Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 377: War of Annihilation 7

Caesars slowly spread his palm, and a walnut-sized arcane sphere emerged from it. The sphere radiated a blinding light, seemingly the most ordinary illumination, its soft glow devoid of any murderous intent. Beneath its beautiful, dazzling exterior, it concealed an immense murderous intent.

The moment the arcane sphere materialized, the soul fire in the eye sockets of several necromancers suddenly trembled violently, the dark blue flames swaying wildly, as if their lifeblood was being strangled by an invisible force. Their withered fingers grasped at the air in vain, their decaying bodies unable to move even a single knuckle.

Without warning, the bright purple arcane sphere exploded. Amidst the dazzling light, the faint blue soul fires, like fragile glass, shattered into a sky of luminous points. Before the escaping soul energy could dissipate, it was completely devoured by the soul gem at Caesar's waist. Contorted faces lurked within those struggling points of light, but they ultimately could not escape their fate of complete imprisonment.

The three off-white, magic-patterned sarcophagi in the stone hall began to crackle softly, spiderweb-like cracks appearing on their ancient surfaces. These vessels, forged with arcane techniques, were weathering at a visible rate, as if eroded by millennia of time. In an instant, they were reduced to a fine, off-white powder. All of this was part of Old Ethan's meticulous calculations—when the necromancers vanished, all creations related to necromancy would be completely annihilated.

Caesars bent down to pick up several oddly shaped storage rings. The magical fluctuations from his fingertips made him frown slightly. When he explored the interior, the expected mountains of magic crystals were nowhere to be found. Instead, there were all sorts of magical materials emitting a strange aura: eyeballs soaked in a dark green solution, bone fragments bound with black ribbons, and dozens of crystal bottles with sealing magic patterns, each containing a variety of shadowy creatures.

Caesars piled all the strange things in the storage ring in the middle of the stone hall, and then let the fat dog breathe flames to burn them.

A few days later, the dusty Kaisas finally returned to Holy Thunder City. To his surprise, he saw a surprising number of young people from Fire Maple City—young officials and nobles who usually lived a life of luxury, now bustling through the streets and alleys. A masked spy chief led a team of black-clad men patrolling the main streets, while young nobles in lavish attire, holding rosters, checked the registrations door to door, their expressions incredibly focused.

"Old Quinn, what's going on?" Caesars stopped his old friend who was giving orders and asked in a low voice, "Why did these noble young masters suddenly change their ways? They're actually doing this kind of rough work?"

Old Quinn wiped the sweat from his forehead and said with a wry smile, "There aren't enough literate people in Fire Maple City. Too few common people can read, so we have no choice but to recruit these nobility children who don't have inheritance rights to help." He pointed to a young man not far away who was diligently taking notes. "The Empire has issued a new decree that they must serve for two years before returning home. Those who perform well can be promoted to imperial officials. As for those who are cunning and treacherous..." Old Quinn made a gesture of wiping his neck, "They will all be incorporated into the Legion's vanguard battalion as cannon fodder."

Caesars gasped at the words and scanned the crowd, suddenly noticing a few young men dressed in exceptionally elegant attire. "Wait, those...could they be members of the royal family?"

"Good eyesight," Old Quinn nodded. "Except for a few designated heirs, all the other royal children are here. I heard this was a special decree from His Majesty the Emperor, saying he wanted them to experience the suffering of the people." He nodded at a young man carrying a wooden box on his back. "That prince was trying to put on airs on his first day, but now he's working honestly, isn't he?"

Caesars nodded slightly, the hem of his dark red cloak swaying gently with his steps. He walked steadily along the gravel path toward the nobleman's mansion where Vivian was staying. The gray stone mansion stood out in the twilight, its upright blood-red flag fluttering in the evening breeze like a trace of congealed blood.

Caesars habitually lowered his hood, but the portly, dark-red hound beside him stood out. The guards exchanged glances—the fat dog, renowned for its gluttony within the camp, was all too familiar to them. The leading guard simply inspected the emblem Caesars wore before respectfully stepping aside and letting him pass.

