Black Hearted Mage

The backyard of Rose Castle was shrouded in an eerie atmosphere, its massive oak trees casting dappled shadows. A gray-green poisonous mist swirled from a crystal jar beside the tree, its acrid odor causing the surrounding vegetation to wilt. Caesars, wearing a protective mask, sat on a flaming maple recliner, periodically adjusting the elastic band. The fat dog lazily sprawled on the lawn, drool dripping onto the grass, its eyes fixed on the bubbling crystal jar.

"That's not edible, you bastard!" Caesars gently kicked the fat dog's bloated belly with the toe of his boot. "I'm dealing with the demonic head." He pointed at the hideous, dark red head in the crystal jar, its skin covered in strange patterns. "This damn hide is harder to peel than dragon scales. It won't burn, and it won't be cut by a knife. Only strong acid can corrode it." As he spoke, he dripped a few more drops of gray-green liquid into the crystal jar, and the mist inside suddenly swirled even more violently.

Caesars fiddled with the two small, round balls in his hands—the eyeballs he'd plucked from the skull. He squinted against the sunlight, observing them. "Interestingly, when they were first taken out, they were blood red, like two rubies, but after just a few minutes..." His voice trailed off as he watched the eyeballs fade in his palms, eventually turning a dull gray and becoming incredibly hard.

"Damn dog!" Caesars suddenly turned to look at the fat dog, his voice filled with rare hesitation, "Do you think... they might not be real demons at all?"

The fat dog with dark red, sleek fur turned its head lazily, its wet nose twitching as it uttered an indistinct hum at Caesars. The strange noises rolling in its throat told Caesars that these sulfur-smelling demonic creatures were not purebloods, but rather inferior hybrids of abyssal demons and underworld creatures, as filthy as the scaly lizardmen of the Great Swamp.

Upon hearing this, Caesars suddenly slapped his knee, his black leather gloves making a crisp sound. He finally understood the connection—the Lizardmen were merely hybrids of demons and reptiles, and the demons themselves were simply a hybrid of demons and demonic beings. The fat dog used its front paws to scrape at the remains of the demonic creatures on the ground, its dark red tongue drooping, clearly salivating over the sulfur-scented flesh and blood. More importantly, the Bitterwater Farm contained demonic blood, which was the key to the fat dog's continued growth.

But Caesars was in no hurry to head for Bitterwater Farm. He stroked the newly sprouted stubble on his chin and cast his gaze in the direction of the Rose Castle. Those figures in ornate robes resurfaced in his mind—those members of the Church of Saint Laurent who spent their days whispering in the dark corners of the castle, attempting to revive the corrupt church.

"Hey, you rotten dog." Caesars gently kicked the fat dog's bloated belly with the toe of his boot, a sneer curling his lips. "Do you think I should go to Bitterwater Farm?" He deliberately dragged out his tone. "Come to think of it, I really miss my 'dear teacher' a little bit."

Mentioning Bitterwater Farm, old Roman's wrinkled face immediately popped up before Caesars's eyes. The old man who had taken him in as a student because of his exceptional magical talent. The mentor who had taught him his first spell, only to turn around and sell him out.

The fat dog suddenly became energetic, its dark red fur trembling like flames, its big furry head nodding up and down, its wet nose almost touching Caesar's knees.

"After a while, when the energy in the Soul Gem is exhausted, let's go to Bitterwater Farm!"

As soon as Caesars finished speaking, the fat dog, whose ears had been pricked up, collapsed to the ground like a deflated ball, not even bothering to wag its tail. It hated unpredictable promises like "wait a while."

In the crystal jar beneath the oak tree, the gray-green, viscous liquid finally stopped churning, its bubbling surface gradually calming. The air was filled with the pungent smell of rotting eggs mixed with sulfur. Caesars adjusted his protective mask and trudged across the grassy ground. He picked up a pair of specially crafted crystal tongs and carefully extracted the hideous demon skull from the liquid. The glowing jar was triple-sealed and placed in a spatial ring—if leaked, it could make everyone in the castle sick for days.

After a dozen rinses with clean water, the corrosive mucus clinging to the skull's surface was finally cleaned, revealing the dark red bone, like congealed blood. The two spiral corners gleamed metallically in the sunlight, each thread as if measured and carved with a ruler. Even as Caesars hung it in a well-ventilated area to dry, it still dripped with water.

