Chapter 167: A Fine Head, Who Shall Sever It

  Ethan dropped his knife and retreated with a miserable scream, instinctively clamping his hands over his head with all his strength. It felt as if two knives and three hammers were chaotically stabbing, piercing, and hammering away, and he needed both hands just to keep his head from exploding in an instant.

  At the same time, Bishop Eschol opened his mouth, and a massive spray of blood gushed out.

  The amount and force of this spray of blood could hardly be described as a 'mouthful'; it should have been measured in bowls, large beer mugs, or basins. This was not at all like the coughing up of blood from an old man who had suffered a knife wound, but rather like a large-bellied, strong man who had just drunk his fill of blood and then been struck hard in the stomach, causing him to vomit. His beard and white bishop's robes were instantly stained a deep crimson, while his face had become as white as snow.

  His lung had been pierced by the blade, and mind magic was not suitable for direct attacks to begin with. He had forcefully transformed the magic power that controlled thoughts into an impact. This strenuous strike was also an all-out effort. If it weren't for his incredibly profound foundation in magic and his expertise in mind magic, this magical backlash alone could have cost him his life.

  But this was not the only reason he spat out such a large mouthful of blood. More than half of this blood was forcefully expelled from his own body.

  A light magician of his level could almost be completely distinguished from an ordinary mage. Although their bodies were still weak and frail, in terms of the tenacity of their life force and their resistance to injury, even strong warriors might not be able to compare. As long as it wasn't an immediately fatal, irrecoverable injury, it could be suppressed with the vast, sea-like white magic within their bodies, and then slowly healed.

  Although the blood-sucking effect of the Necromancy attached to this blade could deal with even the strongest Behemoth behemoth, to a top-tier white magician who was himself incomparably familiar with Necromancy, it was not much of a threat, at least not immediately fatal. As long as he used all his white magic to suppress the deathly and dark aura within, and with the help of another priest, he could even pull the knife out himself.

  Unfortunately, the current situation did not allow him to call someone to heal him slowly. Only a fraction slower than Ethan, another slender figure also followed him into the room. The glint of sword light brought by this figure, while not as majestic and imposing as Ethan's previous blade light, was silent, sharp, and venomous, like a needle hidden in the intruding wind and rain. And it was an absolutely fatal needle, the blue light on it a label of death.

  This large mouthful of blood from Eschol was sprayed towards the figure that rushed in. As soon as the blood left his mouth, it became a mixture of a large cloud of blood mist and blood rain, blocking a large area in front of this person.

  This person was naturally Jessica, who had been lurking outside with Ethan all along. In fact, she had received Ethan's signal to make a move and should have broken through the window and entered with him. If they had truly been able to do this, the Cardinal would have been dead long ago, even if he had another protective light shield.

  But contrary to Ethan's expectations. The moment he broke the window and struck, the surging killing intent and aura not only shattered the window but also blocked Jessica, who should have entered at the same time. She subconsciously gave way, which led to the deviation in their attacks.

  If they were to fight head-on, Eschol would absolutely be a terrifying enemy. So the moment Ethan struck, he erupted with all his killing intent and power in one breath. Immovable as a mountain, silent as a forest. Once he made a move, it had to be with all his strength, striving for a one-hit kill. This was the essence of assassination. But he forgot that this opponent's terror lay only in his magic; in terms of his body, he was just a decrepit old man at the end of his days. The strike only needed to be "fast." That mountain-splitting, earth-shattering killing intent and power had instead had the opposite effect.

  The slightly slower Jessica was met with the large mouthful of blood Eschol spat out. But she not only did not hesitate or slow down in the slightest; instead, she rushed even faster. She knew this was an excellent opportunity, perhaps the only one. Although the Temple Knights and guards had left, they couldn't be far. Although the sound of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning was loud, it was impossible for a warrior of exceptional skill not to notice the sound of the window shattering and the screams. So her strike did not slow down at all; it was faster, fiercer. Even if there was a fatal magical curse in this cloud of blood, she had to send the short sword in her hand into the Cardinal's throat.

  Her body passed through the blood mist without any hindrance. Jessica felt a brief surprise. This was just a simple mouthful of blood, with no magic contained within it to serve any protective or obstructive purpose. But what followed immediately was the Cardinal's hoarse roar, filled with immense pain: "Freeze."

  Jessica's body, which had been shooting forward like a sharp arrow, suddenly froze, then fell like a puppet.