The mansion's oak door stood ajar, warm light streaming through the crack. As Caesars pushed the door open, his boot heels clicked crisply on the marble floor. In the center of the living room, Vivian bent over a sheepskin map, her deep blue silk dress shimmering like flowing water in the candlelight. Three dusty legion scouts knelt on one knee, their worn leather armor still stained with the dust of the wilderness.

"Ma'am, Bitterwater Farm has been cleared. The altars of the necromancers have been burned to the ground. As for the city of Gaslo..." He shook his head, "It's now a hollow shell, with only the elderly, weak, and sick who can't walk left to dig for food in the ruins."

Caesars walked over to the map, his leather gloves creaking softly against the edge of the table. He briefly reported the intelligence he'd gathered along the way, his words as calm as if he were discussing the weather. Vivian picked up her quill, dipped it in red ink, and neatly drew a slash across the mark for Gasloo. The red spread across the map like a flag fluttering outside the window.

Vivian pressed her slender fingers hard on the map, her fingertips turning slightly white from the pressure. She glanced at the scouts, her voice like an ice-hardened blade: "Since Gaslo City has been removed from our strategic map, there's no need to waste manpower on the northern defense of Saint Ray City. A thousand light cavalry will suffice." She paused, her leather armor gleaming coldly under the light. "The legion will depart tomorrow. There's no need for a hurried march this time—we must be at our best for the decisive battle."

Her palm suddenly slapped the center of the map, causing the leather to clunk. Crushed beneath it was the very heart of the Saint Laurent Empire—Saint Seal City, the fortress renowned for its magical enchantments, which protected Saint Laurent. "Take this place," Vivian's lips curved dangerously. "The Saint Laurent Empire will be like a dragon with its backbone torn out, a mere shell."

The sound of leather armor clashing could be heard from the living room. A scout captain with graying temples took a half step forward and said, "Sir, the Hellscream Legion is stationed in Seal City. If they hold the city..." The old scout's Adam's apple rolled, "The price of a strong attack might be..."

"Who said we're going to storm?" Vivian suddenly chuckled, the sound of which seemed to chill the temperature inside the tent. She turned, her cloak swirling in a sharp arc. "The Empire's alchemy workshop has been preparing for three months." Her fingertips tapped the dagger at her waist. "It's enough to blast the walls of Seal City into dust. Hellscream?" She repeated the name playfully, a dark glint flashing in her icy blue eyes. "It will soon become a footnote in history books."

A thin morning mist enveloped Holy Thunder City, the rising sun gilding the city walls with a golden edge. Clad in dark red leather armor, Vivian rode through the east gate, her sword at her waist swaying gently with her steed's strides. Civilians knelt on both sides of the road, their heads bowed, yet occasionally stole glances at the Valkyrie who had changed their fate.

“May the goddess bless you!”

"Lady Vivian must return safely!"

From time to time, suppressed sobs could be heard from the crowd. Just three days ago, Vivian issued a new decree that distributed large tracts of land owned by the nobility to the landless peasants. For the first time, these serfs, who had spent years hunched over in the fields, now owned their own land.

News spread like wildfire throughout the Saint Laurent Empire. In the eastern manors, nobles cursed Vivian with gnashing teeth, yet tossed and turned in sleepless nights—they all knew the sharpness of the Valkyrie's blade. In the southern villages, serfs whispered Vivian's name, and children were taught to pray for the "Red-Armored Goddess" before bed.

Vivian reined in the horses and glanced back at the morning light of Holy Thunder City. Beneath the city walls, newly allocated landholders were cultivating their fields. She gave her horse a gentle kick and led the Roland Empire's legions eastward. Beneath the fluttering banners were determined faces—they were all the elite soldiers of the Roland Empire.

The troops advanced slowly across the early autumn fields, their hooves rustling through the withered, yellow grass. Scouts, mounted on brisk warhorses, pranced back and forth between the front and flanks like vigilant hawks, their armor gleaming with a cool metallic sheen in the morning light. Every half hour, a team of scouts would return to the central army to report on the terrain and enemy situation ahead.

