Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 323: Borers 2

Roland Empire, Fire Maple City.

The setting sun streamed through the crystal windows, casting a golden glow deep within the palace. Outside the emperor's chambers, guards in black uniforms stood motionless, like statues, but upon seeing the familiar figure, they tacitly made way. The spy chief, wearing a pitch-black mask, hurried along, his rapid footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

Inside the study, the crystal chandelier cast a yellowed hue on the parchment scrolls. The old emperor stroked the gilded spine of an ancient book, his silver hair gleaming in the light. When he looked up and saw his confidant, who had returned, the corners of his wrinkled eyes twitched slightly—this usually calm and composed eagle-eyed ruler now had beads of sweat on the edges of his mask.

"Carlos, is there an emergency?"

The old emperor's voice was three points hoarser than usual, and his skinny fingers unconsciously pinched the pages of the book.

The man in black bowed slightly, a suppressed gasp coming from beneath his mask. "Your Majesty, this is a matter of utmost urgency!" He walked directly to the flame maple tea table, the scarlet velvet sofa creaking under the weight of his weight as he sat down. "Quinn sent a message via Shadow Messenger—a large quantity of extremely pure magic steel ingots has been discovered among the smuggled contraband in Highlands City."

The old emperor's luxurious sable robe suddenly shook violently, knocking over the wine glass on the desk. The crimson wine spread like blood across the flame maple desk. He recalled the report from the Minister of War two weeks ago: the Saint Laurents had suddenly been equipped with a large number of exquisite weapons.

"Are you sure it's them?"

The old emperor's voice seemed to come from far away. He saw Carlos take out the photo stone from his arms, and the scene of old Quinn smelting magic steel ingots appeared on the light screen.

"Quinn personally smelted and inspected it." The spy chief pushed the crystal ball across the table. "Each ingot of magic steel is three ounces heavier than the standard—only the latest high-temperature magical furnace controlled by His Highness Bernard can smelt magic steel of this purity." He suddenly lowered his voice. "Even more suspicious is that the fifty cartloads of magic steel ore sent to the smelter last month had their transportation records in Limestone Canyon erased."

The gilded candlestick suddenly burst into dazzling sparks, and the golden wine cup held by the old emperor twisted and deformed with a teeth-grinding sound. The faces of his two sons appeared before his eyes: Bernard always loved to play with the badge of the Alchemist Association, and Rashid's sword always glowed with an eerie purple light.

"Have the shadow guards keep an eye on the two princes, and report to me immediately if anything happens!"

The old emperor suddenly smashed the deformed wine glass against the fireplace. Amidst the flying sparks, his bloodshot eyes were like a bloodthirsty lion. "Wait until Quinn's evidence arrives. I want to personally see these two traitors and see how they explain that the corpses of the border soldiers will become gold coins in their pockets!"

Carlos's mouth was straight under his mask. "Quinn has left to inspect Gravel Castle. I'm afraid..."

"That old fox!"

The emperor suddenly sneered like an owl, and then said, "Send a message to the Northern Garrison. From now on, all magic steel products leaving the smelter—even a horseshoe—must be signed and approved by them. If there is any trouble in the future, they will be directly reported to them!"

The old emperor grabbed the jeweled letter opener from his desk and plunged it into the oak tabletop, the handle still trembling. The Northern Garrison had a good relationship with Bernard, so the leak of the demon steel was definitely related to them. The old emperor wouldn't necessarily kill his own son, but he wouldn't blink an eye at killing a whole group of garrison troops.

"Your Majesty, isn't this equivalent to directly notifying Prince Bernard?" the spy chief asked with some confusion.

"Carlos, they're definitely going to use the magic communication stone. Hawkeye happens to control magic communication, so we can follow the clues. What I want is to alert the enemy and then eliminate them completely!"

"Your Majesty, you will not..."

The spy chief's voice sounded particularly cautious in the study, like a dagger drawn three inches before suddenly stopping. In the shadows cast by the heavy velvet curtains, the pitch-black mask absorbed the flickering light from the fireplace, concealing his face.

The old emperor's withered fingers rubbed back and forth on the armrest of the animal-skin sofa, causing the leather to groan softly. Outside the window, the first snow of early winter silently covered the spire of the imperial palace, while the air inside the window was so solid and suffocating.

"I can!"

