Black Hearted Mage

The next morning, as Caesars rode back to the territory in Old Quinn's carriage, leaden clouds were pouring down a dense rain. Those raindrops, carrying the chill of early winter, fell on his body, as if being touched by countless icy fingertips.

The graystone fort on the south bank of the Emerald River looked particularly gloomy in the rain. The once majestic war fortress now looked like it had been gnawed by a giant beast. The tower in the northeast corner had completely collapsed, and the exposed broken walls jutted out like broken ribs. Although the guards had cleared most of the rubble and debris overnight, the charred marks from the fire still clung to the stone walls like hideous scars. A dozen craftsmen were working in the rain to build scaffolding, the sound of hammers muffled and rapid in the rain.

The aristocratic sons who had come to gild themselves—members of the Saint Laurent family and their heirs—had fled hastily at midnight in their gilded carriages. Their rich velvet cloaks were still stained with wine from the banquet, but no one dared to stop. Several photo stones, carefully wrapped in velvet, clearly recorded the winged black figure tearing through the night sky. These images now raced along the jolting carriages towards the Saint Laurent Imperial City, five hundred miles away.

"By the Holy Light! That idiot actually wants me to explain angels that don't exist?"

The stained glass of the Cathedral of Saint Laurent trembled slightly with the roar of Archbishop Joseph, and his scarlet robe swung in a dazzling arc in front of the statue.

"You also want me to hand over the abducted idiot royal family? Why don't they let me pick the moon down!" The jewel-studded golden cup was smashed hard to the ground, and the wine spilled blood-like marks on the white jade floor tiles.

The middle-aged priest standing in the shadows subconsciously took a half step back. The frayed gold thread on the cuffs of his robe exposed the church's predicament in recent years.

"Archbishop Joseph," he lowered his voice, his eyes scanning the empty donation box, "the new emperor has cut our donations in half. If we refuse to see him this time..."

Before he could finish his words, thunder suddenly exploded outside the window, illuminating the dusty holy vessels on the altar and the archbishop's suddenly pale face. They all knew that the young emperor, known for his iron fist, was waiting for this excuse to completely expel the church from the imperial city.

Unlike the old emperor, the young new emperor was deeply dissatisfied with the Church of Saint Laurent. The church's contribution to the empire was minimal, yet it acted like a vampire leech in the treasury, demanding a large annual payment of gold coins. Crucially, the members of the Church of Saint Laurent feigned arrogance and showed insufficient respect for the emperor.

Before the Cardinal even entered the palace, the streets of Saint Laurent were already abuzz with activity. Rumors of the fallen angel spread like a plague, circulating through taverns, markets, and the slums. In Saint Laurent's central square, a thirty-foot-tall magical image hovered in mid-air, looping a horrifying scene: a fallen angel with jet-black wings wreaking havoc on the Greystone Castle and abducting a member of Saint Laurent's royal family.

Even as the icy rain streamed down people's cloaks, thousands of civilians still looked up as if nailed to the spot, their pupils reflecting flickering magical light and shadows, their faces intertwined with fear and fanaticism.

The indulgences forced upon the Holy Laurent Church had long been deeply resented by the common people of the empire. They now hoped that the Fallen Angel would descend upon the Church and teach the priests a lesson, so as to stop forcing them to part with their dwindling gold coins.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Fire Maple City was engulfed in a blizzard. A frost-covered black horse, puffing white mist, left its last hoofprint in the snow before the city gates. The rider, wrapped in a wolfskin cloak, raised his head slightly, revealing half of his face, bruised and blue from the cold. As the on-duty city guard approached, halberd in hand, he pulled a golden badge from his bosom, causing all weapons to drop instantly. The lifelike eye at the center of the badge shone eerily in the snow.

"It's the Hawkeye badge!"

The guard captain's hoarse cry pierced the snow, and immediately from within the city gate came the crunch of wheels grinding through frost. A sleigh, pitch black like a coffin, rolled in, its crimson eagle-eye emblem painted on the exterior as if freshly painted. The spy touched the storage ring on his hand. Inside was the stiffened corpse of Count Soren, and dozens of magic steel weapons, the wolf-head brand of the Saint Laurent Guard clearly visible. And more importantly, samples of contraband intercepted and smuggled into the Saint Laurent Empire.

