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Chapter 336: How Could Lanchi Be the Imperial Governor?
Chapter 336: How Could Lanchi Be the Imperial Governor?
In the southern continent, nestled south of the Noxus Mountains, stood the dominant Kreise Empire.
Deep within the southern reaches of the empire lay the imperial capital, Briliarda, a bustling and beautiful city that rivaled any other along the coast or nestled among the mountains. Majestic classical-style architecture adorned every corner of Briliarda, with white monuments and uniquely styled dark gray statues of heroes surrounding the memorial square at the heart of the city, exuding an artistic ambiance.
Every spring, from March to April, when the warm season arrived, the climate became bright and mild, filling the air with fragrant blossoms and melodious tunes.
The spacious streets occasionally reflected the evening's soft light, scattered the scent of rose gardens, or carried the gentle music of a minstrel, like birds chirping in a warm room. Even as the sun set, the city still resembled a pure paradise.
As night approached, the town hall was illuminated by lamplight, and the music masked the dry sound of the side door, adorned with gold trim, opening.
Passing through the corridors to the luxurious interior, descending the stairs, and reaching the inner side of a basement office, one would open another door and step inside.
The narrow passage was unfriendly to those of tall or robust builds, with several twists and turns, and after about three to four hundred steps, the sounds finally faded away, revealing a new space.
Deep beneath the Kreise Empire lay a palace forgotten by time, a center of power buried beneath the earth, illuminated only by the subtle starlight cast by magic through the misty, mysterious space.
Along the stone streets, the buildings, constructed from history-laden rocks, led to a castle at the end. Its obsidian outer walls shimmered with a cold light.
A figure strode through the ancient city, isolated from the outside world, approaching the castle gates. Passing through the intricately carved corridors, he slowly pushed open the black iron door and entered the grand hall.
The hall was cold and dimly lit, with candles on the dome replacing the daylight.
In the center of this magnificent hall stood a banquet table, flanked by thirteen high-backed chairs, each bearing a crimson gem totem symbolizing their owner.
Marquise Heritier sat in the seventh chair, her fingers resting on her legs, eyes tightly closed, silent as a rock. The single candle was insufficient to illuminate her, casting her features into darkness, except for the tear mole beneath her eye, clearly visible.
"Still asleep today?"
The visitor, removing his incense-scented military uniform, gazed at Marquise Heritier's face and inquired.
"An unexpected battle took place north of the Protoss Empire," Marquise Heritier murmured, as if still peering through the mist.
"Major Fanleiku and the Bishop of Extinction?"
The robust young man who had entered the hall leaned against the eighth high-backed chair, opposite Marquise Heritier. A smug smile curved his lips, reflecting the arrogance of an absolute powerhouse.
He had heard Marquise Heritier mention that the short-term turmoil in the Northern Continent would reach a critical juncture—
After Major Fanleiku of the Protoss Empire was killed by the Bishop of Extinction, Askesan, if the empire remained unaware of this change, and the truth was buried, it was very likely that this would mark the beginning of the Protoss Empire's gradual decline.
However, in his eyes, such upheavals in the lower-race nations were no longer surprising.
Even the so-called Cardinal guys of the Resurrection Church, powerful as they might be, were merely pitiful beings who would turn to dust within a mere century, far from existing on the same plane as them.
The only thing worth paying attention to was the group pulling the strings behind the Bishop of Extinction.
When Marquis Somerset awoke, the world, tens of thousands of years later, was divided into two continents, north and south.
After they brought back the Blood Moon to the Southern Continent, the next step would inevitably be a confrontation with the truly troublesome forces on the Northern Continent.
However, both sides were well aware that, at this juncture, it was unnecessary to expend too much energy interfering with the distant other continent. Instead, they ought to focus their strength on the matters at hand.
"Major Fanleiku should have been killed by Askesan by now. In this battle, the Bishop of Extinction, Askesan... Bishop Sigrid of the Dominating Religion... and the Apostles should have intervened as well... Finally, everything ended in flames."
