Has the knight lady who married into the countryside fallen into depravity today?

The corridor was deathly silent.

That heart-wrenching cry, "We all deserve to die," drained Carl's last bit of energy and exhausted all of Maurice's pent-up anger and grief.

He stood there, his chest still heaving, but the fire in his eyes had died down, leaving only ashes of weariness and emptiness.

On the ground, Carl Vincent was no longer a high-ranking deputy battalion commander, but just a pool of breathing, rotting flesh.

He lay limp, the blood from his severed arm mingling with the vomit from his throat, emitting a stench a mixture of rust, sourness, and despair.

His eyes were open, but his pupils were unfocused, staring blankly at a point on the ceiling, as if his soul had been completely ripped from his body by the judgment he had just undergone.

Tick.

Tick.

Blood beads seeping from the severed arm continued to tap slowly on the wooden floor, becoming the only sound in this deathly silence.

Carl took three people with him when he went upstairs.

Morris, the sheriff he had never given a second glance, was now looking down at his disgraceful state with the gaze of a judge.

The other two were his personal guards, elites from the Third Battalion of the Patrol Division.

From the moment Maurice read out the charges, the two men were plunged into a state of profound shock and stunned silence.

For a moment, they forgot to pull out their swords and put them down.

Now, they watched as their loyal deputy battalion commander, whom they considered omnipotent, lay sprawled on the ground like a dead dog, his spirit utterly broken.

An emotion called panic finally broke through the shackles of discipline and exploded in their hearts.

One of the tall bodyguards' Adam's apple bobbed violently.

He glanced at the limp Carl, then at the expressionless Klein, and finally, his gaze settled on Sheriff Morris, who had just finished denouncing Carl.

traitor.

The word resounded in his mind.

Reason was rapidly crumbling, replaced by despair and a sliver of blind loyalty.

"You...you traitor!"

A hoarse roar broke the silence.

The tall bodyguard's eyes instantly turned bloodshot. He finally drew his longsword from his waist, but the blade was neither pointed at the composed Klein nor at the terrifying blonde female knight.

He chose the goal that he thought was the simplest.

Morris!

A flash of sword light, carrying the last frenzy of a soldier, pierced straight into Maurice's chest.

After a brief hesitation, another guard also let out a strange cry, drew his sword, and followed.

Their world has collapsed, and this attack is not for victory, but a desperate venting.

Morris's pupils suddenly contracted.

The roar he had just unleashed seemed to drain all his strength, leaving the somewhat timid sheriff's legs weak. He could only watch helplessly as the gleaming sword tip rapidly enlarged in his vision, unable to react in any way.

The shadow of death instantly enveloped him.

However, the sword did not pierce him.

They didn't even come within a foot of him.

Klein never once glanced at the two charging guards.

He simply stood there, his right hand gently raised, as if brushing away an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

"Really," he sighed softly, a hint of helplessness in his voice, "I thought you guys would be a bit smarter."

Just before the sword was about to touch Maurice's clothes, the two guards froze.

Their movements froze in mid-air, their faces still contorted with ferocious and crazed expressions, making them look incredibly comical.

"Well……"

A painful groan escaped the tall bodyguard's throat.

He felt an invisible force, like countless tough spider silks, seeping from the air in all directions, tightly binding his limbs, his torso, and his neck.

He was unable to move.

That power was so strong, so irresistible, that his proud muscles were as fragile as cotton in the face of it.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

Two dull thuds.

The two guards were lifted off the ground by that invisible force and then slammed heavily against the walls on either side.

Their armor clashed against the wall with a sickeningly loud thud.

Then, the force pressed them firmly against the wall, tightening its grip. Their bones groaned under the immense pressure, and their faces turned a deep liver color from suffocation.

"Clang—"

The longsword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground with a series of crisp clanging sounds before finally falling silent.

The corridor fell silent once more.

Morris stared blankly at the two soldiers who were "nailed" to the wall and could not even struggle, and then looked at Klein, who remained calm and composed throughout.

