Volume 27: The Sudden Storm
Chapter 1: Let’s Fight If We Must
“Hehe, remnants of darkness, petty clowns—before we even came looking for you, you dare to come to Marco and throw yourself into our grasp?” A loud voice came from afar, and several figures descended from the Tower of Confinement—some light-footed, some steady, some agile, some solemn. The leader wore a pure white robe, with deep blue eyes and pale cheeks, giving him an eerie appearance.
The three High Rank Knights seemed displeased at his arrival, but the leader stepped back first, seemingly handing over the initiative to this newcomer.
“Haha, throwing yourself into our grasp—well said. Here we are, aren’t we? Those behind me are all stubborn remnants of darkness who have come willingly to the Inquisition of the Church of Light, hoping it will purify us and show if we can be redeemed.” Komer smiled darkly, his expression equally eerie. He seemed much calmer now—this battle had finally arrived.
“Hmph, a bunch of worthless scum. Since you’ve come to us, we won’t hesitate to purify you. Do you think this is some place where you lot can come and go as you please?”
The mage with the pale face was naturally Schiller. Seeing the three High Rank Knights and four mages firmly in control of the situation, the weight on his heart lifted. He had been worried that Vazinki’s loyalists wouldn’t cooperate with him. Though they all belonged to the Church of Light, factional strife had turned them into strangers. Unless forced, neither side would ally under such circumstances. If not for Lord Nuoyao La and Lord Lorenzo taking away a large portion of the main forces, there would have been no need to lower one’s stance and ask Vazinki’s faction for help.
“Enough talk. You must be that Schiller. I’ve heard your mastery of light magic is flawless. As for me, I think I have some foundation in dark magic as well. How about we give it a try? I’ve long wanted to see what happens when light magic meets my dark magic—don’t disappoint me. Oh, and that seemingly profound archmage—I can sense your psychic magic. It seems we share a common interest. Well, let’s have a fight today—so as not to waste Marco’s trip.”
Such rude and outrageous words were nothing like what Kommer would say. Even Mihajlovic was surprised—how could the usually polite and restrained lord behave in such a crude manner this time, showing no trace of the dignity expected of a noble, even bearing a hint of thuggish provocation.
Kommer’s madness made Schiller and the bearded mage feel angry. This guy was far too presumptuous; he clearly saw himself as the leader of their side. Michelangelo was undoubtedly the greatest mage after Vazinki, and even Vazinki admired his mental magic. For someone to dare challenge his greatest strength meant they were either mad or an idiot. If neither, then they were truly strong.
The joy in Michelangelo’s eyes grew even stronger. For him, encountering a worthy opponent was nothing short of fortunate. The other man’s gaze was plain, yet his ability to speak calmly while making eye contact with him alone made this fight worthwhile. He had originally thought it would be a one-sided extermination of those reckless remnants of darkness, just a dull massacre. But now it seemed his initial prediction was off—there was something worth looking forward to after all. Michelangelo didn’t believe the other man was mad or an idiot, but to become strong, he first had to pass through him. If it weren’t for Schiller’s special status, Michelangelo would have invited the opponent to fight alone.
Schiller was also filled with rage. No matter who this man was, just daring to defy the authority of the Inquisition was enough to send him to the stake. Those remnants of darkness dared to be so audacious. While angry at Kommer’s arrogance, Schiller also admired his courage.
“Whoever you are, state your name and identity! Why have you intruded in this prison tower?!” Schiller forced out words like ice shards between his teeth. Though the other man was arrogant and rude, as the interim head of the Church of Light’s Inquisition, Schiller didn’t want to appear too disrespectful in front of his fellow believers.
“Well, my name is Kommer. I’m sure you’ve heard of me before. As for my identity? I’m the lord of Homer and the Caucasus, a noble of the Kingdom of Nicosia. Satisfied? As for why I’m here, I’m sure you know better—those two, Nojora and Lorenzo, provoked me without reason and kidnapped my friend Rebrí, a friend of the victim. Is it wrong for me to come here?” Kommer said with a smile.
