Chapter 107: In the Shadows

  When he watched Sophia being led out of the dungeon by those swordsmen, leaving him suddenly alone in the empty space, Clovis's eyes grew moist.

  This was weakness. Absolutely a sign of weakness. In the past, Clovis would have been enraged by his own reaction. In his mind, he had always been the embodiment of strength, perfection, and success, like a deity standing atop the world in myth, majestic, looking down upon all living things as mere dogs. Any enjoyment, tenderness, smile, or tear was, in his eyes, a mark of weakness, a characteristic of the worthless. He not only rejected these but detested them extremely, like an aesthetic poet who cannot tolerate rotting corpses, excrement, and the maggots writhing within.

  But now he felt indifferent, even experiencing a sense of relief. Excluding his cathartic outburst on the brink of madness in this cell, this was the first time he had cried, at least under normal circumstances in his own memory.

  Just over a month ago, he was still the famous squad leader of the Paladin Order, disciple of the Empire's greatest swordsman, the foremost knight of the Royal Capital, deputy to the most powerful Duke Mrak in the Empire—arguably his heir. But suddenly, he was nothing. Even lower than the lowliest commoner, he was just a prisoner, not even considered a person, merely a prop used to threaten others.

  From the radiant clouds of fame, fortune, and power, he plummeted to hell, kicked down like garbage by the very Duke he had revered as a god. He completely collapsed, nearly going mad. But here, he faced only cold walls and steel bars, and a Sophia who treated him purely as a madman. No one paid him any mind. So after countless futile outbursts and painful fits of madness, he finally accepted reality and regained clarity.

  And the woman across from him, nominally his wife, though also held hostage here, was so calm and composed, as if carefully preparing for a rare celebration. Only then did he discover the real reason he had always detested her: before her genuine strength, he was merely a coward wrapped in self-importance. In truth, he had always envied her, even liked her, but feared feeling inadequate before her, afraid of discovering his own worthlessness. That was why he detested her, avoided her.

  Watching her walk toward the execution pyre with a calm expression, even seeming to carry a hint of anticipation, Clovis felt a pang in his heart. He didn't believe any fool would come knowing it was certain death, yet he knew the Duke never acted without certainty.

  Long after she left, commotion finally echoed down from above the dungeon. From the soldiers' shouts and running, Clovis could deduce that the fool who had come to die had indeed arrived. Come to die for love? What a hopelessly foolish idiot.

  The commotion didn't last long. Soon, the excited chatter of Royal Guards drifted down through the vent. They spoke of how evil and vicious the wanted Necromancer's dark magic was, how wise and mighty the Duke was, how he had leaped forward and struck down the two who were about to escape with a single sword stroke. Now, the wanted man had been taken to the Duke's mansion for personal interrogation by the Duke himself.

  Clovis knew what the Duke meant by "interrogation"—merely squeezing out every last bit of remaining value from this condemned man. Come to rescue someone from the execution ground for the sake of some bullshit love, facing thousands alone? How grand? How earth-shattering? In the end, wouldn't he just be captured by the Duke, squeezed dry of his last bit of usefulness, then disposed of like garbage?

  Garbage. Clovis smiled bitterly. He could feel a hint of envy in his heart now. The fool voluntarily went to his death, able to display a moment of tragic glory before thousands before dying. But he himself could only wait for death in this dungeon.

  A harsh grating of metal suddenly echoed through the dungeon. The dungeon door opened. Then came another equally harsh sound as it closed.

  Clovis was slightly surprised. The Duke should have no time to deal with him now. And as a special high-security prisoner, no one was allowed contact without the Duke's personal order. From the sound of footsteps, there were only three people entering. Unconsciously, the chatter of the soldiers outside had completely fallen silent. Only these three sets of footsteps echoed in the dungeon.

  The footsteps of the three people reached Clovis's cell. By the dim torchlight, he could see they were two priests in white robes and a Royal Guard officer. They had closed the door upon entering, clearly not intending to take anyone out.

  "Are you here to send me on my way?" Clovis asked flatly from where he sat on the floor. Secret executions of prisoners weren't uncommon, especially for someone like him who knew too much. Regarding death, he now felt somewhat indifferent. Whether he had grown numb or fully accepted reality, he couldn't tell.

  "Yes." One priest chuckled lightly. His casual tone seemed ill-suited for the grim, dark dungeon and the task he was here to perform.

  Clovis smiled bitterly. So the Duke couldn't even be bothered to do it personally anymore. He asked, "May I ask one last question?"

  "You may ask as many as you like." This priest gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

  "How is my father?"

  "That question, you'd better ask him yourself." The priest maintained that strange expression, which looked like a deliberately made grimace in the firelight. He took out a scroll and tossed it to Clovis.

