Chapter 103: Foolishness (Part 3)

  Sunlight streamed through a ventilation shaft in the prison ceiling. Sophia knew the time had come. She sighed deeply.

  "It's morning already," Clovis's voice came. "Today is the day."

  "I know," Sophia replied in a detached tone.

  After a moment of silence, Clovis's voice sounded again. "Let me see you, will you?"

  Sophia silently moved to a corner where she could see into Clovis's cell. In the sunlight filtering through, she could see a person sitting inside the steel bars opposite. That person had wasted away to a skeletal frame, utterly gaunt. The golden hair that had once shone like the sun was now dull and tangled like a bird's nest. The face that had once captivated thousands of young women in the royal capital bore no trace of its former glory. If not for their conversations these past days, Sophia would never have recognized that the person opposite was once the kingdom's most formidable and imposing First Knight.

  Clovis's eyes, which had once radiated killing intent and intimidation, were now bloodshot, yet his gaze was strangely placid. He studied Sophia carefully and even managed a smile: "Imprisoned here for so long, and you remain so immaculate. Your demeanor is like a bride's."

  "A bride?"

  "At least more so than when you married me," Clovis said. Though he looked more wretched and destitute than a beggar, his eyes and voice were perfectly calm. "I only just remembered. We are husband and wife, aren't we?"

  "Are we? It's a shame I can't even recall it."

  The sound of orderly, powerful footsteps echoed outside the dungeon, followed by the opening of a door. A squad of heavily armed swordsmen entered.

  "You know," Clovis's voice wasn't deliberately lowered, but it sounded faint and hard to hear amid the soldiers' loud footsteps. "I only now realize I actually rather liked you. It's because I liked you a little that I disliked you so much."

  Sophia had thought nothing could surprise her anymore, but this statement left her momentarily stunned.

  The swordsmen opened Sophia's cell and led her out. Clovis sat by the bars, watching her, his eyes filled with an uncanny tranquility.

  "Farewell. Bride. No, farewell forever," Sophia heard Clovis's voice echo lonely within the dungeon as she was led out.

  The execution ground was set up in the Central Plaza of the royal capital. A temporary platform had been erected at the edge of the plaza, where the Duke personally supervised the execution.

  The Duke carefully surveyed the surroundings of the plaza once more and nodded in satisfaction. Then he narrowed his eyes, mentally reviewing every street in the capital and every ambush point he had set up. He nodded again in satisfaction. He was certain that no matter how the target infiltrated or blended in, the moment he revealed himself, escape would be impossible.

  The plaza was filled with alert royal guards and mages from the Magic Academy. The Duke had ordered the area around the plaza strictly off-limits to civilians to prevent the target from hiding among them.

  The Church had not yet appointed a new bishop. The Magic Academy was currently overseen by two high priests. The Duke had persuaded them to send mages with little effort. Combined with the ten thousand royal guards, this was an elite force capable of easily capturing a city.

  What kind of man could break through such tight security?

  "Life is dear, love is dearer," the Duke mused. He hoped the target would indeed charge forward for love, defying thousands.

  "Do you think he's hiding under some commoner's window right now, heart in turmoil, blood boiling? Knowing it's death to come out, yet unable to just walk away?" the Duke asked Rodhart behind him with a smile.

  "Probably," Rodhart replied. Though his posture remained as handsome and upright as ever, his bearing as dignified, he looked somewhat ridiculous. His eyes were bruised, his nose swollen, and his hands bandaged.

  He had returned just two days ago. But he brought neither the blacksmith father the Duke had anticipated nor anything useful—only these humiliating injuries.

  Rodhart had rushed to the Kalendor Basin with the wanted poster. Following the clues, just as the Duke had expected, he confirmed that the wanted criminal's hometown was indeed a village in the basin. There was an old blacksmith father, but the man had long been dead, with no other relatives or friends. Following the Duke's instructions, Rodhart carefully questioned the villagers, determined to find the neighbor or friend closest to him and bring them back to the capital.

