter, though brief, was a plea for help—a rare occurrence in the history of the Dehya Valley. Everyone who could join the Valley was someone who stood at the pinnacle of the world. People like that, regardless of their cunning, abilities, or experience, were as wary and calculating as seasoned felines. They maintained deliberate distances from one another, cooperating and leveraging each other when necessary but rarely seeking help, which would mean exposing one's weakness and indebting oneself to others.

And now, this letter is not merely a plea for help but also briefly and succinctly outlines the benefits and gains that could result from this operation. Regardless of what everyone might think inwardly, openly discussing interests and profits in Dehya Valley like politicians and merchants does feel somewhat out of place. Fortunately, the person most averse to such matters, Mr. Shante, had already left.

Though distasteful, the contents of the letter were undeniably tied to the Valley's plans. Not every guild member was as impervious to self-interest as Mr. Shante. At such a delicate moment, the acting Guild Master's opinion was clearly crucial.

"This letter may be over the top, and I apologize for my son's words," the Marquis said gracefully, bowing to the other three members. "However, I must also remind everyone that what it says is true. I will not express my opinion on this matter nor participate directly. I leave it to you three to decide whether to help him."

"I'll go help him," said the chubby Nopolinot, raising his hand. The innate instincts of a magic merchant seemed to make him perceive potential profit in this situation.

Master Aiden said calmly, "I can help too. But if he gains control of the Magic Academy, I want him to ensure to send bitch Edwina back to the Tooth Tower."

The Marquis replied evenly, "That's between you and him, Master Aiden. But I believe that if you assist him, he'll certainly remember your kindness."

Aiden merely nodded.

"Fine. Since you two are helping, I suppose I can't stand aside." the remaining necromancer sighed and nodded.

"But, Inham, are you truly not going to participate? While we understand your desire to avoid accusations of favoritism, this is no small matter," he asked.

The Marquis shook his head with a faint smile. "No, because there are more important matters that require my attention..."

One day later, 300 to 400 miles south of the capital of Einfast.

Here lay Emperor Griffinhart XVII's temporary palace, hastily constructed by local officials. Though crude, the emperor himself didn't mind too much. After all, this wasn't a tour he had willingly embarked on.

While Griffinhart XVII might not have been a good emperor, he wasn't exactly a bad one either. At least he was self-aware enough to realize he wasn't suited for the role. Thus, he always deferred to the arrangements of those around him.

He was particularly unhappy about leaving the capital and his gravely ill queen behind for this trip. Were it not for the joint insistence of the Prime Minister and Commander Roland, he would never have abandoned her, especially given her condition. Though he understood that the new cardinal's reinstatement of the Magic Academy was of great importance to the nation, nothing was more important to him than the queen.

Every day since his departure, he had sent messengers back to the capital to inquire about her condition. Finally, one day, he received news that both thrilled and relieved him: not only had the cardinal arrived, but he had miraculously healed the queen. Overjoyed, Griffinhart XVII even considered rushing back to hand over the Magic Academy to the cardinal himself. However, he knew that when it came to matters of state, Prime Minister Murak and Commander Roland were far more capable than he, and their loyalty was beyond question—not necessarily to him, but to the nation.

"How is the queen's health now? Has she fully recovered?" the emperor asked.

A guard who had just returned from the capital knelt and replied, "The queen's health has greatly improved. Her complexion has returned to normal, though she still eats very little. The cardinal says she is fully recovered."

"And what about the vampire incident?" The emperor's face grew pale as he asked this question. He had resolved that if the situation escalated further, he would personally return to the capital with Commander Roland.

"Your Majesty, the so-called vampire incident has been confirmed to be merely a case of ordinary murder. Cardinal Jarvis and the priests from the Magic Academy examined the bodies and confirmed that they were killed with weapons, with the wounds staged to resemble vampire bites. Captain Rodhart of the Royal Guard is currently investigating the murderer."

"Good, good, good... The envoy from Celeste is truly remarkable. It seems this cardinal is extraordinary indeed," the emperor said, exhaling deeply in relief. "I should return and thank this cardinal properly." He glanced at Commander Roland as if seeking his opinion.

Captain Roland, standing nearby, shook his head and said, "The more the situation is like this, the less the Emperor should rush to return."

With a helpless sigh, the emperor nodded in agreement once again.

Commander Roland sighed inwardly. He hadn't expected the arrival of this cardinal to be so well-timed, curing the queen's mysterious illness while seemingly resolving a false alarm. The higher this new cardinal's reputation soared, the more problematic it became for them.

Returning the Magic Academy to Celeste was out of the question—not only to uphold Archbishop Ronnis's longstanding stance but also to safeguard the vital interests of the Einfast Empire. Keeping the emperor away from the cardinal and preventing any slip-ups was essential, leaving the Prime Minister and high priests to deal with him. The hope was to make the cardinal withdraw on his own as soon as possible. Yet, for some reason, the capital continued to send back favorable reports about the cardinal, which only added to the complications.