  Clovis froze. If they had thrown in a magic spell to blast him to pieces or a vial of poison, he would have been mentally prepared, but it was a magic scroll. He picked up the scroll, recognizing from the faint magical fluctuation that it was a teleportation scroll. The scroll's design was quite exquisite, with two small skulls carved at both ends, emitting a faint glow and a unique magical signature. Clovis frowned and asked, "This is a teleportation scroll?"

  "Of course."

  So they planned to teleport him somewhere first, then secretly kill him? Or perhaps it was just a faulty scroll that would transport him to some random place to die... But something as pointless as that would never be the Duke's style. Clovis struggled to guess but couldn't understand. He asked, "Where... where does this teleport to?"

  "To Diya Valley, of course." The priest replied flatly.

  "Diya Valley..." Clovis repeated the words softly, then reflexively jumped up, his voice trembling slightly. "Are you people from the Necromancer Guild?" Though at this point, "death" held no more fear for him, the three words "Diya Valley" carried an intimidation far beyond mere "death."

  "Hurry along. Your father should be waiting for you there. He sent us to rescue you." The other priest answered.

  "My father sent you to rescue me? He's waiting for me in Diya Valley?" Clovis repeated the two phrases with difficulty, like a child just learning to speak, trying to grasp the meaning behind them. Some kind of trick? But why deceive a condemned man like himself? Could it be true? But Father... what connection could he have with the Necromancer Guild?

  "Right. Exchange your clothes with this man." The Necromancer disguised as a priest walked to the cell door, muttered a few low words, reached out, and tapped the heavy steel lock. After a strange sizzling sound, he twisted the lock, and it opened.

  The lock was specially made to contain the most dangerous prisoners; even an Ogre couldn't force it open by strength. There was a faint, peculiar smell of melted metal in the air. The lock's surface was undamaged, but its interior must have been utterly destroyed. To control magic with such precision to produce such an effect—compared to this spell-like result and the magical prowess it represented, even first-rate mages from the Magic Academy would seem like country bumpkins.

  The person disguised as a Royal Guard entered the cell. Only then did Clovis notice this person's expression was vacant, his movements stiff as he walked, like a giant marionette. Following the Necromancer's instructions, Clovis exchanged all his clothing with this man. As he did these things, his normally agile and clear mind felt muddled and sluggish. He even wondered if he was dreaming.

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  He had thought that after hearing whatever news or encountering whatever changes, nothing could surprise him anymore. But in this desperate situation where he had resigned himself to death, he never imagined someone would come to rescue him. Yet his rescuers weren't angels, but legendary messengers from hell. And Father sent them... All of this was beyond his comprehension, as if he had suddenly jumped into a hastily fabricated story.

  Just as he finished changing clothes, one Necromancer made a gesture. The Royal Guard wearing Clovis's clothes suddenly bent over, lowered his head, and charged violently at the cell's stone wall with a motion mimicking a bull. His skull then shattered like an egg. A bit of brain matter and blood splattered onto Clovis's face.

  "Hurry up. Haven't you had enough of this place?" The Necromancer urged Clovis.

  Picking up the teleportation scroll, Clovis hesitated for a moment, then abruptly unrolled it. Blue magical light illuminated the entire dungeon.

  "I have to admit, young Inham has a good mind. It seems everything went as he predicted. Rescuing this boy now certainly saved us a lot of trouble." The Necromancer looked at the empty cell after Clovis's departure, murmuring to himself. "We can also wait here peacefully for good news."

  "Occasionally playing the thief's part is quite fun too, but wearing this thing too long is bad for the skin. Those mithril masks are much more comfortable and elegant." The other Necromancer pulled a mask from his face, revealing an elegant and dignified face. It was Bishop Adela.

  The other Necromancer also removed his mask, revealing a fair, plump, well-maintained middle-aged man. He rubbed his face with those fair, delicate hands and sighed, "It really was quite interesting. I haven't felt this tense in a long time; it reminded me of the thrill of adventuring many years ago. Inham was right this time. Changing our previous strategy and taking the risk to come here really brought some surprises."

  "There really were many surprises." Bishop Adela smiled and nodded. "First was seeing our unharmed former Acting Guild Master, old Mr. Sandro. Inham was right—if he wasn't dead, he would definitely be at the execution ground. And the best disguise is none other than posing as a priest. Though wearing a mask, magic never lies. He was the only priest in the entire square who didn't use white magic, yet his detoxification effect was the best. Hehe."

  "The biggest surprise was waiting for that boy." The middle-aged man smiled and nodded. "Inham was right; he really came. Did you see? That boy used Sandro's living corpse technique. Quite skillfully executed."

  "Too bad the corpse poison was used completely ineptly. I could sense that the toxin in the corpse seemed to have consumed a great deal of magical power to create, didn't it?"

