Azure Scepter

Page 172

"In Trier's name, you're dead!" Edith, like a raging demon, glared at Lothaway with her remaining eyeballs and unleashed thirty-two consecutive, uninterrupted slashes.

Losevie dodged sharply to the right, entering Edith's blind spot. She twisted her fingers, gripped the short sword in reverse, and thrust it towards Edith's neck. However, in the next instant, holy light suddenly descended from the sky, enveloping Edith's head—Edith's shattered eyeballs were completely healed in less than half a breath!

—At this moment, Noy also arrived at the Golden Palace with a large group of Asmo soldiers. She raised her hand and cast a healing spell, instantly healing Edith's injuries.

With her eyes restored, Edith instantly locked onto her opponent's location. A series of sparks exploded, and in an instant, the short sword that Losevie had just acquired shattered into dust. The sharp blade sliced ​​through Losevie's soul's chest in a flash.

The battle abruptly ended.

Edith gasped for breath, and round drops of blood dripped onto the ground, spreading in layers on the water's surface. Due to the excessive bleeding, the entire surface of the water turned scarlet, and the metallic, fishy smell seemed to be steaming.

“Not bad…” Lothaway uttered a single word, and in the next instant, her figure suddenly froze, then turned into ashes in the wind.

"That was fantastic!" Fusada clapped her hands. "Little Edith, well done—but..."

"No buts, you're next." Edith raised her eyes, her icy killing intent mingling with the scalding smell of blood, bursting forth.

As she spoke, she walked quickly toward Fusada.

“But liches can resurrect,” Fusada said with a laugh. “You’ve only just finished the first round; there are endless rounds to come.”

As the water sprite finished speaking, Losevie's illusory figure rose again from her reflection, as if she were completely unharmed.

"I will kill you as many times as you are resurrected," Edith said coldly.

Fusada pointed to her cheek with her finger, then made a funny face in a cute way.

"Oh, right, there's one last thing—Little Edith, thank you for helping us weaken Loseville's soul power. It turns out her soul power was too strong, so I couldn't control her body, but now it's my turn!"

The water sprite Fusada gently extended her magic wand and pointed it at the iron coffin. A surge of magical wind instantly swept through the entire space, and the stars surrounding the sky seemed to freeze at that moment. The next instant, the overturned iron coffin lid was suddenly flung open!

With the aid of magic, an enormous, indescribable hand suddenly stretched out, smashing the star-adorned sky straight upwards before disappearing from everyone's sight.

PS: This is the first update. There will be another update later.

Chapter 329 Angry

The wind howled, black smoke billowed, and orange sparks flew everywhere.

The choking smoke and dust blotted out the sun, and the tiny particles that scraped flesh seemed to penetrate straight into the lungs, making it hard to breathe.

At this moment, the coup plotters in the cathedral area were in complete chaos. The nobles and soldiers who had chosen to support Duke Cohen were in disarray, and amidst hysterical cries and shouts, a few soldiers and knights tried in vain to maintain discipline, but their efforts proved pale and futile in the face of that devastating punch.

Trier walked slowly through the chaotic crowd, surrounded by wreckage that had melted into crimson blood foam.

At this moment, no one dared to attack Trier. The soldiers, now disorganized and unrestrained, avoided him as if he were a plague. From the air, the crowd of people around Trier even showed a clear circular gap.

Anyone who had just tried to attack Trier was instantly melted into blood and gore with a casual flick of the finger, amidst chilling screams. Considering that they had come to kill Trier but were instantly attacked by a giant fist that felt like divine punishment, the coup plotters had developed a kind of supernatural awe for Trier.

Completely ignoring the restless and agitated enemy troops, Trier walked steadily forward—according to the magic stone he had given to Uncle Cohen in the past, Saint-Sel, who now occupied Uncle Cohen's body, was getting closer and closer.

A few seconds later, a gasp suddenly came from under the green flag that symbolized Count Bortard in the distance, and then the previously chaotic crowd fell into a brief silence.

Saint-Sel, with a smile on his face, appeared calmly in Trier's sight. He held a black magic storage stone in his hand, and beside him was a young priest carrying a box, though the priest did not seem willing.

“It seems we’re on the same page, my dear nephew,” Saint-Sel said.

