Azure Scepter

Page 167

"..." The gaunt vampire fell silent, and after a moment, he sighed.

“Alright, I’ll repeat myself. Our plan has three steps. First, we’ll mix the two powders together to create a powerful runic crystal. Second, we’ll dig a tunnel from here directly to the bottom of the Golden Palace. Third, on the day of the Mask Carnival, we’ll use the runic crystal powder to blow Trir into the sky. Do you understand now?”

Rune Crystal Powder?

Trier looked at the pile of barrels that was almost like a small mountain, and then his black pupils narrowed slightly—if they were all filled with runic crystal powder, the amount would be terrifying; this dust would be enough to blow the entire Golden Palace to smithereens.

If you were to take the damage from these explosives head-on at point-blank range, you would likely be seriously injured.

Generally speaking, in the game *Azure Scepter*, using rune crystal dust to create traps is an important method for players to deal with powerful bosses in the early stages. Now, these scheming rebels are planning to use the same method against them, and they've even come up with the underhanded idea of ​​digging tunnels for explosives...

Trillen immediately gripped the hilt of his sword.

These incredibly creative individuals are no ordinary rebels; they must be dealt with immediately!

"Will this really work?" Mored asked skeptically. "I don't trust these strange magical artifacts."

"Alright, get to work." The cloaked man with the hoarse voice flicked his fingers, and several wires silently wrapped around Mored's neck.

Morey froze: "What are you doing?"

"Let me explain the effects of magic to you—can you trust magical artifacts now?" The cloaked figure chuckled, then retracted the wire. "Kill those prisoners; their blood can better enhance the powder..."

The cloaked man's voice abruptly stopped as the cold, sharp blade had already slit his throat.

With a flick of his wrist, Trier sent scalding blood gushing from the cold blade. The cloaked man's subsequent syllables all dissolved into a desperate, hoarse "hmph" as bubbles rose from the blood.

The vampire whirled around, and in the next instant, a bloody, foul wind rushed towards him. Behind the cloaked figure, a cold, sharp blade pierced his chest like lightning!

He instinctively raised his hand to block, but the violent force tore his radius bone apart and then suddenly pierced his chest cavity.

"boom!"

The chainmail shattered, the ribs broke, and the heart instantly turned into blood plasma!

Amidst the blood mist, Trier suddenly drew his sword with a backhand motion. He pushed off the ground, twisted his waist, and spun around, slashing through Mordred's neck without even looking.

"Thud." Only then did the cloaked man's body fall to the ground with a thud.

Crimson blood gushed from Mordred's neck like a geyser; although he had become a vampire, this was still a potentially fatal injury.

In despair and in vain, he covered his wound, trying to stop the blood and life from gushing out, and instinctively looked into the darkness ahead.

The people carrying the barrels in front were completely unaware of what was happening behind them; the attacker's killing was both too silent and too swift.

After all, from the start of the attack to the deaths of everyone, the entire process took less than half a breath.

The next moment, Morey's unfocused pupils suddenly lit up again—it was the cold reflection of the sword blade.

"Pfft!"

In the distance, the head of one of the porters flew into the air in an instant, followed by the next one. In less than half a breath, the heads of the six porters behind him were all separated from their bodies!

Only now did the remaining people seem to vaguely realize the massacre that was taking place.

"What's going on?" A half-orc porter turned his head in confusion.

In the thick darkness, Trier suddenly sprang out, grabbed the orc's thick neck, and then squeezed it hard with his five fingers.

"Gaba."

"There are enemies!" The remaining people finally realized that there were enemies, but when they put down the barrels and looked back nervously, they did not see the terrifying attackers at all.

In the darkness, all they could see was steaming blood, a headless corpse still twitching slightly, and Mored's desperate and terrified eyes.

The smell of blood spread, and the strong smell of blood gradually suppressed the putrid odor that came with the sewer.

"Move closer to me," one of them said, mustering his courage.

In this moment when fear gripped everyone's mind, it was crucial for someone to stand up. The remaining people subconsciously gathered together, and the tactile sensation of being shoulder to shoulder gave them a sense of security.

If they were facing ordinary monsters, this action would undoubtedly give them a last-ditch effort, but the enemies they were facing were indeed far beyond their capabilities.

At this moment, Trier had once again circled around to the back of the crowd. He shook his sword, letting the blood droplets slide down the blade, and then suddenly pushed off the ground and charged forward.

A massive chop!

The heavy, labored breathing and the pounding of hearts all abruptly ceased, leaving only the hissing sound of blood gushing from blood vessels in the old sewer.

Amidst the blood mist, Trier moved forward slowly, round, scarlet drops of blood slowly dripping from the blade of his sword.

He coldly surveyed the corpses on the ground, and only after confirming that they had all gained experience and that no one was faking death did he sheath his longsword.

To be fair, these conspirators and rebels are all highly skilled; they have accumulated nearly 16,000 points of killing experience.

