Round 27: Infiltration

Moriel, along with Sayers and Hunter, carefully chose secluded and quiet paths, but they still encountered many Agus people scattered throughout the streets. Fortunately, most of them were either drunk or busy celebrating, so no one paid attention to the three mage-robed figures.
“Where is Commander Daguras now?” Moriel asked in a low voice as they hurried forward.
“I don’t know. She said once we deliver the person to the post station, it’s none of our business anymore,” Sayers replied, still feeling anxious—after all, what they were doing could be considered treasonous. “But obviously, your destination isn’t the post station.”
“I’m going straight to the Tower of Seven Sins!” Moriel’s brows tightened, as if firming her resolve. “We’re almost at the northern district. You two go take shelter; there’s no need for you to follow.”
Suddenly, Sayers stopped. They were nearing the Glory Avenue that separated the southern and northern districts. In the distance, two rows of magically lit lanterns stood on either side of the road, stretching as far as the eye could see. To the left was the palace, and to the right was the Tower of Seven Sins.
“You two leave. There are few people here; you don’t need to cover for me,” Moriel said before turning right, only to find that Sayers hadn’t moved aside. Instead, he blocked her path with his bear-like frame.
“Take shelter? What do you mean?” Sayers demanded sternly. Hunter stood by silently, unimpressed by Sayers’ actions, and also looked at Moriel with confusion.
“I don’t know either. It’s for your own good. It’s best if you follow my orders and stay away!” Moriel grew louder, as she had little time to waste on these two.
“Never! Unless you explain clearly, I won’t move!” Sayers stepped forward instead of backing away, standing in front of Moriel like a wall with his arms wide open. “We don’t know why you infiltrated Vatan City. We thought it was to repay your past kindnesses, but if you intend to bring disaster to Vatan City and Agus, I won’t allow it!”
Moriel was stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected Sayers to say such things.
“That’s right! If we go take shelter, what about our families and friends?” Hunter joined in. “Commander Moriel, what kind of disaster is going to happen? Please tell us the truth.”
Moriel calmed down instead. Looking at the two low-ranking mages in front of her, who were tense and full of determination, she suddenly didn’t know what to do.
“Listen, Sayers, Hunter. I came back only to rescue my friend. I don’t want to hurt anyone else!” Moriel cleared her throat, trying to speak as calmly as possible. “You don’t need to worry. I just have a bad feeling—that this night won’t be peaceful. I’m just telling you to be extra careful…”

“You’re lying! You must know something!” Sayers suddenly became furious. “I get it now—you’re here to save that construct! I’ve seen him three times, each time with rampant killing and corpses of Agus all over the place. Shant was also killed by him… If you save him, he certainly won’t show mercy to the Agus who captured him. With that guy’s strength, it’s even possible to turn Vatan into a sea of fire. I never thought you’d…”

“Enough!” Moriel’s voice wasn’t as deep as that of the bear mage, yet the authority and coldness in it suddenly interrupted the enraged Sayers. “What do you think this is? It’s war. It’s only natural to want to kill enemies and survive on the battlefield. You’ve seen piles of Agus corpses—haven’t you seen piles of elf corpses too?”

“So, you admit not only that you betrayed the Agus but also that you’ve joined the elves?” Sayers’s voice dropped, as if he might leap up and fight at any moment.

Moriel was taken aback again. The usually slick and cunning man was now so stubborn.

“I’m not with anyone. I’m just here to save people. Move aside!”

Not only did Sayers not move aside, but Hunter, who usually spoke well of Moriel, also stepped forward and stood beside Sayers.

Moriel used a paralysis spell. Before the two could understand what was happening, they collapsed on the ground, unable to move.

“If I’m guessing correctly, a conflict between the royal family and the Council will break out tonight. Whether you run for your life or try to save people, it’s up to you.” Having taken a few steps away, Moriel said coldly over her shoulder before walking away without looking back toward the Tower of Seven Sins.

Whether it was really because of the celebration or the impending conflict, not only were there few pedestrians on Glory Avenue, but the square in front of the Tower of Seven Sins was also empty after the nobles held a ceremony to welcome Mage Kond. Even the mage guards who usually patrolled the area were nowhere to be seen—this was truly unusual.

Moriel easily reached the Tower of Seven Sins. As she felt uneasy about how easily it went, she discovered why the square was empty.

Corpses—under the fountain in the center of the square, in the flower beds between the square and the tall tower steps, and in the shadows of the thick columns on the steps—there were corpses of Council mage guards everywhere.

Had the royal army already launched an attack on the Supreme Council?

