Round 24: Captures

When Kant’s troops entered the Uther tribe’s territory, the indigenous people there seemed to have turned into warriors and mages of the Agus Empire’s army. Not a single Night Elf was in sight, neither alive nor dead, and there were no signs of battle. If it weren’t for the armed warriors standing guard under the swaying tree shadows, looking tense, it would have seemed like a military club hosting a big party.

“What’s going on?” Kant stroked his goat beard and looked around. He saw Daguras standing not far away, looking at him innocently, as if unaware of this unusual situation. “Is this the lair of the Night Elves you found? Why can’t I see a single elf?”

“I only said I found their settlement. I didn’t say I found their hiding place,” Daguras sighed, looking utterly frustrated and helpless—it seemed Kant had truly encountered a rival this time.

“Could it be a trap? Would the Night Elves, who have always regarded the forest as their sacred cradle, resort to such tactics?” Kant scanned the surroundings—the dark forest, filled with unknown monsters, made him regret being too hasty.

“That’s unlikely. Please be assured, Lord Kant. Our army has taken control of the entire area. I don’t think the elves have enough troops to surround us.” O’Sullivan appeared suddenly, as if falling from the sky.

“And we’ve obtained what we wanted and taken over so much forest. Lord Kant truly commands brilliantly!” It was Morriel; her strange construct, bound by the Rainbow Binding Spell, floated behind her and moved toward Kant.

The three of them smiled at each other—seemingly, everything was going smoothly.

Kant also smiled, a sinister one. Morriel was the first to realize it. Seeing the portal to another dimension slowly opening behind Kant, she knew they had underestimated the Supreme Council—and Kant—as well.

Five archmages stepped out one after another through the portal glowing with pure white light. Even the old Kiskein appeared much more agile than usual. O’Sullivan’s expression turned grave, while only Daguras continued to laugh carefreely.

“I told you from the start—such a plan, with intelligence not even comparable to that of an Azcat, could never succeed!” Forty-Seven broke free from the binding spell and descended from the air. As he fell, all his joints reorganized—his arms still formed a thick barrel, his shoulders folded and moved forward, ending up on his chest. Together with his chest cavity, which opened like a particle cannon, they formed a chamber-like structure connected to the barrel at the ends of his arms. His black steel wings folded and split, eventually turning into a turbine-like structure made of sixteen fan blades that covered the back of the barrel. As the turbine spun faster, some unknown energy built up inside the barrel until the steel cannon gradually took on a faint dark red hue.

By the time Forty-Seven landed, his feet, now transformed into a cannon base, were firmly planted on the ground in a fighting stance. Before everyone’s eyes, a massive cannon appeared.

The red light in the aggregate barrel contracted violently, seemingly going completely out for a moment, before the molten beam pouring out of the barrel shot straight toward Agus’s circle of archmages. A shield surrounded the six archmages; each of them was muttering, and it turned out they were all casting protective spells simultaneously! The massive fireballs exploded the moment they touched the radiant barrier surrounding the six archmages. Lights of white, incandescent gray, green, purple, red, yellow, and orange mixed together as they burst outward. The smoke and vapor were lifted high by the convecting air, even forming a cauliflower-shaped cloud above the sleeping forest. Before the waves of fire could reach them, 47 used the recoil to leap backward. He transformed into his human form mid-air, grabbed Moriel by the collar, spread his enormous wings again, and long flames erupted from his feet and sides. He flew past the stunned Agus soldiers behind him at nearly sonic speed. In an instant, the fireballs swallowed the poor soldiers who had been knocked over by 47’s gust of wind as they chased after him. It seemed that aside from the six archmages who were surely unharmed, everyone else within the explosion range could only rely on their own luck. 47 flew far away with Moriel in his arms. His back broke three trees as thick as a person’s waist, yet he showed no sign of stopping. As he approached the fourth tree, a portal had already formed beside it. The thrusters shut down, and 47 flapped his wings slightly to slow down. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed the tree trunk, twisted his body, and sent Moriel straight into the portal. Moriel stared at 47 in disbelief, wide-eyed, while he pulled off another face that he wasn’t very good at. “So, from now on, it’s my plan!” Everything before Moriel’s eyes turned white. 47’s ridiculous face gradually faded into that white light. Only after Moriel adjusted to the dimming surroundings did she realize that several night elves had silently surrounded them. “Miss Moriel, I am Uther, the leader of the night elves. 47 asked me to deliver a message to you,” said an elderly night elf at the front. “Wh-what?” Moriel was at a loss. “You can’t get the tiger’s cub without entering its lair,” Uther muttered in a strange language, then stared at Moriel’s equally confused face with a puzzled expression. “…” “…” “What? What do you mean?” “…” “…” “Well, I thought you knew…” Deep beneath the surface of the Seven Sins Tower, there was a vast underground complex as deep as the tower itself. Countless supports, rooms, stairs, and corridors turned it into a huge underground labyrinth. Without a guide, it would likely take a lifetime to escape. 47 walked around in mid-air, watching the group of expressionless mages working on various strange experiments at the lab tables. It felt as if he had returned to the days when he spied on the old mage’s experiments in the swamp tower—though there were far more mages here.