  During the interrogation, Rodhart found an old adventurer behind the village and prepared to capture her. Unfortunately, the old woman casually grabbed Rodhart, the Paladin Order squad leader, as easily as catching a chick, pressing him to the ground and demanding to know what the wanted poster was about. Several officers who accompanied him drew their weapons to attack, but the old woman moved casually, and all these battle-hardened officers ended up groaning on the ground.

  Rodhart was not only intelligent but also perceptive, with a clear grasp of the situation. He made no attempt to resist, obediently answering that this person had conspired with the Necromancer Guild to assassinate Bishop Ronis, so he had come to investigate... Before he could finish, his hand was broken by the old woman. She coldly told him that if he uttered one more falsehood, he would never lie again in his life.

  "So what did you say?" the Duke asked.

  "I said nothing. I merely recounted what had happened in the royal capital at that time," Rodhart replied, his expression calm and composed despite his bruised face. One could imagine he hadn't panicked or struggled even when pinned to the ground like a dog by a human and his arm broken. "Then the old woman said nothing, just sneered and let me go." His voice was perfectly level, his wording polite, as if she were truly a respected elder.

  The Duke nodded and asked, "Why didn't you go to the local magistrate afterward to mobilize troops and capture her?"

  "Because I didn't want to die," Rodhart answered flatly.

  The others who went with Rodhart were carried back. The more skilled they were, the more severely injured they seemed; several were permanently disabled. Rodhart could stand not because he was the least skilled, but because he was the smartest and most aware of the situation.

  The Duke didn't pay much attention to this matter. It was just one person; even if powerful, they couldn't affect the overall situation. That Necromancer was a perfect example.

  The prisoner had been brought to the stake and bound. Her prison uniform was neat and white, truly resembling a bride. She calmly and indifferently surveyed her surroundings, then closed her eyes. She never once glanced toward the high platform.

  The alert soldiers surrounding them made no sound, each on guard against an attack that could come from anywhere. From the Duke's announcement and such elaborate security, the clever ones could guess this was preparation against the criminal who assassinated Bishop Ronis. Some soldiers were filled with rage and fighting spirit, others with fear. The battle a month ago between the Paladin Order and the Necromancer had been so brutal that even hearing of it made one tremble. To deal with just one Necromancer, even the elite Paladin Order lost dozens. Ordinary soldiers under Necromancy might be as fragile as caterpillars. Now, in this plaza of thousands, there was not a sound.

  As if sensing a grand feast to come, crows had gathered on the surrounding rooftops at some point. They too seemed infected by the eerie atmosphere, watching the crowd in the plaza without making a sound.

  The soldiers finally finished stacking the firewood. They only needed the Duke's order to light it. But no one dared to ask the Duke for instructions.

  The plaza, filled with people under broad daylight, was eerily silent. The silence was so strange it carried an almost imperceptible stench of decay.

  On the high platform, the Duke stood up, surveyed the plaza one last time, and raised his hand. But looking at his daughter's placid face at the stake, his hand hesitated.

  For a moment, the Duke realized that thousands of eyes were fixed on his hand. He took a deep breath, his narrow eyes suddenly widening wide, a sharp light flashing forth. His hand swept down.

  All eyes turned to the priest standing beside the stake.

  The priest, facing the most grand salute of his life, looked somewhat terrified. Holding the torch, he walked to the stake. His steps were already trembling. He knew that if someone truly intended to rescue the prisoner, this was usually when a cry of "Stop!" would come, followed by an arrow piercing him through. Oh, no—it should be "Stop the fire!" If the one coming was truly the spy from the Necromancer Guild, what flew might not be an arrow, but a spray of corrosive venom that rotted flesh and bone, or perhaps a bone spear...

  The torch slowly moved toward the firewood pile. The priest's hand shook as he focused entirely on guarding against—or perhaps waiting for—that loud cry and hidden weapons, arrows, or magic...

  "Stop!" A shout indeed came at this critical moment. The priest dropped the torch with warrior-like speed and explosive force, rolling away to dodge. Everyone's taut nerves snapped. The simultaneous sound of thousands of swords being drawn instantly transformed the silent plaza into a scene of clashing weapons and killing intent.

  But no magical arrows came. At the end of the long street, a fast horse galloped, the rider brandishing a longsword.

