Black Hearted Mage

Aside from the leader of the black-clad men, who was securely bound, all the others who had entered the cellar were killed. The Soul Gem hovered in mid-air, emitting an eerie white light, greedily devouring the scattered soul energy. Caesars had no time to dwell on these matters. He hurried along the dark secret passage. All the traps along the way had been disarmed by the black-clad men—this was clearly a carefully planned surprise attack.

A faint voice reached the end of the secret passage. Caesars gripped his magic blade tightly and stepped lightly. As he pushed open the hidden stone door, the glaring sunlight forced him to squint. It was a weed-covered, rocky beach, barely a mile from the straight road. Not far away, a dozen figures sat or stood, waiting.

Upon seeing these people clearly, Caesar's pupils suddenly constricted. They had clearly been carefully selected based on the appearance of the castle's residents—the man in the butler's robes was a spitting image of Sean, the butler. The burly man standing in the corner with his arms folded looked like a twin of Captain Bard. Even more chilling was the fact that one of the young men had hair color and features that were practically identical to Caesar himself.

"Sauron..."

Caesars gritted his teeth, fingers trembling with rage beneath his black robe. There was no need for interrogation; these meticulously prepared doubles had already revealed Soran's plot. Shadow bolts rained down like a torrential rain, instantly ripping the doubles to shreds before they could react. The splatter of flesh and blood dyed the rocky beach a dark red.

Half a minute later, the magical light dancing from Caesars' fingertips gradually dissipated, and he sent a magical message to Sean. In the gloomy secret passage, the young earl's black robe fluttered as he returned to the castle along the secret entrance. The entrance and exit of this secret passage must be completely sealed, and the hidden side doors must also be checked one by one - these dark passages are like venomous snakes lurking in the shadows, posing a deadly threat to the castle at any time.

The cellar was filled with a strange odor, a mixture of blood and potions. Guards were carrying corpses out one by one, the rustle of armor echoing off the stone walls. Caesars dragged the unconscious black-clad leader with one hand, as effortlessly as if he were dragging a sack of grain. In a corner, puppies happily tore at small snakes. These hybrid golden-eyed black demon snakes, though highly venomous, were of no value for domestication due to their low intelligence, making them perfect food for the puppies.

"Sean!"

Caesars threw the man in black heavily onto the lawn in front of the castle, splashing a few drops of morning dew. "Take your men to the entrance of the secret passage. There are more than a dozen corpses lying there - their heads are well preserved, I guarantee you will be shocked!"

As Caesars spoke, he deftly stripped off the captive's black robe, revealing the lining adorned with Saint Laurent's dark patterns. This so-called mid-level magician had mediocre abilities, but his jewel-encrusted staff was incredibly valuable.

As Sean took the order, a hint of hesitation crossed his old face. "My Lord Earl, those corpses...their deaths were very tragic, weren't they?"

"hehe!"

Caesars sneered and tore off the church badge of the captive. "They look about 80% similar to you. Some of them are almost like your twin brothers. The despicable Saint Laurent Church is trying to play the trick of impersonation again!" He kicked the captive at his feet. "This 'big shot' brought dozens of hybrid venomous snakes, and intends to use their venom to replace us one by one." In the morning light, the church badge that fell to the ground gleamed with golden light.

"Sean, Hawkeye's people will come to pick up this photo stone this afternoon."

Caesars pulled out a crystal with a faint blue sheen from his bosom and rubbed the subtle magical patterns on its surface with his fingertips. He paused, a cold glint flashing in his dark pupils. "Don't let anyone near the study today—I'm going to pry this guy open!"

As he spoke, he grabbed the black-clad man by the collar like a rag bag. The captive's limp body dragged across the stone bricks, his limbs twisted at odd angles by the previous dark shock spell. The stench of blood and incontinence lingered in Caesars's nostrils, yet he didn't even frown. Soran's haste to send men to his castle must have hidden a shocking secret.

The small study in the castle's west wing was bathed in midday sunlight, its crystal windows refracting the light into a cool, icy blue. This was Caesar's favorite place for meditation, and even now, the crystal windows still bore traces of a few spells. He tossed the captive onto a tattered animal hide, determined not to soil the place too much.

"Do you know why we chose this place?"