A chill ran from his tailbone straight up to the top of his head.

Was it him... was it this person in front of us who made the move?

What... what kind of power is this?

Ophelia stood beside Klein, a hint of approval flashing in her golden eyes.

She could clearly sense that in that instant, Klein's manipulation of magic was precise and efficient, without the slightest waste.

This control over magic was no less than that of the great court magicians she had ever met.

Her lips curled up slightly, revealing a smile that was almost imperceptible.

As expected of him.

Klein ignored the astonishment of the crowd.

He is a magician proficient in alchemy, and the combined effect of these two in a home-field battle is far greater than the sum of its parts.

When he subdued those two guards, he had only activated a few "basic" magic arrays.

He resolved the two minor problems in the room, but his gaze seemed to penetrate the hotel walls, looking out at the quiet street.

There are also some minor threats lurking there.

Carl brought more than just these three people.

Klein's brow furrowed slightly.

"What a nuisance," he muttered under his breath.

He slowly raised his hand, his fingertips tracing a light line through the air.

Ophelia keenly sensed his intention, and her golden eyes lit up slightly.

"Do you need my help?" she asked, her voice calm and reliable.

Klein turned and glanced at her, a relaxed smile on his face.

"No need," he said. "Dealing with these minor characters is none of my business, Miss Knight. You can just stay here and watch, and by the way..."

He glanced at Karl, who lay on the ground like a puddle of mud.

"Keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't die. I still have some questions for him."

Ophelia nodded.

She knew that Klein was about to get serious.

Klein's lips moved slightly, and a series of low, archaic syllables filled with a peculiar rhythm escaped from his mouth.

The sound was very soft, yet it seemed to carry a vibration at some level of order, causing the entire space to hum.

Morris felt his eardrums trembling slightly, and an indescribable sense of oppression surged from all directions.

Ophelia's golden pupils lit up slightly. She could feel the surrounding magical elements being mobilized and reorganized at an unprecedented speed.

The temperature in the air is changing subtly.

This is a harbinger of large-scale magic.

The next moment, a faint silver-blue light shone on the floor, centered on Klein.

The light started as a single point, but then countless intricate, precise, and dazzling runes and lines spread outwards from that point like lightning.

They flowed on the floor, climbed the walls, and intertwined on the ceiling.

Every line was frighteningly precise, and every rune exuded an ancient and mysterious aura.

It only takes the time it takes to breathe.

A massive, unimaginably large three-dimensional magic circle instantly took shape, defying all physical obstacles.

It enveloped the entire second-floor corridor.

Then it penetrated the floor and enveloped the first-floor lobby.

Then it continued to expand outwards, penetrating the hotel's thick walls, covering the street in front of the hotel, spreading into the alleys on both sides, and climbing onto the rooftops opposite...

The entire hotel and the surrounding area within dozens of meters were completely enveloped by this huge magic circle that shimmered with a silvery-blue light.

Morris gaped as he saw the streaks of light, as if they were alive, pass beneath his feet. He could even feel a gentle yet powerful force brushing against his body.

The power didn't harm him; instead, it brought a strange sense of comfort, allowing his tense nerves to relax slightly.

He had never seen such a spectacular sight.

This is not a battle, this is art.

This is like a miracle from the Golden Age of Magic, something that only appears in ancient legends.

"This...this is..." Maurice murmured to himself, his voice filled with shock.

Ophelia looked at the runes flowing in the air, a hint of amazement flashing in her eyes.

Even she had to admit that Klein's talent in magic surpassed that of most people in this era.

"Gravity magic," Klein said softly, as if explaining a simple arithmetic problem, "combined with spatial binding magic, plus a little bit of alchemy."

He paused, a somewhat smug smile spreading across his face.

"To be honest, I've been designing this magic array for a long time, but I've never had a chance to test it in practice. Today is a good opportunity."

Morris: ...

Sir, you call this a "trick"?