  With the target revealed, archers and crossbowmen hiding in ambush emerged, and mages began chanting spells.

  "Stop!" This time it was the Duke who roared.

  The combat command had already been arranged. At the Duke's order, dozens of captains simultaneously shouted for their men to stop. Even so, several mages still hurled fireballs.

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  "Boom!" Though the fireballs didn't hit the target directly, they exploded nearby, knocking rider and horse to the ground. The person seemed unharmed, just covered in dust as they stood up, brandishing their sword and charging forward while shouting: "Sister, don't be afraid, I'm here to save you!"

  "Stop, stop, stop all of you!" The Duke was already jumping with rage and anxiety on the high platform. Fortunately, the archers heard the order in time and didn't turn the future imperial consort into a hedgehog on the spot.

  Chris flailed her weapon wildly as she charged toward the plaza. The soldiers had heard the order, dared not attack, yet dared not approach the Duke's daughter flailing her weapon. She actually broke through.

  At the stake, Sophia's calm expression collapsed. Watching her sister, tears streamed down her face.

  "Go grab that fool and bring her back!" the Duke ordered Rodhart furiously. Since the arrest of his eldest daughter, the younger daughter, soon to be the imperial consort, had cried and raged daily, threatening to ask the Emperor for a pardon or refusing to marry, causing the Duke endless headaches. He had ordered her placed under house arrest. Unexpectedly, she had escaped at this critical moment.

  Rodhart leaped from the platform, ran swiftly, snatched Chris's sword, picked her up, and carried her back. Chris was still crying and struggling, so Rodhart knocked her unconscious with a blow to the neck.

  Watching this troublemaker who had appeared midway being led away, not only did the Duke breathe a sigh of relief, but the soldiers' tense nerves also relaxed. After this disruption, the tense atmosphere had dissipated. The priest who was to light the fire climbed up from the ground, somewhat embarrassed, picked up the torch, and threw it into the firewood pile.

  Sure enough, no magic flew through the air. The priest breathed a sigh of relief, carefully looked around, and confirmed nothing had happened. Though a light drizzle began to fall from the sky, the firewood was piled well and dry, so the flames quickly spread. The priest turned and retreated.

  But after a few steps, the priest felt something strange. It seemed a faint, peculiar odor was coming from somewhere, with a somewhat familiar smell. He looked around and discovered that the rain falling from the sky was actually black, and the strange odor was emanating from it.

  A larger drop of black rain landed on the priest's hand. He rubbed it between his fingers and found the rain resembled the sludge from a gutter.

  Extremely puzzled, he looked up at the sky. The sun was bright, not a cloud in sight, only a large bird circling above.

  A drop of foul-smelling black rain happened to land in his mouth. He quickly lowered his head, curling his tongue to trap the raindrop in a mouthful of saliva.

  "Ptooey!" He spat forcefully. But what came out with the saliva was half a tongue, a few teeth, and even half a lip.

  The priest thought his eyes were playing tricks. He touched his mouth with his hand—felt nothing. Then he immediately saw the two fingers that had rubbed the raindrop fall to the ground, already black as if soaked in ink.

  He swallowed, trying hard to comprehend what was happening. But suddenly he couldn't help but let out a long, loud burp.

  The burp was foul, smelling as if he had just eaten a bucket of boiled feces. Something seemed to rush into his mouth with the burp. When he spat again, he saw a small piece of internal organ. Then he knew nothing more.

  Others in the plaza also began to notice the strange rain. Some were hit by larger, oddly shaped raindrops. Looking, they saw what appeared to be human fingers, ears, though all black and as soft and foul as mud.

  "It's a Necromancer!" Finally, someone began screaming hysterically. The screamers were several priests and mages who had participated in the Magic Academy's siege of the Necromancer; they had all seen this black, porridge-like liquid.

  Though the effect of this black fluid this time was far less potent than the instant-death-on-contact effect of that Necromancer's, its range was enormous, covering almost the entire plaza.

  Another, denser shower of rain fell. This time, someone finally saw where the black death rain came from. First, two small black dots dropped from the bird's back. When closer to the ground, they could be seen as two people, who then suddenly exploded completely, transforming into the strange black rain that fell.

