Azure Scepter

Page 15

In other words, he planned to use the energy provided by the Silent Whisperers to make a bomb for them.

Although the cultists in the town hall reacted quickly and cut off the energy supply, before the line was severed, all the magical winds they supplied had already been lured into the Corpse Explosion spell's magic circle by Trier.

“It will explode in 40 minutes.” Trier smiled with satisfaction. He put away his tools and carefully admired his masterpiece. “If the sensing array detects the weight of more than fifty people, then the explosion time will be shortened to 2 minutes.”

After completing the ritual circle, the paladin silently called upon the panel in his mind to check his gains.

The raid on the Silent Whisperers' Restraint Points brought him great rewards. In addition to obtaining the [Sweep] feat, he also gained a full 6200 experience points. Combined with the 1850 experience points he had left, he could raise his Paladin class level to 5, and even have 1150 points left over.

“Drawing this super-powerful Corpse Explosion spell should require 1000 experience points, but if the Corpse Explosion spell hits the bullseye, then conservatively speaking, it can yield nearly 10,000 experience points, and it can greatly weaken the power of the Silent Whisper Society.”

"Of course, there is also the risk of missing, but the risk is worthwhile."

"Now, only the last, and most important, thing remains."

Trier carefully took two blood-stained black crystals out of his backpack.

P.S.: One more chapter.

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Chapter 23 Storage Stone

The two blood-stained black crystals came from the escaped cultist spellcaster, and Trier was quite surprised when he found them in the corpse's pouch.

These two crystals are "spell storage stones." As the name suggests, spell storage stones contain solidified magic. By simply crushing the spell storage stone and using the appropriate hand gestures, the power contained within will be released in a very short time.

There are no spell scrolls in The Azure Scepter because no paper can preserve the magical winds bound by form for long. Therefore, if someone who is not a spellcaster wants to cast a spell, he can only do so through rituals or magic storage stones.

Magic storage stones are extremely rare because they originate from solidified fragments of the souls of intelligent beings. Only fragments of the souls of intelligent beings can stably trap magical winds for extended periods.

Creating storage stones is extremely difficult, mainly due to two reasons: First, "condensing" invisible soul fragments is a very profound skill that requires immense patience and strength; second, obtaining enough soul fragments from intelligent beings is also an extremely difficult task.

A small number of sorcerers, and most theologians, believe that the soul is the immortal essence of all living beings, and that at the moment of death or birth, this immortal essence naturally overflows, like the sunlight shining down, without harming the completeness of the soul itself.

According to this theory, to collect enough soul fragments, there would need to be a large-scale death or birth within a very small space in a short period of time—although in most cases both would occur simultaneously.

The vast majority of magic storage stones in the prime plane are manufactured in this way.

Trier knew that in regions with more advanced magical technology, such as the Southern Swamp, there were even mages and fallen druids who would raise intelligent creatures with high reproductive capabilities, such as goblins and kobolds, to produce magic storage stones.

At this point, the dense fog that had been lingering nearby had dissipated because the constraint node had been destroyed.

The two storage stones in Trier's hands shone brightly under the light, like the finest gemstones. If one looked closely, one could see hidden cobalt blue lines beneath the blood-stained, angular structure.

Trier slowly rotated one of them; bloodstains clung to the crystal's surface, seemingly writhing with the light.

When the angle between the edges of the storage stone and the light reached approximately 120 degrees, he could see the hidden lines beneath the angular structure.

"The larger one contains a Weakening spell, what a waste of materials," Trier thought to himself. "The smaller one contains a Killing spell."

"Beaver Town still retains a very abundant amount of death principles and death winds, so I can upgrade the spells there to their superior alternatives. I hope I can gain enough experience points later, otherwise I might not have enough to upgrade the spells."

The effect of the Weakness spell is similar to Death Gaze, both of which use a large amount of negative energy to damage the enemy's life force. In game terms, it applies a 1d4 negative rating to the target.

Trier plans to replace the spell in the large crystal with an energy drain spell, which, simply put, increases the negative level of 1d4 to 2d4. He also plans to give the crystal a constant spell overpower, which means that if the spell is successfully applied, it will directly apply 8 negative levels to the target.

The killing spell stored in the small crystal is much simpler and more direct. As the name suggests, it's a pure spell that inflicts damage, but it requires contact to activate. The paladin plans to replace it with Heart Control, which would concentrate the damage more on the victim's internal organs, making it harder for the victim to use a Fortitude save.

"Trier, what's next... wait, is that a magic storage stone in your hand?" Suddenly, an elf's voice came from behind.

At this moment, Futia's voice returned to its hoarse state, filled with unconcealable exhaustion.

The paladin turned his head and found that the elf did indeed look quite tired, with the strands of hair hanging down on both sides of his face curled up, making him appear somewhat listless.

