Round 21: The So-called Consensus

In a vast open area cleared by the Yatu Storm on the outskirts of the forest, broken trees, corpses, and fragments of the construction towers lay scattered everywhere, creating a chaotic scene.

Forty-Seven reached out and pulled Moriel, who was lying on the ground, to his feet. Though she could only stand barely for now, it seemed she wasn’t seriously injured.

“Welcome back!” Moriel took the staff from Forty-Seven.

“That’s a bit late to say that.” Forty-Seven turned his head again, as if this habit had returned with Moriel’s return. “By the way, if you hit me on the head with that thing again, I’ll break it!”

With that, Forty-Seven’s head was struck.

“Hey, there’s a limit to flirting! I’m still bleeding!” Daguras’s lightning spear on her shoulder had disappeared, and she had collapsed to the ground. “It’s really infuriating—being so gentle with another woman in front of other women is just cruel!”

“Have we met before?” Forty-Seven tilted his chin and looked at Daguras. “Your scent feels familiar.”

“I don’t know if you two met at the elven corruption ritual deep in the Sleeping Forest, but the scent is definitely familiar.” Moriel no longer had the strength to cast any healing spells; it was already a miracle she could stand at all.

Daguras seemed to try to stand up as well, but soon gave up.

Forty-Seven’s dark red eyes narrowed suddenly. He stepped forward, crouched in front of Daguras, and grabbed her chin with hands that seemed cold yet slightly warm. “Who are you?”

“I’m an intermediate rating mage and combat commander of the Agus Empire’s Supreme Council.” Daguras showed no fear at all. Instead, she met Forty-Seven’s fierce gaze with a somewhat playful look. “Please be gentle!”

Forty-Seven tightened his grip slightly, and Daguras was on the verge of crying.

“Stop it already!” Daguras’s body erupted with intense strength due to the severe pain—a natural reaction when her body was threatened.

Forty-Seven’s hands were engulfed in flames. He didn’t really care about the burning sensation; he even unconsciously compared whether the fire within him was hotter. But such thoughts only brought extra trouble.

One thing was undeniable: this alluring girl, who was crying, spewing fire, and having her wounds gradually heal in the flames, was brimming with the disgusting magic of the Flame Monarch.

“Are you the illegitimate daughter of that fire-loving guy from hell?” That fool completely ignored what could possibly withstand such a scorching embrace.

“As far as I know, no,” Moriel said weakly, but in a good mood.

“It doesn’t matter.” The steel-like fingers tightened further. For Forty-Seven, resisting the Flame Monarch didn’t require any reason, at any time, anywhere, in any way.

“Enough! Fine! Let me tell you—thanks to you, I was destined to be trapped in hell, but the Flame Monarch granted me the power to return to the main material world on the condition that I send you back to the battlefield of bloodshed so he could turn you into his plaything… It’s all your fault! Yet you’ve dragged me into enduring the torments of hell! Why?” With the flames around her extinguished, Dracula broke free from Forty-Seven’s grasp. Tears streamed down her face, her expression pitiful, like that of a desperate and helpless little girl.

“What does that have to do with me? Save those words for complaining to your boss. Please go back and tell my old friend that I’ll return one day to twist his head off—have him clean his ass and wait! And now… the one-way express train to hell is about to depart. It might be bumpy. Have a pleasant journey.” As he spoke, Forty-Seven made a gesture as if to check a ticket and twist Dracula’s head off. Moriel was well aware of his habit of talking alone and killing others without waiting for an explanation, ever since their first meeting.

“Wait, Forty-Seven! We can’t kill her now if we want to fight against the Agus Empire!” Moriel quickly interjected. “Besides, without Dracula, we would have had a hard time defeating Yatu too.”

“It should be ‘clean my neck and wait’…” Dracula’s emotions had just snapped back from her memories when she reverted to her usual recklessness. It was hard to imagine how she had survived to this age with such a temperament. “You really are a fool who can’t tell the difference between his head and his ass!”

“I’m not interested in fighting the empire. I have my own path to follow. Whoever gets in my way will be destroyed!” Forty-Seven replied without even looking at Moriel, while staring intently at Dracula’s beautiful and elegant face. “That’s simple!”

“So, you don’t want to retrieve the stolen core?” It seemed only Moriel understood Forty-Seven’s thoughts best.

Forty-Seven remained silent for a moment before actually making a face at Dracula. Then he turned and sat down next to her on the ground, like two elementary school students ready to listen to a lecture. “I don’t think it has anything to do with this woman’s life or death. But since you insist, let’s listen first.”

“You look ugly when you make faces!” Dracula rubbed her chin and even leaned closer to Forty-Seven. “But I like it~ And please don’t call me ‘woman’—it’s so vulgar. Call me Miss Dracula, or… my lover.”