The emperor suddenly interrupted him, his voice pierced from deep within his chest. He slowly stood up and walked to the wall, slapping his bony hands on the map of the empire. He continued, "I don't want to be the king of a fallen nation. Since they've dug their own graves, I'll bury them!"

The last word was almost gnashed out, accompanied by the dull thud of a fist hitting the wall. The old emperor then took a few steps back and slumped back onto the sofa, like a puppet with its strings pulled out, only the fire in his eyes still burning.

Carlos's brow furrowed imperceptibly beneath his mask. He had seen such moments too many times—power, in its dying throes, often reveals its most sinister features. The firelight from the fireplace cast the emperor's shadow on the walls covered with portraits of his ancestors, and those majestic faces seemed to look down upon the dying ruler.

"Carlos, investigate thoroughly." The emperor's voice suddenly became unusually clear, each word like an icicle piercing his eardrums. "The termites in the Roland Empire must be dealt with as soon as possible." He raised his veined hand and wiped his neck. "Although their crimes cannot be made public, accidental deaths are still acceptable."

A violent coughing fit interrupted the old emperor. After it subsided, his tone became even colder. "Also, send people to monitor the northern garrison. If there is any unusual movement, I allow you to use ruthless means." A trace of pain flashed in the old emperor's cloudy eyes. "Also send people to monitor the two princes. If they show any signs of rebellion, they can also die unexpectedly!"

Carlos's mask tilted slightly at the word "prince." He understood the meaning behind this order all too well—it was no longer about eliminating traitors, but rather a father personally signing a decree to kill his son. The mechanical clock on the wall ticked rhythmically, as if keeping time for the conversation.

"Your Majesty, please come in person!" Carlos' voice came from behind his mask, as calm as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather. "If they have any ill intentions, I will personally bring them to you."

The spy chief lowered his head slightly, a cold glint in his eyes beneath his pitch-black mask. This wasn't a shirk of responsibility, but rather the final line of the Imperial Jackal—he could shed blood for the Empire, but he would never touch the royal bloodline. Ultimately, these were the old emperor's family affairs, and he should be the one to settle them.

The old emperor's gaze lingered on Carlos's mask for a long time, as if he wanted to see through the leather to the expression behind it. Finally, he waved his hand wearily, signaling the end of the conversation. Carlos saluted and stepped back, his footsteps completely absorbed by the thick carpet. As he grasped the doorknob, he heard the emperor's hoarse whisper from behind him: "This snow... is really not coming at the right time."

The heavy oak door closed silently. Carlos stood in the hallway, a hint of fatigue finally showing beneath his mask. He touched the list in his left breast pocket—seventeen names were already circled in red, and now he might have to add two more. At the end of the hallway, his lieutenant appeared like a ghost.

"Notify the Nightingale and Raven teams," the spy chief's voice had returned to its usual cold, hard tone. "Level One alert. The key surveillance list has been updated. Pay special attention to any information from the North." He paused. "Also, send Shadow to the residences of the two Highnesses to report every hour."

After the errand-running aide nodded and left, Carlos stood by the window, watching the snowflakes blanket every corner of the palace. He remembered his first meeting with the emperor seventy years ago. The high-spirited monarch had pointed to this very square and said, "Carlos, the foundations of the empire will never be shaken." And now, they had to resort to assassination and surveillance to maintain this crumbling empire.

In his study, the old emperor gazed alone at the gradually dying flames in the fireplace. With trembling hands, he pulled a miniature portrait from the depths of a drawer—it depicted the two princes as children. A single, murky tear fell on the frame, but he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve. Outside, the snow fell ever heavier, as if threatening to bury the entire empire.

Heavy snow had already fallen in the north of the Roland Empire, and the snow-covered mountains stood silently in the cold wind. Meanwhile, in the far southern border of the empire, the scorching air of Gravel Castle was still shrouded in parched air. The scorching midday sun scorched the gray sandstone surrounding the castle, and even the air was slightly distorted by the heat wave.

"Kaisas, don't you feel hot? Every time I see you, you're basking in the sun!"

Old Quinn tugged at the collar of his sweat-soaked wizard robe and looked at the young wizard in the crystal hut with confusion.

