Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 349: Judgment Angel

Warm magical lights illuminated the study, where a man in his forties slumped deep in an animal-skin sofa. He wore a long, dark-patterned brocade robe, his family crest faintly visible on the sleeves, embroidered with silver thread. His slender fingers gently turned the yellowed pages of an ancient tome, the gilded words "Ancient Relics Research" on the parchment cover gleaming faintly in the light. Suddenly, a crisp sound of breaking metal echoed from outside the window. The man frowned and looked up, and the entire carved iron window, along with the magic steel protective netting claimed to withstand high-level magic, was sliced ​​cleanly through like a hot knife through butter.

Caesars' figure leaped into the room, swept by the night wind. The "magic blade" of fine gold shone in his hand, a dark golden luster. Before the man could even speak, a muffled sound wave swept through the room. The middle-aged man's Adam's apple rolled violently, but no sound came out. Three curses followed in quick succession: first, an invisible verbal curse, then a grayish-white curse of weakness wrapped around his limbs, and a dark brown curse of fatigue loomed at his neck. As the sapphire-encrusted storage ring was forcibly removed, the middle-aged man's well-maintained face finally wrinkled with shock and anger.

"listen."

Caesars backhanded the magic blade into the flame maple coffee table, cracks spreading like spiderwebs along the expensive surface. He sat slouched in a velvet armchair, the night dew staining his dark cloak leaving dark marks on the wool carpet. "I hate to repeat myself a second time—if you dare to cry for help while answering a question…" The dagger suddenly buzzed back into his hand, shaving off a strand of the man's hair.

"I'll ask you a few questions, and you must answer honestly. It's best not to call for help, because that would mean you're unwilling to cooperate, and I'd be forced to kill you. Anyone who hears your cries and comes running will also be killed by me. To me, killing one hundred people isn't much different than killing ten thousand; it's nothing more than throwing a few more alchemical bombs!"

The storage ring twirled between Caesar's fingers, his mental power violently breaking through the restrictions. The imagined wealth didn't materialize, but several surprisingly exquisite handwritten copies of "The Essentials of Astrology" were. He squinted at the three-pointed silver emblem on the man's collar—it wasn't the sun emblem of the patriarch; it seemed he was merely a marginal heir.

When the last of the purple curse dissipated, the middle-aged man remained rigidly seated. Caesars suddenly leaned forward, the tip of his dagger poking the man's chin in his hand. "The Yinhui Family recently sent several assassins to the Roland Empire. Are you aware of this?"

Cold sweat trickled down the middle-aged man's temples. He swallowed three times before speaking: "...I know. It was the assassin sent out half a month ago..."

"very good…"

Caesars gently stroked the lingering blue light from the magic blade. His slender fingers traced an elegant arc through the air, and he sheathed the adamantine blade. He raised his chin slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips as he gazed at the trembling middle-aged man before him. He was quite satisfied with his performance—neither foolishly resisting nor hysterically begging for mercy, but rather quietly cooperating like a frog caught in the gaze of a poisonous snake.

"Who gave the order...and where is he now?"

Caesar's voice was like thin ice on a winter night, cold and sharp. He casually adjusted the delicate silver embroidery on his cuffs. It was the magical crest unique to the Grand Mage. As for the mage's crest, it was only found on spider silk robes.

"Yes...it's the head of the family..." The middle-aged man swallowed, his Adam's apple rolling violently under his pale skin, "His room is on the easternmost side of the castle, there are only three rooms with narrow windows..." When he said the last few words, his voice was as thin as a mosquito.

At this moment, he was finally certain of the man before him—the rumored mage noble with a surly personality, the only prominent figure in the Roland Empire possessing both the power of a Grand Mage and the title of Marquis. Even more horrifying was the fact that just over ten days ago, elite assassins dispatched by his family had headed for this very man's territory.

"I killed everyone in the retreat center." Caesars suddenly chuckled, and that laugh made the middle-aged man feel cold all over. "I killed dozens more the day before yesterday." He slowly walked around behind the middle-aged man and gently placed his cold fingers on his shoulder. "If you want revenge, you need strength. If you don't have enough strength... then you can only blame yourself for your bad luck!"