It seemed they would need to remain outside the capital a while longer.

Perhaps... more extreme measures could be used. After all, Celeste was preoccupied with dealing with Orford. A hint of murderous intent involuntarily surfaced in Roland's thoughts, though he immediately snapped out of it, alarmed. This was clearly not a reasonable solution.

The sudden realization of his unusual thoughts raised his vigilance. Roland was not someone prone to impulsive or reckless behavior. This unnatural surge of killing intent was unnerving. His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword.

For a seasoned warrior to feel murderous intent without realizing its source could only mean someone else was emanating it. Moreover, this was not the overt, brutish killing intent of a fighter or assassin. It was subtle, calm, and insidious, seeping deep into one's bones—a style unique to a mage.

"Be on guard," Roland ordered coldly. The knights of the Holy Order immediately drew their weapons. Since the vampire incident over a year ago, the emperor's guard had been upgraded from regular soldiers to a squad of Holy Knights.

"What's happening?" Emperor Griffinhart asked, bewildered.

The surroundings were eerily silent. The temporary palace, built near a tranquil lakeside, was now devoid of any sound—not even the chirping of birds or the hum of insects. All that remained was an unsettling stillness and a faint killing intent blending seamlessly with the air.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of sword light sliced diagonally through the palace hall. The modest building collapsed in two, revealing the world outside.

In the center of the lake stood a figure.

This person stood calmly on the water's surface. The wind, the birds—everything around them had vanished. Even the lake beneath their feet was still as a mirror, as if lifeless.

All the guards and attendants who had been outside now lay on the ground, seemingly asleep. But the corpse-like pallor of their skin made it clear they weren't merely sleeping.

The figure in the lake was cloaked in a voluminous mage's robe, with only the lower half of their face visible beneath a gleaming silver skull mask. The mask wasn't particularly terrifying—likely unable to scare even a child—but Roland and the knights' faces grew tense. They were no children; they knew exactly what the mask signified.

The mage in the lake remained motionless, like a statue, except for the eyes behind the mask. Those murky, lackluster eyes gazed in their direction.

Even at this distance, where many couldn't see the eyes clearly, everyone felt as though the mage was staring directly at them. That gaze was an intangible sensation, like a brush against the soul, leaving all who felt it weak and powerless.

The sensation wasn't overtly aggressive; it crept up from within, spreading insidiously through every muscle and sinew, draining vitality.

"In the name of the Lord, cleanse all impurities from this world," intoned a priest, his voice steady. A halo of white magic radiated from him, immediately dispelling the oppressive feeling from everyone.

The priest, a master of holy magic and ranked among the top twenty mages in the Magic Academy, still wore a grim expression. "Commander, this is a combination of soul magic and dark magic. My defense can barely hold it off. We can't keep this up for long."

Roland took a deep breath and drew his sword.

It was an ordinary three-foot-long blade, yet Roland swung it despite the mage being over three hundred feet away.

To strike from such a distance was a feat only Roland could accomplish on the entire continent. Even Lancelote, hailed as the continent's greatest swordsman, might not surpass Roland in sheer swordsmanship.

This was no ordinary strike—it was a unique, peerless technique capable of reaching its target three hundred feet away. A brilliant white arc of energy surged from his blade toward the mage.

The mage in the lake didn't move. Instead, the water before them surged upward, forming a thick wall. The white energy struck the water wall with a thunderous crash, sending sprays of water cascading like rain over the area.

"Escort His Majesty and retreat!" Roland's face darkened.

Projecting sword energy at such a distance was physically exhausting, and Roland knew it wouldn't harm an opponent of this caliber. Most importantly, the enemy wouldn't have acted unless they were confident.

As expected, a heavy, oppressive sound broke the air. Everyone looked up to see four massive statues descending from the sky.

The ground shook as the statues landed, standing five meters tall and made of steel. Intricately carved with magical runes, their jointed limbs indicated they were no ordinary statues but magically animated constructs.

Constructs of this kind were exorbitantly expensive to produce, each worth its weight in silver. Steel constructs, in particular, required even more resources and effort than their gold or silver counterparts. Yet their immense combat power and near-indestructible bodies made them the bane of ordinary soldiers. For a mage to deploy four such constructs at once was no small feat.

Of course, constructs don't just fall from the sky—these were carried here. Above them, several bat-like silhouettes circled, having dropped the constructs into position. The fact that these creatures could transport such heavy constructs spoke to their own formidable strength.

Roland, however, wasn't concerned only about the constructs. He noticed two figures riding atop the flying creatures. Though their faces were obscured, Roland knew they also wore those silver skull masks.