  Eschol's legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed to the ground. Although his body was already quite good for a man his age, very well maintained, suddenly spurting out a quarter of the blood from his body was still unbearable. But it was the only way. Only by using the force of the blood rushing out could he briefly alleviate the knife's absorption of his blood and vital energy. Only then could he draw a portion of his magical power to cast this spell.

  Although to use this spell, which he could normally wield with ease, the Cardinal had almost risked his life, now his pale face showed a look of relief. Talise and the guards could absolutely hear the abnormality here, no matter which corner of the church they were in. It would definitely not take them half a minute to get here.

  But these tens of seconds were all won by him with his life. This method of resisting such a deadly blood-sucking weapon by instantly losing a large amount of blood was not found in any magician's spellcasting records. It was a method he had thought of himself, relying on his profound understanding of white magic and Necromancy, as well as his decisiveness and judgment in that instant of life and death.

  Although there were reasons for the assassins' own minor mistakes in the failure of this assassination, one had to admit that the biggest reason was the Cardinal's own strength.

  At this moment, Ethan was already rolling on the ground, screaming miserably. While rolling and screaming, white magical light continuously lit up on his hands. This was the light of the white magic's Purification. Although due to The Dark Meditative Art, he could not practice advanced magic of other schools. But the most basic white magic of purification and healing, when used by him, was in no way inferior to that of the church's priests. However, this white magic, which was like pouring ice water on fire for other curses and magical effects, had no effect at all on the excruciating pain that had already spread throughout his body.

  Eschol was extremely surprised that this person could still use magic. At such a close range, without any defense, taking the full force of his Mind Blast, even Lancelot would absolutely be unable to remain conscious.

  But even if this kid could use magic, Eschol was still not at all flustered. This Mind Blast was almost the essence of all his mind magic. Moreover, the way mind magic worked was fundamentally different from other schools of magic. The dispelling of white magic was almost ineffective. Let alone this kid's half-baked white magic, even if His Holiness the Pope came in person, it wouldn't be so easy to remove it.

  Most importantly, although all this magical power had been sent into Ethan's body, it still maintained a subtle connection with the Cardinal's own consciousness. Eschol began to chant an incantation, his gaze locking onto Ethan, who was rolling on the ground like a fish thrown onto a red-hot branding iron.

  Ethan did not know this. The only thing he knew was that he had gone mad.

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  All the nerves and senses that could feel pain, itchiness, discomfort, and nausea were operating frantically. Various hallucinations continuously generated in his mind, overlapping and catalyzing each other. The hallucinations and the pain guided and catalyzed each other, almost occupying all of his consciousness. All his thoughts and feelings were like a group of rats doused in boiling water, frantically chaotic and upside-down in his consciousness. He felt as if he were breathing with his stomach, listening with his nose, and seeing with his ears, and was about to bite his own throat with his eyes, eat his thumb, digest it through his bones, and then spit out a ball of flesh from the top of his head...

  But since he could still "feel" that he was mad, it meant he wasn't mad yet. The very center of his consciousness could still remain clear, struggling to gather all possible power in his body to dispel the magic in his brain.

  When the fourth Purification failed, he seemed to hear a strange muttering sound begin. His originally frenzied consciousness immediately began to frenzy even more. That point of clarity was also about to be drowned by the frantic thoughts. He could even predict that his first reaction after going mad would be to bite off his own hand, then turn to peel, violate, grab, enter, tear apart, and swallow the stiff Jessica, Yabin, and the mad girl on the ground...

  In the sea of his own consciousness, he could almost see himself falling, falling... into a bloody, mire of insane desire. The ground above his head, the sky beneath his feet, everything he could see and feel was that one blurry, bloody, fleshy, reversed, fuzzy, bloody, fleshy, bloody paste... Killing, violence, death, flesh and blood, internal organs, lust, flesh, blood, power, violence, death, viscera, killing...

  Just as he was about to be completely submerged and sink, he finally gathered all his strength and found a strong fulcrum. He finally, relying on The Dark Meditative Art, expanded that tiny point of clarity to his entire consciousness. Although he still couldn't dispel the mind magic that was intimately connected with the Cardinal's consciousness, he could finally break free from the grip of the conscious hallucinations and rediscover the feeling of his body.

  With a sudden roar, Ethan's entire body, not just his hands, began to glow. And the white light was no longer the crystal-clear, hazy light of magic, but another, stronger, more powerful radiance.