Moriel knew well that although there seemed to be peace between the royal family and the Council on the surface, they were actually at odds. The entire Agus people were thoroughly tired of the war with the night elves, yet the Council persisted in pursuing them. Although O’Sullivan’s words had been vague, they were enough for Moriel to conclude that this conflict was inevitable. For the Agus emperor, tonight was indeed a good opportunity. But had it really happened?

No, if the royal family truly resolved to go to war with the Council, they wouldn’t resort to such petty acts like assassinations. Besides, a few assassins alone couldn’t threaten the Council’s archmages. Once the royal family decided to attack, they would surely engage in open combat with the Council. Given Agus’s reputation as the “Land of Mages,” the Council couldn’t destroy it but could only take control of it. So what good were these covert maneuvers? It seems that besides herself and the royal family, someone else also had their eyes on the Supreme Council and the Tower of Seven Sins this night…

“Surprised?” A voice came from behind Moriel. Moriel didn’t move; the scene before her kept her on high alert. A simple prediction spell allowed her to know who was approaching.

“Did you do this? Why?” Moriel turned to face the person still hidden in the shadows.

“Don’t look at me that way. I just arrived, and it was already like this when I came!” Dagulas stepped out of the shadows, wearing a smile as if he already knew everything. “And whoever did this has made things easier for us, hasn’t he?”

Moriel turned toward the depths of the Tower of Seven Sins, where Forty-Seven was somewhere there.

“You don’t need to follow me. You know very well the power of the archmages!”

“I didn’t say that. I’ve already given the Iron Man to you…” Dagulas stepped closer, so close that Moriel could feel her breath on the back of her neck. “I will get him! Remember that!”

By the time Sullivan arrived in Volk Town, it had turned into a brightly lit slaughterhouse—full of corpses, blood, smoke, and flames. At the same time, it was also covered with colorful flags and flowers, as if the people had been celebrating when suddenly attacked by invaders. But the people of Agus could be comforted by the fact that the murderers too had become corpses, piled up in the center of the square.

They were a group of red-robed mages—exactly the ones Sullivan had come to contact. At the top of the pile of their corpses sat the Supreme Council’s archmage, Quentin, dressed in a white robe now stained bright red with blood, making him look like a red-robed mage at first glance!

“Did you also come to execute these red-robed mages who dared to threaten the people of Agus with force?” Quentin somehow obtained a bottle of wine, popped off the cork, and downed most of it in one gulp.

Sullivan didn’t know what to say, unsure to what extent Quentin had figured him out.

He had indeed arranged to meet the red-robed mages in Volk Town and agreed to eliminate everyone there, whether soldiers or civilians. Volk Town was a necessary route between Vatan City and the Sleeping Forest. If conflict broke out in the city and couldn’t be resolved quickly, it could serve as a barrier to stop the Council’s main mage forces still stationed in the Sleeping Forest from returning to the city. Since the number of red-robed mages was small, they couldn’t control all the captives in Volk Town during an operation, so it was better to kill them all—any war comes at a cost.

They did it swiftly, but were also swiftly dealt with by others. Those who dealt with the red-robed mages were the archmages of the Supreme Council. So, how should he answer their questions? Of course, he couldn’t say he had come to conspire with the red-robed mages to attack the council. O’Sullivan pondered for a moment and decided to stabilize this archmage first. “Or did you come to discuss how to attack the Supreme Council?” But Quentin didn’t give O’Sullivan any chance to defend himself. After tilting his head back again, not a drop of wine was left in the bottle. O’Sullivan’s pupils contracted. “Time, people, plan—I need you to tell me everything.” Quentin threw the bottle down, which landed not far in front of O’Sullivan before rolling away. O’Sullivan secretly gathered his strength. The opponent was an archmage of the council; he had to take a risk no matter what. “Or do you only want to talk if I kill this man?” Quentin suddenly lifted someone from the pile of corpses. The man was covered in blood but seemed not to be seriously injured. However, judging from his weak condition, he was also exhausted and had no strength left to resist. O’Sullivan’s movements were almost completely restricted by Quentin, as it was none other than Count O’Sullivan’s father, Neith O’Sullivan, whose life now hung in Quentin’s hands. O’Sullivan’s lips moved slightly, but no words came out. His father’s eyes, obscured by blood, suddenly opened and stared at O’Sullivan standing beneath the pile of corpses, yet he too said nothing. “Stop being so melodramatic. Father and son are…” Quentin couldn’t finish his sentence, and no one knew what he wanted to say. By the time he could speak again, he had already forgotten what he had intended to say. In Quentin’s eyes, O’Sullivan suddenly transformed into a bolt of lightning, shooting straight at him. Caught off guard, Quentin couldn’t tell whether it was a real attack or just an illusion. He instinctively dodged the deadly light. When he rolled away from the pile of corpses and looked up again, O’Sullivan had taken his place, with a sword of unknown origin stuck in Neith’s chest beside him. “You killed your own father…” Quentin stood up, squinting at O’Sullivan in disbelief. “I couldn’t guarantee defeating you while protecting my father. I simply chose the wisest option between both of us dying or just one of us dying.” O’Sullivan’s tone was calm, making it hard to tell whether he was acting or confident. “Defeat me? Hahahaha! You naive kid, your arrogance is laughable! Ahahaha…” Suddenly, Quentin found his laughter growing weaker until he finally stopped. When the person who had just killed his father could still look at him with such astonishingly calm eyes, underestimating him would only put him at a disadvantage.

