Sunlight streamed through a vent in the top of the cell. Elaine knew it was time. She sighed deeply.
"It's morning," Claudius's voice echoed. "Today is the day."
"I know," Elaine replied calmly.
After a moment of silence, Claudius's voice suddenly sounded again. "Can I see you?"
Elaine silently moved to a corner where she could see Claudius's cell. In the sunlight, she could make out a figure sitting behind the iron bars. The person was so emaciated that they hardly resembled a human anymore. The once radiant golden hair, reminiscent of sunlight, had become dull and disheveled, like a bird's nest. The handsome face that had once captivated countless young women in the capital showed no trace of its former glory. If it weren't for their conversations over the past few days, Elaine would hardly recognize the once formidable and imposing knight of the kingdom.
Claudius's eyes, once filled with a murderous aura, were now bloodshot but surprisingly calm. He looked Elaine over and even managed a faint smile. "After being locked up for so long, you're still looking so neat. You look like a bride."
"A bride?"
"At least you look more like one than when we got married." Claudius, despite his beggar-like appearance, spoke with an unsettling calmness. "Now that I think about it, we're supposed to be husband and wife."
"Is that so? Unfortunately, I can't even remember."
The sound of orderly footsteps echoed from outside the dungeon, followed by the creaking of a door. A squad of heavily armored swordsmen entered the dungeon.
"Do you know? I've only just realized that I actually like you a little," Claudius's voice, though not deliberately lowered, seemed weak against the loud footsteps of the swordsmen. "Because I like you, I hate you so much."
Elaine thought she wouldn't be surprised by anything she heard anymore, but this confession left her momentarily stunned.
The swordsmen unlocked Elaine's cell and led her out. Claudius sat by the bars, watching her with an oddly serene expression.
"Goodbye, bride. No, farewell forever." As Elaine was led out of the dungeon, Claudius's voice echoed alone behind her.
The pyre was set up in the central square of the capital. A high platform had been hastily erected at the edge of the square, where the duke personally supervised the execution.
The duke examined the setup around the square once more, nodding in satisfaction. He squinted, mentally recalling every street and every ambush point in the capital, and nodded again, pleased. He was certain that no matter how that person tried to infiltrate, once they appeared, there would be no escape.
The square was filled with the vigilant royal guards and mages from the Magic Academy. The duke had ordered that the surrounding area be closed off to the general public to prevent the target from blending in among them.
The church had yet to appoint a new bishop. For now, the Magic Academy was overseen by two high priests, and the duke had easily convinced them to send mages. Along with the royal guards numbering ten thousand, they formed a formidable force capable of easily taking a city.
What kind of person could break through such tight security?
"Life is precious, but love is more valuable." The duke had taken a liking to this phrase. He hoped that the target would be motivated by love, willing to risk everything for it.
"Do you think he's currently hiding under someone's window, restless and agitated, knowing that coming out means certain death, yet unable to just leave?" the duke smiled as he asked Rodhart, who stood behind him.
"Probably," Rodhart replied. Though still handsome and poised, he now looked somewhat ridiculous, with dark circles under his eyes, a swollen nose, and bandaged hands.
He had just returned two days ago. However, he hadn't brought back the blacksmith father the duke had anticipated, nor had he brought any useful items, only a battered body.
Rodhart had flown to the Kalendor Basin with the wanted notice. Upon investigation, he confirmed that the fugitive's home was indeed a village in the basin. There was a blacksmith father, but he had long since passed away, and there were no other close relatives or friends. Following the duke's instructions, Rodhart had meticulously interrogated the villagers, determined to find the fugitive's closest friends or neighbors to bring back.
During the inquiry, Rodhart found an old adventurer living behind the village and prepared to bring her back to the capital. Unfortunately, the old woman was unexpectedly strong, easily pinning Rodhart to the ground like a chick, demanding to know what the wanted notice was about. Several officers accompanying him drew their weapons, but the old woman simply moved her hand, and the seasoned soldiers fell to the ground, moaning.
Rodhart was not only clever but also discerning and capable of assessing the situation. He made no attempt to resist, instead explaining that the person was involved with the Necromancer Guild and had assassinated Bishop Ronis, and thus he was there to investigate… Before he could finish, the old woman broke his arm. She coldly warned him that if he uttered another word of nonsense, he would never have the chance to lie again.
"What did you say?" the duke inquired.
"I didn't say anything. I simply recounted what happened in the capital at that time," Rodhart replied, still calm and composed despite his injuries. One could imagine he remained unfazed even when pinned down and having his arm broken. "Then the old woman merely smirked and let me go." His voice was steady and polite, as if the woman were truly deserving of respect.
