Chapter 128: Heretics

All the noise and illusions vanished instantly. Before Gawain realized what was going on, the sight before his eyes had returned to normal.

The corridor of the castle stretched out in front of him. A dark red carpet was laid on the ground, while the portraits of Viscount Andrew’s ancestors hung from the walls on both sides of the carpet. Charged magic crystals were mounted in between the portraits. These crystals emitted a constant glow, but it was as if there was something disrupting the transmission of the rays of light. Though they appeared to be bright, the slightly further spots were unusually dim.

Gawain instinctively turned back for a glance but saw Sir Philip and the others who happened to be striding forward and crossing the door. Their movements were natural and not in the least abnormal. — It seemed he was the only one affected. Besides, those illusions that he saw earlier only lasted a moment; no one else had noticed.

“What’s wrong?” Amber caught the change in Gawain’s expression and asked in a low voice.

Gawain kept a sharp lookout of their surroundings while replying. “I seemed to have encountered an illusion earlier, but it only lasted a split second.”

“There is indeed magic dissipating here, most likely the aura left behind by the heretic cult believer. After coming into contact with such a powerhouse like yourself — who’s beyond its grade — it broke down by itself,” Pittman analyzed softly. “We must be careful. There might be a magic trap here.”

Gawain frowned. “Are you able to sense the heretic cult believer’s general position?”

“He’s very cautious. Either that or his power is odd.” Pittman shook his head. “I can sense remnants of twisted druid magic all over this area, but not one of the auras are ‘alive’…”

Sir Philip gripped his longsword tightly. He rested the sword handle against his chest and briefly recited the name of Kehr, the god of knights and warriors. He displayed a theurgy-like ability through such a method. Then, he looked towards the end of the corridor. “The auras are gathering at that side.”

That was the direction of the feudal lord’s meeting chamber.

Gawain exchanged glances with Amber and the others; then, with Gawain taking the lead, druid Pittman at the back, Philip and Amber keeping guard on the sides, the four carefully edged down the corridor.

The portraits hanging on the walls on the two sides radiated a pale glow in the light cast by the altered magic crystals. The ancestors of the Leslie Clan hung on the walls, indifferently watching the visit of uninvited guests. Those blanched eyeballs were like dead fishes, making Amber involuntarily feel a cold shiver down her spine.

On the contrary, Gawain merely cast those portraits a glance. That was only due to the mild alteration created by the magic environment, absolutely undeserving of worry. Besides, who hadn’t been hung on the wall before?

The door of the meeting chamber was similarly left ajar; a dim light leaked out from inside. However, when they drew nearer, both Pittman and Philip could not sense a definite aura of a heretic cult believer. Gawain scanned the wooden door decorated with luxurious metal threads and carved with the heraldry of the Leslie Clan. After confirming that there weren’t any potential dangers such as traps and whatnot with the door itself and behind it, he carefully pushed it open.

The feudal lord’s meeting chamber was deserted. The magic crystals on the vault and the columns all around created a murky glow; the tables and chairs in the middle of the hall had been moved away, only leaving the velvet high-back chair on the platform at the front of the hall. That was the feudal lord’s seat.

Tanzan Town’s feudal lord, Viscount Andrew, was seated in that high-back chair. Behind him hung the portraits of the Leslie Clan’s earliest generations of ancestors to be conferred a title of nobility, while he breathed with difficulty under the gazes of those ancestors. This man who was originally tall and skinny had become emaciated to the point of being shriveled. His blood and flesh seemed to have withered, skin sticking tightly to his bones, like a pale and desiccated living dead. He leaned against the back of the chair; his head swayed on his shoulders, while his eyes fixed on the roof without a focus as he struggled to breathe while murmuring something under his breath.

The magic crystals located on the two sides of the chair emitted a white light, casting Andrew’s long and hazily cast shadow on the ground.

This viscount seemed to have completely lost his ability to move freely.

Gawain grasped the Sword of Pioneers tightly, leading Philip and Pittman to walk into the hall. The trio guarded against their surroundings while moving towards Viscount Andrew. However, it was as if the Viscount was totally unaware of the three people’s approach; he merely stared blankly at the vault, muddled sounds coming from his mouth.

“His mind has been trapped.” Pittman immediately decided. “But it’s not severe. — I can release his curse, but the heretic cult believer is very likely to notice. Be prepared.”

Gawain nodded lightly. “Do it.”

Pittman presently placed his hand on Viscount Andrew’s forehead, while his other hand brought out a small bottle from his chest. He used his mouth to bite off the wooden cork at the mouth of the bottle then dripped a few drops of the liquid onto the top of the Viscount’s head.

A strange yet strong flower fragrance diffused from those few drops of liquid and created an intense exorcism effect alongside the druid spell. The sorcery that bound Viscount Andrew’s mind was affected and began to loosen bit by bit.