O’Sullivan slightly lowered his head. His father lay peacefully at his feet. Reflecting on it, this frail yet strong-willed father had left little impression of kindness or tenderness during his childhood—any such feelings he had seemed to reserve for his brother Julian. Yet O’Sullivan had never felt resentment toward this man; instead, he was immensely proud to belong to the O’Sullivan family. Both his life and this pride were gifts from his father. Therefore, O’Sullivan believed that his father would have no complaints if he died for the family’s cause…

“What did you just do? You actually know how to use lightning magic to this extent? But don’t get too happy yet—I’m not as careless as Yatu… So, Yatu also died at your hands, right?” Quentin slowly increased the distance between him and O’Sullivan. Though this bald mage appeared barbaric and rough on the surface, he was well aware of his own strengths, just as he admitted he was inferior to Yatu in magic skills.

“If knowing a few spells makes one a mage, then you’re all incredibly low-level and incompetent!” O’Sullivan strode down from the pile of corpses with pride. But now Quentin no longer cared about trivial matters like why not a single drop of blood had splashed on O’Sullivan’s clothes. “I’m a warrior. I fight on the battlefield solely to seek victory, regardless of the means. Can’t even a grand mage understand that?”

Quentin gritted his teeth. This brat had only surprised him by being able to kill his own father so calmly and unflinchingly. Was he really that afraid of him?

“Trying to deceive me, the grand mage of the Supreme Council, with such a trivial trick? You’re seriously overestimating yourself. Understanding and using the Magic Web is not something one can learn on their own. I think you’re just bluffing…”

“I never said I had no master in magic. The former grand mage of the Supreme Council, Loom, was my teacher. My family has had close ties with Mage Loom since my great-grandfather’s time…” O’Sullivan slowly and steadily stepped closer to Quentin, while Quentin instinctively kept his distance from this unpredictable young man. It seemed Quentin was at a disadvantage now. “You must know Mage Loom, right? You replaced him and became one of the grand mages of the Council six years ago. Speaking of which, the quality of the grand mages of the Supreme Council is getting worse and worse…”

Whether it was O’Sullivan’s words that finally angered Quentin or because Quentin felt he had nowhere left to retreat, as O’Sullivan spoke, Quentin raised one hand, and a magic missile shot toward him with a whoosh.

The magic missile wasn’t some advanced spell; it seemed to be just Quentin’s attempt to test him. But since it came from a grand mage of the Supreme Council, if O’Sullivan failed to dodge it, he would surely die or be severely injured.

As the smoke cleared, O’Sullivan was neither dead nor injured. A crimson ice wall appeared in front of him, blocking Quentin’s attack. The material forming that ice wall was actually blood accumulated in a nearby depression.

“You even know the ice magic that Aresa is good at…”

“Well, what about this?” With that, O’Sullivan suddenly crouched down, placing his hands on the ground. Quentin was shocked by this and immediately crouched as well, placing his hands on the ground. Both of them chanted spells at the same time. Five or six stone spikes suddenly emerged from the ground where O’Sullivan was standing; two of them pierced through his chest and abdomen. The spikes, which continued to grow, lifted O’Sullivan off the ground, indicating that the battle’s outcome was already decided.

“Hahahahah! A brat still dependent on his mother trying to use my most proficient petrification spell against me? How could you possibly be faster than me, idiot? Hahahahah…” Quentin suddenly found himself unable to speak again. As he laughed loudly, he looked down and saw the bloody tip of a sword protruding from his chest. When he raised his head again, O’Sullivan, who should have been hanging on the stone spikes, was gone. Only two severed, blood-stained spikes remained, slowly growing due to the residual magical energy.

“I said I’m a warrior, and you keep forgetting that!” Standing behind Quentin, O’Sullivan drew his slender sword. Quentin immediately fell to the ground, never understanding why he, a great mage, died at the hands of what was originally just a spoiled nobleman.

O’Sullivan also sat down on the ground, his clothes dirty with dust and blood. Perhaps this was the most dangerous battle he had ever faced.