Singh glanced at the cubic prison floating in the air, composed of a transparent barrier with six sides emitting a faint glow, and the trapped beast inside—it seemed more like a tourist in its attitude.
“Hey, old man, what are you looking at? Haven’t seen a handsome guy before?”
Singh lowered his head and continued to draw on the pages of the magic book in front of him.
Forty-seven watched as the mage beneath him kept pouring some indigo-green liquid into a huge container through the control valves: “Surely they’re not planning to cook me—those liquids will ruin my teeth. But I doubt your boss even has any teeth left!”
At that moment, Kiskain walked in from the iron door on one side of the test bench, swaying slightly with each step along the corridor. As if he had heard Forty-seven’s words, he suddenly opened his mouth, revealing a set of white, neat teeth.
“Fake!” Forty-seven immediately exposed Kiskain.
Kiskain sat down beside Singh, looking disheveled: “Besides the core, the power of some long-extinct ancient gods, and the aura of purgatory, this thing holds other secrets we yet unknown. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Other than the core energy within it and the contents of Lum’s magic notes, everything else has nothing to do with me,” Singh said, closing the book. “All along, the fragmented pages of Lum’s magic book and the core, though seemingly intact, always lacking something, have been the biggest obstacles to our research. You know how much effort we’ve put in to obtain Morriel. Yet, even so, we’re still far from the results I desired. Now, both the core and the method are within reach!”
“Then, have you found a way to obtain the book’s contents and extract the core energy?” Kiskain looked up and saw Forty-seven opening his mouth, revealing a row of sharp teeth that seemed blurred due to their rapid rotation. After stopping abruptly, Forty-seven tapped one of the teeth with his finger—a crisp metallic clang rang out before fading instantly. “I don’t think this thing will cooperate with you.”
“That’s indeed a problem that needs to be solved urgently,” Singh said, standing up as if about to leave. “But I believe I have some idea about the only feasible method. It’s just…”
Singh didn’t finish his sentence and turned toward the iron door.
“A mage who loses curiosity won’t live long,” Kiskain said in a low voice, as if talking to himself. “If you’re going to fail, Singh, this is the only reason.”
Singh disappeared through the stone door without hesitation.
“It’s hard to believe—Commander Morriel betrayed the Supreme Council, betrayed Agus. It feels like I’m dreaming!” Hunter stood by Sayers, who was once again bedridden, looking dejected.
“What’s so strange about that?” Sayers seemed impatient. “What’s strange is why it’s always me who gets injured and lies in bed, while you sit nearby unharmed. Damn it, my last injury hasn’t fully healed, and now I’ve broken my leg again!”

“You should be satisfied. Do you know how many people died on the spot?” Hunter picked up the flask beside Sayers’ pillow, unscrewed the lid, and took a big gulp. “I still can’t believe Commander Morriel has defected, even though I’ve seen it with my own eyes…”
“Shut up!” Sayers glanced around nervously. Thankfully, his bed was in a corner of the large infirmary, and no one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. “Constant talk about Morriel and ‘commander’—we’re already lucky to not be treated as accomplices! It’s only been three days since we became her bodyguards, and it was Commander Douglas who recommended us. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting here leisurely drinking right now. Give me back the flask, idiot!”
Hunter took a hit from Sayers but showed no sign of anger. Looking gloomy, it seemed he was truly shaken.
“Listen to me, Hunter. What’s the top priority in life?”
“Safety first.”
“That’s right, safety first. If you don’t take care of your own life, who will?” Sayers didn’t even screw the flask lid back on; instead, he aimed it at his own mouth. “And as you’ve seen, Morriel is in league with that black demon. They’re the murderers of Sant and countless Agus people. So there’s no need for you to worry!”
“How can I not worry? She’s an enemy of the Agus, yet she’s so kind to us…”
“Idiot!”
Both of them suddenly turned in shock toward the window beside them, because it wasn’t Sayers or Hunter speaking—it was Dagulas standing outside the window.
This place seems to be on the sixth floor!
But neither of them had the courage to stick their heads out to see what Dagulas was standing on or if she had used some kind of magic to float—what if she slapped them off the building? It wouldn’t surprise anyone if Dagulas did such a thing.
“What favors has Morriel done for you that you keep thinking about her like this?” Dagulas snapped angrily.
“No, no, Commander Dagulas. This kid is just ignorant. Please don’t take it to heart!” Sayers quickly started scrambling to explain.
“The former commander just faced misfortune, and you’re already speaking ill of her. What does that mean?” Dagulas continued to scold harshly.
“No, no, Commander Dagulas. This guy has a fever and his mind is confused. Please don’t take it to heart!” Hunter also rushed to explain.
“Hmph!” Dagulas sneered and pushed up her glasses. The gesture itself wasn’t anything unusual, but done outside a window on the sixth floor, which was originally meant only for ventilation and viewing, it seemed extremely strange. “Let’s see how I deal with you two!”
Once again, the two realized that facing such a commander truly meant having no one to turn to for help.
With no one paying them attention, 47boredly watched through the transparent walls of the magic cube prison the busy mages below, as well as Kiskain, who seemed to be in a coma again on the central testing table.