  Someone looking up was hit in the eye, screamed, and quickly covered it with a hand. When they lowered their hand and released it, their eyeball fell out. Many people frantically tried to wipe where the black rain had landed, but a vigorous wipe would peel away large patches of skin and flesh.

  Compared to the damage caused by the black rain, fear had a greater impact on the soldiers. Watching those beside them wipe their face only to have half of it come off, even the most well-trained soldiers couldn't bear it. Moreover, quite a few people in the plaza had been hit by the black rain. The scene instantly descended into chaos. Many had collapsed and were rolling on the ground; more were fleeing. Priests desperately cast healing spells and Purification,解毒术. Terrified screams and pained howls completely drowned out the officers' commands, and less than half of the officers capable of issuing orders remained.

  The bird that had rained black death let out a cry that pierced the sky and began to dive. Several priests who had served on the western front already shouted: "It's an orc Wyvern!"

  "Your Grace... Could Oufu be colluding with the Necromancers?" A high-ranking officer who had retreated under the platform's canopy looked at Duke Mrak in terror.

  "No, they will say this spy from the Necromancer Guild stole it himself," the Duke's eyes flashed sharply. He never imagined this kid could actually reach Oufu in such a short time and borrow a Wyvern.

  The main reason the Duke was so eager to eliminate Ethan was Oufu.

  Although the letter from Bishop Ronis asking Sedros to hand over evidence of his collusion with Oufu to the court was in his hands, with Bishop Ronis dead, Sedros, who seemed to have some connection to Ethan, would surely suspect he was behind it. While it was uncertain how quickly this evidence would reach the court, it would undoubtedly be faster than his gaining control of the Paladin Order.

  Facing Ethan alone, who understood nothing of political intrigue and diplomatic schemes, or facing Sedros's evidence alone, the Duke still had ways to cope. But if the two joined forces, and Sedros found a way to clear Ethan's name, making him a witness, then even gods would have no way out. Therefore, the Duke was willing to pay any price to force Ethan out and eliminate him first.

  In the current situation, it was even more imperative to kill this kid here. Even if Sedros wanted to help, lending him a Wyvern was probably the limit. Large numbers of orc warriors couldn't reach the royal capital in such a short time. Sending a few on Wyvern would not only be ineffective but also risk backlash if they failed. The Wyvern could be claimed as stolen by the kid himself, but sending people would nail down the charge of colluding with the Necromancer Guild to kill Bishop Ronis, leaving no room for maneuver. Not only could he not testify against the Duke, but Oufu would immediately face hostility from the Church.

  So in this situation, no matter what, this kid had to be eliminated. The Duke took a deep breath, his thunderous roar rolling out: "Archers and mages, prepare!"

  But the Wyvern only descended slightly before remaining at a considerable height, circling. Then another body dropped from it. The people below panicked further, and officers could no longer control the soldiers. The body fell toward the stake, and soldiers began scattering to dodge.

  But this body didn't explode. Its descent seemed rather slow, as if someone had cast Feather Fall on it. Only when close to the ground did people see a rope tied around the corpse's waist. Moreover, its limbs were still moving—or rather, it wasn't a corpse at all.

  "Archers and mages, shoot!" the Duke's roar carried out.

  But faster than the archers and mages were the crows perched on the surrounding rooftops.

  These crows had stood silently from the beginning, matching the solemn, tense atmosphere without moving. Even when chaos erupted below, these small creatures remained still as sculptures. No one paid them any mind. Now, almost simultaneously with the Duke's roar, the nearly thousand crows surrounding the plaza all took flight, hurtling toward the central stake.

  "You... You actually came..." Sophia looked at the person who had landed beside her from the sky, finally breaking down in tears. Her expression was a mix of excitement, joy, and sorrow.

  Ethan looked at her, a smile in his eyes but no answer. He was chanting a complex, incomprehensible spell. The flying crows all gathered around them, densely forming a sphere that enveloped them.

  "Boom!" A fireball exploded against the crows. The fireball, which should have shattered a person, failed to scatter the crows, only blasting the outermost ones to fragments. The fragments contained no trace of blood—only splattering black, foul-smelling fluid and stone-stiff muscles.

