Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 376 Cleaning Up the Undead 2

A fat, dark-red dog trudged ahead, fire coursing through its veins beneath its skin. Its stubby paws treaded the stone steps, painted with ancient magic patterns, echoing dully in the dark corridor. The magical torches on either side of the steps flickered as it passed, finally stopping at the entrance to the cold, damp underground stone hall.

Caesars followed closely behind him into the stone hall, a damp chill immediately seeping into his bones. Squinting to adjust to the dim light, he saw three gray stone coffins, covered in magic patterns, arranged in a triangle in the center of the hall. Glowing chains of magic patterns entwined their surfaces. Five necromancers, clad in gray robes, stood silently around the coffins, their hollow eye sockets pulsing with faint blue soul fire.

"teacher!"

Caesar's voice echoed through the empty stone hall. He gazed at the hunched figure standing at the front. "Has it been forty years since we last met?" His gaze swept over the man's cloak, so tattered it was almost impossible to discern its original color. He noted the intensity of the soul fire—on par with Sandro's. "The last time we met was in the Great Rift in the Northland Plateau."

"It's been almost that long!"

A hoarse, rasping voice emanated from decaying vocal cords. A hand, dry as a branch, emerged from beneath a cloak, its gnarled fingers still clinging to shards of shrunken skin. The hand slowly lifted the grimy, blackened hood, revealing a face almost indistinguishable from a skeleton—a pale blue flame flickered in its sunken eye sockets, ashen skin clung to the skull, and a few wisps of white hair, like withered grass, clung to its forehead. This was Caesar's magical mentor, old Roman. His cracked lips twisted into a creepy smile, revealing a few blackened teeth.

"Teacher, you live like a half-dead person, turning yourself into this half-human, half-ghost appearance. How sad! And you, Master Sandro, have become the prey of a trap since you discovered the cursed ancient tomb."

Caesars sneered, his slender fingers occasionally stroking the plump hound beside him. The creature's body temperature was strangely rising, as if magma was flowing beneath its scorching fur, and puffs of white mist rose in the cold stone hall, forming a sharp contrast with the condensed frost around it.

"You...what did you say? That was a trap?!"

With a teeth-grinding sound of bones scraping against each other, a bluish-gray bony hand suddenly yanked off the black hood. A hoarse voice, mimicked by magical onomatopoeia, emanated from the hollow chest cavity. The dark blue soul fire burning within the skull suddenly surged, swaying violently like a candle flame in a strong wind, casting a sinister, swaying shadow on the mottled stone wall.

"That's right, it was a trap from the beginning." Kaisas' voice suddenly became gentle, but it carried an even more chilling chill. "Did you really think that the Book of the Dead would appear on your research route by such a coincidence? That the sleeping sarcophagus engraved with magic patterns just happened to resonate as you passed by? And the ice seeds that only a grand mage can condense... Oh, how could such a legendary holy object be easily found by a necromancer?"

He slowly stepped forward, his boot heels resonating crisply against the cold stone. "From your initial tomb-hunting in Blackrock Mountains to your arrival at Bitterwater Farm, these were all hints planted deep within your consciousness by the elven elders using soul magic. Every step you took was in accordance with their script. You were merely a disobedient puppet, yet you chose to touch the forbidden demon blood. Otherwise, the arcane bomb wouldn't have been planted within your soul!"

Kaisas smiled as he looked at the necromancers. Because they had a soul link, they all had arcane bombs in their soul fire. Kaisas had no ability to condense arcane seeds, and he didn't know how they replicated themselves or how they spread through soul links.

"Kasas, why did the elves do this?"

Old Roman's withered knuckles gripped his staff tightly, his soul fire pulsing fiercely in his hollow eye sockets like a candle in a storm. He tried to raise his arm to cast a necromancy spell, but a sudden, tearing pain ripped through his soul, and his gray bones cracked under the strain. The necromancer's hunched body trembled violently, the vibrations of his soul fire preventing him from mustering any magical energy.

