Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 385: War of Annihilation 5

Caesar's threat, like a heavy yoke, was carried back to the imperial capital by the Saint Laurent Empire's old chancellor, word for word. In the palace's rear hall, the young emperor listened to his minister's trembling report, his nails digging deep into his palms, his eyes ablaze with humiliation and resentment. But he knew in his heart that facing a mage whose power could shake the world, he was powerless to resist.

"Your Majesty, I have done my best." Prime Minister Fox knelt on the cold stone steps, his voice hoarse. "Your infant child may still have a glimmer of hope. But if the city is truly captured, given the Valkyrie's ruthless nature, I'm afraid no royal bloodline will be allowed to leave the palace alive!"

The old chancellor's eyes welled with tears as he spoke. He had served three generations of emperors, but now he couldn't even preserve his last bloodline. A profound sense of powerlessness gripped his aging heart. The young emperor remained silent for a long time, then finally waved his hand wearily, signaling his departure. In the empty hall, he was left alone, with a empire on the verge of collapse.

Meanwhile, at the Roland Legion's camp on the distant border, the night was as dark as ink. Torches lit brightly on either side of the heavily guarded camp gate, and sentries surveyed the surroundings like hawks. Amidst this solemn scene, a large, dark red dog lay carelessly on its back in front of the camp gate, its round belly exposed, its snoring thundering through the silent night sky.

"Get up, damn dog!"

A gruff growl suddenly echoed, and then someone grabbed a small, triangular ear and yanked the fat dog off the ground. It awoke from its sleep, its eyes fluttering in panic—how could someone attack it so silently? Its scarlet eyes widened, and it instinctively bared its teeth and opened its mouth to bite fiercely. But the moment it saw the person coming, it froze. The whimper and roar that were about to erupt were trapped in its throat, and its mouth closed in frustration.

"Take me to Caesars!"

The hand gripping its ear loosened, and the fat dog fell heavily to the ground. It rubbed its aching ear with its stubby front paws, grumbling in frustration, but it dared not slack off. It twisted its fat body, reluctantly but steadily moving deeper into the camp.

Passing through densely packed tents and scattered flickering campfires, past a few yawning sentries, the fat dog seemed remarkably familiar with the complex terrain. Less than two minutes later, it stopped and crouched before a lone armored leather tent. Made of thick armored leather, the tent stood out against the surrounding tents, appearing both sturdy and desolate, a world of its own, a world away from strangers.

"Kaissa!"

An old, hurried call pierced the tent. Old Ethan, clad in a deep purple magic robe, stood outside the door, his wrinkled hands gently tapping the tent curtains. The corners of his robe were still stained with wet night dew, and his breathing was a little rapid, as if he was in a hurry.

Upon hearing the voice, Caesars immediately opened the tent door and saw the familiar face. He was pleasantly surprised at first, but then he noticed the urgency in the other person's expression, and his heart couldn't help but tighten.

"Old Ethan? Why did you come here in person? If you have something urgent, why don't you use magic to communicate?" He asked as he stepped aside to let the old man into the tent.

Ethan shook his head, his long, silver beard swaying slightly in the wind. "The magical elements here are too chaotic," he lowered his voice, his gaze sweeping around gravely. "Long-distance communication is impossible. I can feel the communication fluctuations in this airspace constantly, like disturbed lake water."

He took a step closer, his tone more serious. "Listen, you and Vivian only have five days left. After ten days, you must return to the crater no matter what—" The old man paused, his voice lowered. "Riven... he has already left the Abyssal Plane."

"It actually takes so long to teleport across different planes?" Caesars frowned slightly, his tone revealing a bit of puzzlement and confusion.

Old Ethan shook his head, his voice low and cautious: "It seems that he didn't use a one-time teleportation technique, but rather multiple inter-dimensional teleportations. Between each teleportation, the coordinates need to be recalibrated and the channel stabilized - this will undoubtedly significantly prolong the entire process." He paused for a moment, and added slightly embarrassedly: "Kaisas, don't ask too many questions. To be honest, I have never personally performed inter-dimensional teleportation, so I know very little about these details."