“Are you Komer?” Although they had a vague suspicion, when Komer actually revealed his name, both Schiller and Michelangelo showed shocked expressions. Weren’t this guy supposed to be in the Caucasus? Did he know about the Inquisition and Lord Vazinki’s alliance to eliminate him?
“Heh, what, is there someone else who wants to pretend to be me?” Komer’s smile gradually turned cold. “Enough nonsense. It’s time to get down to business. We’ve wasted so much time because I was in a good mood, but now I’m not anymore.”
A flash of anger passed through Schiller’s eyes. If this person really was Komer, then he would need to be dealt with carefully. Even Lord Nojola and Lord Lorenzo highly regarded him, so Schiller certainly didn’t dare claim to be superior to them. Yet, having never experienced that battle himself, he still harbored a sense of superiority. These remnants of darkness dared to show up here, meaning they must have some strength, but those who provoked the Inquisition always ended up in disaster.
“Very well, Lord Michelangelo. I’d like to hear your opinion. Isn’t Lord Komer exactly what we’ve both been waiting for? What do you think we should do about him?”
Looking at his fellow light mages around him and remembering that they were in Marco, Schiller’s worries vanished, replaced by uncontrollable joy. If he could lead the Inquisition’s forces to kill this scoundrel in the absence of Lord Nojola and Lord Lorenzo, his status within the Light Church and across the entire Azure Continent would surely soar. Such temptation could drive anyone insane.
“Lord Schiller, I’ll follow your instructions. But I think our knights are getting impatient. It would be best if we took their feelings into account.” Michelangelo frowned slightly. Komer’s name also carried great weight in his mind. The embarrassing return of Onia and Elena’s disappearance could all be traced back to this guy. He appeared out of nowhere like a ghost, meddling in many affairs without warning.
The Order of the Ram’s attention to this Komer did not escape Lord Vazhinki’s sharp eyes. Even the fact that Knight Kent personally led most of the order to Cyprus, resulting in a conflict with Leclerc, was well known to Michelangelo. The reason why this guy became involved with Frenst still remains unknown, but one thing was enough to make Michelangelo resolve to keep him around—Saint Elena was Lord Vazhinki’s most valued asset. Now, not even the Light Heart Lock could establish a clear connection with her; only occasional messages indicated that Elena was hiding in the southeast. It was precisely because of these fragmented clues that Lord Vazhinki decided to head south together with Nojora and Lorenzo.
“Lord Michelangelo, as you see fit,” said Schiller, suppressing the desire surging within him. He stepped back two steps, his white jade staff already raised in readiness. Though confident that his opponent would hardly be able to escape under such overwhelming pressure, he still wanted to make a spectacular display to establish his authority in front of everyone.
Sorenberg rose into the air almost without warning. Although he was not at the same level as the opponent’s Heavenly Rank Knight, his combat energy was at its peak, making it easy for him to move swiftly through the air. His dark knight spear instantly lost its tangible form, transforming into a fan-shaped beam of dark light that silently pressed forward.
The intense sound of air friction was compressed into a tiny space by the dark energy emitted from the spear, only to be released abruptly the moment the spear’s dark glow burst forth. A shrill scream erupted in the air, nearly tearing the eardrums of those present.
His face still wore an air of arrogance. Though he realized his opponent was not easy to deal with, pride and self-respect were inherent to a Heavenly Rank Knight—especially when facing these Dark Knights, such arrogance could be fully displayed.
With a slight shake of his gleaming knight spear, a milky-white beam of light combat energy burst forth, unfolding like a pure white lotus in the air, displaying its most beautiful form—delicate and seemingly fragile as it met the darkness head-on.
Like a mud ox disappearing into the sea, the mighty and vast dark energy, accompanied by a shrill howling sound, vanished as it approached the slowly rising white lotus. The sharp tip of the knight’s spear suddenly appeared behind the white lotus, precisely hitting the fan-shaped area formed by the dark knight’s spear. Like a hammer breaking through giant ice, with just this one strike, Sorenberg’s knight’s spear plummeted to the ground as if a dead dragon had been beheaded.