Marquise Heritier's cold voice offered a correction.
"... "
Marquis Somerset, seated opposite her, fell silent.
"It's like the eighth-tier epic spell 【Great Destruction】, used by the Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos, of the Southern Continent..."
Marquise Heritier's final supplementary words were filled with uncertainty.
Because Ivanos had no reason to be on the Northern Continent at this time.
If the Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos, ceased to watch over Archpriest Loren of the Church of the Goddess of Fate, it was likely that Loren would head towards the central region of the Southern Continent, secretly infiltrating the Kingdom of Aoloran to aid the Undead Sword Saint, Juliana, in exterminating the Bishop of Decay, Farmer, which would create a new imbalance.
"Did your previous divination not reveal anything about this situation?" Marquis Somerset inquired further.
Divination magic was inherently prone to deviations between the predicted content and the actual outcomes due to various pluralistic interferences.
Heritier's predictions about the Southern Continent were far more accurate than those about the Northern Continent due to the increased magical consumption and restrictions imposed by the geographical distance. Additionally, the interference of the Prophet in the Northern Continent would introduce discrepancies. However, there was a chronological order to consider: if Heritier's divination occurred before the Prophet's actions, it might be severely inaccurate due to the Prophet's actual influence. In contrast, if Heritier divined after the Prophet's actions, it would likely be more accurate in the short term.
This battle should have been a significant event in the Northern Continent, yet Heritier had not glimpsed even a shadow of it in her predictions until it happened.
Marquis Somerset couldn't help but wonder if the Prophet had grown stronger, perhaps even capable of veiling themselves from Heritier's sight.
Marquise Heritier pondered for a long time before slowly raising her head, her deep red eyes shimmering in the darkness.
"It doesn't matter. No matter how the Northern Continent changes, it won't affect Duke Lasharl."
Whether it was her divination or the Prophet's, both were ineffective against ninth-tier existences like Duke Lasharl of the Vampire race. They were unique factors beyond the scope of divination magic.
With the presence of the third ancestor, Duke Lasharl, the Vampire race need not worry about the Prophet extending their reach to the Southern Continent.
"Soon, we will reclaim what rightfully belongs to us, and this is just the first step."
Heritier's voice echoed in every corner, cold and powerful, as if proclaiming an irreversible outcome to her ancestral kin who would return to this place in the near future.
...
North Continent, Protoss Empire.
In the imperial capital of Helrom, within the lowest level of the Empire's Permafrost Prison.
The prisoners confined to this level wore restraining garments, their hands, feet, and even their heads fixed in place within a sealing barrier. A mask covered their faces, not allowing their jaws to open even a fraction, with only a few slits for breathing.
A demon's eye opened.
Even the barrier couldn't conceal the magical fluctuations that would instinctively strike fear into ordinary humans. Those slender, cold eyes held an indescribable mist within them.
"... "
The direction he gazed toward was just north of the empire.
Soon after, he closed his eyes again.
...
At this moment, thousands of kilometers north of Helrom, in the snowy fields of the Protoss Empire.
The once silver-white snow had turned pitch-black, and the ice had transformed into steam during the explosion, evaporating the clear lake, leaving only a dry riverbed and desolation. The snow on the mountain peaks had melted, forming silvery waterfalls that constantly washed over the scorched earth.
The once-brilliant Bandora City, located on this border snowfield, had now vanished.
The tall towers, bustling markets, and grand temples of the past had all turned to ashes. Even though the unreasonably destructive explosion had long since ended, the sky remained filled with dust and smoke, obscuring the light and leaving only a dull yellow hue.
On the ground, lava-like flames spread in all directions, with heat waves sweeping the surroundings, making the air scorching. Near the former city gate, a massive, unnatural pit of indeterminate depth emitted a pungent, smoky odor.
Only the sound of the wind could be heard, as if mourning for all that had transpired, or perhaps it was the trapped souls of this fallen city finally finding their way to the paradise they longed for.
