Black Hearted Mage

As the carriage slowly entered the territory of Dusk Canyon, the thick darkness had already enveloped the surroundings. In reality, this journey shouldn't have taken so long, but Hawkeye's men had already laid countless traps along the road—deep pits and gullies they had dug crisscrossed the road, forcing the carriage to move forward with difficulty, the wheels occasionally sinking into the mud and groaning under the heavy burden.

Caesars stroked the shimmering magical communication stone in his arms and quickly established contact with a minor leader of the Hawkeye Organization. After hearing his purpose, the other party seemed particularly cooperative and immediately went to make arrangements. Now everything was ready, only Master Kandel had to contact his family for assistance.

"Master Kandel," Caesars warned in a low voice, his eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly, "We must act quickly under the cover of night."

Kandel nodded and pulled out a magical communication stone intricately carved with magic patterns. He quickly chanted a spell, and a faint blue light shone on the stone. He then whispered a few important messages into the stone.

With the help of dark vision magic, the outline of the small city in the distance loomed. Though its walls weren't particularly tall, they appeared exceptionally formidable in the hazy moonlight, like a beast lurking in the darkness. The night wind blew through the canyon, bringing with it the flickering light of torches on the distant city walls, adding a touch of tension to this covert operation.

Outside the city gate, shrouded in darkness, a group of about ten people slowly advanced along the straight bluestone avenue. The moonlight stretched their shadows, making them stand out against the still night. Kandel had been waiting anxiously, and upon seeing the figures, he strode forward eagerly. As they approached, he carefully identified them in the moonlight, his brow furrowing as he did so.

“Why are there two more people?”

Kandel's voice was particularly clear in the night, and his tone was clearly confused. He recognized the familiar faces of his family, but there were two new faces in the group.

The person walking in front was a middle-aged nobleman in elegant attire. Upon hearing this, he immediately stepped forward and explained in a low voice, "Great-grandfather, these two are the children of the commander of the city guard. If not, we would not be able to leave the city smoothly during the curfew." There was a hint of caution in his words, and his eyes glanced around from time to time.

At this time, Caesars stepped forward and gently patted Kandel's shoulder. "Kandel, now is not the time to worry about this." His eyes swept over the young man and woman, and a meaningful smile appeared on the corner of his mouth. "As long as they are not spies of the Saint Laurent Church, it's fine. The road to the Roland Empire is now full of checkpoints. I don't think they can cause any trouble."

As they were talking, the fat dog came up to the two of them and sniffed, but it did not detect any scent of holy light.

Caesars had already made his way to the luxurious carriage parked nearby. The carriage was pitch black, its window frames intricately carved, and silver bells hanging from the corners rang crisply in the night breeze. Fatty squeezed in first, barely raising an eyelid at Caesars's arrival. He boarded swiftly, and the spacious carriage suddenly seemed crowded.

Kandel looked back at his family, who could only follow the carriage on foot. In the moonlight, the faces of these pampered nobles were exhausted, but no one dared to complain.

When the sky in the east was just beginning to turn pale, this special group finally arrived at the legion camp. As soon as Caesars got off the carriage, he immediately set up his armored leather tent, eager to catch up on some sleep.

The camp gradually became bustling with activity. Soldiers moved back and forth, carrying supplies, the clatter of armor and shouts echoing. The two uninvited young men huddled awkwardly in a corner, occasionally glancing nervously at each other, their fingers unconsciously twisted together. Whenever a heavily armed patrol passed by them, they retreated like frightened rabbits, unnoticed, and had retreated to Caesar's leather tent.

"Woo—" The sturdy, fat dog suddenly came over, humming lowly. It swung its tail and pointed with its thick paw, motioning for the two young men to sit on the polished wooden block next to it. One of the young men hesitantly reached out to touch the dog's head, but his companion nervously grabbed his sleeve.

At that moment, Kandel flung aside the tent's curtain and strode out. His face still etched with unconcealed joy, his fingers stroking the precious parchment in his arms—a pass signed by Lady Vivian herself. With it, he could finally safely escort his family out of the troubled territory of the Saint Laurent Empire. The sunlight shone on his wrinkled face, smoothing out the lines that had been tense for years.