Forty-seven sat cross-legged in midair, extending his hand in a shooting pose aimed at Kiskain’s gray-haired, wrinkled head—this was no child’s game of pointing with the index finger and shouting “bang bang” at each other’s mouths, for Forty-seven’s hand had truly transformed into the shape of a gun. As he uttered a strange sound mimicking a gunshot, a small cone of lightning fire erupted from the barrel formed at the tip of his finger.

The bullets of lightning fire reflected repeatedly inside the prison, leaving behind trails as brilliant as fireflies, yet they could never break free from the invisible barrier surrounding them, eventually returning helplessly to strike Forty-seven’s back of the head.

Forty-seven touched his head; his razor-sharp metal fingers scraped against his armor-like skull, producing a harsh metallic scraping sound.

The level of these Archmages of Agus was truly remarkable. Just this giant magical cube capable of perfectly reflecting any attack was far more powerful than the one Moriel had used before, by many times over. Moreover, from the moment the archmages trapped him inside the Sleeping Forest until now, the cube showed no signs of weakening or dissipation—something utterly unprecedented in Forty-seven’s meager knowledge of magic.

The large bathing pool below seemed almost ready. A murky dark-green liquid filled most of the container, with bubbles rising from its oil-like surface. The magical lights in the laboratory illuminated the bubbles, reflecting sickly colors.

The archmages surrounding the large container were anxiously making final adjustments. They dipped magical crystals into the solution for a while before pulling them out to carefully observe their colors. They extracted some liquid using glass test tubes, added various reagents, heated it, and observed the results. They recorded data using quills or charcoal pencils, and after compiling it, the senior archmages in the laboratory would analyze it. Then they opened a few of the pipes, which resembled pinholes on a water cup, added materials they thought were necessary, cast spells they believed were appropriate, and altered the composition of the solution—Forty-seven thought that at this rate, the stinky water in the pool would soon overflow.

The old man Kiskain, who had been doing nothing, finally reacted. He rubbed his old eyes—the data reports beside him were already as thick as a book—but he showed no interest in reading them. Instead, he trembly took out a monocle, held it in front of his eyes, and leaned slightly forward to examine the pool filled with green liquid.

After a moment, he leaned back against the chair. First, he stretched out his four wrinkled fingers, then slowly retracted two of them.

The archmages around him noticed the actions of this old mage, the only one in the council who could rival Council Leader Singer in terms of status. They all stopped what they were doing and eagerly awaited his instructions. Although Kiskain usually appeared dazed and foolish, as if drifting through life solely based on his age and status, no archmage dared to underestimate him—whether Kiskain was not truly foolish or even if he became foolish, as long as he remained a mage with his vast knowledge of spells and knowledge, it was enough to turn him from a fool into a genius.

Kiskein lowered his hand, seemingly falling asleep again. The mages in the laboratory exchanged glances. What did that mean? In such large-scale magical experiments, Kiskein’s gestures could signify countless things—four, two: should 2% of ingredient number four be added or subtracted? Or should ingredient number two be added after four minutes? And how much to add? Kiskein kept his eyes closed, ignoring everyone, and the mages didn’t dare ask. So they gathered together to discuss it for a while, trying to figure out what Kiskein meant and coming up with what they thought was the closest solution. The test results then relieved the mages greatly. If this didn’t work, all that expensive magical acid might be wasted—they really couldn’t imagine how they would face Archmage Singer’s wrath.