Caesars lifted the captive's drooping head with the toe of his boot. The bloodstained face was unrecognizable. His body, with its shattered spine, resembled a fish with its bones removed. Only his rapid breathing proved he was still alive. "Crystal amplifies the soul's wail, while mosaic glass..." He suddenly grabbed the man's throat, "filters out even the most beautiful screams."

The captive's cloudy eyes suddenly trembled violently. Caesars loosened his grip, letting the head droop limply once more. He removed his soft leather glove and slowly placed his palm over the captive's crown. As the first obscure syllable escaped his lips, the light in the study dimmed. The incantation of soul-sucking magic materialized like black mist, curling down his arm and wrapping around the captive's orifices.

"Don't worry, this will hurt a lot more than a shattered spine!"

Caesar's voice suddenly became unusually gentle, as if lulling a child to sleep. The crystal windows began to hum, reflecting the distorted light and shadows of the captive's soul being forcibly extracted. Complete soul extraction only takes a few minutes, but poring over the victim's memories takes much longer. But Caesar has plenty of time; he will uncover Soran's secret.

The man in black suddenly erupted in a heart-wrenching wail, a sound like something squeezed from the depths of hell, sharp enough to pierce eardrums, and with a chilling tremor, it reverberated back and forth against the cold stone walls of the castle. His cry was laced with inhuman despair, as if he were enduring the agony of a thousand cuts with every second. Caesars slowly raised his white fingers, their tips gleaming with an eerie blue light, pointing precisely at the crystal window inlaid with dark patterns. In that instant, the wailing ceased abruptly, as if severed by a sharp blade, and the entire hall fell into a deathly silence.

The man in black's cloudy eyes bulged from their sockets, his bloodshot pupils constricting violently. Through the dimly lit crystal glass, he saw a translucent, milky-white shadow being forcibly ripped from his body—his soul, like a wad of torn cotton wool, twisting and deforming painfully in the air. Countless thin threads stretched from the connection between soul and body, each severance sending a piercing pain through his nerves. His Adam's apple rolled up and down, but no sound came out, only a choking gurgle from his throat.

The man's limbs began to spasm uncontrollably, his nails scratching bloody marks on the stone hide. His spine bent backward into an impossible arc, his joints making teeth-grinding "crackling" sounds. His once sallow skin quickly took on a layer of dead gray, wrinkling and cracking like drained bark. As the last trace of his soul left his body, his eyeballs suddenly bulged out, the bloodshot whites of his eyes completely exposed, and his rigid body slammed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The reflection in the crystal window was only a hideous corpse, its mouth wide open, its fingers curled like chicken claws, and the milky white shadow screamed silently.

Kaisas devoured the soul like a fine wine, the dark power crushing it inch by inch like a millstone. As the soul fragments melted away, fragments of memories slowly unfolded in his soul sea like a scroll.

Gilded candlesticks illuminated the oak-paneled study, where an elderly nobleman in a dark-patterned velvet coat reclined in a carved armchair. Earl Soren, his silver hair meticulously combed, tapped the tabletop with his ruby-encrusted scepter, while Caesar, depicted in the painting, bowed his head in a gesture of near humility, listening. The elderly noble barked orders after orders to Caesar, revealing all his intentions.

Fragments of memory surged, ceasing only when the setting sun dyed the study blood-red. Caesars suddenly opened his eyes, a sneer curling up at the corner of his mouth. He stretched his limbs lazily, his joints cracking.

"Haha..." He whispered to the empty chamber, his voice filled with mockery. "That old fox, Sauron, actually has a double that's hard to tell the real from the fake. The reason he can't give up this territory is because there's a gold mine buried beneath this land!"

The blood-stained hide in the study was reduced to ash by his spell, while the distorted corpse was consumed by darkness. Caesars gazed inwardly at his golden soul sea—the soul forge still roared. The gold bricks buried deep in the castle's cellars, the power-playing Soran in the city of Helansa, were no match for the feast of darkness boiling within him.

A few days later, at dawn, as the first rays of morning light pierced the clouds, Caesars finally pushed open the dusty oak door of his study. He rubbed his aching temple and decided to depart for the city of Hailansa immediately. The vast wealth held by that old fox, Soran, was like a piece of tempting honey, and Caesars was determined to seize it before the Roland Empire intervened.

"My Lord, are you going out?"