At the center of the explosion, the soil at the edge of the crater still glowed red, emitting a faint crimson light. A pillar of black smoke rose from the center of the pit, intertwining with the surrounding dust like a dark hand, reaching out to grasp the last vestige of life from this land of death, and from it, two figures emerged.
The black-robed figure's once somber robe was now tattered, revealing the wounds on his body. The robe, once as black as ink, was now the color of dust and smoke, except for the complex magical emblems that still flickered faintly. Even beneath the mist that obscured his face, his eyes shone with a faint, mysterious glow.
Bishop Askesan, who had once cut an imposing figure, now appeared somewhat frail, his deep eyes filled with bloodshot veins.
Between the two of them, scorching waves still emanated, and at the moment of the explosion, they had exerted all their might to cast the most powerful shield spells, along with their lifesaving trump cards, to withstand this devastating blow at such close range.
Despite their efforts, both had sustained grievous injuries.
The black-robed man coughed forcefully several times, trying to stabilize his breathing, while Bishop Askesan pressed his hands together and softly chanted an uncommon incantation, a faint halo appearing around him as he healed his wounds.
The distance of several dozen meters between them seemed like an unspoken agreement.
Perhaps after so much time had passed, there was still a chance they could catch up to the Son of Domination. However, in their current state, if they continued the pursuit, no one could predict whether they would be the hunters or the hunted.
What truly gave them pause was the Son of Domination's ability to withstand the large-scale wind magic of the seventh-order.
This mysterious Son of Domination possessed more secrets than they had imagined. It was possible that he harbored a seventh-order existence within him.
At this moment, a single seventh-order entity was enough to take their lives.
"Askesan, I shall take my leave."
The black-robed man's voice had turned hoarse.
He no longer wished to travel with Askesan.
Even though it was uncertain who would emerge victorious between them at this moment, this was still the territory of the Protoss Empire, and the 'Abyssal Black Insect' had suffered damage. Even if they wanted to repair it, they would need to find a top-notch card maker and spend a considerable amount of time to fix it. He saw no reason to linger, as more pressing matters awaited him.
That wolf-type summon was exceedingly sinister. Not only could it seal other summons, but it could also detonate along with the sealed state of other magic cards.
"Remember to fulfill your first promise in a month's time."
Askesan's voice remained icy as he gazed at the black-robed man's departing back.
"Rest assured, everything is still within the trajectory set by the Prophet, and it's nothing major. As long as you can smoothly wrap up the loose ends."
The black-robed man replied.
However, he paused and turned back momentarily.
"Do you know the true identity of the Son of Domination? I can confirm that he is not from the House of Duke Berenharl."
The black-robed man looked at Askesan, having never heard of such a seal master in the Protoss Empire.
Logically, his disguised identity in society shouldn't be too high-profile. After all, not long ago, the Resurrection Church was still a nefarious organization harshly suppressed by the Protoss Empire.
But someone with such sealing magic abilities shouldn't have been able to completely conceal their combat prowess.
The worst part was not only letting him escape with Bishop Sigrid of the Dominating Religion, but also failing to uncover his true appearance.
"It doesn't matter who he is. Bishop Sigrid is no longer a threat, and it's impossible for her Son of Domination powers to be used in the Protoss Empire's northern blockade zone or any major cities near the empire's heartland."
Askesan shook his head. He was more interested in finding out the identity of the Son of Domination than the apostles.
"Rest assured, I won't let him escape the northern blockade zone of the empire."
Askesan said coldly to the black-robed man.
The entire northern region of the empire was still his domain, where the Extinction Branch held sway.
Although it was unlikely that the Son of Domination had other prominent identities or connections in the Protoss Empire, given their church's rules, one couldn't be too careful.
However, all these variables were based on the premise that the Son of Domination could bring Bishop Sigrid back to the imperial capital!
(End of Chapter)
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