  As his body shook violently with this roar, Ethan finally let go of the hands covering his head. He sprang up abruptly, looked up, and glared at Eschol, his eyes a uniform blood-red. Not just his eyes, but blood also flowed from his nose, the corners of his mouth, and even his ears. If he weren't still standing, he would be a fresh corpse, just like someone who had been struck from behind with a stick, bleeding from all seven orifices.

  A look of surprise appeared on Eschol's face. He could feel that the magic he had sent into his opponent's body had not been dispelled, but it had been surrounded and could no longer run rampant in his consciousness as it pleased.

  Ethan looked at the Cardinal. This opponent was now leaning against the wall, his face as pale as paper, extremely weak, with large patches of blood on his body, and his eyes also dim and lifeless. Such a dying old man, but he had almost made him worse than a dog. He suddenly started forward, throwing a punch with all his strength.

  Thump. The sound of bones shattering inch by inch within the muscle sounded like crushing a large handful of fried beans in a cloth sack.

  Ethan could feel the muscles and bones of his left arm immediately mash into a pulp under his own punch. Compared to this immense pain, he was more surprised. He couldn't understand at all why his punch, which should have turned the Cardinal's head into a pulp, had landed on his own arm. If he hadn't instinctively retracted some of his battle aura in the confusion, this punch would have sent his left hand flying.

  The sound of footsteps and shouts from Talise and the guards could already be faintly heard. Ethan's heart sank.

  If he wanted to escape, this was the last chance. But if he wanted to kill, this was also the last chance. Escape, or kill?

  Eschol was still leaning against the wall, weak and dying. It seemed as if anyone could go up and poke him with a finger to send this gravely injured old man to his death. But at this moment, he made a strange gesture. He extended his finger, pointing at Ethan from a distance.

  He just pointed from a distance, doing nothing else. Although those gray-white eyes, due to blood loss and injury, had lost their luster, there was not the slightest trace of panic or fear. Instead, they held a light like a cat playing with a mouse.

  Seeing the Cardinal's gaze, a burst of inexplicable killing intent and anger immediately erupted in his chest. He roared. He threw a punch... it struck. This punch struck fiercely at his own chest. Immediately, two crisp sounds of bone breaking were heard. He flew backward, knocking over Yabin, who had been half-kneeling there. The two of them rolled to the ground together.

  A mouthful of blood sprayed from his mouth. Ethan looked at his own fist in disbelief. His surprise was not that his body was out of control, but that this punch was indeed one he had directed his own arm to throw fiercely. Just as his killing intent and anger were all directed at the Cardinal, as he gathered his strength and gripped his fist, about to vent his anger and killing intent, in that instant, the target in his consciousness suddenly became himself. Ethan remembered clearly that when he threw that punch, his recognition of his own killing intent, his recognition of himself as the target, was also genuine, and there was even a sense of satisfaction, as if he had made up his mind ten years ago to throw this punch and had finally gotten his wish.

  "I still have more than half of my mind magic power in your head. Do you think you can completely suppress it with that little bit of your battle aura? Even if I can't make you go mad, twisting your attack consciousness is still possible." Eschol coughed lightly twice, his face twitching. Although the wound from before was wrapped in all his white magic power to prevent it from being fatal, the pain from every slightest movement was still heart-piercing and bone-chilling. But even so, he still extended his finger, pointing at Ethan on the ground, even though this movement might be the only one he could make with all the strength he had left. "Although I don't dare to use white magic again, manipulating magic that has already been cast is still possible. As long as you have hostility, anger, or killing intent, I can also make you direct that killing intent at yourself."

  The sound of chaotic footsteps on the stairs was heard. The guards had arrived. The fastest approaching footsteps were the sound of the female Temple Knight's fine steel boots kicking against the marble floor.

  "I didn't expect Meditations on Truth to allow you to still use magic under my Mind Blast. It's a pity that it's useless for you to use magic now. Mind magic cannot be dispelled." Although Eschol was still weak, that majestic and solemn face, framed by the bloodstains, was majestic and solemn even in its weakness, and a bit ferocious. "Don't worry. I won't hand you over to Magnus. I will find a chance to take you back to Diya Valley. There will surely be someone interested in dissecting you while you're still alive."

  The footsteps had already reached this floor. Now he was the only one still standing in the room. He was undoubtedly the final victor. The Cardinal smiled. He retracted his pointing finger. He was confident that Ethan no longer had the strength to get up, and even if he made any more attacking movements, he could control him in the first instant.