The middle-aged man nodded stiffly, his clothes soaked with cold sweat. He heard the rustling of fabric behind him. It was Caesar playing with the cloak embroidered with the family crest on the hanger.

"Your master will die, and he will die in public after dawn!"

Caesar's voice suddenly became cheerful. He leaned over and whispered in the middle-aged man's ear, his warm breath spraying on his ear. "Now I have a small question. Where in Saint Laurent City should he die to cause the greatest sensation?"

The middle-aged man pondered for a long time. He turned his head slightly and said, "The square in front of the palace, preferably at noon, when the imperial officials will pass by!"

"Good idea..."

Caesars's slender fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, his dark eyes slowly turning to the middle-aged man with slightly frosted temples before him. A dangerous fire flickered in his sunken eye sockets, and his undisguised ambition reminded Caesars of a venomous snake gathering its power. He suddenly chuckled, and the crystal wine glass spun a crimson arc between his fingers.

"You want to borrow my hand..." Caesars suddenly leaned forward, casting a strange shadow under the light. "Send the esteemed head of the Silver Glow family to see the God of the Underworld? And then you will take the position of head of the family?"

The middle-aged man's fingers trembled slightly, but he ultimately nodded silently. Caesars leaned back in his velvet chair and suddenly tossed out a yellowed parchment map. As the man pointed out the location of the palace, he noticed the dirt lingering under his fingernails—it seemed as if some preparations had already begun.

The next day, before the bells of dawn had faded, the tranquility of Saint Laurent City was shattered by the sound of iron boots trampling on the ground. The gates of the Silver House stood open, and fifty heavily armored guards were scattered across the courtyard like rag dolls. The pursuers, sprinting through the streets, would frequently glance upwards—and above them, a figure with six-meter-wide, pitch-black wings spread out, clutching the struggling silver-robed noble.

The baker at the market had just opened his oven when the morning sun was suddenly cut off by wings. The palace bell had just struck its eighth stroke when the first child pointed to the sky and screamed, "Black Wings!" By the time the captain of the guards saw that the man being strangled by the scruff of the neck was the head of the Silver Brilliant family, the surging crowd had already flooded the twelve sacred squares.

"Fallen Angel!"

A scream pierced the clouds, and Caesars deliberately slowed his flight, allowing everyone to clearly see the plight of his prey. When the golden roof of the palace finally came into view, he heard a series of gasps below him. The rapper arranged by the middle-aged man was spreading the fascinating story of "the head of the Silver Glory family provoking the fallen angels" among the crowd.

Caesars suddenly flapped his wings, his jet-black feathers whipping up a gust of wind, and he soared into the sky like an arrow. He looked down and saw the head of the Silver Glory family struggling in his grasp, his terrified howls shredded by the howling wind.

Then he released his right hand.

The obese figure twisted wildly in the air, limbs flailing wildly, and shrill screams pierced the sky. The people in the square looked up, their pupils shrinking, watching helplessly as the once high-ranking figure—the patriarch of the Yinhui family—slammed to the ground like a bird with broken wings.

"Clap!"

A dull crash echoed across the square, followed by the crisp sound of bones breaking. The body instantly deformed, flesh and blood splattered, and bright red blood spread across the ground like ink, even a few drops splashing onto the faces of the onlookers in the front row.

There was dead silence in the square.

Officials of the Saint Laurent Empire paled, wealthy merchants clenched their canes, and commoners covered their mouths, sobbing in fear. No one dared to believe that such a powerful noble had been reduced to a pile of rotten flesh in front of everyone's eyes.

Caesars slowly descended, his jet-black wings folded, his boots treading on the edge of a pool of blood, the dark red liquid staining his toes. He raised his hand, his fingertips shrouded in dark magic, and his voice, amplified by magic, resounded like thunder throughout the square:

"The Church of St. Laurent—it is completely rotten!"

The crowd was in an uproar, and countless pairs of eyes were staring at him.

"They have completely abandoned the Holy Light. Even the Pope is practicing necromancy!"

Caesar's voice was cold and sharp, like a knife cutting through a false facade. "And the head of the Yinhui family is the very guardian of this corrupt order. He sent people to my territory to assassinate innocent people, attempting to retaliate against me with dirty tricks. Today, I will simply make him pay the price!"

