Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 307 Territory 4

Caesars unfurled his jet-black elemental wings, dark energy swirling between them. The massive black wings whipped up a gust of wind, propelling his body slowly upward. The inhabitants of Oak Farm gazed up at the figure hovering in the air, kneeling reverently, their foreheads pressed against the earth. In their eyes, the new lord was surrounded by a mysterious aura, like a god descended from heaven to earth.

Even the usually steady butler Sean couldn't control his trembling legs, and his knees bent down involuntarily. Just as his robe was about to be stained with dust, Polly quickly grabbed the back of his collar.

"Sean, what are you doing?"

Polly's voice was filled with helplessness, but she lifted the old man steadily. She knew a lot about Caesars and knew that this was a powerful spell - Elemental Wings.

On the flagstones of the threshing floor, the spy, targeted by the puppy, now huddled. When he saw Caesars spread his wings and fly toward the mill, fear coiled around his heart like a venomous snake. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, cold sweat soaked his back, and he trembled like a leaf in the autumn wind.

When Caesars landed on the ground carrying several exquisite bird cages, he saw a group of people kneeling down. He blinked in confusion and turned to Polly beside him: "What's going on?"

"My Lord," Polly said, performing a standard chivalric salute with a faint smile on her lips. "From the moment you spread your wings, they have been worshipping you as a god. Just now, Butler Sean was about to kneel, but luckily I stopped him in time."

Caesars turned to look at the butler, whose face was filled with admiration. The fervent gaze made him feel a little uncomfortable. He scratched his head, unable to understand why the situation had suddenly turned out like this.

Caesars's cold gaze swept across the old man's wrinkled face, his fingertips gently caressing the storage ring he had just found. His mental power revealed the ring's interior: dozens of perfectly sealed jars of liquor, a large quantity of various meats wrapped in oil paper, a stack of thin, cicada-wing paper still lingering with the scent of ink, and nearby lay several delicate quills and inkwells. Most striking was the shimmering magic-marked armor—magic patterns engraved on the specially treated leather armor, and faint traces of flowing magic could be seen on the blade of the dagger.

"Would you like to confess yourself, or would you like to be subjected to a magical interrogation?"

Kaisas's voice pierced his bones like a winter ice spike. A wisp of dark purple magic lingered at his fingertips, a sign that the soul-searching spell was about to be activated. But at this moment, he was weighing the pros and cons. The energy in the Soul Gem was nearing saturation. Forcibly absorbing the soul of a high-ranking warrior would not only consume a considerable amount of time to refine it, but would also waste a precious opportunity to recharge the soul. Moreover, the soul of this old spy was extremely weak, not even worth using such a spell.

"I said!"

The old man's cracked lips trembled, and a flicker of struggle flickered in his cloudy eyes. As a former scout of the Saint Laurent Mercenary Group, he understood better than anyone the implications of a magical interrogation—those piercing mental punctures that could turn even the most resolute warrior into a knowing puppet. Faced with a stark disparity in power, any resistance was futile.

Sean waved his hand at the right moment, and the onlookers retreated like a tide. As they escorted the old spy toward the mill, the plump puppy followed closely beside him, baring its sharp fangs and whining menacingly. Its scarlet eyes remained fixed on the old man, as if sensing the fear deep within him.

"I'm not from the Church of Saint Laurent, nor am I under the jurisdiction of Earl Soren. I was originally a scout for the Saint Laurent Mercenary Group, and later served under the Hellscream Legion. Now I'm a scout affiliated with Greystone Castle, collecting news about the Roland Empire for Greystone Castle!"

The sturdy old spy said slowly. He glanced at the puppy's scarlet eyes and quickly looked away. He felt that this fat dog would eat him.

"As long as you tell me the news from the other side of the Emerald River, and as long as the news is true, I don't mind giving you a way to survive. You can't go back, and if you go back, you will die!"

Caesar looked at the bird cages on the ground and thought about the purpose of the nightingales here.