There are two storage stones in total.

"Are there any spells inside that we can use right now?"

Suddenly the dwarf exclaimed, "An evil magic storage stone?"

"Torrag's hammer, it's a curse from hell! Don't be tempted! Martha always says the best way to avoid temptation is to stay away from it, so let's throw them away quickly!"

"His wife abandoned him long ago, yet he still can't forget her..." Trier thought to himself.

“Impossible,” Fythia said bluntly. “We need these things right now, because of the dangers. And, if I may be so blunt, your wife abandoned you long ago!”

The paladin's gaze swept quickly over the elf and the dwarf. To his surprise, the dwarf did not refute him, nor did he insist on his claim—the blacksmith wisely chose to remain silent.

“Fodia is a very pragmatic elf. But when she's low on energy, her emotional control drops significantly, as evidenced by her behavior yesterday and today.” Trier quickly summarized his companion's behavior pattern in his mind. “The dwarf isn't very stubborn; on the contrary, he seems to have a flexible bottom line…”

“You’re right!” the blacksmith said earnestly. “We must preserve the magic stone.”

Futia was stunned. After a moment, she blinked and then lowered her eyelids to look at the soles of her feet—she seemed a little embarrassed.

"So what's our next plan?" the dwarf asked casually. "Now that the fog wall has cracked, can we go and reunite with my wife?"

"If the Silent Whisperers are here to hunt dragons, then when the fog wall suddenly and inexplicably cracks, their first reaction will definitely be to rush towards the gap. Going directly to the gap now has a high probability of running into professional dragon-slaying cultists, which would be like setting a trap for the copper dragon, and the risk is too great," the paladin thought.

"Therefore, a better strategy would obviously be to continue attacking the others, creating the illusion that someone wants to take them down one by one, and then make a feint to try to escape."

After a moment's thought, Trier said, "We'll attack the hotel's undead from the opposite direction."

Ten minutes later, east of the ceremony point.

The large contingent of undead marched along the main road in a neat, dense formation, their spear tips gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

At this moment, the solemn and orderly footsteps were mixed with some discordant noises.

"We've been fooled, Your Excellency! We must react!" Byron's subordinate was agitated, and the way he was spitting everywhere reminded High Priest Byron of a raging wild boar on the mountain.

“He is feigning anger to mask his fear,” the priest thought.

He remained silent, simply looking up at the other person, hoping they could calm down.

However, the other party did not understand his meaning.

The subordinate continued babbling on, "We need to get back quickly! Otherwise, we're doomed when the Listener returns!"

Byron slowly raised his thick index finger and gently shook it at the other person's spittle-flecked face.

The subordinate stared in surprise, then fell silent.

“It’s a simple feint to cover up the real intentions; it’s nothing new,” Byron said slowly, deliberately adopting an air of having expected it. “You might as well think about who’s guarding the ceremony.”

Chapter 24: Undead

“The person guarding the ceremony is naturally Loft,” the subordinate replied immediately, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But what does this have to do with our return to reinforce?”

“Caution and patience, young man. Use your brains more. The wisdom of enlightenment resides within the very nature of all of us.” Reverend Byron sighed. “What is our most fundamental goal now?”

"Uh... Could it be that you, Lord Listener, would assist in destroying that evil dragon?"

"Have we found the dragon since the outbreak of the plague?"

"No, but we've pinpointed his approximate location..."

"Now that the node is under attack, there are only two possibilities: one is that the dragon first makes a feint attack on the fog wall to alert us, and then attacks the ritual node in return. In this case, the dragon has only two strategies: either immediately go to the place where the crack appeared, or continue to carry out the attack."

"Which one?" the subordinate asked, bewildered.

Byron suppressed his anger and asked as calmly as possible, "If it continues its attacks, who do you think it's most likely to attack?"

"High Priest, I don't understand, what does this have to do with the Loft's garrison ceremony..."

“A seasoned mage who has lived for nearly a hundred years can be killed in minutes, how long do you think we can live? You are incredibly foolish!” Byron could no longer contain his anger as he looked at the other party’s blank stare.

“When the dragon goes to the rift, it will naturally run into the Listener. The Listener has weapons specifically designed to deal with that dragon, so we are safe.”

"If the dragon chooses to continue its attack, it will most likely ambush those who come to its aid. If we crash straight in then, we will die. Since the ritual has already been destroyed and can't be repaired anytime soon, slowing down the process won't have a big impact. In this situation, it's safe to wait for Lord Listener to return."

"I've warned you many times: be patient and cautious. Fools don't die in this world, and neither do wise people. Only those who are so impatient that they don't think will die! Do you understand?"

“But…” the subordinate’s voice was very soft; he felt there was something wrong with Byron’s theory. “In that case, we’re certainly safe, but what about our objective…?”