……

Outside the hotel, a dozen or so soldiers from the patrol division were lurking in the shadows.

They were the elite of the Third Battalion, Carl Vincent's most loyal men.

They held their breath, their longswords and nocked crossbow bolts aimed at the various exits of the inn.

They are waiting.

Awaiting the signal from the deputy battalion commander.

As soon as the signal is given, they will transform into the fiercest hounds and tear this small hotel to shreds.

A squad leader hid in the shadows at the street corner, his sharp eyes fixed intently on the window on the second floor of the hotel that was letting in light.

Suddenly, his pupils contracted.

He saw a silver-blue light.

The light seeped through the hotel walls, outlining strange and complex patterns on the stone slabs of the floor.

"What is that?"

The soldiers around him also noticed the abnormality and let out suppressed gasps.

The squad leader's heart skipped a beat.

An ominous premonition welled up in my heart.

"Retreat! Retreat now—"

Before he could even utter his command, the silvery-blue light instantly enveloped every inch of the ground beneath their feet.

Then, an indescribable, terrifying pressure descended from the sky.

That wasn't physical weight, but a more fundamental and irresistible form of oppression.

It was as if the gravity of the entire world had been concentrated on them at that moment.

The squad leader's body suddenly sank.

He felt as if an invisible mountain was pressing down on him, and a tremendous force was squeezing in from all directions. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees with a thud.

"Ugh!"

He let out a muffled groan, trying to support his body with the longsword in his hand, but the force suddenly increased dramatically.

His bones were screaming, and his muscle fibers were groaning as if they were about to tear apart.

"Clang!"

The longsword slipped from his trembling hand and fell to the ground.

He was pinned to the ground, his cheek pressed against the cold stone slab, and even lifting a finger was a luxury.

Panic was growing wildly in his heart.

He looked around, and the sight that greeted him terrified him.

His companions, those usually brave and skilled imperial elites, were all being suppressed to the ground by an invisible force, just like him.

Some were kneeling, some were lying down, in various postures, but without exception, they had all lost all ability to resist.

Their weapons lay scattered on the ground, reflecting a cold and desperate light under the silvery-blue magical glow.

The young soldier's face was pressed against the rough stone slab, his lips trembling as he squeezed out a few words: "This... what is this...?"

His voice was quickly swallowed by fear.

On the chest armor, the runes that were supposed to protect against magical attacks glowed faintly, like fireflies struggling in their death throes. The light flickered for less than a breath before going out completely.

The squad leader stared wide-eyed as the runes dimmed one by one.

Those are protective runes specially made by the Imperial Armory, capable of withstanding direct attacks from mid-level magic.

But now, they're like paper, utterly meaningless.

His throat tightened, and he tried to shout something, but found it difficult to even breathe. The pressure continued to increase, as if it would completely crush his lungs.

Suppressed groans came from his companions all around him, along with the screeching sound of weapons scraping against the ground.

The squad leader's vision began to blur, and the silver-blue light in front of him became increasingly dazzling.

This is not over yet.

As the silver-blue runes on the ground reached their brightest point, streaks of pitch-black, lifelike shadows rose from the ground.

The shadows transformed into strong ropes, automatically wrapping around the immobilized soldiers.

They bound the soldiers' hands and feet tightly, their movements precise and efficient, as if they possessed their own consciousness.

Then they dragged them together in groups of three or five, piling them up in a heap.

The entire process was eerily quiet.

There were no shouts of battle, no screams of agony, only the rustling of armor against the ground and the clanging of weapons falling to the ground.

Occasionally, a few suppressed groans would escape, but they were quickly choked back by that invisible pressure.

What was a menacing ambush zone just minutes ago has now transformed into a large, silent prisoner-of-war camp.

A dozen elite soldiers were easily subdued by a magic circle.

They didn't even have a chance to resist.

In the corridor, as Klein's last syllable faded, the magnificent magic circle that had enveloped everything inside and out receded like a tide, eventually disappearing completely.