  "Hold tight to me!" Ethan shouted, drawing the sword from his back and severing Sophia's chains with one strike. Sophia reached out and clasped Ethan's waist. Crossbow bolts and magic striking the surrounding crows made thudding sounds like hitting wood, unable to penetrate these small birds. Ethan let out a long whistle. The Wyvern hovering above began to flap its wings, carrying them upward.

  The officers finally regained control of the soldiers. Everyone in the plaza who could still move shouted and charged toward the stake. But even the nearest soldiers, reaching the now-burning stake, could only watch helplessly as the black ball formed by crows rose into the sky. Many soldiers threw spears and arrows, but they only managed to knock down some crows.

  Some clever mages and archers already attacked the rope connecting the two. But it was just a thin rope after all, with a pitifully low hit rate. Moreover, the rope was clearly no ordinary thing—withstanding dozens of arrows and even a fireball without a scratch.

  "Archers, keep shooting at the people. Mages, target the Wyvern!" the Duke's voice came.

  But the mages' positions were too far for the Wyvern's altitude. Low-level mages' fireballs and lightning bolts dissipated mid-flight. Those that reached the Wyvern's height mostly missed their target. Only a couple of fireballs at the end of their range struck the Wyvern's wing.

  The Wyvern cried out, its form dipping slightly, but immediately resumed its slow ascent. The swamp beast's defense and vitality were not something a few spells could handle.

  A rainstorm of arrows fell upon the zombie crows surrounding them. Continuously, crows began to fall, their wing movements hindered by arrows on their bodies or dragged down by the weight of too many arrows. With one arm around Ethan, Sophia made several gestures in the air with the other, chanting: "Spirits of the air, heed my will and shield me from attack." A strong whirlwind began forming outside the crows, greatly weakening the archers' attacks. Many arrows lacking force were blown directly aside.

  Ethan looked at Sophia in considerable surprise. The "Whirlwind Shield" was a rather advanced air spell; he never expected she could cast it, especially in such an urgent situation.

  The Wyvern was already too high for magic to reach. Sophia and Ethan had risen at least twenty meters. Though few crows remained around them, at this height and with the Whirlwind Shield's protection, arrows could no longer reach them.

  Sophia and Ethan exchanged a glance. Though tears still streamed down Sophia's face, both their eyes were filled with joy.

  "Forget the Wyvern! All magic, target the people!" the Duke's voice sounded again, growing closer. They looked down to see the Duke charging toward their position below at a speed incongruous with his bulk.

  In haste, only six nearby mages could accurately attack them. Four fireballs and two ice cones flew toward them from three different directions.

  "The fireball from lower left is yours!" Ethan shouted. Extending his hand, three instantly cast fireballs met the other three in mid-air, exploding simultaneously. Sophia defeated one fireball with a bolt of lightning.

  Three instant-cast fireballs were his limit; his magical power couldn't coalesce again so soon. Ethan drew his knife, deflecting one ice cone. He extended his right foot to catch the last one. With a soft thud, his right foot became a mangled, frozen mess. But the blow was blocked.

  In this moment's delay, they had risen another ten meters. Before the mages could gather for another attack, they would reach a safe height.

  Freedom was within reach.

  A furious roar came from below. A soldier was grabbed by the Duke and hurled skyward, flailing and screaming.

  The Duke's own form surged upward. He stepped onto another soldier's shoulder below. The sound of cracking bones echoed as the soldier's shoulder collapsed entirely. He screamed once and collapsed.

  Using the soldier's shoulder as a springboard, the Duke leaped into mid-air. His hand swept out, and a borrowed soldier's longsword whistled through the air. This sword wasn't aimed at the Wyvern or the people, but at the rope between them.

  This was no longer a lightweight arrow, but a rapidly spinning longsword. From the sound of the wind, one could understand that even if it were an iron chain between them, it would undoubtedly be severed by this strike.

  Ethan's knife flew from his hand. With a crisp crack, the Duke's thrown sword was instantly shattered by the knife. The knife then followed an arc, falling toward the ground.