Inside the resplendent imperial palace meeting hall, crystal chandeliers cast anxious shadows across the walls. The old emperor's bony fingers smashed the teacup for the third time, sending porcelain shards mixed with black tea scattering across the carpet. Dozens of nobles wrapped in mink huddled in a corner like frightened quail. The Chancellor of the Exchequer's wig tilted over his ears, while the Minister of War scraped the tiles unconsciously with his sword sheath.

It was getting very cold and damp in the southern rose lands. The doors and windows of the castle were closed, and the wood was burning in the fireplace.

"Sean, get me a big shovel!"

In Caesar's mansion, the sudden command nearly caused the old butler to knock over the silver teapot. The Count remained lazily slumped in his peacock velvet-armed chair, the drizzle outside weaving spiderweb-like patterns on the glass, fragmenting his handsome face into interlaced fragments of light and dark.

"You mean..." Sean took out a handkerchief and wiped his glasses, "the kind...the iron tool they use to dig potatoes?"

The corners of Caesar's lips curled up like a fox's. Behind the steam rising from the tea, his dark eyes gleamed with the joy of a child discovering an ant hole. Eight days of continuous rain had soaked the humus soil of the oak forest until it was as soft as pudding, making it very easy to dig.

Caesars suddenly leaned forward, and the bottom of the crystal glass made a crisp sound on the oak coffee table. Now he could dig out the wealth buried by old Garlon.

"Yes, it's a shovel used for digging!" Caesars said firmly.

"Okay, I'll get ready right away!"

Sean immediately turned and ran to the castle's tool room. Although he was filled with doubts, he knew that he should never ask questions that he shouldn't ask. This was the iron rule of the butler profession and the first principle.

On a dark, rainy night, Caesars set out in his raincoat. The rain stung his face like silver needles, but he remained unmoved. A clear memory of old Garlon emerged in his mind: "A small oak forest by the Emerald River. In the middle of the fourth row stood the thickest oak tree... Dig four feet deep into the north side of the trunk..."

Guided by the memory of Old Garlon's soul, Caesars found the century-old oak tree in the darkness. Its thick trunk was covered with ravines of time. This was Old Garlon's final bargaining chip, the capital he had planned to use to make a comeback after his revenge failed. Now, it was Caesars who was getting the better of it.

The shovel made a dull thud as it sunk into the earth. Days of rain had softened the soil, making the excavation much smoother than expected. The scent of damp earth mixed with the odor of decaying leaves filled the air. When the digging reached a depth of more than three feet, the shovel suddenly clanged against something hard. Caesars' heartbeat quickened. He crouched in the mud and scraped away the dirt around him. A slab of bluestone, about a foot square, gradually emerged.

The moment the stone slab was lifted, an exquisite golden box appeared, its surface engraved with intricate patterns, its color unfaded even after years buried in the earth. Caesars lifted it with both hands, the heaviness of it bringing a smile to his face. He pulled out a hide water bag and carefully rinsed the golden box.

Just as he tucked the treasure box into his interspatial ring and prepared to fill the pit, a flurry of footsteps echoed through the woods. Caesars looked up, only to see several drenched figures rushing toward him. Their eyes met in the lightning, and time seemed to freeze in that moment. Rain dripped down the brims of their hats, and their gleaming weapons gleamed coldly in the lightning.

Caesars instantly tensed his muscles, his right hand subconsciously pressing down on the dagger at his waist. Rain streamed down his cheeks, blurring his vision, but he could still make out three men in black standing across from him. Their cloaks clung to their bodies, daggers in hand, murderous intent in their eyes.

Knowing that the visitor was not a good person, Kaisas cast spells quickly, casting buff and protective spells on himself.

"kill him!"

The man in black's heart sank, and he let out a cry, realizing he was facing a magician. But the distance between them was too close, which was a great advantage for him, who excelled in close combat. A cold glint flashed in his eyes, and with a furious roar, his dagger drew a sharp arc, aiming straight for Caesar's throat—he must kill the magician before he could close the distance!

