Black Hearted Mage

On the day flames engulfed the Holy City, three towering stone temples collapsed amidst the blaze. The pristine white marble temple crumbled in the intense heat, transforming into a hail of flying lime. Meanwhile, the basalt Hall of Judgment and the Hall of Discipline gradually softened under the scorching flames, ultimately transforming into charred, sticky lava that flowed slowly down the steps like black tears.

When the last wisp of black smoke dissipated at dawn, Kaisas stood among the ruins. His mission had been successfully completed. Now it was up to the cavalry of Roland's Legion and the elemental messengers of the Mage Corps to take over this scorched earth.

News of the fall of the Holy City, the heart of the Saint Roland Empire, spread like wildfire. Even as the various races of the continent were still recovering from this shocking news, another earth-shattering announcement emanated from the Emerald Council Chamber of the Violet Alliance: this alliance, separated for centuries, declared its renewed allegiance to the Roland Empire. In response, the Roland Empire's Golden Seal Edict quickly spread throughout the land, clearly stating that the Empire would magnanimously accept these repentant ministers. All Violet Alliance nobles would not only be spared, but would also be able to continue to enjoy their original titles and inherited fiefdoms. This unexpected pardon shocked the entire continent.

The entire holy city was reduced to ruins by the flames of war, leaving only a handful of survivors—to say only one in a hundred would be an understatement. Surviving civilians huddled among the rubble, trembling as they gazed at the blood-stained sky.

Kingdoms across the continent dispatched envoys to Fire Maple City. These envoys, bearing lavish gifts and fawning smiles, couldn't conceal the deep fear in their eyes. They feared both the Roland Empire's invincible cavalry and, even more, the legendary "Blood Valkyrie," who spared no one. It was said that wherever she passed, even surrendering soldiers would be executed on the spot.

Meanwhile, Carlos led Hawkeye's elite assassins toward Saint Laurent City. Surprisingly, the usually solitary Caesars joined the group, riding along on his seemingly clumsy, fat dog. When over two thousand assassins clad in dark leather armor appeared outside Saint Laurent City, the defenders on the city walls felt a chill run up their spines.

Even more terrifying was the flaming fat dog roaming outside the city. The Saint Laurent royal family had long received intelligence: this monster, known as "Fat Dog," could easily burn through the magic steel city gates, scale vertical walls with its sharp claws, and breathe flames powerful enough to reduce heavily armored knights to ash. As it prowled the city walls, blazing, the palace was in turmoil, leaving many members of the royal family terrified.

The generals defending the city looked out with pale faces - they knew that facing such a monster, any fortifications were useless. The image of the fat dog spewing flames had long become the deepest nightmare of every defender of Saint Laurent City.

Over a month later, outside the towering capital of the Holy Roland Empire, the Roland Empire's cavalry arrived as promised. The black mass of heavily armored troops surged like a tide, casting a suffocating shadow across the plain. Three complete Roland Legions stood in battle formation, their gleaming armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Even more terrifying was the massive corps of magicians: over a thousand mages in a variety of robes stood in formation, the gleaming magic in their hands foreshadowing the impending devastating blow.

As the Roland Legion completed its siege of Saint Laurent, Vivian received top-secret intelligence from an eagle-eyed spy lurking within the city. The exquisite parchment detailed the city's defenses, with every arrow tower and section of wall clearly marked for its defensive strength. Another diagram clearly depicted the city's overall layout: the northwest comprised the crowded civilian area, with low-rise houses densely packed together; while the southeast held the wealthy district, where spacious mansions and meticulously manicured gardens showcased the luxurious lifestyles of the powerful. These two maps provided crucial intelligence for the ensuing siege.

"First, destroy all the roads leading out of Saint Laurent City. We don't need to completely destroy them, just make it so that the carriages can't pass through. Scare them for a few days, which will give our army a chance to rest and recuperate!"