The old spy's cloudy pupils suddenly constricted, and his wrinkled hands trembled unconsciously. To survive, he had to endure a headache and search the depths of his memory for any clues about the Saint Laurent Empire. As his hoarse voice spoke intermittently, Caesars keenly grasped key information - it turned out that behind the apparent harmony between the Saint Laurent Empire and the Saint Laurent Church, there was a tense past, and the two sides even faced the brink of a complete rupture.

"My Lord Earl, aren't you worried that he is deceiving us?" Polly lowered her voice and moved closer to Caesars, her slender fingers unconsciously stroking the dagger at her waist.

A sneer curled up at the corner of Caesar's mouth, and a faint magical glow shone from his fingertips. "The mark of the Word of Truth is still beating on his forehead. He can't afford the cost of lying." He glanced at the old spy curled up in the corner and the puppy staring at him, and continued, "This old man has been lurking here for many years, mainly to keep an eye on Earl Soren, so he hasn't been able to find out much information. He hasn't been back to the Saint Laurent Empire for more than 20 years, and the information he knows is probably outdated!"

As he spoke, Caesars pulled out a magical protective mask, carefully checked its airtightness, and then put it on his face. He then donned black animal-hide gloves and gestured for Polly and Sean to retreat to a safe distance. Once he was sure his protective measures were foolproof, he picked up a birdcage and walked away.

With a wave of magic, a fist-sized crystal bottle appeared in his palm. It was a crystal container specifically designed to hold highly dangerous substances, its walls engraved with protective magic patterns. The crimson liquid within shone eerily in the sunlight, as viscous as congealed blood. Caesars held his breath and carefully, using a custom-made siphon, slowly poured the liquid into a pre-prepared miniature potion bottle.

Wrap the potion bottle with thin paper, stuff it into the sleeve on the nightingale's foot, and then let the nightingale fly away.

"What do you have in the bottle, sir?"

After Caesars took off his protective mask, Polly, full of curiosity, stepped forward and asked.

"It's an extremely strong venom that even magic shields can't resist. I did some tricks on the bottle. As long as you remove the paper on the outside, the bottle will shatter immediately. At that time, there will be no living creature within dozens of meters!" Caesars explained.

"Let's release the two nightingales too!" Polly suggested.

"Polly, release a nightingale the day after tomorrow, and then release another one a few days later. This way, all the nightingales in Greystone Castle will be killed, including those who train them!"

The old spy also heard what Caesars said. He wanted to poison not only the nightingales at Greystone Castle, but also the people who fed them. This would completely destroy the communication system at Greystone Castle.

"My Lord, I have something important to say!"

The old spy who was being stared at by the puppy shouted at Caesars.

"Speak directly!"

Caesars walked over, patted the plump puppy, and took out a piece of marinated meat. The puppy squinted its eyes, bit into the arm-thick piece of meat, and savored it slowly.

"My Lord, in the stories of the Saint Laurent Church, those with wings are either gods or angels. Your wings are black, which makes you a fallen god. If your wings were golden, not only ordinary believers, but even the archbishop would kneel before you!"

"Gold? I can't do that! Holy light is actually the light element. If it were pure light, its color would be white. The golden holy light of the Saint Laurent Church is entirely caused by impure light elements."

The ancestral notes provide a detailed description of the Holy Light of the Saint Roland Church. It's merely an impure light element, consuming vast quantities of energy and impractical for prolonged combat. Light energy relies heavily on sunlight, making it extremely difficult to replenish in the dark regions. Furthermore, ordinary magic crystals are incapable of replenishing light energy. After absorbing non-attributed magic power, the white light energy transforms into a golden color, which is what the Saint Roland Church calls Holy Light.

Shortly after noon, the dusty carriage slowly rolled through the tall archway of the castle wall. The wheels thudded across the cobblestones, startling a few sparrows pecking at their food. The old spy hunched over the carriage, his gaze etched with despair—the Saint Laurent Empire had closed its doors to him forever. If the people of Greystone Castle knew his whereabouts, they would capture him and chop him into pieces.

Just half an hour ago, a gray-brown nightingale soared gracefully over Bitterwater Farm. It deftly dodged the rising smoke, maintaining a straight path westward, eventually disappearing into the towering spire of Greystone Castle. The ancient spire, dotted with tiny holes at its summit, served as a roosting spot for carrier pigeons and nightingales, and was a crucial hub in the Saint Laurent Empire's intelligence network. Every night, it became a secret passage for spies to transmit messages.

