Chapter 67: Preparations Behind the Scenes

  Nobles and lords from all countries had already arrived in the royal capital. They would head to the hunting ground for the hunt tomorrow, and tonight, a gathering was being held in the imperial palace.

  Grafenhardt XVII was kind-natured and free from the vices of arrogance and extravagance, but he was still just a young man who loved fun. Hosting such a lively evening seemed to be one of his interests—and besides, it was a matter of national prestige, so the occasion was extremely luxurious. The finest wines and most exquisite foods were served in a steady stream; noble ladies seemed eager to turn all their family wealth into the clothes on their backs, and countless jewels glinted under the lights, dazzling people’s eyes.

  Yet even the most brilliant jewels paled in comparison to the charm the Marquis exuded. Though he was no longer a young, passionate youth, he remained the favorite of all women.

  True charm never fades with the passage of time. Youthful good looks are no more than trivial, innate adornments—enough only to attract young girls who have just begun to understand love and barely know how to appreciate men. Moreover, the Marquis did not look old at all: when his youthful sharpness mellowed into mature poise, and his romantic spirit became effortless after years of life’s trials, that was when a man became most attractive. Combined with his originally handsome and elegant appearance, the grace and presence in every gesture he made, and his great fame—which was more alluring to women than the most expensive perfume—he was irresistible.

  As soon as the Marquis and Ethan (who had come with him) appeared at the venue, they were immediately surrounded by a tide of women. The innermost layer made no attempt to hide their interest in the Marquis, flirting with him boldly, while many also threw coquettish glances at Ethan. The middle layer consisted of young ladies who tried to maintain a modicum of reserve but still could not resist the Marquis’s mature charm. The outermost layer was made up of people who had come purely to catch a glimpse of the most romantic man on the entire continent.

  The Marquis navigated the crowd of ladies with practiced ease, mingling with them gracefully and skillfully for a while before breaking free from his admirers. He then led Ethan to join the circle of nobles and ministers from various countries.

  If Duke Mrak’s social skills were like a meticulously crafted work of craftsmanship—smooth and flawless—they paled in comparison to the Marquis’s, revealing a certain ordinariness and utilitarianism. The Marquis’s way of interacting with others was a work of art, with no regard for utility; he disdained being overly practical, feared no one’s displeasure, and was unafraid to stand out in a way that seemed aggressive. He also never hesitated to show his dissatisfaction with anyone—and this was precisely the charm of his unruly personality. As soon as he spoke to someone, he could immediately captivate them, pulling their emotions to heights at will with his words, gestures, and expressions. When he deemed it necessary, he could also use a few sharp, witty remarks to shatter others’ moods unceremoniously, leaving them with no way to fight back and no chance to pester him further. He moved among these most distinguished guests like a fish in water.

  Although Ethan still did not particularly enjoy such occasions, he had learned to be mindful of his words and actions—no longer doing things like picking up food casually—though he still could not bring himself to look as cheerful and lively as those around him. However, the legend of his near-miraculous diplomatic skills after the battle between the five thousand rebels and Oufu had already made him famous. This made his calm, composed demeanor seem even more extraordinary—as imposing as a statue on an altar, which exudes overwhelming presence even with a blank expression.

  With the Marquis’s help, Ethan soon became seen as the most profound and important guest among these politicians. Many thanked him for turning the tide and brokering the peace agreement, which had saved their countries’ merchants from danger. They were also eager to hear the details of his achievement and asked him questions one after another. But at this point, Ethan excused himself, saying he had urgent matters to attend to. So, at their insistent invitation, he agreed to join them for the hunt the next day.

  After finishing the preparations here, the two went to meet the emperor. Permission from His Majesty was required to participate in the hunt, as clergymen were not allowed to take part in such recreational activities according to tradition.

  Grafenhardt XVII had only stayed to greet the guests from various countries briefly before turning to join a group of young noblemen who had gathered around him. He was a young man lacking in dignity and self-awareness, who only cared about having fun. He was now chatting happily with Chris.

  A few nights earlier, the playful young emperor had grown bored, so he changed into commoner’s clothes, sneaked out of the palace, and went to a casino in the royal capital. He had lost some gold coins in a muddle. This would not have been a big deal on its own, but a beautiful young lady standing nearby—who had exchanged a few words with him—had felt indignant on behalf of this seemingly poor young man who had lost all his money so quickly. She had accused the casino of cheating, gotten into a fight with the casino owner after a heated argument, and even snatched back some gold coins to return to the penniless young man. Chaos had erupted immediately.

  Not long after, Duke Mrak arrived, and the emperor finally learned that this bold, chivalrous young lady who had stood up for justice was none other than the duke’s daughter. But fearing that the duke would recognize him—and knowing that his secret trip to the casino would spell big trouble if the several rigid senior ministers (who held the power to act as regents) found out—Grafenhardt XVII had slipped away quietly.

