Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 313 The Southern Nobles' Temptation

Polly's words were like a flash of lightning, splitting the fog in Caesar's eyes. A gleam of light flashed in his eyes, and his fingers tapped the table unconsciously. Yes, the ideal situation now would be a full-scale war between the two empires, but the reality was like a stagnant pool of water—while the two empires were constantly at odds, they always maintained a delicate balance. Those small-scale conflicts on the border seemed like testing the other's bottom line, and neither wanted to be the first to upset this precarious balance.

"What a brilliant idea..." Caesars muttered to himself. Polly's proposal perfectly avoided the risk of directly provoking a war between the two empires, instead targeting the Saint Laurent Church. Given the Saint Laurent Empire's attitude toward the Church, if the Church initiated the attack, the Saint Laurent Empire would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to make a big fuss. A sneer played on Caesars's lips at this thought.

"Polly," he said suddenly, with a hint of urgency in his voice, "where does the Saint live?"

Polly tilted her head and thought for a moment. "According to Hawkeye's intelligence, the Saint usually resides in the Saint's Palace. But..." She looked troubled. "Even Hawkeye's spies can only determine the approximate location, not the exact location!"

"How could the Holy Maiden Temple be so secretive?" Caesars raised an eyebrow, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Depero's old face immediately surfaced in his mind. As a former key figure in the Church of Saint Laurent, he must have known the Holy Maiden Temple's exact location. As for Depero's attendant, Ole, he was probably not qualified to have access to such secrets.

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass of the castle's high windows, casting dappled shadows on Caesar's fair face. His slender fingers unconsciously caressed the rim of his crystal wine glass, a new plan gradually forming in his calm and meticulous mind. This plan required the careful construction of a spider's web, each step meticulously calculated. He knew his territory was weakly defended, unable to withstand the fanatical followers of the Church of Saint Laurent. If the former Patriarch, Depero, and the Saint met with misfortune in his territory, it would be like throwing a torch on a haystack—the entire Saint Laurent Empire's followers would be engulfed in a frenzy of revenge, a storm that even the Empire's most elite legions would struggle to quell.

Caesars had carefully copied two copies of Count Soren's magical portrait. He watched Polly, wearing deerskin armor, take the copies. Her brown eyes gleamed with determination in the candlelight.

"Polly," Caesars' voice was low and clear. "As the liaison, notify Hawkeye to come and take away Earl Soren's portrait." He walked to the window and looked at the rolling hills in the distance. "Earl Soren is currently lurking in the Roland Empire, possibly in the commercially prosperous city of Abel, but I'm more inclined to believe he's hiding in the city of Hailansa—a city famous for its maritime trade that better suits his needs."

Polly stored the portrait in her storage ring and raised an eyebrow. "Hidden in the Roland Empire? This Count's courage is truly admirable." She tightened the straps of her leather armor and couldn't help but ask, "Master Magician, why are you so sure it's Hailansa City? Abel City has frequent caravans coming and going, so wouldn't that make it a better place to hide your identity?"

Caesars turned around, a perceptive smile playing on his lips. "Abel City is too noisy. In the summer, the entire city stinks from the traffic. No noble would want to stay in such a harsh environment. Secondly, Abel City is under the control of the Imperial Legion. They can be sealed off at any time, and the roads in and out are patrolled by large groups of cavalry!"

"Abel City stinks in the summer?"

Polly wrinkled her small nose, her brown eyes filled with disbelief, her slender fingers twisting the silk hem of her skirt unconsciously, clearly finding this statement incredulous.

Caesars looked at the noble lady from the north with a wry smile. He casually fiddled with the magic dagger at his waist and patiently explained, "Abel is the largest city in the south, with thousands of horse-drawn and ox-drawn carts entering and leaving every day. From dawn to dusk, the north gate alone is lined with endless convoys. The animal manure ferments under the scorching sun, and with the twenty-acre livestock market in the city, it's no exaggeration to say it stinks in the summer!"

Polly had probably never been to Abel City, so Caesars could only give her a realistic description. In his memory, Abel City's streets were much narrower than those of other cities, with buildings practically touching each other. Yet, the daily flow of people was astonishingly large: vendors, farmers, nobles, beggars, and all sorts of people crowded the cobblestone streets, the air perpetually mingling with the stench of sweat, feces, and cooking fumes from street food stalls.