  The Duke was smiling. The kindly, amiable flavor had long vanished from his fat smile, replaced entirely by ferocity. Because he clearly held another longsword in his hand. He swept his hand again, and this sword, with a wind ten times sharper than before, flew toward the rope.

  Simultaneously, the Duke had stepped onto the chest and abdomen of the soldier he had thrown into mid-air. The soldier's chest and abdomen caved in. Unable to even scream, blood and internal organs sprayed from his mouth and nose as he fell from mid-air. Even at this modest height, he was smashed to pieces.

  Using this leverage, the Duke surged upward again, charging straight toward the pair in mid-air. His right hand swept from his waist with a sharp clang of metal. His own slender sword was now in hand. Man and sword had become one.

  Sophia chanted a low incantation. A Frost Arrow shot toward the longsword whistling toward the rope above their heads. But the white water magic was no match for the wind-and-thunder roar of the rapidly spinning sword, scattering like foam. The sword's momentum undiminished, it flew to sever that thread of fate.

  Sophia's body had stiffened, her eyes filled with despair. Heaven and hell were separated by that single thread.

  The taut rope emitted a sigh like the lowest note on a cello string. It snapped.

  Everyone in the plaza was watching the battle in mid-air. Seeing the rope finally break under the Duke's attack, they shouted in unison—half cheers, half gasps. For though the rope broke, only one person fell, while the other continued to rise.

  Ethan's eyes never left the flying sword. In the instant before the rope snapped, his arms had already wrapped around Sophia, throwing her upward with all his might. The strength, speed, and timing were perfect, allowing her to reach the broken rope just after the sword passed.

  The moment Sophia was thrown, she understood instantly. With both hands, she grabbed the two ends of the severed rope, using her own hands as the connecting link. Ethan's body dropped only slightly before stabilizing again.

  The sharp pain of the pull made Sophia groan softly. But she knew if she could endure this moment, letting the Wyvern fly beyond the capital's range, they could descend.

  But below, there was still the Duke.

  The sound of the Duke's body tearing through the air was as sharp and whistling as an arrow. His swordplay held none of the grand, overwhelming momentum of epic proportions. He sought not to shred or annihilate, but merely to kill.

  All the sharpness and function of the slender sword, all the Duke's strength and skill, were concentrated at that single point—the tip. Even steel plate could be pierced clean through by this sword. And the tip pointed directly at Ethan's forehead—the very center, the most fatal spot measured by any ruler. Piercing here had the same effect as shredding a person into seventy or eighty pieces: death.

  The Duke's sword was like the man himself—nothing but effect, the most efficient effect.

  His hand, having just thrown Sophia with full strength, was completely powerless. Ethan had no strength left to block the Duke's sword. But he uttered a few strange syllables. The few remaining crows circling around all turned and flew into the Duke's sword. The sword, meant to reap souls, was actually knocked aside by the impact.

  Even Ethan was startled by this effective result, but he immediately saw the Duke's figure lunging forward.

  Crows could deflect a sword, but never a person. Seeing the crows coming, the Duke had already abandoned his sword, using the momentum to lunge forward and grab Ethan's waist, pulling down with all his might.

  Sophia screamed. She could no longer hold the weight of two people. The rope connected to the Wyvern slipped from her grasp, taking a patch of skin with it. She and Ethan below fell together.

  The Duke's fierce pull not only brought Ethan and Sophia down but also used their momentum to slow his own descent. When Sophia was dragged down by Ethan, falling past the Duke, he reached out, using her as leverage to completely halt his fall.

  "Take them alive!" Still in mid-air, the Duke roared the command.

  Ethan and Sophia both cast Feather Fall, landing relatively safely. But the moment they touched ground, dozens of swords and spears were already pressed densely against them. Thousands of soldiers in the plaza had surrounded them in a hundred impenetrable layers.

  "Thud!" Even with the leverage of two people, the Duke, possessing no magic, fell in utter disarray from such a height, rolling several times on the ground to dissipate the force of impact.

  Without its rider, the Wyvern circled twice in the air, let out a cry, and flew west.

  Climbing to his feet, covered in dust, the Duke saw the two, already immobilized by swords at their throats. In the most undignified state of his life, he unleashed the most unrestrained, maniacal laughter.