Lord: My Shop Connects to Modern Times

Just then, shouts of battle came from outside the palace gate.

"Your Highness!" a voice rang out; it was the knight of the Grand Duke of the North.

"Are you alright! We've been attacked!"

The shouts were loud, accompanied by the sounds of weapons clashing and flesh being cut.

Upon hearing the sound, Alfred's previously despairing eyes lit up. He gripped his sword, carefully retreated, leaned against the wall, and stared intently at the eight shadow servants and Maurice.

The shadow servant did not move.

She just stood there, staring at him with those dark red eyes, like eight statues.

Morris didn't move either.

He stood behind the monster, a chilling smile on his face, silently watching Alfred as if admiring prey that had fallen into a trap.

They didn't seem to be in a hurry at all.

"Your Highness!" The voice came from outside the door again. "Your Highness, are you alright?"

Having not received a reply from Alfred, his voice was already a little anxious.

Alfred opened his mouth, wanting to shout "I'm here," but his throat felt like it was stuck.

Just then, the palace gates burst open with a loud bang.

Wood chips flew everywhere, shards hitting the walls, the floor, and the monsters.

The monsters didn't move an inch, not even blinking.

There were five or six people standing outside the door—a knight from the North, two military officers, and three people in gray robes—people invited by the Mage Guild!

Alfred recognized the mage who was leading the group.

Senior mage Witt, in his fifties with gray hair, is one of the few in the Mage Association willing to get involved in external affairs.

He agreed to help tonight on the condition that he be given a piece of land in the capital to build a private magic tower after the job was done.

At this moment, Witt held a staff, the crystal at the top of which was still faintly glowing.

It was clear that he had smashed the gate.

"Your Highness..." The Northern Knight entered and was about to say something, but when he saw the scene inside the room, he was stunned.

Monster?

Eight monsters? Or the kind I've never seen before?

There's also Maurice standing behind the monster, and "Charles VI" sitting motionless by the window.

"This, this is..."

"Shadow Servant." Witt walked in, his gaze sweeping over the monsters; he was clearly more knowledgeable than anyone else present.

Witt's expression turned grave: "The Order of the End... how did these guys get here?"

He looked at Maurice and narrowed his eyes.

"Patient Maurice? Or should I call you something else?"

Morris smiled.

"Mr. Witt, I've long admired your name." His voice remained gentle. "I didn't expect you to get involved in such matters. Doesn't the Mage Association traditionally stay out of state affairs?"

Witt did not respond.

He couldn't possibly say that he came for personal reasons.

Moreover, after seeing the Shadow Servant, his previously relaxed mood plummeted.

The Order of the End, damn it.

If he had known earlier that this notorious cult had infiltrated to such an extent, he would not only not have come, but he would have even picked a time to run away, leaving the territory of the Dawn Empire, or at the very least, leaving Dawn City.

He had heard of these heretics' reputation before; their last active period was decades ago, when Witte was still quite young and not yet a mage.

Unexpectedly, this time I finally met these cult members in person.

Without hesitation, Witt raised his hand and quickly uttered a few strange syllables, as waves of magic gathered at the end of his staff.

A wall of fire appeared out of nowhere and swept towards the eight shadow servants.

At this moment, the shadow servant moved.

Unlike ordinary monsters that roar and pounce, they silently and orderly dispersed, like well-trained soldiers.

Three were placed directly against the firewall, two flanked from the sides, and the other three blocked the route to the door.

The wall of fire swept past, and the scorching heat made Alfred squint.

The three shadow servants that had been fighting head-on were engulfed by the flames, emitting a piercing screech.

Their skin cracks and peels under high temperatures, and black liquid seeps out from the cracks, which is then evaporated by the flames into a foul-smelling mist.

But the other five have already bypassed it.

Witt took a step back, swept his staff horizontally, and an arc of electricity shot out from the tip of the staff, hitting the two that were pouncing from the left.

They convulsed and froze in place.

The Northern Knight seized the opportunity to rush forward, and with a slash of his greatsword, the head of a Shadow Servant fell to the ground.

"Kill!" The others also moved.

The military officers drew their swords and engaged the remaining shadow servants in combat. They were all seasoned fighters, but their movements were still somewhat stiff in the face of these monsters they had never seen before.

Alfred leaned against the wall, gripping his sword tightly, staring at the battlefield.

A shadow servant broke through the defenses and pounced on him.

He instinctively raised his sword to parry—with a clang, the enormous impact made his hand go numb.

The shadow servant's claws grazed his face, leaving a trail of blood.

"Your Highness!" The Northern Knight rushed over and pierced the Shadow Servant's back with his sword.

The shadow servant roared as he fell, black blood pooling on the ground.

Alfred gasped for breath and wiped the blood from his face.

He looked at Maurice.