On the observation deck atop the Gravel Castle, a transparent hut constructed of crystal sparkled in the sunlight. Caesars, as usual, lounged comfortably in his wicker rocking chair, letting the scorching sun pour through the crystal dome. Old Quinn, unable to bear the heat inside, retreated to the awning outside, occasionally wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Old Quinn, to be honest, I feel a little hot too." Caesar opened his eyes slightly, and his dark pupils shrank into a dot under the strong light. "But I just drank a strong physical potion. More sun exposure will help absorb the medicinal effects." He pointed to the empty crystal bottle placed aside, with traces of purple liquid still condensed on the wall of the bottle.

"Strengthening Constitution Potion?" Old Quinn's cloudy eyes suddenly lit up. "The main ingredient seems to be the spinal cord of a ground dragon, right?" He rubbed his bony fingers, remembering having read about this rare potion in ancient books. It was said that only by hunting down a full-grown ground dragon could one extract enough spinal cord essence to make a hundred bottles.

"Yes, it's the Earth Dragon Physical Enhancement Potion."

Caesars stretched lazily, his joints making crisp sounds.

Upon hearing this, Old Quinn immediately took a few steps closer, a smile plastered across his wrinkled face. "Caesars, can you... give me a bottle too?"

"Old Quinn, even if I gave it to you, you wouldn't be able to withstand the effects of the powerful potion. Improving your physical fitness should be done gradually, jumping directly from ordinary physical potions to powerful potions. If you take the powerful potion directly, I'm afraid it will tear the meridians in your old bones!"

Caesars shook his head helplessly, his long black hair gleaming in the sunlight. He took out a delicate crystal bottle, and purple liquid flowed slowly within it, occasionally flashing golden magical dots.

"Then it's okay if I just drink one drop at a time?" Old Quinn asked persistently, his eyes fixed on the bottle of tempting potion.

Caesars shook the potion towards the sunlight. Golden spots of light danced on Old Quinn's face. He said, "This won't kill you, but if you drink it like this, it won't even be an appetizer. It won't have any effect on your physical fitness!"

"By the way, aren't you a fire mage? Why are you sweating?"

When Caesars handed the golden potion bottle to old Quinn, he noticed that fine beads of sweat were oozing from the other's wrinkled forehead, shining in the sunlight.

The old wizard stroked the potion bottle with his calloused fingers and narrowed his eyes cunningly: "Hehe, I have been exercising recently and took a physical enhancement potion on purpose. I can't use magic power at will now, so as not to interfere with the effect of the medicine." As he spoke, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, carefully put the potion into the storage ring, and slowly sat back in his creaking oak chair.

Suddenly, Old Quinn slapped his thigh and said, "Look at my memory! Carlos asked me to tell you to go to Greystone Castle and 'borrow' a few of the guards' magic steel weapons for research. By the way..." He lowered his voice and made a throwing motion, "Throw a few alchemical bombs to help with the fun."

Caesars raised his eyebrows when he heard this. "Why not use self-igniting flaming oil? If it were you, once the bombs rip open the roof of the Graystone Fort, the flaming oil would flow down through the hole. The fire..." He gestured with his hands to indicate the trajectory of the flames, "I guarantee the entire fortress would turn into a furnace!"

"What's the rush?" Old Quinn pulled out a few metal balls engraved with magic patterns like a magic trick. "Of course we have fierce kerosene. We have it all in the warehouse."

Caesars took an alchemical bomb, weighed it in his palm, and suddenly sneered: "Old man, are you confused? A thing with this power can't even blow through the reinforcement layer of the Graystone Castle's roof!"

The old wizard spread his hands helplessly, the cuffs of his robe still damp with sweat stains: "These are all I have in stock, take them if you like!"

Caesars understood—Hawkeye and his gang were clearly trying to seize evidence of Saint Laurent's military equipment. He then channeled his consciousness into his spatial ring and rummaged through the pile of spoils, eventually finding a dozen bundles of withered grass. These were the flyweeds left behind when he and the Sword and Rose mercenaries had explored the magic crystal mines. When ignited, they emitted a nauseating, rancid odor.

Caesars threw the flyweed outside the crystal hut, raising a cloud of dust. The puppy sniffed it and immediately hid in the hut.

"Old Quinn, have someone prepare two huge rocks, each weighing at least 30,000 to 50,000 pounds." A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. "I'm going to make Greystone Castle feel like it's being smashed through by a meteorite!"

"Caesar, you don't want to destroy Greystone Castle, do you? Now is not the time!" Old Quinn said with some concern.

"No, this is the after-show I prepared for the Saint Laurent people!"