The duke nodded and asked, "Why didn't you gather the local officials to capture that person afterward?"
"Because I didn't want to die," Rodhart replied flatly.
The others who had accompanied him had returned in various states of injury, many of them severely wounded, with several completely crippled. Rodhart was able to stand not because he was the least skilled, but because he was the smartest and knew how to read the situation.
The duke paid little mind to this incident. Just one person, no matter how formidable, couldn't significantly affect the bigger picture. The necromancer was a perfect example.
The prisoner had been brought to the pyre and bound. She wore a neat and pristine prisoner's outfit, resembling a bride. Her expression was calm and indifferent as she surveyed her surroundings, then closed her eyes. Throughout, she hadn't cast a glance at the platform above.
The surrounding soldiers remained utterly silent, each on high alert, uncertain of where an attack might come from. From the duke's announcement and the enormous preparations, it was evident to the astute that this was a setup to deal with the criminal who had assassinated Bishop Ronis. Some soldiers were filled with fury and combat spirit, while others were terrified. A month ago, the battle between the Holy Knights and the necromancer had been so brutal that even those who had only heard of it were left trembling. To deal with just one necromancer, even the elite Holy Knights suffered heavy losses. Ordinary soldiers would be as fragile as caterpillars in the face of necromantic magic. Yet in this square of thousands, not a single sound could be heard.
It seemed that even the crows had gathered on the rooftops, watching in silence as if sensing the eerie atmosphere. They silently observed the crowd in the square.
The soldiers had finally piled up the wood. All that was needed was the duke's command to set it ablaze, but no one dared to approach the duke for permission.
Under the glaring sun, the bustling square was eerily quiet. The silence felt unsettling, as if an imperceptible stench of death hung in the air.
On the platform, the duke stood up, casting one last glance around the square before raising his hand. But as he looked at his daughter, calm as still water on the pyre, his hand hesitated.
In that moment, the duke realized that the gazes of thousands were fixed upon his hand. He took a deep breath, his slender eyes suddenly widening, sharp light flashing in them. He swiftly brought his hand down.
All eyes turned to a priest standing next to the pyre.
The priest appeared a bit anxious as he faced the most grand spectacle of his life, holding a torch as he approached the stake. His steps trembled slightly. He knew that if anyone was going to try to rescue the condemned, it would typically be at this moment, with a cry of "Spare him!" followed by an arrow piercing him through. Oh no, if it were indeed a spy from the Necromancer Guild, what was coming might not be an arrow, but a spray of rotting, flesh-eating poison or perhaps even a bone spear…
The torch was slowly extended toward the pile of wood, and the priest's hand shook as he remained fully alert, waiting for that shout or any hidden weapon or spell…
"Stop!" A shout suddenly rang out at this critical moment. The priest dropped the torch and rolled away with the speed and explosiveness of a warrior. Everyone's taut nerves instantly erupted. The sound of thousands of swords being drawn transformed the silent square into a battlefield filled with clashing weapons and tension.
However, no magical arrows flew through the air. At the end of the long street, a fast horse charged forward with a figure waving a long sword from its back.
The target had appeared, and the hidden archers immediately sprang into action, while the mages began to chant spells.
"Stop!" This time the shout came from the duke.
The battle was being directed according to pre-arranged plans. At the duke's command, dozens of captains simultaneously ordered their men to stand down. Even so, several fireballs were still thrown.
Boom! A few fireballs, although not directly hitting their target, exploded nearby, knocking the rider and horse to the ground. The rider seemed uninjured, rising covered in dust to brandish his sword and rush forward, shouting, "Don't be afraid, sister! I've come to save you!"
"Stop, stop! Everyone, stand down!" The duke was already furious and anxious on the platform. Thankfully, the archers heard the order in time and did not turn the future princess into a pincushion.
Christine, wildly waving her weapon, charged into the square. The soldiers, hearing the command, dared not act and were too afraid to approach the duke's daughter, who was wildly flailing her weapon. They watched as she pushed through.
At the stake, Elaine's calm expression had already shattered as she looked at her younger sister, tears streaming down her face.
"Go catch that fool and bring her back!" the duke ordered Rodhart, exasperated. Since the arrest of his eldest daughter, the soon-to-be princess had been crying and throwing tantrums every day, insisting on getting the King to issue a pardon or she wouldn't marry anyone, driving the duke to distraction. He had ordered her confined. He never expected that she would escape at such a critical moment.
Rodhart jumped down from the platform and rushed over, snatching Christine's sword and carrying her back. Christine struggled and cried, and Rodhart swiftly knocked her unconscious.
