Chapter 9: Unbelievable (Part 4)

"I really don't know anything about that damn secret room. You go look for it yourself!" Asa shouted in a fit of hysteria. The immense psychological pain he had just endured had already pushed him to his breaking point, and he felt as if he were on the verge of madness.

Cardinal Jarvis showed no reaction to Asa's angry shouts. He simply quietly held the last finger of the dark elf's right hand, speaking in a calm tone as if suggesting a friend have another cup of tea: "Think again. Try to remember. Don't worry, she can still handle it. Even if you don't have confidence in your own memory, you must have faith in my white magic."

At that moment, hurried footsteps could be heard outside, followed by shouting: "Lord, there's urgent news to report to you."

"Urgent news?" Cardinal Jarvis froze for a moment and quickly got up. He had given strict orders that no one was to approach unless there was an emergency, so the fact that someone was coming to report meant something truly urgent had occurred. He turned and walked out of the dungeon with Rodhart.

The dungeon door closed with a heavy thud, leaving only the sound of Asa and the dark elf's heavy breathing in the silence.

"Damn it, how could this happen…" Asa writhed in agony on the floor, his body contorting like a snake with its spine pulled out. It was the first time in his life he had felt such pain.

He had been through countless battles, suffered severe injuries—broken bones, shredded muscles, even crushed internal organs—but none of that compared to the torment he was feeling now. Now he understood that the greatest pain was not physical, but the mental torture.

Every word Cardinal Jarvis had said to him earlier struck deep in his heart. The most painful words, undoubtedly, were the truths, because they represented an irrefutable reality.

Regret, humiliation, anger, hostility… When he realized that everything had been his own fault, these emotions came back with double the intensity, gnawing, squeezing, and tormenting his heart. This is why people habitually search for excuses for their mistakes, looking for someone to direct their hostility and humiliation toward—not just as an escape, but as a subconscious method to protect their emotions.

But reality cannot be avoided. And avoidance never gives anyone strength. Only by facing that inescapable pain and reality, and accepting the torment, can one find the courage to surpass it.

This courage is the true strength of a person—the strength found in suffering.

Asa slowly sat up, blood oozing from his gums as he clenched his teeth in effort.

Behind the library of the Magic Academy, Cardinal Jarvis, accompanied by several priests, stood before a large hole in the wall, with Rodhart by his side.

"You called me for this hole?" Cardinal Jarvis looked at the dilapidated wall, his face matching its color.

One of the priests immediately lowered his head to report: "Bishop, it happened like this. We were here just now when we saw this wall break, and a large figure flew out from inside, quickly crossing the trees and the wall before disappearing."

"You come to me for this? Let High Priest Ryan handle it," Cardinal Jarvis replied, though the situation seemed strange. His mind, however, was elsewhere, and he was somewhat impatient.

The priests felt awkward. They were all young. Cardinal Jarvis's recent displays of remarkable skill and his imposing aura had earned him great respect, especially from younger priests and magicians. Although the higher-ups in the academy and the clergy still didn't trust him fully with power, many viewed him as Bishop Ronis's successor. So, they had come to him first with this strange occurrence.

"Here's what happened…" one young priest quickly explained. "After seeing the strange figure, we first thought it was a failed magical experiment or something like that, so we went inside to check. After some searching, we discovered… the large eagle specimen in the library was gone. At that point, we realized that the figure that flew out might have been the eagle, and it seemed to have someone riding on it…"

"Hmm?" Cardinal Jarvis's expression changed slightly. Hearing that the specimen had moved on its own and smashed through a wall would unsettle anyone, but his reaction seemed unusually intense for someone of his status. He exchanged a glance with Rodhart.

The priest continued, lowering his voice: "I participated in the campaign against the necromancer in the capital last year. I now recall that when the eagle flew out, there was a faint magical fluctuation… it seemed to carry the aura of necromancy. That's why we urgently came to report to you, Lord."

Cardinal Jarvis's face became grim and serious. After hearing the report, he walked into the library and surveyed the surroundings, then turned to the hole in the wall. Suddenly, he shuddered and nodded to the priests: "You did well. Very well. But don't mention this to anyone else, understood?"

Before the priests could respond, Cardinal Jarvis swiftly left as if carried by the wind.

"I have urgent business to attend to. You should check on those two and make sure nothing goes wrong. Then go back to the Paladin head office to gather reinforcements, just in case," he told Rodhart.

Rodhart nodded silently, then turned and walked toward the dungeon.

The dungeon door opened, and the situation inside appeared unchanged. Rodhart approached, glancing at the dark elf on the floor and then at Asa in his cell. He sighed softly. Throughout his time with Cardinal Jarvis, he had always maintained a calm and detached demeanor, but now a hint of guilt appeared on his face. He whispered, "I'm sorry…"

His voice was quiet, directed at the floor rather than Asa. He knelt beside the dark elf, placing his hand on her weakening body and quietly chanting an incantation. White magic illuminated the space, and Jessica took a deep breath, her face relaxing slightly. Rodhart then opened the cell and tossed her inside, placing her next to Asa.