  After returning to the palace, the young emperor could not stop thinking about the duke’s daughter, but he did not dare summon her to the palace directly. He had waited eagerly for tonight’s opportunity, and at last, he got to see the young lady he had been longing for.

  When they met, Chris was shocked. The emperor immediately hinted that she should not speak up or reveal anything about their encounter at the casino. Chris, of course, did not lose her composure, and after a few words, the two found themselves chatting more and more happily.

  “Your Majesty, forgive me for interrupting your pleasant time with this lovely lady,” the Marquis spoke to the emperor in his usual unruly tone—but his grace and the charm in his words made it easy to accept. “The Reverend and I have come to ask your permission: at the invitation of the nobles from various countries, he will participate in tomorrow’s hunting tournament.”

  “Very well,” the emperor, clearly unwilling to be disturbed, nodded and waved his hand. “You may go.”

  A young nobleman suddenly spoke up loudly from the side: “According to the Church’s rules, clergymen are not allowed to take part in such activities. Oh, but this reverend might be an exception—after all, he had the nerve to go looking for prostitutes openly.”

  “Is that true?” Everyone, including the emperor, turned their attention to Ethan.

  This is bad, Ethan cursed silently. He had already recognized this malicious man—it was the Chancellor’s son.

  The Marquis spoke up. He looked at the young man with eyes that clearly showed pity and said, “My dear nephew, when will you learn to speak with even a modicum of taste? Everyone knows you’ve been coveting this reverend’s position for a long time; everyone knows your despicable character; everyone knows this reverend once taught you a lesson. But there’s no need for you to make up such outrageous lies. All this does is prove your humiliating failure, your jealousy, and that your horizons are still as narrow as a rat’s—it proves nothing else.”

  A murmur of excitement ran through the group of young nobles. Everyone had known that the Chancellor’s son had been beaten up for no apparent reason some time ago—and now they realized it had been at the hands of this reverend. It was not surprising that such an arrogant young aristocrat would spread ridiculous rumors out of resentment after being humiliated.

  It was entirely justified for an elder to reprimand a younger relative. The Chancellor’s son had long known that his uncle had a quirky, unprovoked temper, but he had never imagined his uncle would side with an outsider like this. Stung by this unanswerable rebuke, his face turned as red as a pig’s liver.

  The Marquis paid no attention to his flustered nephew. He turned back to the emperor and said, “By the way, Your Majesty, Bishop Ronis asked me to inform you that he will invite Commander Roland to discuss some important matters tomorrow. Please grant your permission.”

  “Very well—let him go, let him go,” the emperor nodded immediately, his expression almost one of relief. Commander Roland always accompanied the emperor during his outings or events to ensure His Majesty’s safety. But his strictness and meticulousness were decidedly not to the young Grafenhardt XVII’s taste. The emperor had high hopes for tomorrow’s hunt and had been struggling to find a way to get rid of this rigid, annoying bodyguard. This request was exactly what he had wished for.

  The Marquis put on a look of concern and continued, “But this makes me worried about Your Majesty’s safety. I suggest asking as many senior military ministers as possible to bring a large number of guards and accompany you tomorrow to ensure your protection.”

  “No need, no need,” Grafenhardt XVII had always hated those rigid old men. Moreover, the Marquis’s reminder had made him realize he must not let them ruin the mood. “Issue my order: none of the military ministers shall participate in tomorrow’s hunting tournament. With distinguished guests from various countries present, all they talk about is fighting and killing, and they all have such fiery tempers. What if they ruin our diplomatic relations?”

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  The Marquis and Ethan exchanged a smile. They had not expected the preparations to be completed so easily. As for Commander Roland and the others who might hinder the plan, Bishop Ronis would find a way to get them out of the way.

  Just as they were about to leave, the Marquis suddenly turned to the Chancellor’s son—whose face still had not recovered its color—and said, “Dear nephew Modo, I heard you once hired someone to ambush this reverend, is that true?”

  The Chancellor’s son, his face still pale, did not answer.

  “But you don’t need to do that,” the Marquis said in a tone that sounded earnest and well-meaning. “There’s no shame in being inferior to others, but it’s wrong to use despicable means to frame them. That only proves that you’re not just inferior in ability, but also lack the confidence to confront them openly.” He looked his nephew up and down, shook his head with a sigh, and added, “But it does seem you’re far inferior—by a long shot. So remember: don’t resort to such despicable ambushes again.”

  Paying no more attention to his trembling nephew, the Marquis turned to Ethan, patted him on the shoulder, and whispered, “Let’s go. These flashy, superficial scenes and supporting characters are all set up. Now let’s go prepare the real, dangerous props.”