During their conversation, Hawkeye, a little old man renowned for his intelligence within Stonecrush, had dispatched a courier to Caesar's territory. The arrival was a lean young man, his dusty cloak revealing the dagger worn by Imperial spies. Polly reluctantly handed over the magically reproduced portrait, the eyes of the figure in the painting seeming to twitch eerily.

At the same time, news of Earl Soren's whereabouts was transmitted via an expensive long-range magic communication device, transforming into a streak of blue light that pierced the night sky and traveled directly back to Fire Maple City, the heart of the Roland Empire. In the magic communication room deep within the palace, the clerk in charge of receiving the message turned pale upon reading the contents.

"Delta and Soren, these two imposters must die!"

Deep within the heavily guarded Imperial Palace, the white-haired old emperor slammed his crystal wine glass onto the marble floor. Shards flew everywhere, and the bright red wine spread across the carpet like blood. The once-mighty monarch now resembled a dying beast, his cloudy eyes burning with the final flames of rage.

Carlos, standing nearby, bowed slightly, his muscles tensed beneath his black leather armor. As the head of the Imperial Secret Service, he understood the gravity of this matter better than anyone else. His voice was low and dangerous: "Your Majesty, they not only manipulated the Empire and the nobles, but also dealt a heavy blow to the Roland Empire, and us as well!"

The old emperor's withered fingers gripped the throne's armrests tightly, their knuckles turning white. The two earls he once trusted were, in fact, pawns planted by the Church of Saint Laurent. This shame must be washed away with blood.

"Every member of the House of Nobles firmly stands on His Majesty's side, but it will be difficult to find the fake Earl of Soren!"

The old Speaker of the House of Lords stroked his graying beard, a look of worry on his wrinkled face. He leaned forward slightly, tapped his cane on the carpet, and continued, "This cunning imposter has been lurking for years, intimately acquainted with aristocratic etiquette and the secrets of the Soran family. It takes some effort to see through his disguise."

Duke Solomon confidently took over the conversation, "But now we've finally made a breakthrough. Quinn can use tracing magic to deduce Earl Soren's current appearance through his early magical portraits. While it's impossible to be completely accurate, at least we can outline a general outline!"

The old duke walked to the wall of the meeting room and pointed at the huge map. He said, "With this simulated portrait, we can have the artist make copies and distribute them to our eagle-eyed spies, allowing them to slowly search the city!"

The spy chief, standing in the shadows, nodded slightly, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "The Duke's deduction is very accurate. A nobleman raised in luxury has decades of nurturing aristocratic manners ingrained into his bones. Even the best disguises can reveal certain habitual behaviors and conversations."

He slowly walked to the window and looked at the spires of the noble quarters in the distance. "More importantly, this kind of person would never tolerate the hardship of the common people. With the immense wealth that Soran possesses, he would surely choose the most luxurious residence, employ the most attentive servants, and continue to live a life of luxury."

"Furthermore," the spy chief turned and pointed at the map, "Based on my analysis of Count Delta's escape route, I have a bold hypothesis. The destruction of the underground corridors and the Holy Sepulchre is a serious crime of lax supervision. That imposter wouldn't dare flee back to the Saint Laurent Empire. He's likely still in a hidden aristocratic estate within the empire, enjoying a mellow red wine!"

The spy chief finished his speech, a sneer curling beneath his mask. He poked his fingers heavily at several key areas on the map. The magic lights in the meeting room swayed, casting swaying shadows on the walls.

The spy chief had highlighted the empire's southern coastal areas and the region along the Emerald River. Compared to the bustling Fire Maple City, this region indeed seemed backward and unsophisticated, disdainfully referred to as "the countryside" by the arrogant nobles of the imperial capital. Yet, it was these "countryside nobles" who controlled the empire's most fertile land, their granaries overflowing with golden grain.