Asa remained half-sitting against the wall. In the short time that had passed, he looked utterly exhausted, as though he had trekked through a thousand miles of desolate wilderness. His once-sharp expression was gone, and his bloodshot eyes, devoid of life, stared at Rodhart knowingly but without saying a word.

Rodhart didn't speak either. He simply checked the cell one last time before turning to leave.

"There's nothing to apologize for," Asa suddenly said from within the cell.

"Huh?" Rodhart stopped, looking back.

"I said there's nothing to apologize for. You were just doing your job. It was my mistake for putting myself in your hands. You're someone who knows how to make rational choices, to weigh the consequences and act accordingly. It was my fault. I misjudged you, thinking you were as naive as I was. So there's no need for an apology. If you're with him, you'll have more power and better opportunities. It seems he's better suited than I am to handle Christine's situation." Asa spoke calmly now. Despite his exhaustion, a new clarity began to emerge in his eyes.

"Thank you," Rodhart nodded, acknowledging the friend he had just betrayed. There was a complicated expression on his face—his deep composure and strategic thinking couldn't fully mask the emotions he felt.

"No need to thank me," Asa replied, his demeanor calm, even courteous, despite the betrayal. "I've finally understood and admitted that what that guy said was right. Everything is my fault… But I'm curious, do you really have no faith in your teacher? Do you think Captain Roland can't handle this?"

"It's not that I lack faith in Captain Roland, it's that I have more faith in Dehya Valley, more faith in Cardinal Jarvis…" Rodhart answered, his tone even.

"I can tell that he really does have confidence in you. He trusts you enough to let you know everything and to keep you here to watch over us," Asa observed, his tone becoming colder, but something deeper began to show in his eyes.

"You're wrong. He doesn't have faith in me. He has faith in the interests. Trust built on mutual benefits is always more solid and stable than trust based on feelings…" Rodhart replied before turning and walking toward the dungeon door. Just before he exited, he paused and said, softly, "Sometimes I look back on the days when I believed in emotions and justice. It really seems childish and laughable… But… sometimes, I wonder…"

His voice trailed off, barely audible. He didn't turn around again, opening the door and leaving.

As the iron gate slammed shut with a muffled sound, Asa withdrew his gaze. He still looked weary and disheveled, but there was something new in his eyes that had never been there before, and it began to glow. It was fire, and also lava. But it wasn't the kind of fire that radiates heat and light outward; this flame was condensed like ice, because all its power and light were projected inward into his heart. This was the kind of heart power that could only be forged through true pain and hardship.

"Has that old man really abandoned everything?" Asa sighed, slowly closing his eyes, taking in the last trace of the external mark and internalizing it. He lay still.

At that moment, three hundred miles away from the royal capital, a battle was drawing to a close.

The enormous hands of the steel golem clamped together, finally crushing the body of the swordsman in the middle. The sound of armor, bones, and internal organs twisting together was like someone crushing a hundred eggs at once. Blood sprayed out violently from the completely twisted and deformed body.

But the destruction only affected the swordsman's waist and abdomen. His head, chest, and arms were still intact. Though he was clearly not going to survive, he used the last remnants of his strength to strike a heavy blow with his sword directly onto the golem's chest. The sword shattered, and several of the magical runes etched onto the golem's body were destroyed, causing its movements to become noticeably sluggish. These magical runes were what allowed the golem to move, and even heavy weapons like hammers and axes couldn't normally damage them. This sword strike's destructive power was immense.

The golem released its grip, and the swordsman's mutilated body dropped to the ground. Despite being one of the best warriors, he made no sound, not even the slightest groan, as though his entire existence had only served to land that one final strike.

There were already many such wounds on the golem's body. In general, compared to attempting to destroy the core hidden deep inside, slowly damaging the body was the only way to deal with these steel monsters. As long as the body structure was sufficiently damaged, the golem would fall apart.

Suddenly, a massive, sharp earth pillar rose from the ground and struck the metal golem's body, emitting a muffled sound like a bell being struck. Under this heavy blow, the enormous metal monster finally froze and then trembled before falling down.

This was the last golem remaining. The others had already fallen into piles of scrap metal. In addition, there were many stone gargoyles scattered around the area, remnants of the warriors' efforts. However, the last swordsman had also fallen. The last remaining mage in the team used what little magic he had left to cast an earth spell, finishing off the battlefield. At the same time, the mage's body shuddered, black blood slowly flowing from his nostrils as he collapsed into a heap.

In the sky, the necromancer withdrew his gaze and let out a soft sigh. He was hundreds of meters above the ground, and even though he had managed to kill one of the opposing warriors using a dark soul shock, it had been somewhat difficult, even for his capabilities.

"These guys are impressive..." another chubby mage, also wearing a silver skull mask, said with a mournful face. Most of the metal golems and stone gargoyles had been created by him, and each of these creatures, even if not priceless, was worth at least half a city. But two of the golems had been reduced to scrap by Roland's sword in a single encounter.

