Free Web NovelChapter 446: Chapter 443: You Offended a Great Mage and Think You Can Leave?
The Chief Mage wasted no time. He raised his hand and loosed an arrow.
The seemingly ordinary arrow, condensed from Magic, pierced straight through the barrier. It was the first time Pascal had ever seen the Blue Light Barrier, developed by his junior apprentice Rorschach, broken so easily.
Caught off guard, Pascal could only twist his body with all his might to dodge, but the arrow still struck his leg. He tumbled down the stairs, rolling to a stop beside Richard.
The wound resembled the flesh of an apple left out for too long. The fluid seeping from it quickly turned from bright red to a thick, viscous black. Richard forced himself to focus, placing a hand on the wounded man’s thigh.
The unlucky Pascal hadn’t even managed to thank him before a new wave of immense pain washed over him. A strange "aroma" filled the air—Richard’s emergency treatment. He had gathered immense heat in his palm and was cauterizing Pascal’s wound.
"Aaargh—" The intruder finally let out a scream that brought a pleased look to the Chief Mage’s face.
Paul, witnessing the strange nature of Pascal’s wound, understood that Richard was performing emergency first aid for his senior apprentice. He raised a Blue Light Barrier of his own, reinforcing it with a Force Field Wall behind it.
"Grab my hand!"
Richard pulled out a second Gaseous Form crystal. He had the three of them touch one another, then quickly activated it, preparing to flee.
Their physical bodies turned incorporeal once more, and they began to float toward the secret door. Richard’s heart was heavy. ’Is this even worth it?’ he wondered. ’Even if we get out of the fortress, we won’t find any outside help strong enough to fight my master.’
The Chief Mage was pleasantly surprised by their attempt to escape. They were moving away from the core of the ritual, which meant he could finally act without restraint. Ever since he had left headquarters to oversee the battlefield personally, he had been hampered by all sorts of restrictions.
As a Great Mage of Necromancy, any overt display of his power would certainly attract other Great Mages from the Guild, leading to a "righteous" group beatdown from the Aurora Elder Council. On his first sortie, he had run into that old zealot from the Order Church who countered him perfectly. The man had detonated an Airship while a Forbidden Magic Device was active, severely injuring him, and then summoned a miniature sun that had nearly cooked him to a crisp.
Now, at the critical moment of his final gamble for His Majesty the Emperor, his own student, bursting with a sense of justice, had stumbled upon the ritual. Two Valois Mages had discovered it as well... The Casting was at its most crucial and fragile stage, and he had to guard against them—or even himself—interrupting the ritual and causing the Super Tier Magic, years in the making, to fail.
’Fate, do you enjoy opposing me so?’ The Great Necromancer could feel it—whenever he tried to act, he was met with endless misfortune. But he wasn’t discouraged. He even seemed to relish the situation. Now, the three youths had finally given him room to maneuver. He raised his hand again. Tattoos on his skin absorbed the Breath of Death, transforming it into the Eighth Ring Spell: Withering Wave.
In a conical area originating from the Caster, the Magic struck the barrier, turning it from blue to a dark, murky green before it disintegrated. The wave then hit the three incorporeal escapees. The three clouds of "gas" were nearly blown apart. As the Withering Wave washed over them, Richard and Paul’s strength was instantly drained. They, along with the injured Pascal they were supporting, made intimate contact with the stairs once again.
Their bodies fell into a state of extreme decay. This was true exhaustion: not only were they unable to muster their Magic Power for Casting or even move their legs to run, but their breathing and heartbeats also became sluggish and faint.
The remains of Schmidt, compelled by the Necromancer, walked over and scooped Paul up in a crosswise carry. The Great Mage then strode to his disciple. His large, skeletal hand clamped down on Richard’s head, lifting him up as he injected Negative Energy.
Richard felt excruciating agony—a biological, instinctual rejection—but he was powerless to resist. Every pain nerve in his body fired at once before going silent. The Chief Mage was transforming Richard into a dead servant, much like Schmidt, yet he spared his life and left his consciousness intact.