  "Hehe, yes. But that toxin was utterly lacking in artistry, wasting so much magic. It was like a clumsy chef spending immense effort and countless precious ingredients only to concoct a large, tasteless stew. Over half the people weren't even poisoned. Had anyone from the Guild done it, not a single person in the square would have survived." The middle-aged man shook his head and sighed. "This boy seems only skilled in the living corpse technique, probably because of the Leaves of the World Tree."

  "But the boy's mind is still quite sharp. He almost succeeded in rescuing the person. Such a pity to fail at the last moment." Adela frowned, sighing with deep regret, as if he himself had failed. "What a shame..."

  "Yes. What a shame..." The middle-aged man also sighed. "If only they had persisted a little longer."

  "You know? If not for our respect for the venerable Sandro being present, I would have struck with a lightning bolt, turning that obstructive Duke into a roast pig."

  "Hehe, then those two could have left the Royal Capital smoothly... We wouldn't have had to wait here either, following behind to kill those who need killing, capture those who need capturing, and torture out the whereabouts of our precious Leaves of the World Tree. And I'm really curious—just how many of our gargoyles can a single Wyvern handle?"

  "Don't worry. There will be opportunities to experiment slowly later. For now, we'll wait here quietly for news. The venerable Sandro actually colluding with that Paladin Order commander—I believe the news we wait for will be good, hehe..."

  Not long after, the dungeon door opened again. A person dressed as a priest walked in and closed the door.

  "I seem to smell the scent of good news, venerable Mr. Nimbus." Adela said to him with a smile.

  The Necromancer called Nimbus walked down a few steps, smiled wryly, and said, "There is good news."

  "Is there bad news too?" Adela froze.

  "Let me first explain what the good news is." Nimbus sighed. "The Duke took the boy for private interrogation, and then I saw our former Acting Guild Master Sandro and the Paladin Order commander waiting at the Duke's mansion entrance. They had all the Royal Guards withdraw from the mansion. I knew something interesting would happen."

  "What kind of interesting thing?"

  "Unfortunately, I couldn't see the real drama behind the scenes, only guessing from what was happening outside. Not long after, Sandro and that commander rushed in. Then not long after that, news came out that the Duke was killed. The murderer was precisely that boy; he broke free of his restraints and killed the Duke. Then the boy escaped, with Sandro and that commander in pursuit. As for the result, naturally, they lost him."

  "Hehe, good news indeed. Now that they've lost him, it's our turn." Adela clapped his hands. "Well, why are we still waiting here? Let's go."

  "Aren't you going to hear my bad news?" Nimbus smiled wryly but didn't move.

  "What bad news?" Adela and the middle-aged man frowned together.

  "The bad news is that we can only go back; we can't pursue that boy." Nimbus said weakly.

  "Why?" The two Necromancers asked in unison. Three Necromancers acting together to capture one person wasn't just using a sledgehammer to crack a nut—it was like using a sledgehammer to kill an insect. Since Sandro had separated from the target, they could act freely.

  The middle-aged man suddenly noticed a problem. Nimbus had stood on the steps after entering the dungeon, neither coming down nor going up. The middle-aged man asked, "Why are you standing there not moving?"

  "Because I dare not move." Nimbus replied with a wry smile. "There's a dagger at the back of my neck."

  A dark golden skull mask floated out from behind Nimbus. One had to look very closely to see that it was actually a human figure merged with the dungeon's shadows. One of the figure's hands held a jet-black dagger, placed against Nimbus's neck.

  After his initial surprise, the middle-aged man immediately bowed his head respectfully, his voice filled with astonishment and a hint of excitement. "I never thought I'd meet you here, venerable and beautiful Agrael. Your grace and skill remain as unparalleled as the first time I met you years ago..."

  "Enough. You seem to be the same as ever, Norbolin. Still so talkative." The dark golden skull mask nodded. It floated down a few steps, away from Nimbus. Nimbus breathed a sigh of relief, rubbed his neck, but still didn't move his feet.

  "May we ask what brings you here?" The middle-aged man asked very respectfully.

  "I heard Sandro died, so I came to see. But I happened to encounter a scouting owl, so I casually followed the magical signature and searched, and who would have thought I actually found him."

  "But venerable Mr. Sandro seems as energetic as ever. We saw he even joined the Magic Academy. You could investigate that..."

  "I saw him." The dark skull nodded. "It's you I'm concerned about. I heard from Nimbus. Did the three of you come specifically just to capture that boy? Hmph, since when has the honorable Necromancer Guild become like those bandit robbers, relying on numbers to win?"

  "Alas, this was unavoidable. This boy knows the whereabouts of the Leaves of the World Tree. You know we are determined to obtain it..."

  "And then? I heard you intend to kill him. Because he is the one Archibald mentioned who gathers power. Have you forgotten the rules established by Lord Archibald?"

  "This..." The middle-aged man, Norbolin, wiped his sweat and looked at Nimbus standing above. Nimbus made a helpless gesture.