"They're all elite members of the Holy Knight Order protecting the emperor. With just your scrap metal, it's indeed unlikely you could take them down unscathed," said Master Aiden, floating in midair. He was the only one not sitting on a stone gargoyle. Compared to his unparalleled mastery of air magic, the agility and speed of these flying magical creatures were comparable to that of a pig.

"If you could contribute a bit more, Master Aiden, maybe I wouldn't have lost so many," the necromancer continued with a downcast expression.

Aiden Master replied coldly, "I've told you, my only job is to restrain Roland. And I've already done that. Nopolinot, do you think your pile of junk is worth more than my life? Should I fly down to engage him in direct combat?" His silver beard had been reduced to a comically small segment, and there were some scratches on his lips. This was the result of his rash approach at the start of the battle.

It wasn't that Master Aiden had been careless. In the battle between a mage and a warrior, fifty meters was considered a safe distance. Moreover, Master Aiden's flying skills were far superior to most. So, he had initially flown close to the battle.

However, Roland's first strike was so sudden, and it closed the fifty-meter gap so quickly, no one could have predicted it. Even the fastest, most agile falcon wouldn't have been able to avoid it. Fortunately, Master Aiden's flight speed was slightly faster than a hawk, so he barely managed to evade the strike. Since then, he hadn't ventured closer than a hundred meters, staying at a safe distance to harass Roland with magic.

"No more arguing. It seems we've achieved our goal. Although this guy's combat strength exceeded our expectations, in the end, we've won," said another necromancer coldly, observing the battlefield below.

Now, only two people remained standing below: Emperor Griffinhart XVII of Einfast and Roland, the commander of the Holy Knight Order. The ground around them was littered with shattered stone gargoyles, magical crater holes, the broken bodies of guards, and their remnants.

In this hellish battlefield, Roland stood tall, his expression as cold as a mountain, his sword still gripped tightly, with not a single sign of battle damage or disarray, like an immortal war god statue. But he knew, deep down, that he was nearing his limit.

No matter who it was, after enduring continuous magical bombardment from three top-tier mages, and occasionally intervening to deal with the golems and gargoyles, even the most resilient person would eventually run out of energy.

Behind him, Griffinhart XVII, although ashen-faced, was still standing. But Roland knew that this wasn't due to the protection of himself or his subordinates; rather, it was because the three necromancers had never considered the emperor as their target.

If the three necromancers had aimed their attacks at Emperor Griffinhart XVII, none of the Holy Knights would have been able to stop them. The one using dark and soul magic was particularly skilled at targeting such weak individuals. But he had never struck at the emperor, instead methodically eliminating other swordsmen from a distance. The other two necromancers were controlling the golems and using their superior flying magic to circle above.

There had been three instances when they had attempted to use teleportation scrolls to move the emperor out of danger, but the necromancer immediately countered with chain lightning and thunderbolts, and the other two used everything they had to attack, disrupting the magic. On the final attempt, the team's priest burned his life force to cast a divine protection spell, hoping to protect the emperor's use of the scroll, but the necromancers had used a rare "space lock" scroll to completely block all space-based magic in the area.

The fact that the necromancers had to use such a rare item indicated how precious and difficult to obtain it was. Moreover, all three of the necromancers remained at a safe altitude, methodically draining Roland's energy, stamina, and his subordinates' lives.

Roland had now realized the necromancers' true target. It was him.

The necromancer who mastered air magic had refrained from using his top-tier air magic, "Falling Stars," and another necromancer had also held back from using the large-scale soul and darkness fusion spell, "Soul Devour." It wasn't because they couldn't, but because they didn't want to harm the emperor, as these powerful area spells would have likely affected him. They were focused on eliminating Roland, not the emperor.

They didn't want to hurt the emperor, but they were determined to prevent him from using the teleportation scroll to escape. As long as the emperor was here, Roland would be restricted, unable to flee or fight back without hesitation. This allowed them to steadily wear him down from a safe distance.

Though the three necromancers were far stronger than Roland, the only way to ensure they remained unharmed while ensuring Roland couldn't escape was this method. It was a long and somewhat despicable strategy, but it was undoubtedly effective.

"It's almost over. Let's all strike together. I can tell his energy and stamina are nearly exhausted," Master Aiden said as he descended, casually casting a thunderbolt toward Roland.

As Roland watched the lightning ball approach, he felt his hand beginning to cramp. He had already blocked, shattered, and dodged this spell many times, along with fireballs, ice spikes, wind blades, and others. His senses were growing numb, and the sword in his hand felt heavier than ever. Would he be able to block it this time? If he could, how about the next storm of attacks?

But at that moment, a small black dot suddenly flew in from nowhere, darting into the lightning ball. The thunderbolt immediately changed shape and, with a strange sound, disintegrated in mid-air.

Master Aiden froze in midair, sensing something unusual. He looked up, and his body trembled.

Although his face was covered by the silver skull mask, the lower half of his face and his eyes, which were exposed, revealed an expression of shock and disbelief, as though he had just witnessed the most unimaginable scene.