He changed the subject and became serious. "By the way, don't forget to inform Vivian. The flow of magic in this area is extremely chaotic. It's really not a place to stay for long." Old Ethan said as he looked around vigilantly.

Upon hearing this, Caesars focused his attention and sensed that the surrounding magical elements were in an unusually chaotic state. Hundreds of mages had gathered within the camp, their respective magical fluctuations interfering with each other. Furthermore, multiple layers of protective arrays had been set up around the camp—these arrays themselves were constantly absorbing and distorting the surrounding energy flow, making the entire area's magical environment complex and unstable.

Old Ethan had already begun chanting an incantation, his hands tracing intricate patterns in the air. Arcane energy gradually converged with his chanting, forming a swirling vortex of light before him. The energy flow was initially scattered, but under Old Ethan's precise control, it quickly stabilized, ultimately converging into a portal emitting a purple glow.

Old Ethan's figure gradually faded into the night, eventually disappearing at the edge of the camp. Caesars stood quietly in front of the tent, staring at his departure for a moment, then took a deep breath of the cool air, opened the tent curtain, and walked out.

Night fell, and the torches in the camp cast flickering shadows on his face. He had to find Vivian immediately—time was running out, and they only had five days left. In those five days, not only would they have to resolve the current thorny issue, but they would also have to travel day and night to return to Violet City. There, he had personal matters that he had to deal with.

Caesar quickened his pace, mentally calculating his schedule: one day for finishing, two days for the journey, and two days to attend to personal matters in Violet City. Each step was urgent and firm, and the starlight sprinkled on his shoulders, as if urging him forward.

In the center of the brightly lit camp, a massive main tent stood majestically, its perimeter patrolled by guards with measured steps and solemn expressions. Vivian's tent was nestled deep within the main tent, like a heavily guarded core.

Caesars approached without any need for notification. The guards on either side of the camp saluted immediately, their eyes filled with awe as they saw him approach. He walked straight through the outer area, his footsteps particularly clear in the silent night.

The magic lamps in the main tent shone brightly, their soft light filling every corner, yet not a single soul was illuminated. Without hesitation, Caesars strode towards the small tent at the far end, stopped in front of the tent door, and raised his voice to ask:

"Ms. Vivian, are you asleep?"

After a moment of silence, a lazy, sleepy response came from the tent, as if whispered from the pillow: "I just fell asleep! Kaisas, is there anything urgent?"

Kaisas's expression hardened, and he spoke solemnly, "The elven elder just arrived, and he brought very important news." He paused, as if letting every word sink into the air. "The ancestor has left the Abyss Plane and is expected to arrive in the Roland Plane in ten days."

He took a half step forward, his voice lowered but becoming clearer: "We have to hurry—we must return to Violet City within ten days."

"I know! I will send an ultimatum to Saint Laurent City tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow I will let them - the city is destroyed and everyone is killed!" Vivian's voice was a little unclear, but with an unquestionable lightness, as if she was talking about a very ordinary little thing.

The next morning, barely dawning, envoys from the Roland Legion arrived outside Saint Laurent City. The grim ultimatum, framed and formally presented, was personally delivered by a silver-armored knight to the trembling hands of the city gate guard. Word spread like wildfire, and within a single morning, the entire imperial capital was plunged into unprecedented panic. Markets were in turmoil, shops were shuttered, and the streets and alleys were filled with fear. Even the air was thick with despair.

Even more chilling was the realization that the legendary Valkyrie, Vivian, seemed to have completely changed her ways. No longer a mere military adversary, she had become a merciless deity of destruction. Her threat was clear and brutal: if they did not surrender, the entire city would be annihilated. No one would be spared—from the throned royals, the lavishly clothed nobles, to the common people roaming the streets—all were on the same death list.

Inside the Saint Laurent Empire's imperial palace, the lights were bright, illuminating the solemn and bewildered faces of every important official. The court debate had lasted for two full hours, with various strategies proposed and rejected one after another. Ultimately, they were forced to face a harsh reality: all their struggles were in vain.