"Damn it! I'm going to make a domineering helmet out of this, complete with a protective visor." Kaisas tapped the corner with a screwdriver, making a clanging sound. "It's a bit troublesome to process, though; it's too hard!"

The fat dog, who had been pretending to sleep, suddenly stood up with a sudden somersault, his pea-sized eyes wide open. He bared his teeth and approached the bald skull, sniffing around with his nose twitching - he was interested in the domineering helmet.

The fat dog waved its stubby little paw, signaling Caesars to give it the demon skull. It knew how to clean the excess bones. The dark red skull was placed on the lawn. Caesars needed the inside of the skull to be flat and smooth, and the jawbone was not needed.

The fat dog's round eyes gleamed with cunning. Fully understanding its master's intentions, its chubby little paws suddenly glowed an eerie red. It deftly reached into the skull, its sharp claws scraping precisely against every uneven bone surface with a teeth-grinding "crunch." Bone fragments fell like snowflakes, and the once rough interior of the skull gradually took on a jade-smooth texture.

"You're so awesome, you damn dog!"

Kaisas squatted down, and his slender fingers carefully stroked the inner wall of the skull, even the tiniest bone spurs disappeared without a trace. "It only took two minutes to complete such a delicate work. The craftsmanship is even better than that of a polishing craftsman!"

Watching the fat dog panting but still wagging its tail ingratiatingly, Caesars smiled and pulled out a 200-300-pound beef leg from his space bag. Marinated for a month with special spices and then air-dried for five days and nights, the leg had taken on an alluring amber hue, and the rich aroma of meat filled the air. The fat dog's black nose twitched violently, and its glistening saliva pattered onto the grass like pearls from a broken string, reflecting a rainbow of colors in the sunlight.

Surprisingly, despite being trembling with greed, the greedy fat dog still suppressed his appetite, wiped the corner of his mouth with his paw, and carefully put the whole beef leg into his special storage ring. The gem-encrusted ring flashed a faint light, properly preserving the delicacy.

"Damn it!" Caesars rubbed his eyes exaggeratedly. "Your perseverance is too good, isn't it? You weren't like this the last time you stole the barbecue I left on the table." He squatted down and pinched the fat dog's cheek, pulling it back and forth. "Tell me, are you up to something bad again? Are you planning to save it for a midnight snack?"

The fat dog blinked innocently, sweeping its furry tail across the grass, with a cunning look that said, "I'm not going to tell you what I really think."

The Saint Laurent Church was already riven with turbulent undercurrents, and the closely linked Saint Laurent Empire was equally shrouded in a sinister cloud. Assassinations spread like a plague through the streets of the imperial capital, initially sporadic daily incidents escalating to a terrifying number exceeding a hundred. Blood-stained daggers gleamed in the moonlight, and the screams of the victims often pierced the silence of the night. A closer examination of these murders revealed the occasional presence of assassins from the Roland Empire, but more often than not, the deadly blades were wielded by the shadowy hands of Saint Laurent itself.

At the same time, churches across the country suffered devastating losses. Mobs flooded into sacred buildings, looting not only gold and silver but also the clergy. On the surface, this appeared to be a brutal rampage of robbery and murder, but any discerning eye could detect a thick whiff of conspiracy. The deliberate destruction of church emblems and the targeted killings of bishops all hinted at the political calculations behind this "plunder."

The once-glorious Saint Laurent Church now crumbles like a setting sun, precarious. Like wolves scenting blood, various factions bared their fangs, eager to grab the juiciest morsel of flesh from the behemoth's tumbling wreck. Most alarming of all, amidst this swarm of voracious predators, the jeweled dagger of the Saint Laurent royal family could be seen, silently pressing against the Church's lifeblood.

The war between theocracy and imperial power has been quietly going on under the blade of the night.

A month later, deep into the night, the waning moon loomed like a crescent. Caesars, clad in arcane robes and a helmet mask crafted from a demon's skull, quietly crossed the Emerald River with his plump young dog at his side. The river's surface shimmered in a faint green light, reflecting the swaying reeds on both banks. On the other bank, the Bitterwater Farm loomed in the night, like a dormant beast.