  "I also heard you imprisoned that girl Vedenina. Though I've never liked her either, she is still a member of the Guild. You actually started internal strife within the sacred Diya Valley." The voice drifting from under the dark golden skull wasn't loud, but it was bone-chillingly cold. "The honorable Necromancer Guild has become, in your hands, as filthy a place for power struggles and scheming as a bandit's den or official court. People like you are unfit to remain in Diya Valley."

  Adela, who had been silent until now, spoke up: "This was a decision jointly made by all Guild members. Venerable former Acting Guild Master." His voice was gentle and friendly, his words brief but perfectly conveying his meaning.

  The gaze from under the dark skull flashed toward Adela's face. Adela maintained his dignified, measured smile.

  After a long moment, the light under the skull mask dimmed, then sighed helplessly. "Right. I'm no longer with the Guild. It seems I have no say in your affairs." Just as Norbolin and Nimbus breathed sighs of relief, the voice continued: "I won't interfere in the future, but today, you must go back."

  The three Necromancers exchanged glances. Today was undoubtedly an excellent opportunity; if the boy went into hiding later, he would be hard to find.

  "Take out your teleportation scrolls and unroll them." The voice wasn't loud, but its faint authority and presence were impossible to ignore.

  Adela's smile grew even brighter, seeming almost embarrassed as he said, "Venerable Lady Agrael, though you are our former Acting Guild Master, you cannot..." Just as his smile was brightest and most gentle, his hand shot forward abruptly. A burst of white light instantly filled the entire cell.

  "Paralysis Spell." The most effective offensive support spell in white magic. Though it couldn't cause direct damage, it could completely disrupt the body's life force under the influence of white magic, rendering the opponent immobile. When used by a mage of Adela's level, as long as the opponent was flesh and blood, even a Behemoth would likely be paralyzed for a considerable time.

  But after casting this spell, it wasn't the figure in the dark mask who was paralyzed—it was Adela himself.

  The black dagger was already at Adela's throat, two sharp spikes extending from its blade like demon claws. Adela could feel the hairs around his neck falling away like leaves in an icy wind.

  "The greatest advantage of youth is always being full of fighting spirit and ambition, daring to defy and challenge authority. That is the reason for progress." The dark skull floated behind Adela again. There was no sound of wind or movement, as if it had been there all along. "But their greatest disadvantage is not knowing their place. That is the reason for easy death."

  "Hmph. Please realize, there are three of us." The smile vanished from Adela's face. White magic light was already shining on his body.

  "I can see your white magic is quite good, very impressive for someone your age." The voice drifting from under the dark golden skull was unhurried. "But if this Nick Dagger so much as scratches you, I guarantee that even if all the priests in the Magic Academy came together, they could only watch as you transform into a mummy while still alive."

  "Please show mercy. The young truly don't understand..." Norbolin and Nimbus showed no intention of helping, merely standing by and speaking. They weren't young and impulsive, and they clearly understood who they were facing and what the current situation was. Even if the three of them could annihilate the entire Royal Capital's army, in this confined chamber, against a top-tier assassin, they were like three rabbits.

  "I am also a Guild member. Surely you wouldn't kill me?" Though no longer smiling, Adela wasn't tense.

  "If you had used attack magic just now, you would already be a dried corpse. I haven't killed anyone in many years. I hope you won't force me to today." The dagger left Adela's throat, the commanding tone in the voice growing stronger. "I'll say it one more time. Take out your teleportation scrolls and unroll them."

  Norbolin sighed, turned back to Clovis's cell, glanced inside, muttered a few incantations, and cast several spells on the three stone walls. With a loud "bang," the cell collapsed under falling rocks, burying the corpse inside.

  The clamor of soldiers sounded outside. The soldiers, sent into a hypnotic sleep, were now waking up and rushing toward them.

  Norbolin and Nimbus took out their teleportation scrolls and unrolled them. Adela hesitated for a moment, then had no choice but to follow his companions in taking out his own scroll.

  When the door was opened, the soldiers rushing in only saw an empty dungeon and the collapsed cell.

  At the Paladin Order headquarters.

  Just as Commander Roland was about to send someone to release Clovis from the dungeon, he received news that the dungeon had collapsed due to age and water seepage, conveniently crushing the prisoner inside.

  Commander Roland was furious. He knew his disciple likely held many of the Duke's secrets; he had been waiting to resolve the Duke's situation before releasing him for detailed questioning. But now, many unknown matters would forever remain in darkness.

  Beyond his fury, there was heartache. This was a disciple he had nurtured for many years. But since it had already happened, his grief was futile. Moreover, this would be the busiest period; all his energy needed to be devoted to this.

  Fortunately, he had also seen a more capable and talented individual. Commander Roland decided: he would take him as his disciple.