He slowly opened his arms, breaking free from the protection of his attendants. As he walked, he continued in a tone as if reciting a eulogy: "The people of Gerdran have a proverb: 'The crown of a king is always stained with rotten blood, and the struggle for power is always accompanied by bloodshed and death—look at this farce, how many people will die for our ambitions?'"

As Saint-Sel uttered his words, the already wavering coup plotters wavered even more. After all, it was somewhat exaggerated for a faction leader to openly abandon his pretense of legitimacy and directly admit that he was fighting for power.

“So what are you trying to say?” Trier asked in a deep voice.

“Let’s avoid pointless bloodshed,” Saint-Sel said gently, as if he were a pacifist. “Why don’t we shed blood instead of everyone else? Let’s decide the duke’s title with a glorious duel.”

Although Saint-Sel's tone was gentle, his voice was clear, and the previously restless crowd gradually calmed down. Even the young priest, whose face had been ashen, softened considerably.

—No one dared to attack Trier anymore, so the fact that Duke Cohen took the initiative to propose a duel at this time was definitely proof of his courage and responsibility.

Upon hearing the other party's words, Trier paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. After a moment, he shook his head and took out his holy emblem.

“You know what? I swore an oath to myself: if Uncle Cohen dies, I will take my revenge and wipe out every single person involved in the conspiracy!”

The crowd, which had calmed down, suddenly fell silent. After a moment, a commotion broke out again, accompanied by whispers among the people.

People suddenly realized that Trier's words seemed strange and contradictory—what did he mean by "Uncle Cohen is dead," and what did he mean by "participant in the conspiracy"? Was Trier seeking revenge for Duke Cohen? But the problem was that Duke Cohen was not only alive, but had also challenged him to a duel. Was Trier planning to commit suicide?

Saint-Sel chuckled but didn't say anything.

Trier slowly raised the holy emblem, and holy light gradually appeared around him. In the next instant, the holy white light transformed into a heavy chain, instantly locking Trier and Saint Sel in the crowd together.

The signature skill of the Vengeance Paladin – Oath of the Enemy!

“Saint-Sel, your treachery does not surprise me.” Trier’s voice was low. “You will pay for your betrayal, and I will avenge my uncle.”

At this moment, the young priest, who had been holding the relic box, was completely dumbfounded. When he saw the chains of the enemy's oath appear, he was so shocked that he was numb.

Saint Seil?! Duke Cohen is truly a saint!?

The young priest had initially thought Duke Cohen's self-proclaimed sainthood was due to mental instability, but now these words were not only spoken by the enemy himself, but also confirmed by an "enemy's oath"...

Wait, if Trier's enemy is the Saint, then what is Trier?

The young priest's mind was in a daze. He turned his head shakily and looked at Saint Seir.

At this moment, Saint-Ser suddenly laughed, laughing so hard that tears were almost streaming down his face. He took a few more steps forward and said, "Since you know everything, then make your move."

“There is a giant ritual array in the basement of the city hall. The trigger condition for the array is that the person is a kinslayer,” Trier said slowly. “You first possessed your grandfather through blood ties, and then you induced Uncle Cohen to kill your grandfather, thus being able to devour his body.”

"Although I don't quite understand why you have to go through all this trouble, as long as we grasp your motives, your ultimate goal is nothing more than to make me kill the body you are currently occupying, so that I can also meet the judgment conditions of that giant underground ritual array."

The amount of information contained in Trier's words was so enormous that people even forgot their shock for a moment. They only felt that Trier's words sounded like a fantasy. But after a while, some people realized what was going on, and the oppressive atmosphere began to ferment.

Saint Seil's smile remained undiminished as he slowly clapped his hands: "Your reasoning is sound—to deal with a lich like you, whose origins are unknown and who is cunning, it's better to target your immortal essence directly than to go to great lengths to find your hidden phylactery. And the only way to target your immortal essence is through the most direct confrontation of souls."

“Of course, this is also one of the few ways to defeat the strong with the weak.” Saint Seir paused for a moment, then continued, “This formation was originally created by me and others in the distant past to deal with Losevie—it was because Losevie accidentally killed her own daughter that her sure-fire ascension ceremony failed.”

Trier glanced at Saint-Sel, his mind racing: Lothaway's daughter must be the corpse in the crystal coffin in the Eraf family cemetery.

Furthermore, Saint Seil's eagerness to share his plans proves that he now believes victory is assured—he may not even realize that the target of the ritual circle hidden beneath Eraf has been completely reversed...