Vivian's orders were brief and sharp. She didn't intend to completely sever the city's lifeline, only to temporarily trap those within. The roads were destroyed in just the right way: impassable to vehicles, yet still pedestrian-friendly. She didn't want a deadlock, but a psychological trap.

The fat dog was rarely seen these days. The big, round, buffalo-like creature happily followed Old Quinn around the suburban estates. It looked adorable, but once it bared its teeth, it was enough to make even the most stubborn Saint Laurent lose his footing.

Most of the time, all it needed to do was growl or show its face to scare the enemy into surrendering their supplies and bowing their heads in obedience. But occasionally, there would be a few stubborn ones who wouldn't fall for it—in those moments, the fat dog would unequivocally burst into flames, lunging forward like a blazing meteorite...

As the sky darkened, the plump, chubby dog, its mouth glistening with oil, slowly strolled back. It had never followed Old Quinn out of loyalty, but purely to save resources for cultivation and to fill its insatiable belly. It also had the opportunity to rob and steal along the way, doing some low-cost business.

"Bread, are you back from work?" Caesars glanced at it and said with a smile.

The fat dog's mouth opened wide, its small eyes darting around, its face brimming with unconcealed pride. Caesars knew from the look on his face that he'd made a killing today. Once Old Quinn came to claim anything from his storage ring, he wouldn't be able to get a penny back.

The fat dog chuckled, flipped its paw, and pulled out a small wooden box from its storage ring. It placed it in front of Caesars with a "pop." It used its thick paw pads to push open the lid. Inside was a neatly stacked layer of high-grade magic crystals, glowing a pure blue light. Each piece was worth a fortune.

"Oh, you even remembered to leave a copy for me?" Caesars raised an eyebrow. "Did you run into Saint Laurent's group of wealthy mages?"

The fat dog snorted triumphantly, raised its head, and told Caesar that it smelled a secret cellar hidden in the manor. Before old Quinn could react, it sneaked in and looted everything inside.

"Bread, good job!"

Caesars knelt down and generously rubbed the fat dog's furry head. The dog panted, its tail lashing like a whip, clearly delighted by its master's praise. Verbal praise alone wasn't enough. Caesars smiled and pulled out a substantial object wrapped in oil paper—Bread's favorite golden cheese pie. A rich aroma of milk and burnt wood immediately filled the air. The fat dog's eyes lit up, and with a roar, it pounced, sniffing greedily. Perhaps due to being overfilled, the fat dog stored the approximately thirty pounds of cheese in its storage ring.

By this time, the city of Saint Laurent had been under siege for several days. Outside the towering walls, a sea of ​​legionary camps stretched like a mountain; within, despair spread silently like a plague. Supplies were dwindling, rumors were rampant, and the air felt tense and tense. Every ominous sign pointed to one outcome: this empire, which had stood for centuries, was irreversibly heading towards its end.

On that afternoon, as the Blood Rose Flag fluttered, the tightly closed gates of Saint Laurent swung open a crack. A messenger limped out. He was quite old, his face furrowed by the frost and worry. Surprisingly, he leaned not on a cane but on a small, faded Saint Laurent flag. Using the flagpole as a cane, he slowly and slowly crossed the silent, yet murderous wilderness toward the Roland Legion's camp.

The atmosphere inside the main legion tent was solemn. Supreme Commander Vivian was absent, and it was Old Quinn who, on behalf of the legion, greeted the imperial envoy. This man held a unique status: a member of the Roland Empire's royal family, with royal blood coursing through his veins, and simultaneously holding the crucial position of Deputy Commander of Hawkeye. Caesars, simply bored by the siege, strolled in with a fat dog, food crumbs still stained at the corners of his mouth, and unceremoniously found a seat nearby, ready to see how the negotiations would unfold.

"How can we keep the people in the city alive?"

The visiting old man was unpretentious, his voice hoarse but remarkably clear, his gaze sharp as a knife, piercing the core of the matter. He omitted all false formalities; at this critical juncture of life and death, any detour would be a waste of blood.