Now under the Chief Mage’s control, Richard picked up Pascal. He and Schmidt returned to the secret chamber, one after the other.
The floor of the secret chamber shifted. The ruins of some unknown Mage had seemingly become the Necromancer Master’s private property, for him to manipulate at will. They arrived beneath the ritual site, on the second level of the chamber.
The ceiling here—the floor of the level above—had mutated blood vessels dangling from the cracks in the stone. They connected the core of the ritual to a Blood Pool in the center of the second level.
The Great Mage did nothing by halves. Unlike a typical blood pool, this one was filled with the blood of Casters, its ripples shimmering with an arcane Spiritual Light and bitter resentment. The temperature on the second level was freezing. Being carried in felt to Paul and Pascal like being plunged into ice water, a dense, grim cold invading their bodies.
Legend says that a part of the Symbolic Realm belongs to the Death God’s Netherworld, a place whose final destination is a cold of absolute stasis, of total heat death. Every Soul that remains in the mortal world is a window reflecting the Netherworld, naturally transmitting its bitter chill.
This place was filled with such resentful Souls. They had been Mages in life, and after death, they were imprisoned by the Necromancer Master. On a physical level, they provided the Cold Energy that kept the flesh from rotting, while also ensuring that the spiritual essence and Magic Power of the Blood Pool did not dissipate.
SPLASH! SPLASH! Under the Chief’s control, Richard and Schmidt tossed the two apprentices into the Blood Pool. The Chief then waved his hand again, and all of Paul and Pascal’s blood vessels burst, endlessly pumping red fluid outward.
They should have been in extreme agony, but the two remained utterly exhausted. They didn’t even have the strength to groan, passing out in the pool.
After doing this, the Chief snapped his fingers, returning control of Richard’s mouth. Richard thought he was being allowed to give his last words. "Kill me. And return my remains to my parents."
"Do you still think I’m going to kill you? My dear student." There was a hint of melancholy in the Chief Mage’s voice. "I’ve changed my mind."
He looked at Richard. "Your father is nothing but a mediocrity. His only advantage was being born into the right family. If I ever decide to research reincarnation, he might be a worthy test subject.
"He went to great lengths, calling in favors and spending a fortune, just to have his son become the apprentice of a Necromancer—on the sole condition that I not teach you Necromancy. Isn’t that ridiculous? No, what your father wanted was for you to gain the title of ’Apprentice to the Chief Mage.’ He wanted to pave the way for your future, solidify his family’s power, and perhaps even hoped that his outstanding heir would take things a step further."
This was an obvious truth. Since joining the war, Richard had been through all sorts of unusual reassignments, and the attitudes of the various generals toward him had differed. In short, the influence of outside interference had been quite clear.
Clearly, that outside factor wanted Richard to earn merit but didn’t want him in any real danger. It was just as contradictory as having Richard study under a Necromancer but forbidding him from learning Necromancy.
"I’ve decided not to turn you into a mindless slave. Instead, I will transform only your body, making you immortal, just as your master will be.
"I will also indulge your misguided ideas. I want you to witness the future greatness of the Empire with your own eyes. I want you to accept it from the bottom of your heart. After figures like the Crown Prince and your father have turned to dust, I want you to sincerely admit that your master was right."
At this, the Necromancer Master looked at Richard expectantly. But his student merely kept his mouth shut, forgoing the chance to speak, forcing the Necromancer to suppress his disappointment.
Soaking in the Blood Pool, Pascal was surprised to find that the mutated blood vessels were slowly transfusing plasma back into him, allowing him to recover some strength. Pascal spoke up, his voice weak, "My... master... is Master Kano. He won’t let you get away with this..."
The Chief’s attention was already back on his prepared spell. He didn’t notice the anomaly with Pascal’s veins, merely leaving him with a final remark, "No one can completely destroy a competent Necromancer Master. Not even a Tier Nine Mage."
’Except for Feuerbach... that disgusting Reversing Beam...’ The Chief’s face darkened. He led Richard away, leaving Schmidt to monitor the lower level.
The Super Tier Spell, an improved version of Islam’s Longevity Skill, was officially activated.