The instant the swords struck, Caesars activated his Flash spell. As an experienced magician, he knew the dangers of engaging three melee specialists in close combat. If their weapons possessed magic-breaking properties, even a mere scratch could be fatal. He deliberately chose to flash upwards, disappearing instantly.

The three men in black raised their heads simultaneously, their gazes locked on the air, as if trained to practice. They maintained a perfect battle formation, their weapons ready to strike, waiting for the moment their prey fell to deliver a fatal blow.

The oak tree's thick branches suddenly gave way, and Caesars' figure appeared out of thin air. He lowered his head to search for his enemies, but the clearing was deserted—they had all used Stealth! He immediately began chanting spells, first casting a magical shield, then increasing his agility and perception. With the final incantation of invisibility, his form gradually became transparent, and dozens of magical tentacles spread out to explore the surrounding oak forest.

Two minutes later, the invisibility had worn off. Caesars's brow furrowed as he reappeared—his magical tentacles hadn't detected any signs of life. But three sets of footprints, pointing toward the Emerald River, were clearly visible on the moist soil. He crouched down to examine them more closely, noting the large distance between them. It was clear the other person had left at a sprint.

Gazing at the shimmering emerald river over two hundred meters away, Caesars knew pursuit was pointless. Even more puzzling was the sight of the black-clad men dripping with water from their clothing. They had clearly just landed from the riverbank, so why were they so hastily turning back? The outline of the Bitterwater Farm on the other side of the river loomed in the night, and the fluttering Saint Laurent Church flag there plunged him into deeper contemplation.

"It seems there are still big iron chains in the Emerald River!"

The current in the Emerald River was very turbulent, and small boats could be swept into the canyon by the current, while large ships could easily be spotted by patrols. The people of the Saint Laurent Empire thought of crossing underwater, relying on underwater breathing potions.

A few minutes later, Caesars retracted his elemental wings and, draped in his rain-soaked cloak, entered his castle. He used a spell to dry the waterproof cloak, then headed straight for his study and retrieved the magical communication stone. As he muttered a spell, the stone glowed with a faint blue light, relaying his bizarre encounters along the Emerald River and his disturbing speculations to the Eagle Eyes of Stonecrush Castle.

Meanwhile, old Quinn, wintering at Stonecrush Castle, reclined in a velvet-covered armchair. The flames of the fireplace cast his shadow on the stone walls hung with ancient paintings. When the eagle-eyed spy presented this urgent report, the old wizard, dressed in a scarlet robe and a trimmed silk nightcap, furrowed his gray brows, a look of suspicion crossing his wrinkled face.

"Running to Emerald River in the middle of the night in the rain?" Old Quinn tapped the handrail with his skinny fingers, confusion in his hoarse voice, "I remember that area is not within his fiefdom." His turbid eyes flickered with doubt in the candlelight.

At this moment, the Eagle-Eyes leader, who had been hunched in the shadows, cautiously took a half-step forward. This thin, stooped old man whispered a warning like a frightened mouse, "Deputy Commander, regarding the investigation instructions regarding the iron chains at the bottom of the river..."

"Have the Third Legion dispatch two magical ironclads!" Old Quinn suddenly raised his voice, startling the young leader. "Use the latest magnetic rollers to comb the entire Emerald River!" He stood up abruptly, the hem of his nightgown creating a gust of wind that extinguished a delicate stick of incense. After a moment's contemplation, he added, "Tomorrow morning, prepare my iron and wooden carriage. I'm heading to Count Caesar's castle for the winter!"

"As you command, Deputy Commander!"

The underboss bent almost to a right angle, nearly tripping over the hem of his robe as he backed out of the room. Only after the heavy oak door finally closed did he dare to raise his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Even the most seasoned agents would tremble in fear before the ruthless second-in-command, known for his ruthless tactics. After all, those who had angered Old Quinn ended up as corpses in the Blackhell dungeons.

The small leader hurried to the military affairs office at Gravel Fort, where personnel were on duty day and night. The commander stationed at Gravel Fort spent most of his time there, except for eating and sleeping. Even when the commander was away, a senior officer would always be there.