Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 337 Power Struggle

The hoarse voice of the middle-aged stalker echoed in the dimly lit mine. A clerk from the Solomon family, quill in hand, quickly scrawled every word on parchment. Caesars stood nearby, his brow furrowing slightly when he heard the name of a noble connected to the royal family. He was all too familiar with the name, a prominent family known for stirring up trouble in the capital. But he wasn't sure if there was a hidden feud between this family and the Solomon family, who controlled the gold mines.

After the interrogation, the middle-aged rogue's leather armor, dagger, and hidden weapon hidden in his boots were all confiscated. Caesars coldly looked at the two captives lying unconscious on the ground. With a flash of cold light from his dagger, the two heads tumbled to the damp mine floor. Blood seeped into the pungent smell of the earth. He waved to the guards, "Stop the bleeding, bandage him, and dump him on the roadside tomorrow morning!" His voice was like ice. "Send a message to Duke Solomon—if even this little matter can't be resolved, I wouldn't mind going to Fire Maple City myself!"

Caesars took a step forward, his blood-stained boots crushing the stalker's bloody ankle. The man convulsed in pain, but gritted his teeth tightly, not letting out a scream. "Listen," Caesars grabbed the man's hair and forced him to look up. "If you can crawl back to Fire Maple City, remember to tell Earl Barat—" He leaned over the captive's ear, each word spitting out like a venomous snake. "His grudge with the Duke has nothing to do with me, but if he dares to set his sights on the gold mine again..." The ring inlaid with obsidian suddenly glowed dark red. "I will hang all his heirs from the flagpoles around the gold mine to dry!"

Turning, Caesars glanced at the clerk's trembling quill. The clerk, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, was desperately trying not to look at the bloodstains on the ground. As Duke Solomon's confidant in the mine, he was responsible for checking the ore weighing records three times a day.

"Write what you just said exactly as it is in the letter." Caesars lifted the secretary's chin with the tip of his sword. "Don't even change the interjections!"

"Sir, do you really want to follow my words...?"

"Do you want me to brand your tongue with a magic mark as well?"

The clerk hurriedly spread the parchment on the blood-stained wooden table and wrote down Caesar's original words. When Caesar examined them, he found that they were indeed the original words. He folded the parchment, and a strange magical pattern was imprinted on the parchment, sealing the declaration of war along with the smell of burning.

"Stop eating, damn dog! Let's go back to the castle!"

The troubles at the gold mine had temporarily subsided. Caesars knew the most pressing matter now was improving his own strength. He counted the cultivation resources in his storage ring—plenty of magic crystals, rare potions, and several pieces of high-purity ore collected from the depths of the gold mine. These were enough to sustain him in deep meditation for a long period of time. He must seize this rare period of calm and break through his current realm as quickly as possible before the storm hit.

Judging from the information revealed by the middle-aged stalker, the situation is more complicated than expected. Not only is Earl Barat openly challenging Duke Solomon's authority, but even more worryingly, other nobles are secretly taking action. The magical images of this small gold mine—those crystal images clearly recording the direction of the veins and output—have quietly arrived on the desk of a prominent figure in the royal family. This means that the chessboard of this game has expanded to a higher level.

Seventeen days later, when the limping stalker, leaning on a cane, dragged his exhausted body back to Fire Maple City, the blood and mud on the soles of his boots silently told of the hardships of the journey.

News of the gold mine had long been brewing at the nobles' banquets and in their back rooms. In the Roland Empire, concealing mineral resources and evading taxes were unspoken rules among the nobles, just as it was common for every lord to build a secret treasure vault beneath their castle.

"How dare he execute my people in front of you?"

In the study of a castle in the inner city of Fire Maple City, a parchment scroll slipped from the old noble's trembling hands. In the halo of the gilded candlesticks, he looked in disbelief at his ragged subordinate. His tattered linen was covered in scorch marks, and his unkempt beard was stained with unwashed blood scabs. He looked like a homeless person crawling out of the slums.

"My Lord Count!"

The stealth fighter knelt on one knee and took out a letter sealed with black wax from a secret pocket next to his body. "The wizard lord specifically asked you to open this letter yourself." There was no special mark on the envelope, it was just an ordinary envelope.

Earl Barat used a sharp letter opener to pry open the wax seal, the blade gleaming coldly in the candlelight. As the parchment slowly unfolded, the magical lines suddenly burst into a dazzling blue light, carving an eerie path through the dim study. When he finished reading the brief message, his vein-riddled palm suddenly crumpled the parchment and slammed it to the ground with furious force.