"Come with me, I will arrange someone to escort you to the Roland Empire!" Kandel waved his arms vigorously at the two young men and shouted in a loud voice.

This time, his shout was so loud that it even startled the fat dog napping in the corner. The portly lava dog suddenly raised its head, a fierce glint flashing in its scarlet eyes. It slowly turned its head, revealing a mouthful of sharp white teeth—teeth as sharp as polished blades, gleaming dangerously in the setting sun.

That evening, Caesars received Vivian's latest order: continue to create unrest within the Holy City. Along with the order came a piece of finely detailed parchment detailing the locations of granaries throughout the Holy City.

The temple's storage room was filled with the smell of decay, and several broken wooden boxes lay scattered across the dusty floor. This forgotten corner of the Church of Saint Laurent had now become a carefully arranged teleportation point by Caesars. As the violet glow of the magic circle faded, a dozen dark figures silently emerged from the dimly lit room. These assassins, clad in nightgown, were the elite of Hawkeye, hand-picked by Carlos from among hundreds of assassins. Each one was a master of stealth, perfectly concealing their forms in the shadows.

Caesars wrapped his dark red mage cloak tightly around him and exchanged brief gestures with the assassins. According to the plan, he would proceed alone to the granary to burn it, while the ghostly assassins would lurk throughout the temple, waiting for the opportunity to assassinate the church's leaders. When the last assassin disappeared into the shadows of the pillars, the mage blew his whistle.

With a deep roar, a fat dog, the size of a bull, smashed open the rotten wooden door. The pitch-black beast panted heavily, its flesh trembling with every stride. Caesars nimbly mounted the dog's back, a magical shield radiating a ripple of light around him. As they rushed into the hall, they hurled three alchemical bombs. Emerald liquid exploded against the walls, transforming the entire corridor into a death trap of corrosive acid mist. The dog, carrying its master, rushed recklessly, knocking over three candlesticks in its path and leaving a trail of muddy claw marks on the temple's polished marble floor.

In front of the Temple Square, fully armed paladins were urgently gathering, their silver-white armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight. The moment they had completed their formation, a fat dog, as strong as a bull, opened its bloody maw and erupted with a stream of blazing flames. The scorching airwaves scorched the stone floor red, forcibly carving a charred "death tunnel" through the braced paladins.

Caesars seized this fleeting opportunity, his black cape rustling in the wind as he soared like an arrow, hurtling towards the granary in the northeast corner of the Holy City. The fat dog on the ground, ablaze with an undying demonic flame, left a trail of flaming paw prints in its wake. It roared deafeningly as it rampaged through the streets, sending civilians fleeing in all directions. The entire Holy City was plunged into unprecedented chaos, a cacophony of alarm bells, cries of grief, and the roar of collapsing buildings.

Accompanied by five earth-shattering explosions, the domes of five towering granaries were simultaneously ripped open by alchemical bombs. Specially crafted phosphorus bombs exploded among the grain piles, transforming the golden grains into a roiling sea of ​​fire. Thick smoke, like a giant python, twisted and rose into the sky. Taking advantage of this chaos, Caesars flew through the sky like a ghost, landing precisely on the dome of the Judgment Hall.

At the same time, Fat Dog, with the aura of a burning might, burst through the final iron gate. His massive body, shrouded in flames, slammed fiercely into the ancient gray-black building, shattering the gate carved with sacred runes. Another looting that shocked the continent began a bloody prelude in this chaos.

The legion camp was shrouded in the hazy moonlight late at night, with only the occasional sparks from the embers of the campfire. The fat dog, dark red and as strong as a bison, lay sprawled on a pile of gold coins, its deafening snoring causing the coins beneath it to clink with occasional crisp sounds.

Not far away, Caesars was also immersed in the pile of glittering treasures. He grabbed a handful of gold coins and watched them flow through his fingers. The spoils from the Judgment Hall and the Discipline Hall far exceeded expectations. The storage rings of those priests were simply miniature treasure houses, and the wealth piled up in them was enough to drive any mortal crazy.