  That night, the Magic Academy was unusually quiet. The magnificent cathedral was also shrouded in darkness, revealing only its imposing outline. Ethan and the Marquis walked toward a faint light beneath that outline. According to Bishop Ronis’s arrangement, High Cleric Cuthbert was waiting for them at the cathedral door.

  High Cleric Cuthbert was in his forties, lean and wiry, with a rugged face and eyes that seemed a little dull. He was famous for his strong sense of justice and responsibility, and his hatred for evil. He had a devout faith and had once commanded priests and mages to achieve remarkable feats in battles to suppress heretics. Though his methods of dealing with heretics had been controversial—he had once burned more than two thousand heretics alive—his loyalty to the Church and outstanding abilities had still earned him a high position. Some time ago, when Bishop Ronis advocated making peace with Oufu, Cuthbert had actually opposed it, arguing that those filthy, evil Orcs were in no way worthy of sitting on equal terms with the children of the gods.

  “You’re late,” the high cleric said, his gaze toward the Marquis cold. He had been the Marquis’s classmate at the Magic Academy, and the Marquis’s ways were clearly not popular with anyone devoutly religious. He then turned to Ethan with a stern look and admonished, “You must remember that ‘strictness’ is an essential quality for a clergyman.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence,” Ethan nodded politely, but inwardly he made a rude gesture. This man seemed to resent Bishop Ronis’s decision to promote Ethan—a newcomer with no qualifications—and often took issue with Ethan’s casual, unruly way of doing things.

  “Still as rigid as ever,” the Marquis muttered. “No wonder you’ve managed to keep your virginity pure… Or perhaps you’re rigid because you’ve repressed yourself for too long?” He met the high cleric’s sharp gaze, then quickly waved his hand and said, “Ah, forget it—people who can’t take a joke are so boring. Hurry up and take us inside.”

  Led by Cuthbert, the two entered the cathedral and walked to the main altar in the center.

  The huge statue of the deity in the middle of the altar remained holy and majestic even in the darkness. The high cleric recited a strange incantation, pressed a spot at the base of the statue, and the enormous statue slid silently to the side, revealing a hidden door beneath it. There was a lock on the door; Cuthbert took out a key, unlocked it, and a long underground passage appeared. The three of them descended along the passage.

  The passage was dark and damp, and the air was filled with a strange, foul stench. The deeper they went, the stronger the stench became, and the air grew more humid and stuffy. Ethan had an illusion that the three of them were descending into a cauldron where corpses were being boiled.

  The stench lingered in this narrow space; every breath felt like shoving a ball of rotten cotton into his lungs. The air in the Lizard Marsh had been unbearable, but compared to here, it was like the scent of a noble lady’s bedroom. Ethan glanced at the Marquis—this libertine, who was used to the smell of perfume, now looked completely calm, even his walking posture still as elegant as if he were still at the luxurious evening party. This made Ethan feel a twinge of admiration: the Marquis really could hold his own in both grand halls and grim situations.

  “I studied at the Magic Academy for several years,” the Marquis said to Ethan, “and if Bishop Ronis hadn’t asked me to come here today, I would never have known this dungeon was hidden right beneath the holiest cathedral. ‘Beneath the purest surface lies the filthiest flesh and blood.’ What do you think of that line?”

  “Inham, watch your words,” the high cleric, walking at the front, said coldly. “You were once a student of the Magic Academy—academically speaking, you should be a priest. Don’t think that just because you’re a noble, you can spout nonsense without restraint.”

  The Marquis spread his hands and said, somewhat regretfully, “At the very least, I’m speaking the truth—just in a more artistic way. And you should be grateful I’m not a clergyman; if I were, I’d definitely reform the Church’s system and get rid of rigid, unaesthetic people like you.”

  The high cleric turned to glare at the Marquis, then turned back and continued descending.

  “Hey, what the hell is this place?” Ethan could feel a wave of magical energy brush past him—it was the sensation of passing through a magic circle. As they crossed the circle, strange roars echoed in his ears, and the unpleasant stench in the air grew even stronger.

  “This is the dungeon of the Magic Academy,” the Marquis explained, “where the holy Church imprisons its most dangerous prisoners. Of course, they’re not just humans—most are evil creatures and undead monsters. Some are kept because they have special value; others are used for research and experiments to help our great white magic reach new heights. I’d only heard vague rumors about this before. This dark side can’t be revealed to the pure-hearted, simple-minded believers, so it’s probably the Magic Academy’s greatest secret. Fewer than five people know about it—and now we two have been added to that number.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “So we should feel honored.”

  “Honored, indeed,” Ethan nodded, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead. If Bishop Ronis had decided to lock him up, this was probably where he would be imprisoned.

  The high cleric snorted and said, “I advise you not to spout such nonsense to the younger generation.” He turned to Ethan with a serious expression and added, “You must always remember your sacred identity and not let such absurd talk corrupt your mind.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence,” Ethan nodded again.