The moment the paper ball hit the ground, a dark, black flame silently ignited. Strangely, the flame emitted no heat at all, yet it dimmed the lights in the study. As Earl Barat watched in astonishment, the yellowed parchment curled and carbonized at a visible speed, ultimately transforming into a grayish-white ember that glared brightly against the crimson carpet.

"This is impossible…"

The old earl's pupils narrowed slightly. Parchment is the most common leather, usually made from goat or sheep skin, and it's not considered a magical material. He bent down and lightly touched the embers with his fingertips, leaving traces of fine ash. "Sidney!" He suddenly straightened up, his voice carrying an unprecedented gravity. "How powerful is that wizard lord...just how strong is he?"

Sidney, whose ankle was injured, rubbed his hands nervously, his Adam's apple rolling up and down. He lowered his voice and said, "My Lord, I don't know how powerful he is, but I saw him soaring through the air with my own eyes, his black robes rustling in the storm. I heard that he was the one who blew up the roof of Greystone Castle, dropping an alchemical bomb from high above. He also captured that member of the Saint Laurent royal family... with his own hands."

The study fell into a dead silence, with only the occasional crackle of the wood in the fireplace. Earl Barat stared at the pile of ashes on the carpet and suddenly noticed a few faint blue sparks flickering among them—this was definitely not the remnants of ordinary parchment.

Duke Solomon had long since learned of his old rival's provocation and Caesar's profound letter via magical communication. This old fox of the Roland Empire hadn't acted rashly, neither guarding against Duke Barat's invasion nor pursuing the nobles who possessed the gold mine's photos. A master of political maneuvering, he felt the wisest option at this moment was to wait and see how the young and energetic Caesar would break this situation.

Even before the morning mist had completely dissipated, the golden dome of the Fire Maple City Palace gleamed brightly in the rising sun. This was the Empire's monthly grand court meeting. The silver-armored Royal Guards stood like statues before the gilded palace gates, and a scarlet carpet stretched from the palace gates to the foot of the throne. The Imperial Finance Minister hurried through the corridors, account books in hand, the hem of his silk official robes brushing the freshly swept bluestone floor. Several border lords conversed quietly in the corridors, their family crests on their armor faintly visible in the morning light. When the resonant bell struck seven, the royal family, the governors of the twelve provinces, and the commanders of the three great knightly orders had all arrived. Even the old chancellor, who had long claimed illness, made an exception to attend. The entire center of imperial power was now clearly visible.

Just as the aide-de-camp was about to announce the start of the court session, the sound of hooves suddenly echoed from the palace gates. A cavalry unit, draped in the morning dew, galloped in, the leading knight holding aloft a letterbox stamped with the wax seal of the North. The previously hushed courtroom fell silent, and everyone's gaze involuntarily turned to Duke Solomon, seated in a flaming maple chair. The old man's hand, caressing his jeweled ring, paused for a moment, a profound smile playing upon his lips.

The urgent border dispatch was quickly delivered to the old emperor. An aide-de-camp opened the sealed envelope and read it aloud before the emperor. The border outpost had intercepted a group of spies disguised as merchants and seized several maps of gold mines and a magical photo stone. Most shockingly, they had also found the emblem of the Barat family. The court erupted in an uproar, with nobles exchanging glances of surprise and confusion, and the expressions of several lords friendly to the Barat family were shrouded in uncertainty.

Duke Solomon narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze slowly sweeping across the crowd, finally landing on Barat, standing in the corner. The old earl looked surprised, feeling like he was being used as a pawn. He sneered inwardly, thinking someone's methods were even more powerful than he'd imagined. He hadn't intervened, but had directly pushed Barat out, thrusting him into the spotlight.

The truth about the gold mine finally surfaced. It turned out that the gold mine in the southern part of the empire was indeed a rich mine, with astonishingly high gold reserves. Now the evidence was irrefutable: Duke Solomon and the Mage Lord concealed the truth, while Earl Barat appeared to have made a meritorious report.

The emperor slowly rose from his throne, his gaze stern. He raised his hand, motioning for his attendant to present the emblem. His fingertips gently stroked the coat of arms, then sneered, "Barat, is that gold mine truly a rich one?"

The atmosphere in the court suddenly became tense, and everyone understood that this undercurrent game was finally about to usher in a storm.