  Eschol looked at Yabin, who had fallen to the ground in a half-kneeling position. Although he was in a sorry state, with a knife still stuck in his chest, he had ultimately won. His complexion and bearing returned to that solemn, all-seeing manner. "I almost forgot about this little ant. You heard some things you shouldn't have heard. But don't worry, I won't give you a chance to speak. I will tell Talise that you came with them to assassinate me. The current situation won't allow her to disbelieve..."

  Another earth-shattering clap of thunder. Eschol's words stopped abruptly. That face, which had just returned to being majestic and solemn, instantly stiffened and collapsed. But it was not because of the thunder. It was because, in the instant he retracted his finger, Ethan on the ground also reached out and pressed his hand on Yabin beside him. A flash of Purification light passed. Then Yabin, who had been lying on the ground like a stone carving, jumped up. The light in his eyes was even brighter, sharper, and more angry than the clap of thunder.

  The sound of Talise's pure steel boots was no more than a dozen meters outside the door. For the running female knight, this was just a distance of two or three blinks of an eye. But for Eschol, this distance of a blink was the difference between heaven and hell. The Cardinal's heart, the moment he saw Yabin stand up, fell from the peak of victory into a bottomless abyss.

  An old magician with not-so-good physical reflexes. Facing two assassins who had been lurking for a long time and were exceptionally skilled, in an environment of wind and rain with no other guards nearby, and being able to control the situation after first suffering a grievous, near-fatal wound, could almost be called a miracle. Eschol was truly worthy of being a magician who could be mentioned in the same breath as the current Pope in his time. Decades of combat experience provided an excellent foundation for his decisive reactions and combat awareness when facing danger. Perhaps some magicians could surpass him in magical power or spellcasting talent, but this combat awareness was absolutely second to none on the continent, which was why he had almost won.

  But almost winning was not truly winning. It was precisely because this victory was so close, so undeniable, that he had become complacent, forgetting the first principle of combat: as long as the enemy is not dead, the battle is not over.

  Looking at the young man who had just sprung up from the ground, those eyes, which were actually very gentle and good-looking, were now filled with the light of a wild beast. Eschol's heart had almost died in advance. He was willing to pay any price to get back that moment of complacency. He had originally had the absolute ability to control Ethan on the ground and prevent him from making any move. But now it was all too late.

  He understood that this young man, who had been lying on the ground, able to only listen to his words revealing his identity, powerless and sighing in vain, had a suppressed anger and killing intent towards him that was perhaps even madder than the "madness" caused by a mind magic spell. The most critical thing was that he could not use any magic now. All his mind magic power was in Ethan's body, and all his white magic was used to suppress the blood-sucking fang knife in his body. If he were to force himself to cast another spell now, he was certain that he wouldn't need anyone else to act; he would turn into a mummified corpse first. And the injuries on his body absolutely did not allow him any more physical strength for any dodging or evading.

  But in such a situation, he still had to fight. Eschol also trusted his own judgment. He could see that this young man was a smart person, and the meaning of being a smart person is knowing not to be controlled by one's own emotions, knowing how to distinguish between what was important and what was not, and weighing the pros and cons. So he immediately said, "I will heal your sister. You can follow me..."

  He didn't necessarily need the young man to agree. He just needed to stall for a little time, even just a few blinks of an eye. He could already hear Talise's footsteps right outside the door.

  The sturdy wooden door shattered under the sword light. The figure of the female Temple Knight finally appeared in the Cardinal's eyes. That face, which he usually thought was a bit rigid and childish, was now so kind and moving. But it was also at this moment that Eschol felt a cool, lingering chill on his neck, and then he saw the entire world turn upside down.

  He was not wrong. This young man was indeed a smart person, and a smart person would never try to make a deal with a tiger. Besides, no tiger had the right to be compared with a Necromancer hiding within the church.

  A smart person also knew that this was the best and last time to make a move to kill him. He also knew that to truly kill such a white magician, one must use the most thorough and safest method.

  Talise, who rushed into the room, just happened to see Yabin behead the Cardinal with a single sword strike. That head, once majestic and solemn, wielding power over all of Erathia, incomparably noble, fell to the ground, stained with blood. On its face, the expressions of unwillingness, anger, and despair shifted, combining into one final, fitting expression before it froze and stiffened completely.