Meanwhile, the Holy City descended into unprecedented chaos. Since dawn, Vivian's carefully planned strategy had begun to bear fruit. Starving citizens rioted in the streets, and food looting broke out like wildfire. The overwhelmed city guards were powerless to contain the sudden riots, and order in the city was collapsing at a visible pace.

Inside the solemn and awe-inspiring temple, eagle-eyed assassins darted through the shadows like ghosts. Working in perfect harmony, a dozen well-trained assassins quietly infiltrated the chapel during morning prayers, sending the devoutly praying priests and pastors one by one into eternal sleep. Sharp daggers flashed in the light cast by the stained glass, each strike deadly and precise, leaving the servants of God no chance to call for help.

A horrific atmosphere spread silently through the Holy City like a plague, a suffocating sense of oppression permeating the streets. A series of assassinations plagued the city like a nightmare, with a new bloodbath occurring almost daily. Most of the victims were priests and clergy, shot through the throat by hidden arrows while preaching or found dead in confessionals late at night. Occasionally, aristocrats in elegant attire would be found dead in their homes, their faces frozen in terror.

As the death toll mounted, panic began to spread among the people. By the fifth day, some, finally overcome with fear, attempted to flee the city of death under cover of darkness. However, the cavalry of the Roland Legion had already completely surrounded the holy city, with every gate heavily guarded. Those who managed to escape over the walls were quickly spotted by patrolling soldiers, shivering in the biting cold wind, and were quickly taken prisoner.

The captured fugitives were escorted to the Mages' camp. Wearing silver masks, the magicians grasped the prisoners' chins with icy fingers, forcing them to look directly into their eyes. As the incantation of the Power Word rang out, the prisoners' pupils began to dilate uncontrollably, their secrets exposed under the magic. Once confirmed as followers of the Church of Saint Laurent, only death awaited them. The executioners would slit their throats in public, then hang their bloody bodies from the stakes outside the holy city, leaving them for crows to peck at.

After more than half a month, the Holy City's already meager food reserves were completely depleted, and the streets were littered with emaciated civilians. The first to collapse were the elderly and children, huddled in corners, never to rise again. Small-scale riots broke out in the city, with some fighting over a piece of moldy bread, and some even secretly cutting the flesh of the dead to satisfy their hunger.

In this moment of utter purgatory, Caesars received a direct order from Vivian. He flew over the western wall and unleashed a barrage of alchemical bombs. With a series of deafening explosions, the towering walls collapsed like building blocks, sending up clouds of dust that obscured the sky. Precious magic cannons were reduced to scrap metal, and acid corroded the mechanisms of powerful crossbows.

Before the smoke and dust had even cleared, hundreds of magical lights suddenly blazed outside the city walls. Roland Empire mages, heavily guarded by shield warriors, surged through the ruins into the Holy City. Encircled by multicolored magical shields, they resembled a group of radiant grim reapers. Fireballs exploded among the city guards, frostbolts froze the fleeing defenders into ice sculptures, and chain lightning danced through the crowds. An armored figure burst from a burning house, only to be blasted to pieces by arcane missiles. The streets of the Holy City instantly transformed into a magical slaughterhouse, even the wails drowned out by the rumbling explosions.

The fat dog growled, its dark red fur billowing suddenly. Circuits of advanced magic patterns emerged beneath its skin. Those patterns wriggled like living things, gradually emitting a faint glow. With a crackling sound, a deep white flame erupted from its body, dancing and burning through its fur, yet strangely, it didn't damage its skin at all.

Caesars sat steadily on its broad back, his black cape rustling in the flames. His pale fingers gently stroked the pulsating magic patterns on the fat dog's neck, a sneer curling his lips. They marched with steady steps toward the magnificent temple in the center of the holy city. Along the stone pavement, withered yellow leaves crumbled to ash in the lingering warmth of the white flames.

"Some rotten things," Caesars murmured softly, looking at the mottled gold paint on the spire of the temple, "need to be purified with the purest flames." The fat dog seemed to understand what he said, and it exhaled a cluster of breath mixed with sparks, and the flames on its back burned even more fiercely.