"Your Majesty, I didn't investigate the gold mine at all. I don't know anything about the gold mine map or the photo stone. Assuming the people I sent out had already investigated the gold mine, why would they go to the border? Since the border guards caught them, they should have tortured them. What can a family crest say? What noble family in Fire Maple City doesn't have a crest living outside?"

Earl Barat bowed slightly, cautiously articulating his long-motivated plan. A flicker of alarm flashed beneath his lowered eyes, and his knuckles unconsciously tightened within his sleeves—this situation was far more sinister than he had imagined. The deliberately misdirected clues and the perfectly timed disappearance of witnesses sent a chill down his spine. This was no mere plot targeting Duke Solomon; the vortex swirling beneath the surface was clearly poised to drag the entire Barat family into the abyss.

The old emperor on the gilded throne nodded slightly, and suddenly turned his gaze to the Military Affairs Council: "What are the results of the interrogation of those spies?" The old voice caused a subtle echo under the dome.

The official named hurriedly stepped forward, the hem of his robe knocking over a teacup on the table. With the sound of shattering porcelain, he trembled as he reported, "Your Majesty... There are no results from the interrogation. Those who attempted to force their way through the southern border checkpoint were killed on the spot by border guards." Even before he finished speaking, the ministers in the conference hall gasped.

The old emperor's age-freckled hand suddenly stopped in mid-air. A look of confusion crossed his face, his cloudy eyes slowly shifting, and then a deep wrinkle formed at the corner of his mouth—a clear smile. This smile reminded Earl Barat of the shadow of a circling vulture, seemingly slow but concealing a deadly plot.

No evidence after death? Such a clumsy tactic seemed designed to expose a flaw. The carvings on the throne's armrests creaked as they were squeezed, and a cold light flashed in the old emperor's cloudy eyes: someone had plotted against him, the emperor, and wanted him to take up the butcher's knife.

"Where are the people from the Imperial Court of Justice?"

The old emperor's bony fingers tapped lightly on the gilded armrests, a dull thud as knuckles met metal. His murky gaze swept over the shuddering officials below, his voice like a rusty knife scraping across stone. The light and shadow cast by the crystal chandelier danced in his sunken eye sockets, fragmenting his age-spotted face into a jumble of light and dark.

"Your Majesty, I'm here!"

An elderly official, his hair and beard white, raised his right hand tremblingly. The sleeve of his official uniform, embroidered with a scale pattern, slipped down, revealing his linen shirt. He wasn't a nobleman who had ascended to high rank through bloodline, but rather, he had climbed the ladder step by step over thirty years to become the president of the Imperial Court of Justice. The incense burner in the corner of the hall curled with smoke, shrouding his hunched figure in a hazy haze.

"They blew up half of the Bone Castle and killed the priests of the Saint Laurent Church. They burned the Greystone Castle, captured the Saint Laurent royal family, and killed more than a dozen Grand Knight Commanders." With each word, the old emperor's nails scratched a shallow mark on the armrest. "What privileges under imperial law can a noble who committed such acts enjoy?"

The president of the Court of Justice's fingers, like withered branches, quickly flipped through the code, the parchment rustling. When he looked up, his cloudy eyes reflected the gilded clauses of privilege within the code: "A noble with such merit can have his own order of knights and a private army of 500. His carriage can enter the palace directly, his title will be elevated by one level, and his fiefdom will enjoy twenty years of tax exemption!" His voice suddenly became resonant, as if he were reading some divine decree.

"Appoint Count Caesar to the rank of Marquis. His territory remains unchanged, and he will be exempt from all imperial taxes for twenty years." The old emperor pulled a strange smile into his mouth, a hissing sound escaping from between his withered teeth. "Then, please stop making a fuss about the wealth of the southern gold mines!"

He raised his age-flecked eyelids slightly and winked at Duke Solomon. The duke, dressed in a black and gold velvet gown, immediately understood and tapped his obsidian-inlaid scepter three times on the ground.

At that moment, the curtain embroidered with a double-headed eagle behind the throne silently slid open, revealing a ghostly figure clad in matte black leather armor. A leather mask covered his entire face, revealing only two eyes that glowed coldly.

As the masked man approached the throne, the old emperor hunched over him. As they whispered, the emperor's withered white hair tumbled down onto the masked man's shoulder armor like dying white snakes. The diamond-shaped token dangling from the masked man's waist swayed gently with his movements. Painted on it in blood, it bore the spider emblem of the Imperial Agent.