All of a sudden, Viscount Andrew’s eyelids lifted for a moment. He regained soberness from the chaos and looked towards Gawain who stood before him. His eyes abruptly widened as a hoarse and horrific voice choked out of his throat. “He’s in my shadows!”

And almost in the exact moment the Viscount’s words fell, the shadow that he cast on the ground began to contort. The magic crystals on the back of the chair shattered with a bang. The shadow on the ground grew all at once, a pitch-black figure leaped out of it and charged right at Gawain’s face.

However, it was as if Gawain had long expected this; even before Viscount Andrew made a sound to warn him, he was already in a position to jump back. Before the shadow had rushed out, he had grabbed Pittman and jumped away from the platform. Sir Philip followed closely.

The shadow instantly missed, and before he could reform his posture, a shadow on the ground warped once again. A leg wearing ankle-length leather boots flew out and landed a kick on the back of this figure. “And I am in your shadows!”

The figure was abruptly kicked out of shadow state and fell from the platform in a miserable state, but he disintegrated with a bang into drifting ashes, then was wrapped in a wind, and rushed to the other end of the hall before re-condensing into an entity with unknown features draped in black robes.

Meanwhile Amber completely leaped out of the shadows and swiftly scurried behind Gawain.

Gawain looked at the figure dressed in black robes with a vague smile. “A mage insisting on running out to assassinate a knight wearing full armor instead of hiding in obscure corners or throwing lightning balls from afar. Is the Oblivion Association all full of fresh styles like yours?”

The person in black robes who failed in his sneak attack was unable to control his surprise. “You actually weren’t affected by the Sound of Truth?!”

“Sound of Truth? You’re referring to the magic you left on the door? The one that would cause the first person to open the door and enter to have his head full of noise?” Gawain asked curiously. “Ah, I indeed heard something. — Pity, just as I was about to chat with it, the sound vanished. Did I make it go crazy with one sentence?”

The figure seemed to sink into immense fury upon hearing Gawain. His hood swayed and a vicious curse came from the shadow. “Violating the law that all things will ultimately die, heretic who returned to the mortal world from the kingdom of the dead, you truly shouldn’t remain in this world!”

And as his words fell, everyone present heard a series of dense breaking and shattering sounds coming from outside the hall!

The windows of the meeting chamber were smashed with a rattle; the doors here and there were also crushed or sent flying by a powerful force. Thick branches and vines broke through all windows and doors and charged into this hall.

The vegetation that had torn into the hall tossed and turned on the ground, accompanied by creaks; they became distorted and deformed and then stood up like humans. — They were treants 1 over two meters tall. Moreover, it was entirely different from the treants that druids summoned in normal circumstances. — Their branches and leaves were deformed and rotten, with countless cuts cracked open on their surfaces and poisonous sap flowing out of the cuts which emitted a pungent stench.

Just like what was known to the world: When the druids of the Oblivion Association renounced their faith in life and nature, the power of ‘life’ disappeared from their spells.

These treants began to launch a fierce attack on Gawain and company.

“Their cores are in the balls of black rotten leaves!” Pittman swiftly threw out several magic seeds while shouting loudly, “Don’t let the poisonous sap splatter into your eyes!”

The magic seeds radiated a green brilliance upon landing on the ground. Then, under the acceleration of druid magic, they rapidly took root and grew into tough vines or brambles with thorns to restrain those treants that were sweeping in from all directions.

Gawain could not help but give Pittman a deep look; then he retracted his gaze and swung his longsword to hack off a treant’s arm.

Amber and Philip were also engaged in fighting those decomposed treants.

Amidst this chaotic and intense battle, Gawain’s attention was focused on that heretic cult believer in black robes throughout.

Other than releasing treants that he’d probably prepared long in advance into play, that black figure never truly participated in the battle even till now. He only looked on from afar, appearing to be silent and dark — yet he had been willing to strike.

Gawain Cecil instantly understood what was the matter. — This heretic cult believer knew about Gawain Cecil.

He knew who he was; he knew how reputed this ‘resurrected legend’ was. Although he spoke very arrogantly at the start, he was clearly timid — and slow to strike; perhaps it was because he really didn’t dare to.

Yet, he directed the treants to fight instead of fleeing in a haste. This showed that he had most likely guessed that ‘Gawain Cecil was in a phase of weakness after resurrecting’!

He was observing, judging specifically what power this ‘legend’ had after resurrection. This was undoubtedly taking a risk — and there should absolutely be something worth him taking this risk here.

Thoughts fleeted through Gawain’s mind. In a brief extent of two or three sword slashes, he had thought of a lot. Although he still didn’t know the exact channels with which this heretic cult believer had gotten information about himself, and how much he had understood or inferred; neither did he know what exactly the heretic cult believer sought to obtain from this place. It certainly did not stop him from setting up a trap to finish him off as soon as possible.

Within seconds of consideration, he thrust his sword into the magical power core of a treant. However, when he was pulling the sword out, he intentionally made his hand tremble for a moment, appearing as if his strength had suddenly dropped.