Chapter 77: Stolen

  Expecting to hear some pleas for mercy, Modo was stunned. Following Ethan's gaze, he saw an old man standing nearby with his hands tucked into his sleeves, wearing an indifferent expression as if watching a market spectacle.

  Modo was slightly surprised—he hadn't noticed when or how the old man arrived. But the Paladin Order swordsmen and the magician, whose faces had remained motionless like statues since the battle began, now looked completely shocked. Even their battle-hardened senses had failed to detect the old man's arrival. And now that they noticed him, they still couldn't sense any movement or living presence—he seemed like nothing more than an illusion.

  But illusions don't speak. The old man ignored everyone else and looked down at Ethan with a mocking smile. "I thought you'd be running away by now, but instead you're like a pig on a chopping block about to be pissed on."

  "Bastard, help me! I'm dying!" Ethan was barely able to speak, silently cursing Sandro as blood flowed from his shoulder and thigh.

  Sandro glared at him and replied calmly: "You're the bastard. How should I help you? Everyone can see I'm just a powerless old man—how could I deal with these big men with knives?"

  Chancellor's son remained stunned, unsure what was happening. The magician's expression changed instantly. With a wave of his hand, he shouted: "Kill him!"

  The swords were already at Ethan's throat. At the command, the swordsmen pressed down with all their strength.

  But the blades only grazed Ethan's neck, leaving two shallow cuts before falling to the ground. The swordsmen's momentum was halted at the elbows.

  Two arms fell silently to the ground, still clutching their swords.

  The swordsmen screamed—not so much from pain, but from terror.

  They had been watching the strange old man, but he hadn't moved. The attacker was someone else entirely.

  This person had been lying motionless nearby, but now leapt up with leopard-like speed and serpentine grace, moving like some bizarre arthropod as he sliced off two swordsmen's hands with precise strikes.

  He continued past the swordsmen and landed on the other side in an unnatural posture—his legs bent like a grasshopper's, nearly touching his backside. Immediately, he twisted around and leapt back with lightning speed.

  His movements in the air were completely unbalanced, yet incredibly fast. His sword arm seemed to stretch and bend impossibly, striking from behind his back and under his arm to decapitate two more swordsmen.

  All four swordsmen were top-tier fighters, yet they had no time to react. The attacker moved too quickly and strangely to anticipate. He appeared like some monstrous hybrid of insects, snakes, and lizards.

  The greatest shock came from the fact that the attacker was their own comrade.

  This man had been fighting bravely just moments before, inflicting a deep wound on Ethan while receiving a mortal blow to the head. Now he had risen again, moving with even greater speed and vitality to save Ethan.

  His face was a mangled mess of metal shards. One eye was gone, leaving a bloody hole with a trail of tears like a sad farewell to life. The other eye stared vacantly at the terrified onlookers. His body moved like a reptile, with one deformed arm stretched out like a whip—its bones clearly broken by the unnatural movements.

  Contrary to his vacant gaze, his body suddenly tensed like a coiled animal and launched itself at the magician like a giant frog attacking its prey.

  The remaining swordsmen finally recovered from their shock. Years of training kicked in as two wounded swordsmen threw themselves at the monster, using their remaining limbs to restrain it—sacrificing themselves to give their companions a chance.

  But the lead magician ignored this heroic sacrifice and shouted: "Run! Scatter! Report to the captain and the commander!" The remaining swordsmen hesitated only briefly before fleeing in all directions.

  In just that brief moment, the two sacrificing swordsmen were dead. As soon as they embraced the monster, the supposedly dead man opened his mouth impossibly wide—splitting his cheeks to the ears—and bit off half of one swordsman's head. He then smashed his head against the other's with a drum-like thud, crushing both skulls. The bodies fell limp while the monster stood, its head now resembling a rotten persimmon，watching the fleeing swordsmen with one eye hanging from its socket before launching another attack.

  He only got halfway before falling. The magician's Thunder Frost spell struck his lower body, instantly freezing his waist and legs in a block of ice.