Since the political turmoil in the Saint Laurent Empire, churches across the country have been looted one after another, and even the Dawn Church, which he often visited, was not spared from the rioters' flames. The source of soul energy is gradually drying up, forcing him to turn his attention to those wandering necromancers.

The rumble of the Emerald River faded, and the outline of Bitterwater Farm became clearer in the moonlight. A hundred paces away, a low wall covered in withered vines tilted amidst the weeds. The vines rustled in the night breeze like countless dry fingers. Beyond the wall, the weeds grew taller than a man, scattered with rusted farm tools and broken pots. The entire farm resembled a cemetery forgotten by time.

Caesars pushed aside the thorns blocking his path, and the stench of decay immediately assaulted him. Inside the courtyard walls, the ground was in shambles: animal bones mingled among piles of blackened straw. Several dead apple trees, their branches twisted, the bones of unknown creatures scattered at their bases. The fat dog in the backpack shifted restlessly, whimpering, its damp nose repeatedly rubbing against its owner's back, clearly filled with disgust at the filth.

Caesars treaded cautiously on the moss-covered flagstones, the once smooth path now ripped to shreds by weeds. He gripped the magic blade at his waist with his right hand and spoke slowly, facing south. In the courtyard to the south, surrounded by withered vines, a leaning barn loomed—that was the necromancer's lair, and the hunting grounds he had no choice but to enter tonight.

Caesars chose not to scale the wall, but instead slowly walked around to the south side of the courtyard. This area was even more dilapidated than the others. Dead vines crawled over the grayish-white walls. A rotten, rotting wooden door hung askew from its frame, creaking in the breeze. He reached out and gave a gentle push, and the door swung open, stirring up a cloud of fine dust.

"You idiot! Don't kill the two strongest ones." Caesars lowered his head and said to the fat little dog curled up in his arms. His voice was as calm as if he was discussing the weather today. "I don't think the soul gem can absorb it. You can do whatever you want with the other necromancers."

He bent down and placed the fat little dog on the ground. The little guy shook his fluffy fur, and his scarlet eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light.

A desolate courtyard lay before him, its weeds strangely prostrate, as if weighed down by some invisible force. The bluestone-paved path was remarkably clean, with neither fallen leaves nor gravel, as if someone had meticulously cleaned the ruins. In the distance, the doors and windows of the main residence were open, their dark windows like eyes, silently gazing at the uninvited visitor.

Kaisas walked slowly forward, casting his senses as he did so, his magical tentacles extending outwards. This house was somewhat cold and silent, a world apart from the outside of Bitterwater Farm.

A faint, almost imperceptible, soul wave suddenly emanated from the dilapidated wooden house on the left. The fat little dog didn't even bother transforming this time. Its chubby body blasted through the rickety wooden door like a cannonball and rushed in. A clattering noise echoed from inside the house, and in a flash, it was clutching a three-meter-long, white-bone snake in its mouth, dragging the skeleton of the snake across the open space like a sack.

"Undead creatures!"

Caesar's pupils shrank as he gazed with surprise at the twisted snake skeleton on the ground. This snake must have been a venomous viper in life, but after death, it had transformed into an undead creature. Though it had lost its deadly venom, the glowing fangs and nimble, slithering skeleton still exuded a dangerous aura.

"Dead dog, it's yours!"

The fat dog grumbled in disdain, tilting its head to examine the bone snake, seemingly unimpressed by this "snack." But it still raised its stubby claws and smacked them down like a watermelon. With a crisp "crack," the bone snake's head instantly shattered into fragments. A wisp of grayish-white soul energy emanated from the shattered bones and was slowly absorbed by the soul gem hanging from Caesar's chest.

At that moment, a sudden rustling sound came from the nearby bushes. Several skeleton dogs, reduced to mere bones, emerged one after another. Their hollow eye sockets flickered with faint blue soul fire. Despite having lost their sense of smell, they still pretended to lower their heads and sniff the ground, like a pack of hounds on a mission.

"Dead dog, your brothers are here." Caesars kicked the fat little dog's butt jokingly. "They were hunting dogs in life, and now that they've turned into skeletons, they look quite like hunting dogs."

The fat dog pounced forward angrily, lashing the skeleton dog with its short and powerful front paws, "crackling", and turning the skeleton dog into bone powder.