"Teacher, please don't get excited," Caesars gracefully took a half step back, his long black hair shining coldly in the dim tomb, "At least wait until we finish talking before you attack me." There was a perfect smile on the corner of his mouth, but there was frost in his eyes.

Old Roman's intentions completely melted the last shred of pity in Caesar's heart. He sensed the vibrations emanating from the soul link and activated the arcane bomb buried deep within Old Roman's soul fire. The arcane seed planted by the elven elder began to emit a faint purple glow.

"Teacher, Master Sandro," Caesars smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on his robe, his voice as clear and cold as a stream on a winter night, "Please allow me to explain it to you slowly." His eyes swept over several necromancers bound by soul contracts. Their withered faces were filled with anger and unwillingness, but they could not even cast the simplest curse.

"After being promoted to a mage, elemental energy is certainly important, but the purity of soul energy is the key to breakthrough." Caesars' slender fingers traced a lavender trajectory in the air, "But this is not the real reason why the elven elder attacked you."

"Then what is the real reason?" Sandro's hoarse voice suddenly rose, and his magical voice made a wheezing sound like a broken bellows.

Kaisas sighed softly, the torches on the tomb walls stretching his shadow very long. "From the Holy Mountain Church to the Saint Laurent Church, these hypocrites have been constantly challenging the bottom line of the Kingdom of Thorn Flower. And you—" His voice suddenly turned cold, "The necromancers who should have been the cause of the church's infamy have become their closest allies. And the Saint Laurent Church has been providing you with living people, and you have been providing them with the essence of their blood, while deliberately concealing your existence."

Sandro's bone staff fell to the ground with a clang, and he looked in horror at the arcane light of his soul fire gradually lighting up.

"Even more unforgivable, Master Sandro, is that you actually brought out the demon's blood." Caesar's voice grew softer, yet it pierced the souls of every necromancer like a sharp blade. "The arcane seeds that the elven elders have planted in the fire of your soul are the best response to this."

As his last syllable fell, the soul fire in old Roman's eyes suddenly surged, and dark purple arcane energy could be seen in his eyes.

Old Roman's bony hands tightly grasped his staff. His eyes, pulsing with soul fire, stared intently at Caesars. His voice was hoarse and rapid: "My student, what is your purpose in coming here today? What kind of hidden relationship exists between you and those proud elves?"

The old man's gaunt frame trembled slightly. He truly was at his wit's end. Years of accumulated wisdom seemed powerless before this student. He desperately wanted to uncover the secrets hidden within Caesars—there were so many things about this young man that defied common sense. Old Roman knew better than anyone that the secluded elves would never impart ancient magical knowledge to humans for no apparent reason, nor would they easily gift precious magical weapons to outsiders.

A meaningful smile played across Caesar's lips as he slowly adjusted his cuffs. "Teacher, do you know that over the past thirty or forty years, I have privately given six or seven golden ginseng plants to Ms. Joanna?" He paused deliberately, observing with satisfaction the sudden contraction of Old Roman's soul fire. "I'm sure you must be deeply regretful now, right?"

Caesars took a step forward, his magic robe gleaming with a strange luster. "I can freely enter and exit the crater, and I can also enter the Endless Forest at will. However..." His voice suddenly lowered, "Most importantly, I want to tell you a shocking news - Duchess Vivian Barton has been resurrected."

Looking at the shocked expressions of the people present, Caesars slowly took off the glove on his right hand, revealing an ancient magical mark: "This Duchess was once a student of my ancestor. Now, you understand my identity!"

Throughout the millennia of Roland Continent's history, the legend of Vivian Barton, the only Duchess, still lingers on the harps of bards. The two renowned necromancers, Old Roman and Sandro, once unexpectedly encountered each other in the cemetery where she lay. When a mysterious energy beam from the cemetery struck Sandro, the necromancer was reduced to a pale skeleton, with only the soul fire embedded in his eye sockets still burning stubbornly.

“The Duchess is resurrected? How is this possible?!”