  On the ground, the frozen, deformed figure still tried to pursue but, finding himself immobilized, tore off his remaining functional hand and threw it like a spear.

  A fleeing swordsman fell instantly as the hand struck his head like a tombstone.

  The corpse then grabbed its own mangled head and threw it, which whistled through the air scattering blood and fragments before colliding with another swordsman's head, destroying both completely. Finally, the headless corpse with its frozen lower body and single deformed arm stopped moving—apparently the evil spirit animating it had exhausted its power.

  The magician didn't look back or glance at Ethan. His full attention was on Sandro, who was clearly responsible for the corpses' transformation—the true enemy.

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  But Sandro ignored him, muttering unintelligible words and pointing at the four fresh corpses, which immediately jumped up and pursued the fleeing swordsmen with the same unnatural speed.

  Two more swordsmen were caught instantly. The corpses embraced them like giant hunting spiders and tore them apart like cooked chickens.

  Cold sweat poured down the magician's face. The old man could cast spells casually while facing a prepared opponent, showing mastery possibly exceeding Bishop Ronis himself.

  The magician gathered all his magical energy—even drawing on his life force—preparing a desperate last attack not to defeat but to distract, giving his companions a chance to escape.

  A white light gathered in his palm—decades of magical essence ready to explode with the power of a major spell.

  Sandro remained relaxed with his hands tucked in as two more swordsmen were torn apart by the corpses.

  As the magician prepared to release his power, Sandro finally moved—just a casual gesture in the air, like twisting an invisible switch.

  The magician suddenly felt two muscles in his arm twitch, bending his hand toward his face. With no strength left to resist, he could only watch as his life's work struck himself.

  A strange sound filled the air as half the forest behind them instantly transformed from early summer to polar winter.

  In a fan-shaped area, trees, flowers, insects—everything became ice sculptures. The remaining swordsmen and pursuing corpses were frozen mid-motion, some still standing, others falling rigid to the ground with a solid thud.

  Sandro looked at the magician's face frozen in ice, his hand still on his face, expression showing only resentment and shock. "With such skill and a desperate tactic like that, you must be from the Paladin Order. But at least you should have cast a defensive spell or kept some strength in reserve."

  In moments, over a dozen elite Paladin Order warriors had died in various bizarre ways.

  "Why didn't you act sooner? I almost died!" Ethan cast healing magic on himself and pointed at Modo, who was crawling away. "There's another escaping!"

  When the magician shouted to run, Modo's reaction was faster than the veteran swordsmen's. But seeing the corpse bite off a man's head made his legs give way. He crawled on all fours like a paralyzed dog，leaving a trail of stench. His path took him away from the freezing magic and Sandro seemed to ignore him. When he felt safe, he stood up and ran.

  Sandro picked up a swordsman's head, pulled out a tooth, and flicked it toward Modo.

  The tooth flew slowly and unsteadily, hitting Modo only in the buttocks and sinking into his flesh.

  Modo continued running but suddenly stumbled. His hands couldn't support his weight, breaking like biscuits.

  Continuing forward by inertia, he had only his upper body left by the time he completed one roll—his lower half had disintegrated like waterlogged bread. After another roll, only his head remained, bouncing until it hit a tree root and shattered like shoddy pottery into a pile of mush without a single bone remaining.

  Sandro watched this transformation with regret. "I've gotten rusty from disuse."

  Ethan treated his wounds while watching Sandro dispatch a dozen skilled swordsmen with minimal effort—far easier than he expected.

  Sandro noticed the prostitute Xuan sitting nearby, completely stunned by the horrifying spectacle.

  "Oh, how could I forget you, miss?" Sandro took another tooth and flicked it toward her.

  Ethan jumped up and pushed Xuan aside as the tooth embedded itself in a tree behind her.

  The tree didn't move but instantly withered at a rate ten thousand times normal before collapsing silently into sawdust.