The relationship between the Imperial Capital's nobles and those of the South was once tense. Back then, the flood of cheap grain from the South into the Imperial Capital nearly bankrupted the pampered nobles of Fire Maple City. Had it not been for the mediation of the House of Nobles and the old Emperor, the Empire would have been plunged into civil war over food. Although a formal agreement had been reached, stipulating that Fire Maple City must accept 30% of the South's grain supply, this was a compromise reached by the Imperial leadership after weighing the pros and cons.

The south is vast and sparsely populated, and grain prices are shockingly low. However, it is these "country grains" despised by the imperial nobles that maintain the stability of grain prices throughout the Roland Empire. If Huofeng City refuses this grain, the Roland Empire will soon fall into turmoil.

The morning light gently shone upon the ancient stone walls of the castle, gilding the weathered structure with a golden glow. In the back garden, newly blossomed roses, drenched in glistening dew, swayed gently in the breeze. Caesars reclined in a recliner, his slender fingers tapping the armrest intermittently. He seemed to be savoring this rare moment of tranquility, but in reality, he was greedily drawing upon his soul's energy.

"My Lord Earl, a visitor has arrived!"

Sean bowed slightly, his voice echoing appropriately in the garden. His meticulously crafted butler robe shone like satin in the sunlight, every wrinkle meticulously ironed to look as smooth as new. He was now walking with a practiced gait, both polite and hasty, quickly approaching Caesars, who was resting with his eyes closed.

"Which guest?"

Caesar turned his head, a hint of surprise flashed in his dark eyes, "I don't remember anyone coming to visit today!" His slender fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of the recliner. This was indeed unreasonable - in the social etiquette of the aristocracy, an unannounced visit was simply an offense.

Sean maintained a perfectly respectful attitude, folding his hands before his stomach. "It's a local baron. In fact, he sent a visiting card yesterday. Didn't Miss Polly..."

Caesars suddenly sat up and turned to look at the butler in front of him. "Polly left for Violet City yesterday. She must have left in such a hurry that she forgot about this."

He closed the gilded ancient book on the coffee table, his dark red magic robe flowing like water as he stood up. As he adjusted his cuffs, several hidden magic patterns appeared faintly in the sunlight.

Sean immediately stepped aside to make way: "Do you need me to prepare the living room?"

"Now that the guests have arrived, we must not lose our manners."

As Caesars walked toward the castle, he was suddenly drawn to the sound of a cheerful snoring. The plump puppy lay sprawled in the dappled shade of an old oak tree, its dark red belly rising and falling with its breathing, and occasionally kicking its hind legs, clearly in a sweet dream.

The puppy showed amazing obedience to Caesar's orders, but this loyalty was not without price. Every evening at dusk, Caesar would personally place two shiny strips of meat in front of it. Only the rich and fragrant dried meat could make the puppy so loyal.

When Caesars pushed open the carved oak door of the reception room, the afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass, casting iridescent shadows on the carpet. Four or five visitors, who had been whispering to each other, suddenly stopped talking and rose from the velvet sofas in unison, as if under a spell. Their silk gowns shimmered softly in the sunlight, their family crests adorning their chests a testament to their status.

"Allow me to introduce you. This is the ruler of the Emerald Territory—Count Caesars, the newly promoted mage noble of the Roland Empire." Sean's voice echoed in the spacious hall. He gestured gracefully, "Baron Gadon, please don't be so formal!"

After Caesars took his seat on the main sofa, Baron Garton and his family carefully re-seated themselves. The old butler clapped his hands at the right moment, and two maids carrying silver tea sets quietly appeared on either side of the reception room.

"So he's a mage noble..." Baron Gadon murmured, stroking the gold embroidery on his light-colored robe. The fine wrinkles around his eyes relaxed, and he had clearly figured out something crucial—in the Roland Empire, the lands of mage nobles were not hereditary. When the lord passed away, this rich territory would return to the Empire.

Sean keenly noticed the gleam in the baron's eyes. He casually added, "Let me remind you, Count Caesars is a great magician." He deliberately emphasized the word "great magician." "A powerful magician lord can enjoy a long life of at least five hundred years!"

The living room suddenly became so quiet that one could hear the soft tinkle of a silver spoon against a cup. Baron Garton's fingers, gripping the teacup, grew pale, while his wife adjusted the hem of her skirt uncomfortably. The sun still shone gently on the carpet, but the air seemed a bit cooler.