“Hey… maybe we should just kill her… Wait! Let go of my arm! Don’t put your leg on me! Stop rubbing against me!” Forty-Seven pointed at Dracula beside him as if consulting Moriel. Unexpectedly, Dracula cuddled up to him playfully. Forty-Seven was at a loss for words regarding this reckless, ungrateful, and senseless female mage.

Two fools, a pair of perverts.

“Although Yatu is considered the strongest among the highest-ranking mages, believe me—Singh is absolutely more powerful!” Moriel removed her hand from her head, cleared her throat, and looked at the two guys in front of her who were listening intently with wide eyes, yet still maintaining their strange postures. She suddenly felt both amused and exasperated. “So defeating Yatu doesn’t mean we can rush straight into Vatan City. Besides, it’s not just Singh there—Yatu has also escaped, and it’s only a matter of time before he returns…”
“And if it weren’t for me, you would’ve been killed by Yatu long ago. Winning him was pure luck,” Daguras interrupted Moriel with a yawn.
“Are you done? I still want to kill her.” Daguras, trying to shake off her arm, asked seriously, but Daguras only giggled. This guy wasn’t afraid of death at all.
“Shut up, both of you!” Moriel closed her eyes and then opened them again, seemingly trying to calm her anger. “To reclaim the core, we need more strength—no matter whose strength it is. The Agus Empire can’t be shaken by just one or two people. Daguras, whatever your goal is, make sure you don’t die under the pursuit of the Supreme Council first. So it’s better if you cooperate with us!”
“That’s right, perfectly said!” Daguras, successfully shaken off by 47, sat on the ground and clapped enthusiastically, looking like a child in kindergarten excited to hear about candy.
“Is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Moriel, you’re too naive!” 47 was skeptical, his head spinning nonstop. “And this trope of having to form an alliance with former enemies against a powerful foe is so cliché—almost every anime does it. So I refuse!”
“No arguing! Teacher Moriel is absolutely right. You’re really naughty!” Saying this, Daguras raised her hand to hit 47’s head, but was immediately grabbed by 47’s iron-clad grip. “Actually, I had no choice either. Who would want to listen to that fiery monster uncle? But to get back, I had to agree to him—What are animations?”
47 flung Daguras’ hand away with such force that it seemed like her arm might get dislocated. “Alright, you’re right about everything, but I still want to kill her!” With that, 47 pressed his hand tightly around Daguras’ neck.
“You’d better listen to Miss Moriel’s advice. What she said is completely correct!” Suddenly, a voice came from behind a huge fragment of the construct tower. Soon after, O’Sullivan stepped forward, moving so silently that not even a speck of dust rose.
“Yatu is dead…” In the “Between the Stars” area at the top of the Seven Sins Tower, the already dull atmosphere between the two old men sitting on chairs in silence for half a day seemed to stir suddenly at those words. Even faint, muffled echoes filled the surroundings. Kiskein opened his eyes hidden beneath his white eyebrows and repeated it as if to confirm, “Mm, Yatu is dead.”

“Judging from the tremors of the Magic Web just now, Yatu transformed himself into a storm, but even so he still couldn’t win…” Singh, who had beenreading the document with his head bowed reading the document, now raised his head. His aged eyes sparkled with intensity: “I guess I already know who his opponent is.”
“Then let’s wait until the next meeting to see the battle scene…” Suddenly, Kiskain reached into his wide mage robe, searching for something, before pulling his hand out empty: “I bet five gold coins you’re wrong—I don’t have any money. Just remember that.”
“The old man still acts like this despite his age. Have you really developed dementia…” Singh shook his head and continued to focus on the document: “I don’t care about those things. The plan is going smoothly, and it might be completed soon…”
“But what if you’re right? That would be a minor obstacle to the plan…” Kiskain closed his eyes again.
“An obstacle?” Singh didn’t even look up, continuing to read: “At this stage, nothing can stop me anymore. Don’t you think so…”
What answered him was Kiskain’s gradually louder snoring.
Faced with O’Sullivan’s sudden appearance, the three immediately became alert and defensive.
“It’s surprising you didn’t die in that lightning storm just now!” There was a rare hint of mockery in Dargulas’s voice. It seemed the mage’s usual sense of superiority didn’t apply to her—perhaps even less so.
“Of course, I don’t have those extraordinary survival skills the mage masters do, but that doesn’t mean warriors are all mere pawns to be sacrificed,” O’Sullivan replied politely, but firmly: “Hey, old friend, it’s good to see you again!”
It was the guy who suddenly appeared and caused trouble in the Swamp Temple. Forty-seven glanced at Moriel, who was staring at O’Sullivan with an almost all-seeing gaze.
“Well, I knew I couldn’t kill him either.”
“Stop staring at me like that, Miss Moriel.” O’Sullivan stopped a short distance away from them and took out two vials of healing potion from his black coat, throwing them over: “I’m not your enemy. Besides, I have good news for you.”
“You got married?” The bleeding on Dargulas’s shoulder had stopped, but she still looked weak, while Moriel, who seemed to be standing, seemed to need those potions even more.
“Yatu is dead, so you can go back to Vatan City directly. Of course, punishment is inevitable, but your lives will be spared.” O’Sullivan crossed his arms and watched as Moriel checked the potions before using them on herself and Dargulas, explaining calmly: “If you run away now, it will only arouse suspicion in the Grand Council.”
“Aren’t you going to say Yatu died at your hands?” Moriel replied coldly. She felt she couldn’t trust O’Sullivan as easily as she could Dargulas—even though Dargulas was equally untrustworthy.

