Azure Scepter

Trier pondered for a moment, then turned to look at Noe behind him: "I suggest burning all the bodies. Keeping them alive is too risky for us in the current situation."

“Trier, this is against the doctrine! We cannot desecrate a corpse like this, you are a paladin!” Noy’s eyes widened in disbelief.

The elf slowly retreated and whispered, "That's not blasphemy, it's just a transformation of the material form—to put it another way, we burned them to prevent them from being blasphemed by necromancy."

“If there’s a seasoned necromancer in this morgue, we’re not facing just a Bound Spirit and a Shadow,” the paladin said in a deep voice. “How many dead people are in this room right now?”

Noy sighed softly: "Including old Bart who died yesterday, there should be eight corpses lying around now. Do we really need to..."

Before she finished speaking, she suddenly swung her weapon and smashed it to her left.

The chains jingled, and a blinding flash of light streaked across the three iron balls, which then flew like meteors into the shadows on the left.

A phantom head shrouded in black mist suddenly emerged from the shadows, its expression ferocious, two streams of crimson tears flowing from its empty eye sockets. Trier glanced at it quickly and noticed that the bound spirit's face bore a striking resemblance to Old Bart, the halfling innkeeper.

The next moment, the illusory head of the Bound Spirit exploded into a cloud of black mist. The three iron balls continued their momentum and slammed into the wall one after another. Shards of stone flew everywhere, and the cultist's head rolling on the ground was smashed full of bloody holes. Dust mixed with the purple powder produced by the burning Bound Spirit scattered on the ground.

The bound spirit didn't even have time to scream before it was physically purified in an instant.

“It’s simple, right? We don’t need to be so cruel to corpses.” Noy blinked, her voice still gentle. “I will protect you, just like before, cough cough cough…”

The paladin remained silent, lowering his head and reaching behind him to touch the purple embers of the spirit-binding. Although the embers of the spirit-binding were steaming, their interiors were shockingly cold; merely touching them sent a chill down Trier's spine.

A moment later, he found a black, irregular crystal in the embers—this crystal looked very similar to the magic storage stone, but its crystalline interior had many cracks.

The paladin continued to feel along the crack, and soon he touched a warm bump.

"Found it," he thought, and the next moment he pressed down hard with his thumb.

—When any spirit dies, it leaves behind similar crystals, which are generally called "solid emotions." Solid emotions are usually used as casting materials for transformation spells, but "solid emotions" can also be crushed by hand.

Once crushed, the strongest echoes of the spirit in its lifetime will be released.

"Crack!" The sound of the crystal shattering echoed in the silent passageway.

The next moment, Trier felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, and countless images crashed down on him like a flood bursting through a dam.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the overwhelming hallucinations, and then quickly browsed through the relevant memories.

"I don't want to die! Cough cough cough, save me!" the halfling innkeeper roared desperately, the firelight flickering in the wine cellar. "I still have so much money left! Golden Dragon! I can give it all to you."

“I’m sorry, old Bart, I did my best.” Noe’s guilty voice rang in my ears, “Your condition has progressed so... too quickly.”

"Use advanced restoration magic on me, I know you can!"

“That won’t work. I’ve tried it since the first day I arrived in Beaver Town. This magical plague is practically incurable!”

"vomit!"

In the midst of hysterical spasms and excruciating pain, the subject of the memory lost consciousness.

What followed were fragmented images: a young man dressed as a farmer threw himself onto a cart and pushed it into the windowless ancestral house; he felt a sense of ethereal ascension; amidst the pile of corpses, a rather intricate ritual circle made of purple lines was slowly operating, and at the end of the circle was a rather familiar-looking figure.

—My memories end here.

PS: Two chapters are currently owed. QWQ

Chapter 40 Heart Control

“Someone has obscured the spirit’s memories of its past life, but the method is not very sophisticated—the figure looks quite fat, it should be Pastor Byron who promotes doomsday theories,” Trier thought to himself.