Thinking of this, he smiled broadly and said, "Let me guess—you used some method to control Losevie's daughter back then, and then used her as a sacrifice to forcibly interfere with Losevie's ritual. Is this the basic process?"

“You’re mistaken. She made that choice herself.” Saint-Sel spread his hands. “I never force people to make choices, and I rarely use violence to control people. That would be too low-class. —Alright, is there anything else you want to ask?”

“This is so boring,” Trier suddenly said.

Saint-Sel frowned instinctively: "What's so boring?"

“Your explanation is utterly ridiculous.” Trier’s smile faded. “Your explanation is far more clumsy than my past attempts to convince myself that I truly believed in the oath of a paladin. You claim you never force anyone to make choices, but the only way you can get others to comply with your wishes is by exploiting their trust and respect, and then betraying them through deception and manipulation—anyone with even a basic sense of wariness towards you won’t fall for that.”

“I can gain trust and respect, which is naturally my own ability.” Saint Seir took out the storage stone. “As for how to use trust and respect, that is naturally my own decision. I’m afraid only a naive and foolish person like Edith would think that he must repay trust and respect with trust and respect. Moreover, Trier, you probably know better than anyone that ruthlessness is also an invaluable talent.”

"So you attribute all your past successes entirely to ruthlessness and a sufficiently low bottom line?" Trier blinked curiously, recalling Fusada's expression when she provoked him.

"Stop putting on that saintly act, old lich." Saint Seir was still smiling, but his lips were stiff. "Look, I ruthlessly abandoned my godhood and willingly attached myself to this body by being ruthless to myself; and now, I will win this game against you by being ruthless to my own bloodline. When you appear before me, you will have no hope of turning the tables."

“Wait a minute, I have a more complete theory about your past success—only by summarizing the past can we face the future. Would you like to hear it?” Trier said.

Saint-Sel raised his head and sneered, "Speak."

“The reason you’re in this position isn’t because of your hard work or your so-called ruthlessness. The real reason is quite simple—it just happens to be a chair that fits your butt size,” Trier said in a deep voice. “Pure luck and chance have propelled you, this clown, to this position. You feel bewildered and uneasy in this position, which is why you’re desperately trying to link your current achievements with your despicable qualities.”

Although he knew that Trier was deliberately provoking him, the sarcasm was so precise and cold that it was almost excessive. Moreover, the fact that a lich could put on such a moral judgmental face was infuriating. In an instant, Saint Seir felt as if a hammer had struck his amygdala, and his anger surged up.

The smile on his face vanished, and his expression instantly darkened.

"Even if it was just good luck, so what? I still won this round." He said coldly, "Farmers plant crops, nobles harvest them. No matter the method, the one who knows how to reap the rewards is the eternal winner. Those who don't understand this principle are destined to be lowly slaves forever."

Without waiting for Trier to say another word, he immediately continued, "So what if you saw through my plan? Now the distance between us is less than 50 meters. All I need to do is let you use the magic stone you gave to this body to slit your own throat, and you will also meet the conditions for a kinslayer—you have already lost."

“Then you might as well give it a try,” Trier said.

Saint Seir suddenly raised his hand and used the sharp edges of the black magic stone to slit his own throat.

P.S.: I didn't finish writing it yesterday QWQ, I'm really sorry.

Chapter 330 Soul Battle (Part 1)

A drop of golden blood plasma, like honey, slowly seeped from the wound, then flowed down the black edges of the storage stone, turning into a round, viscous droplet of blood that fell to the ground.

This is a beginning.

Soon, the divine blood, shimmering with a golden luster, poured down like a waterfall, resembling a flowing tassel from afar.

Saint-Sel's pupils slowly dilated, but a martyr-like smile appeared on his lips.

"Radiance above!" The young priest exclaimed in shock, his pupils constricting as he stared incredulously at the flowing liquid gold.

Just by getting close to that golden blood, he felt that the power he had accumulated over many years of hard work, which had been stagnating, suddenly gained a huge boost in a short period of time.

Duke Cohen was truly the embodiment of a saint...

He knelt down, wanting to touch the divine blood that was enough to become a sacred object, but Trier's slightly amused voice suddenly came from afar.

"I changed the hidden ritual of the underground mirror city a long time ago. You're just reaping what you sowed."

The young pastor looked up, but the next moment, he was stunned.