Watching this troublemaker being taken away, not only did the duke breathe a sigh of relief, but the soldiers also relaxed their taut nerves. After such a ruckus, the tense atmosphere dissipated. The priest who had been about to ignite the pile picked himself up off the ground, somewhat embarrassed, and tossed the torch back onto the wood pile.
Indeed, there were no magical attacks from the skies. The priest sighed with relief, cautiously looking around to confirm that nothing had happened. Though a light rain began to fall, the wood was well-stacked and dry, and the fire quickly caught. The priest stepped back.
But after taking a few steps back, the priest felt something was off. There was a faint, strange odor wafting in from somewhere, a smell that felt oddly familiar. He glanced around and realized that the rain falling from the sky was black, and the strange odor was emanating from it.
A larger drop of rain landed on the priest's hand. He scooped it up and discovered it looked somewhat like the sludge from a gutter.
Puzzled, he looked up at the sky. It was sunny, with not a cloud in sight, only a large bird circling above.
A drop of foul black rain fell right into his mouth. He quickly lowered his head, swirling his tongue to catch the drop of rainwater.
"Ptooey!" He forcefully spat it out. But along with the spit came half of his tongue, several teeth, and even half of his lip.
The priest thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him. He reached up to touch his mouth, feeling nothing. Then he noticed that the two fingers he had just used to scoop the rain had fallen to the ground, now black as if soaked in ink.
He swallowed hard, trying to figure out what was happening. But suddenly, he let out a long, uncontrollable belch.
The belch was foul, smelling as if he had just eaten a bucket of boiled feces, and something came up with it into his mouth. When he spat again, he saw a small piece of internal organ. Then he lost consciousness.
Others in the square began to notice the strange rain as well. Some were hit by larger drops of oddly shaped rain that resembled human fingers or ears, now black and soft like mud, exuding a terrible odor.
"It's the necromancer!" Someone finally screamed in hysteria. The shout came from several priests and mages who had participated in the magic academy's siege against the necromancer, having encountered this black, porridge-like liquid before.
Though this black liquid's effect was not as deadly as the necromancer's previous attack, the sheer scale of this incident engulfed nearly the entire square.
Another wave of even denser rain began to fall. This time, someone finally noticed where the black rain was coming from. Two small black dots fell from the bird's back, and as they got closer to the ground, it became clear they were two people. Then, those two suddenly exploded, scattering that strange black rain downward.
When someone looked up, a drop hit their eye, and they screamed, instinctively covering their face. When they looked down, their eyeball had fallen from their hand. Many people frantically tried to wipe off the black rain, but with a hard wipe, large patches of flesh came off.
Compared to the damage caused by the black rain, the fear affected the soldiers even more. Watching companions wiping their faces and removing half of it in the process was enough to unsettle even the most seasoned soldier. The number of people in the square hit by the black rain was not small. The scene instantly became chaotic, with many falling to the ground in agony while others fled. The priests desperately cast healing, purification, and detoxification spells, but terrified screams and cries of pain drowned out the commanders' orders, and fewer than half of the officers could even give commands.
The bird from which the black rain fell let out a deafening cry as it began to dive down. Several priests who had been to the western front shouted, "It's a wivern of the orcs!"
"Duke… could it be that Orford and the necromancer are in league together?" A high-ranking officer, having retreated under the shelter of the platform, looked at Duke Murak in horror.
"No, they will say this necromancer guild spy stole it himself," the duke replied, his eyes gleaming with a calculating light. He hadn't expected that this kid could actually travel to Orford in such a short time and borrow a wivern.
The duke's urgency in eliminating Asa was mainly due to Orford.
Although Bishop Ronis had given Theodorus evidence of his collusion with Orford, now that Ronis was dead, Theodorus, who seemed to have a connection to Asa, would definitely suspect him. Even if those pieces of evidence reached the court, it was uncertain how quickly they would act, but it would certainly be faster than his own control over the paladins.
The duke could handle either Asa, who knew nothing of political intrigue, or the evidence against Theodorus separately. But if both were united, and Theodorus helped Asa clear his name, making him a witness, even the gods would find it hard to intervene. Thus, the duke was willing to sacrifice everything to force Asa out and kill him first.
In the current situation, he had to ensure that this kid was killed here. Even if Theodorus intended to help Asa, borrowing a wivern would be his limit. A large number of orc warriors could not arrive in the capital in such a short time. If they used the wivern to carry a few, it would not only be ineffective but could also lead to severe backlash if it failed. The wivern could be said to be something Asa stole himself, but if anyone came to help, the charges of collusion with the necromancer guild to kill Bishop Ronis would be an undeniable fact. Not only would he be unable to point fingers at anyone else, but even Orford would immediately fall under the church's disdain.