“Your father entrusted you to me, and my first duty is to protect you and ensure my safety. Survival comes before any other task.” The pastor sighed. “You still need more experience.”

"If only I could be as calm as you," the subordinate said, seemingly completely convinced.

Byron nodded calmly.

At this moment, although he appeared very calm, he was actually very uneasy, almost as uneasy as his subordinates.

His argument just now wasn't very solid; it even had a few very alarming subtexts—either there was another force on the field besides them, the dragon, and the survivors waiting to be slaughtered that could affect the balance, or the dragon had the ability to infiltrate the undead horde.

The former is obviously a fantasy, while the latter is even more unimaginable—

The priest looked up at the horde of undead in front of him.

The undead stood in terrifyingly dense formations; even normal ventilation would halt before the horde, and the earth trembled under their synchronized march. It was impossible for anyone to cross the streets.

The idea of ​​traversing the housing area was even more absurd; his team included at least ten Shadows, enough to thoroughly search the houses without any blind spots. During this patrol, they even found more than a dozen well-hidden survivors.

"And then there were those clouds..." Byron couldn't help but recall the cone-shaped white clouds in the sky.

He knew that such clouds could only appear near objects moving faster than sound, which meant that whoever attacked Loft, whether a dragon or a fourth party, was incredibly powerful.

This power could kill Loft in a very short time, and naturally it could kill him in an even shorter time.

"Something terrible has happened, High Priest!" Suddenly, a subordinate rushed over in a panic.

"What's wrong? Tell me slowly."

"Corpses, corpses everywhere!"

"You don't think anyone would survive an attack, do you?" Byron couldn't help but sneer.

“Uh, High Priest, there is indeed a living person—but I’m talking about the dead in another direction, to the south. They all died laughing!”

LOL?

That bronze dragon!

The words pierced his mind like sharp swords. The pastor was startled. He hesitated for a moment, then forcefully suppressed the fat on his face and maintained a calm expression: "Tell the others to stop immediately and not to go any further."

“We are waiting for reinforcements. Also, treat the survivor first, and then bring him to see me.”

He knew the answer to the question—the one who attacked the ritual was not a dragon, but an unknown fourth party.

“It seems they’ve noticed something.” The paladin, hidden on a high point of the southern building, silently watched the undead procession suddenly halt. “The cultist leading the group is very perceptive.”

"It's time to leave," he thought.

Just as the paladin stood up, intending to call for Futia and the dwarf to retreat together, his movements suddenly froze.

He saw a lonely figure at the end of the street.

At the end of the street, a tall, thin knight, shrouded entirely in black, rode a pale warhorse draped in white cloth. The knight wore a pure black robe, jet-black plate armor, and even his closed-face helmet was black. He also carried a black lance in his black iron gauntlets.

The spear slid across the ground, leaving a thin layer of white frost that shimmered dazzlingly in the sunlight.

"What a strange design," the paladin thought to himself.

He carefully searched his memory, but could not recall any famous characters with similar appearances from the game.

Reverend Byron inexplicably heard a murmur like that of insects, a sound that seemed to haunt him like a ghost, enticing him to keep searching.

Not far away, a very regular ticking sound suddenly came from.

He turned his head and found that it was indeed the listener.

The listener slowly approached the pastor and silently and swiftly jumped to the ground.

The pastor bowed his head respectfully and placed the index finger of his left hand against his chin.

The black knight ignored the priest and turned to lift the white cloth covering his mount. Beneath the cloth was neither a nightmare nor a skeletal warhorse, but a nightmarish monster haphazardly twisted and joined together with countless human heads, spines still attached, in an almost insane way.

Byron knew that these heads were all part of the Listener's collection.

The Black Knight calls himself a "collector".

Suddenly, the pastor's gaze sharpened.

He saw a familiar face in the grotesque creature's torso made of human heads; it was a woman's face, and Byron recognized her—the wife of the dwarf blacksmith, whose name seemed to be Martha.

Seemingly sensing the priest's gaze, Martha's head numbly opened her eyes, revealing a tormented pain within.

"I know where the other two are, please..." the head said, opening its mouth.

However, before Martha could finish speaking, the Black Knight roughly grabbed Martha's head, which seemed to be stuck to the other heads. The Black Knight simply severed it with his dagger, completely ignoring Martha's screams and the spurting putrid fluid.

With her head gripped by the Black Knight, Martha's gaze froze, as if she were completely dead.

Byron knew it was just an illusion.

The black arm armor moved slowly, raising the head to the vicinity of the left side of the chest cavity.

The next moment, Martha spoke again, but her voice was deep and masculine: "My dear Byron, why do you hesitate? Is it the shadow of death that frightens you, or the direction of the path that leads you..."