From Sandro's hollow skull emanated a magically modified onomatopoeia, a voice that seemed to have traveled through a millennium of time, carrying a distinct tremor. His bony fingers unconsciously stroked the crystal atop his staff, his soul fire pulsing violently. As an authority on necromancy with centuries of experience, he understood better than anyone the immense energy required to defy the laws of life and death.

"Teacher, Master Sandro, and several necromancers." Caesar's cold voice echoed in the dimly lit meeting room, the arcane magic dancing from his fingertips casting a particularly profound light on his features. "Today, I will impart a new understanding that transcends the existing magical system." He produced a silvery magical image stone, upon which a three-dimensional projection emerged.

"Our three mages, according to the Multiverse's strength rating, have only reached level 25." As Caesars spoke, three silver runes appeared on the projection. "The elven elders are level 28." A brighter golden light immediately appeared above the projection. When the Emerald River Cavern was mentioned, the entire projection suddenly took on a bloody color, and a hideous demonic figure emerged. "This demon was only level 34 or 35 in his lifetime."

A fiery light suddenly blazed in Caesar's eyes, and the magic lamps in the meeting hall ignited simultaneously. A vague giant figure loomed behind her, its overwhelming power causing all the necromancers to involuntarily step back. "And my ancestor, Evans' father..." Her voice suddenly became ethereal, as if emanating from a distant time and space. "In his prime, he was a being above level 42."

The projection suddenly expanded into a complete star map, countless shimmering points of light forming a vast network of magic. "The path of magic is endless," Caesars said, his figure looming in the starlight. "What you consider to be miracles that defy common sense are but simple, easily solved problems for beings from higher dimensions."

A flash of enlightenment flashed through the fire of his soul in old Roman's gray eyes. Those long-forgotten mysteries were finally solved. His dry fingers unconsciously stroked the cracks on his staff, recalling the seemingly ordinary transaction at the Thorn Flower Trading Company—a few bottles of powerful potions in exchange for the gifted Kaisus. It turned out to be an elaborate scam.

"Kassus, are you going to kill us?" Old Roman asked in a hoarse voice, like the sound of two pieces of rotten wood rubbing against each other. His hunched body cast a distorted shadow in the dim magic lamp, and the white bones under the black robe were faintly visible.

Caesars elegantly adjusted his cuffs, embroidered with golden thorns, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "You are the soul energy stored here by the elven elders. I am only here today to collect it." His gaze swept across every necromancer in the room, finally stopping on Sandro's glowing skeleton. "My ancestor is returning, and I must expedite my mission!"

The room was filled with the stench of rotting flesh. The bodies of several necromancers had long since decayed, some revealing bare bones, others covered in rotting flesh. Caesars smiled faintly, as if admiring each old item about to be discarded. "You can't run, and you have no power to resist. Accept your fate!"

Just as Caesars raised his hand to cast a spell, the skeleton-like Sandro suddenly made a shrill sound with magical mimicry: "I have another question!" His empty eye sockets turned to the fat dog on the side, "What kind of magical beast is this fat dog?"

The disproportionately fat dog greedily devoured a crystal emitting a black mist. Sandro clearly remembered witnessing the fat dog lick up an entire vial of demon blood just over a decade ago, yet exhibited no signs of mutation. As a necromancer who had studied demon blood for centuries, he understood better than anyone the terrifying power of that abyssal fluid—even a single drop would twist a normal creature into a monstrous form in agony.

Kaisas gave a meaningful smile. "It's a demonic creature from the Abyss—a lava dog, also known as the Abyss Scavenger." He snapped his fingers, and the fat dog immediately stuck out its tongue, revealing a mouthful of sharp, snow-white fangs. "There's nothing it can't devour. It devoured magma when it was born, and it also swallowed your undead spells." He patted the fat dog's bloated belly, making a dull echo. "I can tell you with absolute certainty that it's now the strongest on Roland Continent. Even ground dragons will become its food!"

The fat dog stood up straight, stretched out his front paws and gently placed them on his fleshy chest, then bowed slightly, which was a standard aristocratic thank you gesture.