Therefore, in this situation, Asa had to be eliminated at all costs. The duke took a deep breath and thundered, "Archers and mages, prepare!"
However, the wivern merely descended slightly before hovering at a considerable height, and then another corpse fell from above. The people below panicked even more, and the officers could no longer control the soldiers. The corpse was headed toward the stake, causing the soldiers to scatter.
But this corpse did not explode and seemed to fall at a slow speed, almost as if it had been enchanted with a feather fall spell. As it neared the ground, someone noticed a rope tied around its waist. The limbs of the corpse were still moving; it wasn't a corpse after all.
"Archers and mages, shoot!" The duke's voice echoed out.
However, the first to move were not the archers or the mages, but the crows perched on the surrounding rooftops.
These crows had initially stood silently, unmoving, in sync with the heavy and tense atmosphere. But even as chaos erupted below, they remained still like sculptures. No one paid them any mind. Then, almost simultaneously with the duke's shout, nearly a thousand crows around them took flight, rushing towards the central pyre.
"You... you really came..." Elaine looked at the person descending from the sky beside her, finally breaking down in tears. Her expression was a mixture of excitement, joy, and sadness.
Asa looked at her, a smile in his eyes, but he said nothing. He was reciting a complex and unintelligible spell, and the flying crows gathered around them, forming a dense sphere that enveloped them.
Boom! A fireball exploded against the crows. The fireball, powerful enough to obliterate a person, failed to disperse the crows, only blowing apart a few on the outer edges. Among the fragments, there was no trace of blood—only a black, foul-smelling liquid and stiff, rock-like muscles.
"Hold on to me!" Asa shouted, drawing a knife from his back and severing the chains binding Elaine. She wrapped her arms around his waist. The arrows and magic shot at the crows around them made a thudding sound as they struck the wood, failing to penetrate the small birds. Asa let out a long howl, and the wivern hovering above began to flap its wings, lifting both of them off the ground.
The officers finally regained control over the soldiers, and everyone who could still move in the square shouted and rushed towards the pyre. But even when the nearest soldiers reached the burning pyre, they could only watch helplessly as the black sphere of crows ascended into the sky. Many soldiers threw spears and arrows, but they could still only knock down a few crows.
Some clever mages and archers had already targeted the rope binding the two. However, it was just a thin rope, and their accuracy was pitifully low. Moreover, the rope was clearly not ordinary; it had withstood dozens of arrows and even a fireball without any damage.
"Archers, keep shooting at the people. Mages, aim for the wivern!" The duke's voice rang out.
But the mages were too far from the height of the wivern. The fireballs and lightning from the lower-tier mages dissipated before reaching their target, and only one or two weak fireballs managed to hit the dragon's wings.
The wivern let out a long cry, momentarily sinking lower but then slowly rising again. The defensive power and vitality of this swamp behemoth were not something a few spells could handle.
A torrential rain of arrows fell upon the surrounding zombie crows, and more began to falter, hindered by the arrows lodged in their wings or falling due to the weight of too many arrows. Elaine held Asa tightly with one arm and made several hand gestures in the air, chanting, "Spirits of the air, heed my call and shield me from attacks." A powerful whirlwind began to form around the crows, significantly weakening the archers' attacks, with many arrows simply blown away.
Asa looked at Elaine in surprise. This "Whirlwind Shield" was a rather advanced air magic; he hadn't expected her to use it, especially in such an urgent situation.
The wivern was climbing higher, and magic was becoming increasingly ineffective. Elaine and Asa had ascended about twenty meters; although the surrounding crows were now few, at this height, the arrows could no longer reach them, thanks to the Whirlwind Shield.
Elaine and Asa exchanged glances. Tears still marked Elaine's face, but both their eyes sparkled with joy.
"Forget the dragon, all magic directed at the people!" The duke's voice rang out again, growing closer. The two looked down to see the duke charging towards them at an incongruous speed for his size.
Only six nearby mages were able to accurately target them in the chaos. Four fireballs and two ice spears flew from three different directions.
"Take the fireball from the left!" Asa shouted, reaching out. Three instant fireballs flew to meet the incoming projectiles, colliding and exploding in the air. Elaine countered one fireball with a bolt of lightning.
Three instant fireballs were already the limit; Asa could no longer gather magic in such a short time. He drew his knife, deflecting one ice spear, while extending his right foot to block the last one. There was a pop, and his right foot was instantly mangled and frozen solid. But he managed to block the strike.
In that moment, they had risen another ten meters. Before the mages could gather for another attack, they would reach a safe height.
Freedom was almost within reach.