The experience points given by this group together are almost equivalent to those of 1.6 Soul Slayers.

"We really need to crack down on these people! What normal person could gain so much experience?" Trier thought to himself.

"Lord Trier, is that you?" Hult, bound beside Mored's body, asked cautiously.

Trier walked over to Hult and cut the ropes binding him and several other soldiers.

After cutting the rope, Trier twirled his sword before sheathing it: "It's me. What's going on?"

However, at that moment, Trier's movements suddenly froze. He pondered for a moment, then drew his longsword again.

"Lord Trier, what's wrong?" Hurt endured the soreness all over his body, shook off the ropes binding him, and then stood up.

Trier did not answer. He walked back and forth among the pile of corpses twice, then snapped his fingers, illuminating the dark old sewers with his Light spell.

“Count how many corpses are on the ground,” Trier said in a deep voice.

A moment later, several soldiers and Hult finished counting.

“There are eleven in total, Your Excellency,” Hult replied earnestly.

Trillon's heart sank immediately.

There were eleven corpses on the ground, but he clearly remembered that there were twelve people in the group just now!

They were now at the deepest part of the old sewers of Wilt, which was a one-way dead end with no other paths.

In other words, someone mysteriously disappeared right under his nose...

“It’s like a ghost story,” Trier muttered to himself.

He took a deep breath, squatted down, and carefully examined the scene.

The time traveler hadn't expected to find any clues, but after looking for a while, he actually found a pale blue strand of hair on the wooden bucket containing rune powder.

Beneath the hair, someone had drawn a rather hasty doodle with a black pen, and next to the doodle was a neatly written Common phrase: "I hid a powerful wooden barrel among these exploding barrels, but unfortunately there wasn't enough room in the carriage, so I took it away. Guess where I hid it?"

The water sprite Fusada was here just now!

PS: Second update!

Chapter 321 Opening

After looking at the message left by the water sprite Fusada, Trier pondered for a moment before deciding to ignore her threats.

While the opponent's actions were frightening, the power of a single bucket of runic crystal powder wasn't particularly great. And even if we assume the worst, he only has three days left before he storms the throne room in the underground mirror city of Wilt. By then, whatever Fusada wants to do, she will be powerless to reverse the situation.

In short, don't get caught up in the other person's rhythm; focus on doing your own thing.

“However, this spellcasting site has been exposed and is not very safe. We’ll change the location later,” Trier thought. “Besides, we can consider temporarily evacuating the citizens of Velt in the next few days. After all, if Fusada is determined to cause destruction, the number of civilian casualties will be considerable, and if we want to achieve godhood, population is a very important resource.”

With that thought in mind, Trier took out a mop from his backpack and used the invisible "magic hand" to control the mop to remove the lines left over from the ritual.

A few minutes later, the originally complicated teleportation ceremony turned into a puddle of sewage on the ground.

Trier put down the mop and turned to look at the rescued Hult and several soldiers.

At this moment, they seemed somewhat at a loss, and all remained nervously in place.

“Dispose of the body, then move all these barrels out.” Trier said rather gently. “Remember, never use an open flame, or these barrels will explode.”

"Your Excellency Trier, besides these explosive barrels, there's also a wagon full of silver wolves at the entrance. What should we do with those silver wolves?" Hult hesitated for a moment, then added, "It's said that these silver wolves are a shield tax paid by Count Bortard for his inability to fulfill his military obligations—but that's probably just an excuse."

Trier didn't reply immediately. He focused his attention on the Arcane Eye, glanced at the Silver Wolf Carriage's activity history, and then shook his head, saying, "You can keep the golden dragon they bribed you with."

Hult and the remaining soldiers were immediately horrified.

How did Lord Trier know that the other party had bribed their Golden Dragon?!

Could he really be as omniscient as the rumors suggest?

“You don’t need to worry about this carriage, I’ll handle it myself,” Trier continued.

Saint-Sel sat on a wooden chair by the window, gazing at the pocket watch in his hand.

This is a small town on the outskirts of Wirth, and he deliberately hid here to avoid being discovered by Trier.

The mechanical gears and bearings moved ceaselessly, their precise, monotonous ticking echoing as the hour hand of the pocket watch moved from 12 to 6, then back to 12, then back to 6, and so on; the light outside the window changed from silvery moonlight to the orange glow of dawn, then back to moonlight, then back to dawn again...

He remained silent and motionless for three whole days, like a statue, until the clock struck 6 o'clock again and the first firework exploded in the dim twilight outside the window, at which point he slowly stood up.

The Masked Carnival has arrived. Trier has cracked the last lock beneath the mirrored city of Wirth, and it's time for him to make his move.

In the past few days, he has been recalling the past, examining and distinguishing all his past successes and failures, pains and joys.

This scene reminded him of a thousand years ago when he encouraged his wife to raise her sword against Lorraine: it was National Day, and the city was filled with joy. After paying a price, he, a mere mortal, achieved the final victory.