  At last, they reached the end of the passage. The space suddenly opened up into a vast cavern, from which the roars and stench were emanating.

  The granite cave was divided into cells by steel bars as thick as a man’s arm, each holding a different kind of monster. A three-headed dog as big as a horse slammed furiously against its cage, saliva dripping from all three of its massive mouths as it let out frantic roars. In another cell, several Evil Eyes waved their tentacles, firing magical beams from their eyeballs (which were as big as water vats) at these sudden intruders—but the beams were blocked by the magic circle around the cage, emitting crackling sounds. A Medusa slithered to the edge of her cage, her snake-like hair writhing and her snake-like lower body coiling, as she fixed them with her legendary petrifying gaze. In a cell further inside, a huge figure sat silently, with a large, ox-like head—it was the legendary Minotaur.

  These were all evil creatures from the distant underground world of Nighon. Even the most famous adventurers rarely got to see them, yet here they were, imprisoned in the Church’s dungeon.

  On the other side, the undead monsters were relatively quiet. They did not roar; skeleton warriors, zombies, and white wraiths sensed the presence of living humans and tried to pounce, but were repeatedly repelled by the magic circles on their cages. These elaborate creations of the Necromancers had lost their masters’ control, leaving only simple, basic instincts. They did not even need to eat, making them the most convenient prisoners.

  “Whoa,” Ethan let out an exclamation at the sight of so many strange creatures he had heard about but never seen. “But where are the prisoners?”

  The high cleric said coldly, “The last one committed suicide a few days ago. They were all leaders of heretical groups created by the Necromancer Guild. But after being locked up here, they all claimed they weren’t part of the Guild, screaming and begging to be let out. After being detained here for a while, they all killed themselves—some bit through the blood vessels in their hands, some bashed their heads against the walls, and one even pulled out his own tongue with his hands. These followers of darkness got exactly what they deserved; we didn’t even bother to collect their bodies—we just fed them to the monsters directly.

  The Marquis shook his head, clicking his tongue. “How utterly unaesthetic. Are you sure those were really members of the legendary Necromancer Guild?”

  Ethan walked over to a few cells further inside and asked, “Why are these empty?”

  The high cleric replied, “Those were once used to hold other undead creatures. Ever since the Magic Academy was founded, this place has been used to imprison undead monsters. It’s been so long that no one knows if they were destroyed at some point or not.”

  Suddenly, Ethan felt the entire dungeon tremble slightly. A strange, cold sensation brushed over his body.

  He glanced around, but it seemed like just an illusion—neither the Marquis nor the high cleric reacted. However, the creatures outside suddenly fell silent; even the zombies and skeletons in the cells stopped moving. The once-noisy dungeon went quiet in an instant.

  “What’s going on?” The high cleric finally noticed something was wrong.

  Ethan looked toward the deepest part of the dungeon—that strange sensation had come from there. Only then did he realize that the light from the high cleric’s hand couldn’t reach that far, as if a black mist that devoured all light lingered there. Faintly, he could see the glow of a magic circle on the stone wall nearby.

  Tiny, intricate runes were pieced together to form larger ones, arranged in an extremely precise pattern. Judging by its scale, the magic power contained in that circle should have been astonishing—but he could feel nothing of it here. Clearly, its effects were directed inward.

  Ethan pointed to the deepest part and asked the high cleric, “Is something locked in there? Why else would such a large magic circle be used?”

  “Where?” The high cleric glanced in that direction and shook his head. “That’s just a wall.” Only then did Ethan notice that the high cleric was deliberately turning his back to that area, as if he couldn’t bear to even look at it.

  Vague memories stirred in Ethan’s mind—he had seen this kind of reaction somewhere before.

  “What are you doing?” The high cleric suddenly snapped, startling Ethan.

  “I was just going in to see if there’s anything interesting,” the Marquis’s voice came from the darkness of an empty cell. He had actually slipped into one of the unoccupied cages on his own.

  “It doesn’t matter if there’s something inside or not—you’re not allowed to go in without permission. Get out now!” The high cleric roared. “I really don’t understand why His Eminence asked someone as unruly as you to come here.”

  “All right, all right—I’m coming out. No need to get so worked up…” The Marquis walked out of the cell with his hands behind his back, casting a disdainful glance at the high cleric.

  It was clear that High Cleric Cuthbert’s patience with the Marquis had reached its limit. He threw aside the solemnity of a clergyman and snarled at him, “Listen carefully—I only brought you down here because His Eminence told me to. Now I warn you: stop acting recklessly, or I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back from locking you up too. So finish what His Eminence ordered you to do, then get out of here!”

  The Marquis paid no attention to the furious high cleric. With a relaxed expression, he gave Ethan a confident smile. “Trust my intuition as an artist—I’ve already decided on our props. They’ll definitely help us put on a spectacular show.”