The guy was still standing there, motionless, and the smile on his face hadn't even changed.

The eight shadow servants were being dealt with one by one. But he wasn't worried at all.

Why?

"Your Highness!" Witt's voice rang out, "Quick, let's go! Something's wrong here!"

Alfred wanted to leave too, but the doorway was blocked by Shadow Servants.

and……

He looked at his father—that "shell".

My father was still sitting by the window, holding the book in his hands, motionless.

He suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

These past few days, all they've seen of their father is this thing?

"It's all done!" the Northern Knight shouted.

The last Shadow Servant was felled, and black blood flowed all over the ground.

The room fell silent for a brief moment.

Eight corpses lay scattered about, the air thick with the stench of burning and blood.

Vittor was panting heavily, and the crystal on his staff dimmed slightly.

He looked at Maurice with a wary gaze.

Morris smiled.

The smile was even deeper than before.

"As expected of someone from the Mage Association, Mr. Witt, you're quite good."

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers lightly.

The curtains around the bedchamber began to move again.

This time, it's not just a few.

There are dozens.

Behind the curtains, in the shadows, behind the screens, even on the beams of the ceiling—things were moving everywhere.

One after another, shadow servants emerged from the darkness.

They emerged silently, in orderly fashion, like a surging tide.

Alfred's heart nearly stopped beating.

Twenty? Thirty? He couldn't count them.

Damn it, where did all these come from?

The royal palace is practically becoming a den of monsters!

wrong!

Alfred suddenly realized that none of the people who had been sent to the palace had come out.

Could all of these be...?

He dared not think about it anymore.

What's even more terrifying is that among these shadow servants, several are clearly different.

Their armor was more complete, their movements were more fluid, and the red light in their eyes was brighter.

One of them walked up to Maurice and lowered its head slightly.

"grown ups."

Witt's expression changed completely, not because of anything else, but because the thing in front of him had spoken!

"Shadow Walker..."

Of course he knew what it was.

Shadow Servants are merely consumables modified from ordinary monsters, but Shadow Walkers—these are true Order warriors, possessing self-awareness and combat skills. Aside from their shared characteristics with monsters, they are no different from ordinary people.

"Oh? You know quite a lot, Mr. Witt."

Morris looked at Witt with some surprise.

"Unfortunately, what I hate most is people who know too much."

Morris clapped his hands: "Go!"

The Shadow Walker moved.

Five Shadow Walkers charged forward simultaneously, their speed astonishing.

Witt raised his staff, and an ice wall materialized out of thin air, blocking two of them.

But the other three had already circled around to the side.

"Protect Mr. Witt!" roared the Knight of the North.

The melee broke out again.

This time, it was far more devastating than before.

Unlike Shadow Servant, Shadow Walkers don't just pounce and bite. They can block, dodge, and cooperate.

Two military officers had just cut down a Shadow Servant when they were stabbed in the back by the Shadow Walker.

Screams, roars, and the clanging of metal blended together.

Alfred was squeezed into a corner, desperately swinging his sword to fend off the shadow servants who pounced on him.

His arm was already sore, his thumb and forefinger were split open, and blood was flowing down the hilt of the sword.

But he dared not stop.

To stop is to die.

He looked at Maurice.

That guy was still standing there, surrounded by several Shadow Walkers, showing no intention of personally joining the fight.

He was watching a play.

Like watching a group of trapped beasts struggling.

A thought flashed through Alfred's mind—

What if we kill Maurice?

He summoned these monsters, he commanded them. If he dies, will they go berserk? Will they lose control?

He didn't know. But this might be his only chance, and he was confident in his intermediate-level warrior strength.

He parried with his sword while moving towards Maurice.

Ten steps.

Five steps.

Morris didn't seem to notice him.

He was still watching the fight on Witt's side, a chilling smile on his face.

Three steps.

Alfred took a deep breath, exerted his strength, and with one stroke, cut down the shadow servant blocking his way, then charged towards Maurice.

Then he stopped.

It wasn't that he wanted to stop.

He can't move.

Something was tangled around his feet.

He looked down and saw a black mist, like a living thing, crawling up his calves, thighs, waist...

"The strength of a mid-level warrior? Not bad."

Morris smiled.

"But Your Highness is sorely mistaken if you think I am a weakling."

He reached out and gently placed his hand on Alfred's forehead.

Alfred's eyes widened.

He wanted to shout, to curse, to swear—but he couldn't utter a single word.

Black mist poured in from his seven orifices.

Cold. Dark. Nothingness.

Alfred's consciousness began to fade.

He recalled the sword his father had given him when he was eighteen, the ruby ​​on the hilt, and the two characters "Courage and Perseverance" engraved on the blade.

Courage.

He has courage and boldness.

But he didn't get his chance.

He took one last look at the moon outside the window.

It's so round.

Then he knew nothing more.