"Civilians can survive," Old Quinn said calmly, as if stating the weather, "but none of Saint Laurent's royal family or nobles can survive. This is the Roland Empire's bottom line, and there's no room for negotiation."

He stared at the old man across from him. This Saint Laurent Empire's chancellor, a man who had weathered many storms throughout his life, now had to bow down before a class doomed to destruction. Old Quinn understood his weight—a worthy opponent, pitifully on the wrong side of fate.

The chancellor's back seemed to bend even further. After a long silence, he slowly spoke, each word tinged with a heavy sense of powerlessness. "... Could you, perhaps, offer a little more leniency?" He raised his eyes, a final struggle in their gaze. "Those impoverished minor nobles without fiefs, and those honorary nobles with empty titles... They have no blood on their hands, and pose no threat to the Roland Empire. Could you... spare their lives?"

He knew the outcome was set, the fate of the royal family and the powerful aristocracy already sealed. All he could do now was to pry open a tiny crack in history's gallows for those insignificant figures.

Old Quinn's fingers tapped lightly on the table. After a moment, he offered a cold concession: "Yes." Before the glimmer of light could even flicker in the man's eyes, he added a cruel condition: "But anyone claiming to belong to either of these categories must undergo a True Word interrogation by our army's mage corps—no one can steal their life by lying."

His gaze was iron-like, leaving no room for doubt. This wasn't a negotiation, but a final narrow door for the dying.

"Can the women of the royal family be given some leniency as well?" the old man hesitated for a moment, then mustered up the courage to ask tentatively. His voice was cautious, but his eyes held a hint of pleading.

Old Quinn was silent for a moment, then calmly replied, "As long as they are interrogated through the Word of Truth and confirmed not to have participated in the rebellion, anyone who meets the requirements will be spared." His tone was steady, but unquestionable. "Prime Minister Fox, please understand, we are not butchers. We are here only to reclaim the land that originally belonged to us, not to kill!"

Saint Laurent City, worthy of its position as the heart of the empire, was densely populated, practically suffocating. Within the city alone, there were over 800,000 civilians, the streets throbbing with activity day and night. Tens of thousands of honorary nobles, powerless yet interconnected, held a complex network of connections. Add to that a garrison of over 100,000, powerful nobles of all ranks, and the imperial family at the top—the city's total population had already surpassed one million. A forced assault would surely result in a streak of corpses and bloodbaths.

Because of this, if the Saint Laurent Empire were willing to open the city and surrender, it would be the best outcome. Siege warfare has always been brutal, meaning countless lives were lost for both sides, and the largest casualties would be civilians.

"Prime Minister Fox, my army will soon attack the city. You may not be familiar with the magician beside me—he will drop two hundred alchemical bombs over the palace, turning the entire sky into a sea of ​​fire. As for this 'fat dog,' you've undoubtedly heard of him. He devoured hundreds of soldiers with a single gulp of dragon flame. This time, he will personally descend upon Saint Laurent's palace!"

"Please go back and tell the Emperor: If he chooses to surrender, he can die with dignity. I can even promise that he will not feel the slightest pain. But if he refuses this offer... then what awaits him is utter annihilation, not even a bone left."

Old Quinn said this with a smile, pointing to the bread lying beside him. The massive dragon beast opened its mouth in perfect harmony, its jagged fangs like dense blades, emitting a cold and fierce light in the light.

"Who is this magician...?"

The old man had seen from afar the image of Caesars casting a spell in the sky, but the image was blurry and he had never seen his true face clearly.

"I'm Kaisas, from the Thornflower Trading Company." The magician bowed slightly, his voice as cold as steel. "It was I who dropped the alchemical bomb on your core area. It was also I who completely destroyed the Bitterwater Farm, wiping out all the necromancers entrenched there."

He paused briefly, a trace of almost cruel calmness flashing across his eyes as he continued, "And this time, I will not let your emperor die easily. I will capture him personally and throw him into the dark dungeons of the Black Prison. He will experience every torture alive... In the endless darkness, he will know the true meaning of despair."