Sean, the butler, had been standing quietly at the living room doorway, his slightly wrinkled face filled with worry. This loyal servant, who had served the Solomon family for twenty years, always made Caesars feel a little uneasy—he was just an outsider.

Caesars adjusted the silver buttons on his cuffs and lowered his voice, saying, "No need to prepare a carriage this time. I'll go to the city and rent an ordinary one. You should know that the Solomon family's carriage is too conspicuous."

"But, Lord Earl," Sean took a half step forward, his brows knitted together, "the family crest on the carriage can be temporarily removed..."

Kaisas suddenly interrupted the other party, then lowered his voice and said in a restrained manner: "Even if the emblem is removed, there will still be obvious marks left on the car body. Those marks formed by years of wind and sun will become the most conspicuous marks." As he spoke, he made a gesture, as if outlining the clear mark in the air.

In the dining room, the morning light filtered through the stained glass, casting dappled shadows across the long table. Caesars frowned as he gazed at the simple breakfast before him—a block of golden cheese and a faintly steaming glass of Barton black tea. He had missed his regular breakfast, and now these were the only scraps left in the kitchen. His silver knife sliced ​​through the cheese effortlessly, and he chewed and swallowed the food carefully.

At this moment, Hawkeye's spies, like ghosts, wandered through the shadows of two bustling cities. Disguised as merchants, beggars, and even noble servants, they moved through the dark alleys of taverns and the salons of the nobility, each with a sharp gaze searching for any trace of Earl Soren. These well-trained spies knew that finding the missing earl would bring a generous reward and even greater advancement within the organization.

Meanwhile, within the magnificent hall of the Saint Laurent Church, beneath a dome supported by twelve gilded pillars, the aged Pope sat slumped in a jewel-encrusted golden chair. His golden robe, embroidered with sacred runes, shone eerily in the candlelight. His withered fingers, like withered branches, unconsciously caressed the massive sapphire on the chair's armrest. As his cloudy gaze swept over the people kneeling on the red carpet, the air in the hall seemed to freeze.

"Floyd!"

The Pope's voice was like rusty gears grinding against each other, and his deliberately drawn-out syllables made all the priests unconsciously tense their backs. "I'm curious, why is even the evening primrose extract supply cut off? Do you think my old bones are no longer worthy of these precious life-extending products?"

The High Priest of Judgment, who had been called upon, immediately knelt half a step forward. Floyd had specially changed into formal priestly robes embroidered with gold thread today, even his usually carelessly undone white hair meticulously tucked into a crown. He keenly noticed that the age spots on the back of the Pope's bony hands seemed to have faded somewhat—a discovery that made his salute even more respectful.

"Your Majesty," Floyd said, resting his forehead on the back of his hand, his voice filled with just the right amount of panic. "Depero and his attendants vanished as if swallowed by the earth. I searched his residence in Violet City, and even his cherished blue roses withered in the flowerbed." At this point, he glanced up and saw the Pope's mouth twitch. "Even stranger, the contact he arranged also lost contact on the same day."

The Pope suddenly straightened his hunched back, and the movement made the gold sun ornament on his chest clink. Floyd immediately held his breath - you know, in the past five years, this aging ruler would have been panting even when he raised his hand to bless.

"That old fellow..." The Pope sneered, and the sapphire inlaid on the top of the scepter suddenly glowed. "He is one hundred and twenty years older than me. His stiff body should have been discovered by the servants one morning." His skinny fingers suddenly clenched the scepter, and his knuckles made a terrible crisp sound. "But the herbs I want will not disappear because of the death of an old man. Floyd, since you took the initiative to take on the task of finding herbs..."

The scepter struck the marble floor hard, and the lights of the entire temple shook violently. Floyd suddenly felt cold needles crawling up his spine. When he looked up in horror, he met the Pope's eyes with a strange blue light—a color that was not human at all.

The Pope's voice suddenly became unusually clear, and every word was like an icicle piercing Floyd's eardrum. "Before the next full moon night, I want to see enough star grass, edelweiss, and ice cap grass..."

The last few words were a hiss, but Floyd could clearly see the Pope's mouth curl into an inhuman grin. The High Priest, known for his iron fist, was now gritting his teeth to suppress a tremor. He was certain that for a moment, he had sensed a block of ice within the Pope's body.