Below, the duke let out a furious roar. He seized a soldier and hurled him into the air, the man flailing and shouting in terror.
The duke's form surged upward as he stepped onto the shoulder of another soldier below. The sound of shattering bones echoed as the soldier's shoulder crumbled, and he let out a scream before collapsing.
Using the force of this soldier, the duke leaped into the air, raising his hand to summon a soldier's longsword that whistled through the air. This sword was not aimed at the wivern or at anyone else, but at the rope connecting them.
This was no longer a light arrow; it was a rapidly spinning sword. The sound of the wind made it clear that even if it were an iron chain, it would be severed by this strike.
Asa's knife slipped from his hand. With a sharp clink, the sword thrown by the duke was shattered by his knife. The blade flew off in an arc toward the ground.
The duke laughed, a smile that had lost all warmth and kindness, replaced by a sinister grin. In his hand was another longsword. With another flourish, he sent this sword flying toward the rope with ten times the ferocity of the last.
At the same time, the duke had stepped onto the chest and abdomen of the soldier he had just thrown. The soldier's torso buckled, and he could not even scream as blood and guts spewed from his mouth and nose, plummeting to the ground below. The height wasn't great, but it was enough to leave him in tatters.
With this boost, the duke soared again towards the two suspended in mid-air. With a sharp clang, he drew his slender sword, merging with it in a swift, fluid motion.
Elaine whispered a chant, launching an ice arrow towards the whistling sword aimed at the rope above them. But the pure white water magic was no match for the howling force of the spinning sword; it shattered like a bubble. The longsword's momentum remained unyielding, slicing toward the fateful line.
Elaine's body stiffened, despair filling her eyes. Heaven and hell hinged on that thin line.
The taut rope emitted a sound reminiscent of the lowest note on a violin, a mournful lament before snapping.
The entire square was watching the battle unfold above. As they saw the rope finally severed by the duke's attack, a cheer erupted from the crowd—half applause, half shock. For although the rope had broken, only one person was falling, while the other began to rise.
Asa's eyes remained locked on the incoming sword. Just before the rope snapped, he had already wrapped his arms around Elaine and thrown her upward with all his strength and speed, perfectly timed so that she would clear the blade's path after the rope was cut.
As Elaine was thrown up, she understood instinctively. Grabbing both ends of the severed rope, she used her hands to connect the two halves. Asa only dropped a little before stabilizing himself again.
The pain from the tension caused Elaine to emit a low moan. But she knew that as long as they could endure this moment, once the wivern flew out of the capital's range, they would be able to descend safely.
But below was still the duke.
The sound of the duke's body cutting through the air was as sharp as an arrow. His sword was not grandiose or overwhelming; he did not wish to shred or obliterate anything. He only aimed to kill.
All the sharpness and power of the sword, along with the duke's skill, were concentrated at the tip, capable of piercing through steel. And the sword's point was aimed directly at Asa's forehead, the most vital and fatal target. A thrust through this spot would be as lethal as shredding a body into pieces—it would simply mean death.
This strike from the duke was like his persona—devoid of unnecessary flourish, possessing only one thing: effectiveness.
After throwing Elaine with all his might, Asa was completely drained. He could no longer summon the strength to intercept the duke's blade. But he uttered a few strange syllables, causing the few crows remaining around them to turn and crash into the duke's sword. The fatal strike intended to claim a life was suddenly diverted.
Even Asa was taken aback by this turn of events, but he quickly spotted the duke leaping toward him.
Crows could deflect a sword, but they could not obstruct a person. The duke, seeing the crows approaching, abandoned his sword and lunged forward, grabbing Asa around the waist and yanking down with all his might.
Elaine let out a shriek; she could no longer hold onto the weight of two people. The end of the rope connected to the wivern slipped from her grasp, taking a piece of her skin with it. She and Asa began to plummet downward.
The duke's powerful tug not only pulled Asa and Elaine down but also helped him slow his own descent. When they flew past the duke, he reached out again, using her body to ease his fall.
"Capture them alive!" the duke shouted his command mid-air.
Asa and Elaine, having cast Feather Fall, landed safely. But as soon as they hit the ground, dozens of swords and spears were pressed against them. Thousands of soldiers surrounded them, forming a wall that left no room to escape.
With a thud, even with the aid of the two, the duke crashed to the ground in an ungraceful tumble, rolling several times to dissipate his momentum.
Having lost its rider, the wivern circled in the air twice before screeching and flying off to the west.
Dust-covered and disheveled, the duke stood up, seeing the two of them pinned down by swords and unable to move. In his most disgraceful moment, he let out an uncontrollable, manic laugh.