When this untimely nightingale suddenly landed in the spire, the young attendant tidying the pigeon coop was visibly stunned. He wore frayed leather armor, and his fingers were stained with grain crumbs. Traditionally, only carrier pigeons from across the Saint Laurent Empire returned during the day, while nightingales were usually foreign messengers that appeared at night. The young man expertly sprinkled a handful of dried, hardened meat particles into the bamboo tube where the nightingale perched, and then added some clean water to a nearby bamboo tube. He carefully recorded the number of the copper ring on the nightingale's leg, then carefully removed the secret letter hidden under its feathers. Although he was illiterate, he knew that his duty was limited to this: the tightly rolled note must be delivered intact to his superiors. He placed the secret letter in a specially made wooden box, and after confirming that it was correct, he pulled the signal rope on the wall.

As the rope was pulled, a bronze bell rang three times deep within the castle. A few minutes later, a tall, thin man in a dark red cloak quickly ascended the spiral stone steps to the spire. His boots made a soft, clacking sound on the damp stone steps.

"A nightingale that comes during the day?" the man asked in a low voice, his voice as rough as sandpaper.

Only when a spy discovers important news will he release the nightingale in broad daylight, regardless of the risk of being exposed.

The young man handed over the wooden box respectfully: "Yes, sir. Numbered 'Gray Feather Seven', from the Roland Empire!"

The man took the box, rubbing his fingertips along the dark patterns on the lid before opening it and taking a look at the intact secret letter. He then hurried away with the secret letter. The journey from the spire to the small meeting hall in Greystone Castle was only a few minutes.

"Important news! The spies in the Roland Empire just delivered important information!"

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the deep corridor as a middle-aged man flung open the oak door of the lounge adjacent to the small meeting room. The glow from the fireplace flickered the faces of two mages whispering to each other. The middle-aged man didn't bother to greet them, his voice trembling with excitement. With trembling fingers, he pulled from his pocket a small scroll made of special magical paper that shone a faint silver in the firelight.

"This is a top-level tip-off!"

As the middle-aged man spoke, he pulled out a brass key intricately carved from his waist. The key gleamed faintly in the candlelight, and he carefully used it to open the wax seal on the scroll, bearing the Saint Laurent emblem.

As he unfolded the seemingly blank paper, he suddenly discovered a secret hidden in the center of the page—a pinky-sized crystal bottle cleverly enclosed within. The translucent liquid within the bottle emitted an eerie scarlet glow that flickered, like something alive breathing.

"This is……"

Before the middle-aged man could finish his words, a subtle "pop" sound suddenly emanated from the crystal bottle. The crystal-clear bottle was instantly covered with spider-web-like cracks, which spread at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"careful!"

One of the magicians leaped to his feet, but it was too late. The venom in the bottle began to evaporate rapidly, and wisps of scarlet mist seeped out from the cracks, twisting and rising in the air like tiny venomous snakes.

"what!"

The middle-aged man suddenly cried out in pain. He felt a piercing pain in his palm, as if countless red-hot steel needles were piercing him simultaneously. He reflexively loosened his fingers, and the crystal bottle fell to the marble floor with a ding, shattering instantly.

The red mist spread rapidly, like a living thing, filling the entire lounge in the blink of an eye. The two magicians raised their staffs to cast a spell, but suddenly froze in place—their skin began to turn blue and black at a visible speed.

"Help…"

The middle-aged man fell to his knees, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. The agonized cries of the three men pierced the thick stone walls, echoing throughout the corridor. The heart-wrenching screams continued for several minutes before finally fading into a terrifying silence.

At that moment, a tall figure in a deep purple robe appeared in the corridor. The silver embroidery on the robe gleamed coldly in the moonlight. In the shadow beneath his hood, a pair of sharp eyes scanned the surroundings warily. His slender fingers gently brushed the doorframe, as if sensing something.

When the red mist overflowed from the crack in the door, the magician turned around and ran for his life. The poisonous mist was so toxic that it corroded the magic power he cast.