These words exploded like a bomb in the crowd. The square, previously silent with fear, suddenly erupted in a frenzy, with people whispering and discussing. Some were shocked, some were skeptical, and some were angry. No one paid any attention to the body of the Yinhui family patriarch. The pile of rotting flesh was only the beginning of the storm.

Caesars stood beside the pool of blood, a sneer on his face.

The chaos in the Saint Laurent Empire has just begun.

"It's all bullshit, you vile fallen angel!"

At the fountain at the edge of the square, a portly man in ornate gold and red priestly robes brandished a jewel-encrusted wooden staff. His greasy face flushed crimson with excitement, and his chin, folded in layers, trembled with his curses. The staff, a symbol of the authority of the Church, adorned with the pure gold emblem of the sun, gleamed blindingly in the sunlight. Now, he wielded it recklessly like a club, aiming it directly at Caesars in the crowd.

Caesars slowly turned, his black cape rising in an elegant arc as he moved. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the middle-aged priest, spitting profusely, more than twenty meters away. Judging by his bishop's robe embroidered with scripture in gold thread, he must be a powerful figure in the local Saint Laurent Church.

"I'm not a fallen angel," Caesar's voice was soft but clear throughout the square. He took three steps forward, his black leather boots making crisp sounds on the bluestone slabs. "I'm just a magician who seeks the truth."

"quibble!"

Spit flew from the bishop's thick lips, his bloated body swaying with anger like an enraged hippopotamus. "Look at those jet-black wings behind you! Chapter 7 of the Holy Scripture clearly states that only messengers fallen into darkness can grow such wings!" He slammed his scepter to the ground, the inlaid gems clattering against each other. "Fallen angels are the source of evil and must be purified by the Holy Fire!"

Murmurs rose among the crowd, and several devout believers knelt in prayer. Caesars felt the magical runes on his sleeve begin to heat—these were the fluctuations of magic energy unleashed by anger. He took a deep breath, suppressing his murderous intent, and gently folded his blackened wings behind him. Now was not the time. He needed to plunge the Saint Laurent Empire into chaos and make the hypocritical Saint Laurent Church spurned by the people, not to incite bloodshed in public.

"A charlatan!"

Caesars suddenly raised his voice. This derogatory term, circulated throughout the streets of the Roland Empire, pierced the bishop like a sharp sword. He deliberately dragged out his tone, making the mockery more obvious. "According to your brilliant logic, as long as the wings are not black, they are not fallen angels?"

As he spoke, his slender fingers quietly formed a complex hand seal, and the elemental wings behind him began to glow with a faint purple light. In just a moment, a pair of shimmering purple wings appeared. Deeply profound arcane magic patterns adorned the wings, making Caesars seem somewhat sacred and inviolable.

The middle-aged priest's cloudy pupils suddenly constricted, and beads of sweat oozed from his wrinkled forehead. Caesars keenly sensed the waves of fear surging within the man's soul, his trembling mental energy like a lone boat in a storm. A sneer curled his lips, and his slender fingers gently stroked beneath his black robe. With precise control of his soul energy, he charged towards the portly priest.

As that pure wave of fear pierced the air, not even the slightest ripple of magical energy was stirred. The middle-aged priest suddenly stumbled back, his vein-riddled hands clutching the holy emblem on his chest tightly, and his once sallow face instantly drained of all color.

The soul shock combined with the fear technique put the middle-aged priest into a state of unconsciousness, infinitely magnifying the fear in his heart.

"Judge...Angel of Judgment!" His hoarse scream broke the silence. The hem of his robe was caught by his hurried steps, but in extreme fear he burst out with astonishing speed and stumbled and disappeared at the corner of the street at the edge of the square.

The arcane wings behind Caesars suddenly unfurled, their translucent purple wings shimmering like stars in the sunlight. With a graceful flutter, he transformed into a stream of light, soaring into the heavens. The next second, a deafening explosion echoed through the sky, and a violent gust of air tore spiraling cracks through the clouds. The blazing purple scar was like a mark carved by a divine thunderbolt on the dome. The shockwave even shook the gilded dome of the Saint Laurent Empire's palace, tinkling glazed tiles and startling white doves from the city.