He gently opened his palm, and the "solid emotion" that had turned into powder was scattered all over the ground. He squatted down and searched carefully for a moment, and then found a few fragments emitting a purple light in the powder.

As a seasoned necromancer, Trier has a deep understanding of "solid emotions." He is very familiar with the mechanisms by which divination and control spells affect this special crystal, and he also knows how to bypass these effects.

"The right order, the right angle, the right lighting," the paladin murmured to himself.

He gently manipulated the few purple fragments, and soon, following basic geometric logic, he pieced them back together in his palm. The cracks between the fragments seemed to be glued together by thin lines of light, and soon a new, purer "solid emotion" was pieced together.

"Fodia, what is he doing?" Noi turned her head and asked in a low voice.

The elf shook his head.

The nun looked puzzled: "Aren't you curious?"

“You’ll get used to it—you’ll probably get used to it soon too.” Futia couldn’t help but laugh. “From noon yesterday until now, I’ve seen far too many incomprehensible things.”

"Didn't you used to love exploring the unknown?" In the firelight, the nun's face was faintly visible, and her gentle voice seemed to exude a strange charm.

Fythia frowned and said softly, "Everyone has secrets, don't they?"

"I was just a little concerned about my best friend." Noi turned his head away nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just cast a suggestion spell.

At this moment, Trier saw the memories that had been hidden in the crystal again.

The illusory pile of corpses reappeared before their eyes, purple lines flowing slowly like mercury spilling onto the ground. At the end of the ceremony, the plump Pastor Byron held a holy emblem and muttered some theological prayers, the sacred words echoing among the unseeing corpses.

Reverend Byron looked solemn, beads of sweat constantly seeping from his forehead, large drops of sweat gathering on the tip of his nose before slowly dripping to the ground.

"High Priest, why don't we just kill everyone in the hotel?" A rather straightforward voice came from off-screen.

“The quality of the undead transformed by the plague is too poor,” Pastor Byron said in a low voice. “The main task that Bishop Vercingetor gave me was to create and control a batch of high-quality undead—those people in the hotel who survived the first wave of infection are good material.”

"Byron, why did you do this..." the dying innkeeper asked with difficulty.

“Well, I’m sorry, old Bart, this is a very complicated theological question, involving the totality of historical self-reversion—you just need to know that your sacrifice is quite sublime and sacred.” The portly priest walked up to old Bart, paused, and said, “Don’t look at me like that, it makes me uncomfortable—in words you can understand, I am doing necessary evil.”

"Priest, can doing bad things really lead to good results?" a male voice off-screen asked.

"Shut up," the priest scolded. "Get back to work. All you need to know is that in two days, most of the living people in the hotel will become spirits under the influence of the ritual. Remember what I told you? Patience, caution!"

The paladin almost doubted that he had heard correctly, but the next moment he realized that Pastor Byron had indeed said the horrifying statement that "two days later, most of the living will become spirits."

He abruptly closed his eyes, and the illusion before him immediately came to a halt.

The saliva that Reverend Byron spat out froze in mid-air, and his wide eyes seemed to be suppressing boundless rage.

Trier's thoughts raced: "Old Bart died yesterday afternoon, which means that by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, an unknown but powerful spell that will turn most of the living people in the hotel into the dead will be activated."

“Spells of this caliber cannot be cast by the caster alone; they must be performed through a ritual to unleash a massive amount of death winds—the negative energy enrichment device in the town hall is not only used to revive the undead on a large scale, but also to deal with the living people in the hotel.”

Trier's mind raced. He already knew he didn't have much time, but at this moment, he felt an extraordinary sense of urgency.

"Fortunately, I used their abundant death winds to create a massive corpse explosion a few hours ago. The death winds consumed by the corpse explosion are enough to force this giant ritual spell to be delayed. In my experience, it can at least delay it for a whole day."

"In other words, I only have this afternoon, tomorrow morning, and the day after tomorrow morning to consolidate the resistance forces in the hotel and rush out to confront the Silent Whisperers in full force and achieve victory—at most, no more than 45 hours."