The Roland Legion was about to descend from the sky. This would not be a traditional siege; there would be no ladders, no siege engines, and no prolonged standoffs. Hundreds of incredibly powerful alchemical bombs would descend from the sky, reducing the entire city of Saint Laurent to a sea of ​​fire and ruin. Then, their proud towering walls, fortified over centuries, and the valiant defenders who fought tooth and nail on the ramparts, would be reduced to mere decoration before this indiscriminate, devastating blow.

Within the halls, panic and resentment mingled in a subdued clamor. Some advocated for a complete destruction of both sides, while others still dreamed of a miracle. The cacophony of arguments echoed beneath the dome, revealing a sense of despair at the end of the road.

At this moment, the old chancellor, who had remained silent until then, trembling, stood up. His aged yet still resonant voice drowned out the clamor: "Surrender!" Those three words were like thunder, silencing the entire hall. He surveyed each familiar face, his gaze sharp as a knife, and continued, "I know you are all unwilling to give up. You can't let go of the power you hold tightly, nor can you let go of the vast wealth accumulated by your family for generations. Do you think you can preserve all this by holding on? Open your eyes and see! If Saint Laurent City is completely reduced to rubble, if all of you perish here, the iron hoofs of the Roland Empire will crush everything here. They will still take everything, and you, along with your family bloodline, will leave nothing behind, not even a trace of ash!"

His voice was hoarse with pain, but every word was clear, hammering at everyone's heart: "If we don't surrender, none of us will survive; if we surrender, at least we will leave a glimmer of hope for... our descendants!"

"Madam, there's no need to exterminate all the noble children of Saint Laurent. I can use magic to erase their memories, making them completely forget who they are and where they came from—they will no longer remember their former surnames and glory. However," Caesars added solemnly, "No one from the city's cathedral can be spared. Divine magic will strongly resist memory erasure, and even the slightest divine induction could expose us."

Vivian was silent for a moment, her gaze sweeping across Caesar's face like a cold blade. She shook her head slightly, her voice filled with unquestionable determination: "Caesar, we don't have that much time. It's not impossible to spare a few noble children, or even a few royal bloodlines—if these people lose their wealth and status, living will be more painful than death. There's no need to erase their memories; interrogate them with the Word of Truth. Those without ambition can be spared. But they can't take away the vast wealth, except..." She paused, a cold smile rising at the corner of her mouth. "Each person can take a bag of gold coins. This is my last mercy."

She turned and gazed at the distant silhouette of the Imperial City, towering against the setting sun. Her eyes were as deep as the night. She knew the Roland Empire wouldn't last forever. From the First Roland Dynasty, to the short-lived Roman Empire, to the current, precarious Third Dynasty... the fate of an empire, like the passing of seasons, will eventually fade, and the throne will eventually change hands. They had merely hastened the arrival of winter, to complete their mission.

Weiwei pondered silently for a moment, a cold glint in her eyes. She raised her hand again, and a new order was quickly transmitted toward Saint Laurent City—this time, she offered a more explicit deal: if all members of the church in the city were completely wiped out, every heir of the royal family and powerful nobles would be given a chance to live, with no upper limit on the number of candidates.

News spread like wildfire, shocking the nobles before they were thrown into a frenzy of turmoil. The urge to survive instantly overwhelmed the constraints of faith and morality. Almost immediately, the major families summoned their private armies. The clinking of armor, the clatter of hooves, and the shouting of commands shattered the tranquility of the city. Like a tide, they surged toward the towering cathedral in the heart of Saint Laurent, their banners blotting out the sun and their swords gleaming coldly.

Before the final prayers had even concluded, the air was already filled with the scent of blood. The nobles' private army burst through the gates, ushering in a brutal massacre. Swords slashed through sacred robes, cries and fighting mingled, and the once sacred temple was instantly reduced to a hellish hell. No one could escape, and no one cared for mercy—in this life-or-death contract, faith had long been stained by the price of survival.