The red light outside reminded him of the massacre that had occurred in Wirth not long ago—a devastating defeat in which the shameless schemer Trier ultimately reaped the rewards.

However, now that his and Trier's positions have been reversed, it's his turn to reap the last, sweetest, and most juicy fruit—provided he can win the upcoming battle in the mental realm.

Saint-Sel stood up and picked up his longsword.

The blade reflected the brilliant fireworks, and a hazy arc of light swayed along its spine. Amidst the scattered sparks of fireworks, Saint Seir saw the face of his own body clearly.

His face was withered and his gaze was cold.

He slowly sheathed his sword, raised his head and walked calmly towards the door.

Saint-Sel believed his will was enough to crush the decaying, dark spirit of the old lich Trier, just as he could crush Cohen's spirit.

The pain of the past is like a forging fire, breaking people down and giving them new life. Cohen's spirit may be resilient, but what he has experienced over the past thousand years is far more than Cohen's.

He slowly pushed open the door and walked onto the bustling street.

"Since you couldn't find me, now it's my turn to find you," he muttered to himself.

Red fireworks exploded in the distance, while pale blue arcs flickered before our eyes.

Inside the hall, a dozen spellcasters were standing in their designated positions, casting spells together, while Trier stood in the very center of the ceremony.

All the spellcasters present were experts; their rapid, tongue-twisting spell syllables overlapped, and their complex hand gestures cast shadows under the electric light.

The deep blue arc of light grew increasingly dazzling. When the blue light reached a certain critical point, the ritual array on the hall floor suddenly burst forth with a dazzling cyan light. Millions of points of light traveled along the intricate lines and then converged into a massive sphere of light that occupied half of the hall.

The sphere of light rotated silently, like a newly born star. With each rotation, brilliant and dazzling points of light were thrown out, swirling in the air like nymphs drinking morning dew among the flowers at dawn.

The next moment, amidst layers of chanting, Trier slowly extended his hand. A massive sphere of light erupted like a geyser, shooting a straight beam of light directly into the arched dome overhead, before bursting open in the dim sky.

The scene was spectacular; the blue light spots, like a galaxy, flowed across half the sky, making the setting sun on the horizon and the distant exploding fireworks appear dim and insignificant.

At this moment, in the underground mirror city of Wilt, the cyan pillar of light, like an arrow of judgment cast by an angel, shattered the maze that had been wrapped around the golden avenue. The maze, which had been like a giant wall, suddenly collapsed and shattered, and the entire space trembled slightly.

At that very moment, a melodious bugle call sounded, and in various parts of the underground mirror city, an advance force of over a thousand people began to rush to the front lines from their pre-arranged garrisons. They arrived at their designated attack positions in a quiet and orderly manner.

Unlike the Asmo army a few days earlier, this vanguard was mainly composed of the standing army and nobles of the southern duchy. The soldiers and squires held horns and square flags, while the knights carried fluttering swallowtail banners. When the marching horns sounded, the colorful flags almost formed a sea of ​​flags.

Although they were not entirely sure who the enemy was, nor whether Trir was reliable enough, they still stepped into this unfamiliar but destined-to-be-bloody battlefield without hesitation, out of their commitment to their vassal oath and their hatred for the mastermind behind the plague.

As the vanguard, their mission was quite simple: to find the Golden Palace in the underground mirror city, expand their occupied territory as much as possible, until they encountered obstacles.

At that moment, Princess Edith looked up at the cyan pillar of light that seemed to pierce through space. The light shone in her emerald green eyes. She gripped the holy emblem, took a deep breath, and then looked down at the endless army.

In any case, the final battle has arrived, and she is about to face her ancestor, Rosevie.

Will I succeed this time? She wondered.

“The spell has been successfully cast, everyone.” Trier looked up at the orb of light above. “Now, we will spread out as planned. If you encounter any enemy attacks, I will provide support immediately.”

At this moment, all the high-level spellcasters in the hall were looking up at the pillar of light in the sky. The reason was simple: the pillar of light was truly spectacular.

"This is truly magnificent," the court mage, Laura, murmured to herself. "Is this really something magic can do? It's like a miracle."

“It is indeed spectacular, but the light pollution we have there is much more severe than this,” a necromancer next to Roel laughed. “But look closely at the flickering of the light. What we have created is not light pollution; it is a product of reason and magic.”

The mind flayer lich Orenroz slowly moved away from his original position. He walked to Trier's side and then said in a deep voice, "Lord Trier, please remember your promise."

Trier nodded slightly: "Don't worry, these kinds of dangerous jobs are well paid."

Before he finished speaking, he took a step forward and then his figure disappeared into the light, while all the mages in the hall walked out.

Soon, only the Mind Flayer Lich remained in the hall, standing alone beside the orb of light, awaiting the possible attack.