“To be precise, they died at our hands. I merely gave a slight push with your strength. But don’t expect me to have any evidence—To keep the High Council mages from prying, Yatu’s body was completely removed.” O’Sullivan paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “But seeing your performance on the battlefield, I think we do share a common goal. As Miss Moriel said, one or two people can’t shake the Agus Empire!”
“As one of the most renowned nobles in the Agus Empire, why would Count O’Sullivan want to destroy it?” Moriel’s tone remained cold.
“It’s not destruction, but return.” An indescrivable expression flashed in O’Sullivan’s eyes. “Besides, my family has had a bitter feud with the mages for centuries.”
“Stop talking about personal grudges. Solve your own problems.” Forty-Seven stood up, clearly tired of these scheming alliance meetings. “I don’t want to rely on anyone’s strength, nor will I let others use me as a pawn!”
O’Sullivan was somewhat surprised. Though this construct was unique, it seemed like Moriel’s personal property—this had been quite obvious even in the temple. He thought that by bringing Moriel to his side, the construct would also become an asset to him. It seemed he had thought too simply.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s just about meeting each other’s needs. I don’t like you, but that doesn’t stop us from possibly cooperating…” Moriel’s tone softened slightly, but she still kept a tight grip on O’Sullivan. “The question is, why should I believe you? It’s hard to say if this isn’t Yatu’s scheme. Besides, even if Yatu is dead, the High Council mages might already know everything. If that’s the case, returning to Vatan City would be suicide—for you too, Count O’Sullivan.”
“There’s no need to worry about that, dear. You surely understand how Yatu’s storm magic distorts spacetime by drawing on the magic network. So even Archmage Singer can’t cast any detection spells in such an environment.” Dagulas suddenly stepped in to explain for O’Sullivan. “Other archmages may already know Yatu is dead, but they probably don’t know how he died. So if we keep arguing here, we’ll expose ourselves quickly.”
Moriel certainly knew this, but…
What if Yatu isn’t dead at all? What if this is a trap? Moriel wondered inwardly.
“Then we might as well take a bold gamble, if Miss Moriel thinks the stakes are worth it.” O’Sullivan saw through Moriel’s doubts and stepped closer.
“Ah~!” Forty-Seven stretched out his arms, as if yawning—though everyone knew he didn’t need to. But no one dared move; Forty-Seven’s gesture served as a warning.

“Of course, to show my sincerity—I hope this will help build some trust between us.” O’Sullivan turned toward Forty-Seven and handed him something.
“Hmph,” Forty-Seven snorted but took it.
“I hope my decision is right,” Morriel said.
Jolice watched as Forty-Seven slowly approached her, with three smaller figures in the distance—she had been observing Forty-Seven and those Agus people gathered at the edge of the forest since earlier. Because of Forty-Seven’s presence, Jolice hadn’t given the order to attack.
Forty-Seven glanced at the remains of the Construct Tower; now only a couple of rocky pseudopods lying on the ground and the base of the tower remained. The Construct Tower, which he had already blown apart in half, was now almost completely destroyed by the Yatu Storm.
“What exactly happened?” Jolice asked Forty-Seven, who had already come up to her.
“Take me to Old Uther…” Staring at the darkening forest, Forty-Seven didn’t stop but passed right by Jolice. “I have something to say to him.”
Upon entering Vatan City and seeing all the mages wearing black robes adorned with golden stripes—a rare sight—Morriel breathed a sigh of relief.
In fact, she had seen this during the return journey and when passing through Vilke Town. It was the attire worn at the death of a High Council mage. This state funeral, held on the same scale as those for royal members, would last three days. It was said that ordinary Agus citizens were seeing a funeral for a High Council mage for the first time.
Yatu was really dead.