Dragon Tribulation of All Realms

Chapter 177 Hera's Decision

The authority was firmly in Hera's grasp. In an instant, the torrent of magic flowing ceaselessly throughout the structure of Windhelm silently came into her view and was partially brought under her control.

not enough.

The court wizards only hold a portion of the authority; the truly crucial, core authority remains in the hands of Lord Ulfric. Even though the nobleman is not currently present, and there is some room for maneuver, it still requires some additional steps for an outsider to exercise his authority.

She needed the Windhelm City Seal Ring from the Palace Steward, and the sword carried by the City Guard Captain. This meant she still had two places to visit. But before that—

—"Dasster".

The city's accumulated magic gathered, and even though the sealed-off district was still not within her perception, its general outline began to emerge. The target she hoped to connect with formed an extremely faint presence in her mind, like a lone boat on a boiling sea. She could see it with effort, but could never quite grasp it precisely.

It's usable, but barely.

The lone boat rippled slightly.

Although she couldn't get there, she was certain that Dust had sensed her. One-way communication had been verified as feasible. And before the interference from the magical tides caused by communication reached its limit, she could at least send some information to the other party.

Thoughts flowed.

The information about the seal flashed in Hera's eyes. She made a quick estimate and obtained the current progress of Dust.

So, to make a long story short...

"—Ramaye's soul is sealed within multiple dreamscapes. By mixing your own blood with vampire ash and touching the sealing stake at its heart, you can successfully enter a shallower dreamscape and gain a disguised identity. Ramaya's newly developed offspring should be there, and they have gained access to it through the dreamscape rifts that Ramaya tore open. You can try to do something; that is your only way out of the sealed dreamscape."

The tide of magic surged as the message was transmitted, and the one-way communication was immediately severed—and after that, whatever Dust did within the sealed dream was beneficial to her, who was on the outside.

Moragbal's power is descending, and a sufficiently large sacrifice would be enough to unleash a demonic army and project dark anchors as the tyrannical Daedric Prince did in the Second Age. The situation in Windhelm will soon deteriorate rapidly, and saving the city will be extremely difficult.

It's difficult, but not impossible.

The only pity is that the discovery of the high-ranking vampires' activity traces came too late. Otherwise, if the traces of Moragbal's power had been discovered earlier, there would have been many more options for action.

"Hera... what exactly do you want to do?"

The old mage struggled to his feet, his gray beard trembling. Hera had completely stopped short of causing real harm in the battle just now, defeating him and his entire group of apprentices without inflicting any real injury.

The witch did not look at him.

She simply opened her spellbook and quickly cast numerous spells.

“Morag Bal’s power is seeping in through Oblivion. I don’t blame you, because you and many others here have already been affected by His Oblivion domain. So, until you actually launch your sneak attack, I will pretend nothing has happened.”

Wu Enfis's fingers trembled, and the faint spiritual light hidden beneath his robes vanished silently. A feeling of lingering fear gripped him at that moment, for he realized he had actually become enraged and tried to cast a spell on Hera from behind while she was busy!

How foolish! Without the support of the academy, a so-called court wizard is no different from a lord's servant. Even more important than that is that he lost his wizardly composure, acting not out of careful consideration, but because of a few personal emotions, almost making a decision that could affect his own fate.

How terrifying! What difference is there between a wizard who has lost his composure and independent decision-making ability and a barbarian with advanced magical artifacts? And the power that can have such an effect on a high-level elite wizard so silently can only be found in the realm of demon gods.

He took a deep breath, and a series of magical lights flashed around him. As a precious artifact for focusing his mind was consumed, a layer of turbidity silently faded from his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He bowed to Hera. “…How bad is the situation?”

“I need to raise the protective barrier around Windhelm as quickly as possible, prohibiting all personnel from entering or leaving, and monitoring all bloodshed and fighting within the city—something that could overturn everything is about to happen. And right now, there's far too much fuel and a fuse on this land.” “…The Lord?” Wunfis's fingers tightened. Orders were immediately sent out to various areas within Windhelm using communication magic. The court wizards' armed forces, guards, spies, messengers, and familiar subordinate bureaucrats quickly sprang into action, heading to key locations throughout Windhelm.

Hera didn't answer—she simply acted swiftly. There was no need for her to devote any more energy to Wuenfis. She then used her access privileges to take another step outwards.

Dimensional transfer.

The wind helmet lay beneath her feet, and the palace steward's residence stretched out before her—unlike the side hall of Wuenfis, this place had an anti-teleportation array that she hadn't yet managed to crack. Furthermore, due to a recent 'mediation,' it was heavily guarded.

They immediately spotted Hera and, on high alert, took defensive action—a wizard capable of teleportation was a formidable foe that no ordinary person could handle, a fact obvious to seasoned warriors.

"Stop, witch! This is Lord Jorah's residence—"

The bravest and strongest warriors stood in her way—and fell without warning the next second.

"Attack! An attack! Protect Lord Jorreford!"

The calmest and most disciplined soldiers tried to form a battle line to slow her down—and in the next second, they all fell without warning.

"Run! Lord Joreford, we can't stop her!"

The most loyal and fearless warriors stood guard in front of the palace steward, trying to cover his escape—and in the next second, they all fell without warning.

No one saw what spell Hera used, and the fallen couldn't even comprehend the type of injury they had sustained—there was no pain, no wound, just a simple loss of power. And now, the court steward's last resort was a high-ranking warrior who served as his personal bodyguard.

“Hera Morley…” The bald court steward glared at the uninvited witch, his eyes filled with shock and rage. “What do you think you’re doing! You’re provoking a war between the Nords and the Magic Academy! The entire province of Skyrim will rise up in retaliation against you, and you cannot withstand the wrath of the Nords!”

“I need the ring on your hand.” Hera ignored him, simply looking at the Ring of Power on his finger. “Windhelm is in imminent danger, and I don’t want any more fighting and bloodshed in this city right now.”

She has demonstrated her strength.

She also demonstrated ample sincerity and respect.

Under normal circumstances, even if the Palace Steward didn't immediately back down and try to overcome the immediate crisis, he would at least try to obtain some information related to the crisis in Windhelm from her. But now…

"If you want to get it, you'll have to step over my dead body first," the palace steward said, showing no sign of backing down.

Hera nodded, unsurprised. Plenty of time had been given in the formalities, and she then extended her hand.

The high-ranking warrior has fallen.

He couldn't draw his weapon, nor could he make any protective movements—he simply collapsed from exhaustion the moment he tried to exert force, his limbs went weak, and he slumped down like a lump of mud, convulsing, unable to do anything of value.

He lay on the ground.

The palace steward's hands trembled uncontrollably—not from fear, but because every muscle in his body was no longer under his control. All resistance was futile; all the protective gear he carried, theoretically capable of withstanding the onslaught of a high-ranking wizard, proved utterly useless.

The ring floated automatically from his finger and drifted into Hera's hand. Two-thirds of Windhelm's control was now under his command. And then—

"come out!"

She abruptly turned her head to look at the seemingly ordinary decorative shadows!
(End of this chapter)