"Calm down, calm down—the more urgent the situation, the more composed we must be. Let's continue to see if there's any other information." Trier took a deep breath, suppressing his agitated emotions. "Solid emotions were torn apart by divination spells. Priest Byron is very likely to have used divination spells to conceal his presence. I need to prepare in advance."

The paladin gently opened his eyes, and the illusion before him continued to play.

"They're all doomed, so what are we still doing here?"

"These are necessary backup measures. If something goes wrong at the town hall, the arrangements here can at least buy us a lot of time."

"Ouch! Crack!" A crisp sound rang out, like the sound of a bone breaking or a stone being moved.

"Be careful! Don't rush!" The priest seemed to have lost control of his anger, and his voice rose. "Old Bart, rest in peace. I will make good use of your soul and body."

"You damned bastard!" The halfling angrily reached out his hand, only to have it gently slapped away by the priest.

"Snapped."

As the halfling's hand slapped open, spiderweb-like cracks gradually appeared at the edge of the illusion, and a series of heavy, beast-like breaths rang in the ears—the echoes stored in the "solid emotion" were about to burn out.

Pastor Byron turned around and walked back to the end of the ritual circle, where he began to softly chant a hymn.

"Endure desires, so that on the day they end, the saints may reunite..."

"I didn't sing it wrong, did I, Your Excellency Paladin?" Byron asked softly.

"Crack!"

At that moment, the priest's fat head twisted a full 180 degrees, and the crisp sound of his spine breaking echoed in the room. His two bloodshot eyes rolled in opposite directions, and after a moment, they were fixed on Trier.

"I never expected it would be you who hacked into Old Bart's Echo. I thought it would be Neuer."

Trier noticed that Byron's eyeball twitched involuntarily when he said this.

"I hope you like this trap. Here's a piece of advice from an elder: Remember this in your next life: no spellcaster is a fool. Such an obvious clue is clearly bait for fishing, and every bait has a hook inside."

Byron smiled, and the paladin read in his smile a contempt for himself, satisfaction with the situation, and an undisguised arrogance—an arrogance that suggested he could dominate the situation with his exquisite magic and absolute violence if he made up his mind.

“I know Noy is a cultist, you don’t need to cover for her.” Trier was always calm, and the other party’s deliberately arrogant attitude had no effect on him. He took the opportunity to mutter to himself.

The other party intervened in the "solid emotion" through prophetic magic, which means that I can communicate directly with the other party through mental activity.

Reverend Byron burst out laughing, his head practically falling off in the process: "How...humorous! Well, it's time to stop your nonsense."

“Don’t rush, there are still three syllables to go before you finish casting the spell. You’ve hooked your left ring finger behind your back in the wrong position. Hmm, this will cause the form constraint to become extremely inefficient,” Trier said to the priest. “I know you’re just wasting all this time talking to me to buy time.”

Byron remained silent for a moment, then quickly picked up the ceremonial knife from the ground and plunged it into his own neck.

But it was still too late.

The paladin took out the storage stone containing "Heart Mastery" and gently pressed it against the solidified emotion.

As the deep, clear syllables escaped his lips in reality, the winds of death instantly stirred, a familiar power swirling around him like a vortex. The winds of death surrounded him, their howling sounds like the mournful wailing of a banshee. With a slight thought, Trier adjusted his fingers, and the raging winds of death obediently coalesced at his fingertips.

Casting spells brings euphoria, but Trill, a legendary and highly skilled mage, was not affected by this at all. He completed the spell's structure in an instant with an efficiency that was beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.

“The reach of magic is far, and the effect of magic is extreme,” he murmured.

"Trier, what are you doing?!" The usually calm Noy looked terrified. "Stop right now!"

A surge of malevolent and putrid negative energy suddenly exploded, and almost at the same moment the magic storage stone shattered, the necromancy spell struck the horrified Priest Byron with pinpoint accuracy.

The next moment, Trier made a fist with his left hand, as if he were actually squeezing a heart.