Meanwhile, the lights in the Saint Laurent Empire's palace were ablaze. The young emperor, hastily awakened by his attendants, now lazily reclined on his gilded throne, rubbing his temples sleepily. On either side of the hall, ministers stood with solemn expressions, and the air was filled with suppressed panic.

"Where is the Roland Empire's army heading?" the emperor asked casually, his voice still tinged with sleepiness.

The elderly chancellor trembled as he stepped out, his wrinkled face filled with worry. "Your Majesty, scouts report that the Roland Legion is heading east, and it looks like they're heading straight for Holy Seal City!" He tapped the map with a bony finger. "Once Holy Seal City falls, the gateway to the Holy City and the Imperial Capital will be completely opened!"

A sudden gasp echoed through the hall. Several noble ministers exchanged horrified glances. They knew better than anyone that the iron-blooded Duchess's methods were even more ruthless than recorded in history books. Just a few decrees had the common people of the Saint Laurent Empire on edge, leaving the nobles sleepless. The old chancellor gazed at the gradually brightening sky outside the hall, feeling as if he could already see the end of the empire approaching.

The young Emperor gripped the armrests of his throne tightly, his knuckles white from the strain. He gazed at the stained glass windows of the hall's dome, his voice hesitant. "We have three legions in Holy Seal City. Roland's Legion is outnumbered. Defending Holy Seal City shouldn't be difficult, right?" The rising syllable at the end made the sentence sound more like a request for affirmation than a statement of fact.

The elderly chancellor sighed deeply, his wrinkled face thick with worry. He stepped forward, his bony fingers tracing across the imperial map. "Your Majesty, that Valkyrie has never been defeated. Not only does she possess terrifying force capable of cleaving through city walls, but even more terrifying is her strategic acumen." A flicker of fear flashed in the old man's cloudy eyes. "When the Vatican first rose to power, she led her personal guards directly into the heart of the city, decimating everyone from the cardinals to the lowest deacons."

The chancellor's trembling fingers paused on the Holy Seal City's symbol. "It's only a matter of time before the city falls. Even more terrifying..." He lowered his voice, "are those soaring magicians under her command. Do you remember the tragedy of the Bone Castle? Those alchemical bombs dropped from the sky razed the thousand-year-old fortress to the ground in just half an hour."

The old man gazed out the window of the great hall. The morning sun stained the golden dome of Saint Laurent Church blood-red. There, portly bishops feasted on a hearty breakfast, while the slums outside the city lay strewn with starving people. He knew this decadent empire had reached its end. The Valkyries of the Roland Empire only needed to give a gentle push, and Saint Laurent would crumble.

Before noon, the Roland Legion halted its march. Smoke from the rear camp soon rose from all corners of the camp. The portly dog, its sharp maw bared, purring at Caesars—it craved the delicious stew, and there would be ample rest time at noon to enjoy it. Caesars retrieved a stewpot and dry firewood from his pack and deftly chopped the salamander into fist-sized chunks. Stewing the meat was a piece of cake for the fat dog.

"Madam, why are we advancing so slowly?" Caesars asked, taking out two carved oak chairs and a foldable walnut table from his space ring. He then placed a small cast iron charcoal stove, tea from the Dukedom of Barton, and a few sweet-smelling buttermilk cakes.

Vivian, wearing dark red leather armor, leaned lazily against the back of her chair, her slender fingers tapping the armrest intermittently. She nonchalantly stared at the drooling fat dog, her red lips parted slightly. "This is to put psychological pressure on the Saint Laurent people. Every day we walk, their nerves will be more tense. When we reach the city of Saint Seal, we won't attack immediately. We want to let those Saint Laurent people suffer for a few more days of sleepless nights. This will weaken their fighting spirit and deprive them of their last bit of courage!"

"Ms. Vivian, I have a personal question. The ancestor in the photo seems to be younger than me! It always makes people feel weird!" Caesars said.

Vivian didn't say anything, but just smiled slightly, as if recalling the past.