  "She didn't mean it," Ethan explained. "She was just tricked into deceiving me."

  "I see," Sandro nodded. "And you're going to let her go?"

  Ethan hesitated—of course that's what he meant.

  Sandro stared at him with mocking eyes. "Let her tell everyone that you, a holy priest, are secretly collaborating with a corpse-animating old man who killed a Paladin squad? Then we'll have the entire Paladin Order attacking us while your bishop faces accusations. Is that what you want?"

  Xuan, still recovering from her brush with death, begged through tears: "I promise I won't tell anyone! I swear... Please let me go..."

  Sandro shook his head gently. "I'm sorry, but we can't take that risk. With Paladins dead, this will be thoroughly investigated. They'll discover you met with him and arrest you for interrogation—hot peppers in your nose, iron boards, finger cutting, skinning. Can any oath withstand that? Wouldn't it be better to die quickly now and keep our secret? You're beautiful now—why wait until you're old and ugly? Don't worry, it won't hurt." He tore off an ear and threw it toward her.

  Ethan pulled Xuan away as the ear hit the ground, creating a small crater that turned into putrid muck.

  Sandro watched him silently.

  "Please, let her go," Ethan finally said. "I'll make sure she keeps quiet."

  "Please me?" Sandro laughed. "It's your problem. Figure it out yourself. Just remember—you must bear the consequences of your choices. I'm not afraid of trouble or causing it."

  As Sandro walked away, Ethan sighed. He knew Sandro was probably right, but he couldn't watch her die.

  She was one of his few friends in the capital—possibly his closest one. Their time together was the happiest and most at ease he had known. Most people might consider her lowly, but to Ethan she was simply herself—vulgar and superficial perhaps, but also pure and endearingly honest. He even liked her.

  But what had happened was far beyond her ability to comprehend or handle—like a chicken suddenly thrown into a wolf fight. Even if she survived, she could never face or navigate this dangerous world. As Sandro said, she couldn't possibly keep such a secret.

  When her sobbing subsided, Ethan gave her all his money plus the coins scattered on the ground. "Listen carefully. Go home, gather your things, buy a horse, and leave the capital—go as far as you can and never return. Remember, if anyone learns about us, you'll be in danger too. Understand?"

  After ensuring she understood, Ethan escorted her out of the forest, cleaned the blood from himself in the city moat, and returned to Sandro's large house.

  Sandro stood at the doorway, seemingly having just returned but not entering. His face showed an unusual coldness that made Ethan shiver.

  Inside, a large area was cleared where a massive stone platform weighing hundreds of pounds had been moved, revealing a small space beneath. Several charred corpses lay scattered nearby.

  "Who attacked you and why?" Sandro asked in a voice like a deep drumbeat that shook Ethan's very core.

  "Someone who's harassed me many times. I never expected him to involve the Paladin Order," Ethan replied, noticing the scene inside. "What happened here?"

  "Some guild youngsters stole my things—including my notebook and cloak. Impressive work," Sandro's voice carried dangerous undertones as he examined the exposed area. "After you left with that woman, a beggar delivered a message saying you were surrounded and about to die outside the city. They wanted to lure me away."

  "The guild?" Ethan realized. "The Necromancer Guild? How do you know?"

  "Death Cloud magic was triggered here," Sandro explained, pointing to the stone platform. "Only high-ranking church priests or Necromancers can counter death magic. And priests wouldn't use fire against my creations. So it must have been the guild."

  "The assassin wasn't with the guild," Ethan said. "His plan was probably discovered and exploited. Bishop Ronis mentioned there might be a Necromancer in the capital, but we don't know who."

  "Hiding their strength until the perfect moment—very cautious," Sandro sat on a stone platform and closed his eyes. After a long silence, he sighed, his voice and demeanor returning to their usual lethargic state—his eyes even appearing somewhat clouded as if he had aged a decade in moments. "Oh well. What's done is done. What's coming will come. I've stopped caring about these matters. Let whoever wants to do it have their turn."