A thick fog had somehow enveloped the entire battlefield, and the scene that had just resembled the end of the world suddenly vanished, leaving only a cold, slippery white fog all around.

He quickly looked down to search for the divine blood, but the divine blood also dissolved into the mist. Even the marble road that had melted due to the high temperature suddenly turned into a clump of fluffy, damp soil.

The pastor hurriedly stood up, and the next moment, Trier's figure suddenly emerged from the mist.

“Usurpation…” The young priest instinctively wanted to rebuke the other party, but as if struck by a sudden inspiration, he swallowed the words back. “Your Majesty Saint Terrell!”

Trier paused slightly, and the fingers that were gripping the sword hilt slowly loosened.

He originally intended to kill the other party directly to gain experience points, but as soon as the other party spoke, he was surprised to find that he had actually gained some faith points.

The amount of faith points gained was almost equivalent to what a single Eraf survivor could provide in a day...

For a moment, even Trier was somewhat shocked.

How can this pastor not only perform a Sichuan opera-style face-changing act on the surface, but also change his inner beliefs in a few seconds? This is too outrageous.

“Your Holiness Saint Terrell, please guide your lost believer. Where exactly is this place?” the priest asked cautiously, bowing his head.

As the priest spoke, Trier was surprised to find that his faith value had actually increased again.

A line of cobalt blue, illusory information flashed past the corner of his eye.

[Your faith level has increased slightly after receiving the priest's devout prayer...]

[Warning: Since you do not possess a true divine nature, the divine power converted from faith points cannot be stored.]

The transmigrator blinked, his killing intent vanishing instantly. He explained in a gentle tone, "This is a space distorted by the will of a powerful being, located at the intersection of the material world, the dream world, and the realm of pure will—you can simply understand it as the realm of the soul."

"So I'm already dead?" The priest's voice trailed off. "This is the afterlife?"

“You’re still alive and well,” Trier explained patiently. “Logically, you shouldn’t be able to get in, but you were too close to where Saint-Sel died, so you were pulled in as well.”

Before he finished speaking, the thick fog in front of Trier suddenly vanished like a curtain changing in a stage play.

Behind the mist, a dense, dark forest suddenly appeared before the two. A gentle breeze rustled through the fir treetops, and withered branches and fallen leaves tumbled onto a forest path strewn with footprints.

Just then, a rustling sound suddenly came from the path covered with withered branches.

Trier looked up and saw a knight wearing an old-style winged barrel helmet.

The knight looked quite weary; her head was bowed, and her steps were heavy, as if made of lead. The silver-gray armor beneath her pristine white battle robe seemed to have lost its luster.

She carried a long spear that looked somewhat familiar from Trier. The spear's wooden handle had a hilt-like "lug" structure at the end, resembling the outstretched wings of an angel. Hanging below was a golden banner that appeared to have been completely decayed by time. Through the gray-black wormholes in the banner, one could vaguely make out that it once depicted a knight who had received enlightenment and an angel who gave him revelation.

This looks like the spear Edith often used, Trier thought.

Seemingly exhausted, the female knight suddenly sighed heavily, then removed her helmet, revealing a girlish face that bore a striking resemblance to Edith.

At this moment, pools of foul-smelling black pus swirled around her cheeks like black mist, and her once beautiful and heroic face was now mostly corroded into a skull riddled with holes.

Black pus dripped onto the path, instantly corroding the earth, and plumes of foul-smelling white gas slowly rose.

"Is this Princess Edith of the Kingdom of Orco?" the priest asked in surprise.

Trier answered candidly, "This is her ancestor, Lothaway."

“Lossaway?!” The priest’s voice trembled. “Haven’t she been dead for almost a thousand years…and why is she ignoring you and me?”

"This soul domain is formed by the mixture of the spirits of the subjects. The subjects are Saint Sel and Losevie. As the caster, as long as I don't want them to see me, they won't be able to see me."

After taking a few more steps, Losevie suddenly stopped.

"It's that ritual circle again. A thousand years later, I've been pulled into it by Sel once more," she muttered to herself. "Last time, this pull plunged me into utter destruction; but this time, it's allowed me to barely survive..."

As she was talking, she suddenly fell silent. After a moment, she abruptly threw down her helmet and covered her head.

“My soul is far less resilient than Little Edith's. I have already lost, utterly and completely. Regardless of whether I can defeat Trier in the realm of souls this time, I will perish just as easily if I face Little Edith again…”