“Caution and patience are fundamental qualities of a spellcaster. Although you have taught your apprentice these things, you have clearly not learned them.” He murmured to himself, “Goodbye, priest.”

He suddenly clenched his five fingers together!

Chapter 41 Eyeball

A muffled sound, as if flesh and blood were exploding, seemed to come from the darkness.

"boom!"

In the hallucination, Byron's face was filled with terror, his eyes bulging. He clutched his chest tightly, his white fingers almost digging into his ribcage. He seemed to want to scream, but before a loud wail could be born, it turned into a monotonous "hmph" sound filled with despair due to lack of oxygen.

Trier calmly observed the priest's final struggle, his face expressionless, as if the thing writhing and convulsing on the ground before him was not a living person, but merely some kind of unfeeling inorganic matter.

“It’s about time.” He silently counted down for ten seconds, then slowly walked toward Byron.

According to the basic law of sympathy, any spell establishes a connection between the caster and the recipient. When this connection is strong enough, the connection itself can become a new form of spell. Trier and Reverend Byron are now truly "heart-to-heart" friends; their mystical connection is extremely close.

The paladin deliberately spoke to the priest when he had the upper hand, in order to further strengthen this connection over time.

He gently extended his left hand, and the next moment, the cold, blood-smelling iron gauntlet pressed hard against Byron's forehead.

“We talked for a long time,” Trier whispered. “What did you just say? There must be a hook in the bait?”

Reverend Byron's fat face trembled, and blood mixed with cold sweat slid down his face as he struggled to control the muscles around his eyes, but the continuous spasms rendered all his efforts futile.

"Let's see what the hook will be when you become the bait," a sinister voice whispered in the pastor's ear.

As the paladin whispered, the death winds, which had already turned into magical embers, suddenly became active again. The restless power even distorted the illusions formed by the "solid emotions." A large number of spiderweb-like cracks turned into black vortexes with crisp cracking sounds, and then instantly swallowed everything!

Reverend Byron suddenly opened his eyes, the intense light causing him to go black for a moment. The next instant, an indescribable pain burst forth in his back chest, and a numbing sensation as intense as a tsunami swept through his limbs and bones along the bulging blood vessels.

Even with a ruptured heart, you can still move freely for a few seconds! There's still a chance! You must save yourself!

"Bang!" He lost control of his body and instantly knocked over the table in front of him.

The table suddenly tipped over, and the expensive spellcasting materials crashed down, then exploded into countless fragments.

"High Priest, what's wrong?!" A subordinate's anxious voice came from outside the door.

With his last ounce of strength, Byron crawled over the overturned table. Sharp fragments of the spellcasting materials on the ground sliced ​​through his large hands, and warm blood gushed out, instantly filling the air with a pungent smell. From the shards, he grabbed a rag and, using the momentum of his fall, flung it violently at the pre-prepared "safety valve" magic circle.

As a skilled spellcaster who has undergone systematic training, he always prepares for the possibility of spell failure before casting any spell. And for something as obviously extremely dangerous as ambushing enemies with divination spells, he had naturally made full preparations long ago—yesterday, an arrogant fool died from a spell backlash due to his excessive arrogance.

The rag swept across the lines with a sudden thud, and almost instantly a soft, warm light flooded into him. The next moment, he suddenly felt that he could breathe again, and he quickly took several greedy breaths, just like a drowning person in a storm who had poked his head out of the water.

"Huff, huff..."

As ample oxygen flooded his brain, Byron felt himself regaining his senses.

"Heart control, with instant casting, high spell power, and long range—what kind of monster is that wearing Trill skin?" At this moment, the priest felt an extreme sense of fear. After escaping death, nausea and weakness instantly overwhelmed him. "That's definitely not human!"

Thinking of the other person's calm gaze, he suddenly felt a numbness in his heart again.

"Thankfully, we're safe now..."

"Bang!" An impatient subordinate rushed in, holding a long sword in his hand.

Suddenly, Byron's left eye inexplicably turned to the right.