Chapter 21: The Steel Magistrate

The Dark wizard cautiously retreated, maintaining a distance from the black fog. He knew this substance was not to be touched, lest he end up like the Formless spawns—he had no intention of shattering into pieces only to recover later. He did not want to risk his life, for dying here might mean being trapped forever—or perhaps there was no reason at all, just because he was a dark wizard, a fugitive for over seven years, so his nature was such.

He and the Inquisitor, who walked on a tightrope with her life, were completely different creatures.

Salser extended his palm forward, reaching into this world of black and white lines. The creature knelt on both knees, trembling, the black thick fog spilling from its body swirling up like a screaming sandstorm, turning everything nearby into ruins and dust. Although the fog was almost out of control, it still crushed everything around it instinctively. Salser whispered a spell that should not exist in this world, his empty eye sockets staring at the creature's body filled with fragmented dead spirits, his pupils narrowing into a vertical line, like some demonic lineage.

He was a spellcaster, a dark wizard of the Demonology school, a former military mage of the Third Legion's Mage Sequence. He knew when it was suitable for frontal combat and when it was not. Even though he was now so weak that he didn't dare to push open a Warren's door, he could still deal with this pitiful little thing that only knew how to handle ordinary people.

As for seeing what other means she had besides the black fog? That was unnecessary; she just needed to remain in a state where she couldn't concentrate on casting spells, continuing until her death.

The things spilling from her soul were very dangerous, but her emotions, her reason, and her spirit were just soft clay in the hands of the Dark wizard.

The soil and building ruins were blown to ashes by the black fog, the fierce hurricane tearing at the air, making the frenzied Formless spawn appeared like tiny insects being sucked into the fog and torn to shreds. But it was meaningless.

She was just venting her fear on the seven almost immortal liquid monsters, fear without reason. An emotion directly infused from the outside—'fear'.

He noticed Jeanne approaching. The Dark wizard casually pulled her into his concealment spell to prevent the out-of-control Formless spawn from charging over.

Jeanne sheathed her sword and watched the completely out-of-control battlefield.

"Why only use these emotion-controlling spells?" she asked casually.

"Recall your first strike," Salser said expressionlessly, "recall what you observed with spiritual vision. At that time, you had hit her soul, but the result was some dead spirit in her body took her place in perishing. That's the fundamental reason. Another reason is that I currently only have a few offensive spells to choose from, especially those targeting the body rather than the soul. None that I dare to use can break through her black fog in this situation."

"Then why do the emotion-manipulating spells work?"

"Actually, I'm not sure whether the negative effects of these spells can also be replaced by the spirits on her body," the Dark wizard answered her question at a leisurely pace, "but the things in this house—the spirits that make up those dolls, and the spirits on her body, are incomplete entities without emotions. In our past experiments, Infusing fear directly penetrates such spirits. So it's not a bad idea to try, right? Having you strike first was to—"

"—To use me as cannon fodder to scout the way?" Jeanne's face darkened, her slender eyebrows twisted together.

"Oh, you're so smart," Salser blinked his indifferent eyes, his gaze shifting to her, but without any other reaction, "I believe you can survive smoothly, right? Since I trust you this much, you should trust me who trusts you so much."

This thoughtless sarcasm made her inexplicably annoyed. Jeanne spat with hatred, ignoring Salser's malicious teasing. She said with a dark face, "Dark wizard, don't forget your life is tied to my body."

"......"

Salser's eyebrows also twisted together.

Jeanne smiled, her smile filled with mockery, "Do you old coffins who have lived for hundreds of years have such bad memories?"

Paused, the eyes with vertical pupils blinked.

"Hundreds of years isn't that long for spellcasters," he shrugged, seemingly not feeling embarrassed at all, "Theoretically speaking—"

Salser swallowed the second half of his sentence.

"These servants of the sleepers are really clever," he shifted his gaze from Jeanne back to the battlefield.

The witch let out a muffled whimper, the black fog roared and rose, then cascaded down like countless angry giant hands smashing onto the ground. The dark plain trembled, raising a large cloud of dust. She fell on the trembling building ruins, the droplets of Formless spawn sticking to her skin, constantly cycling between condensing and shattering, merging into a layer of thick, black, and constantly wriggling blanket, gradually enveloping her entire body. She was still struggling.

The ruins and stones on the ground shattered into flying dust, Salser watched from a distance, hidden under the spell, like a person who didn't exist at all, occasionally throwing an evil spell at her, twisting her emotions and thoughts. The shattered droplets of Formless spawn kept swirling into the center of the black fog, constantly merging into the mud enveloping her body, making this layer of restraint thicker and her struggles weaker.

In this chaos of madness, the fluctuations of the black fog gradually calmed down, and the servants of the evil god finally made her completely lose consciousness, the raging black fog dispersing like real fog...

...

A petite knight walked into the dark entrance of the mountaintop tomb, passing through a passage with no support. The witchcraft lamps on both sides of the road flickered with a greenish cold light, the viscous fog spreading like tentacles on the moss, chasing his ankles. A team of tall, heavy-bodied, and oppressive church knights followed in his footsteps. They had cold eyes, but their footsteps were light. The thick air in the passage was filled with the musty smell of old mold, as if no one had visited for a hundred years. 

This tomb entrance suddenly moved to the top of Mount Karaskai a few days ago, as if it were a prank by some god.

"Ah—this should be the right place, Sir Magistrate, the team of church knights led by that fierce Inquisitor woman disappeared here," said the knight in full light armor. His voice was lively, but—when mentioning the Inquisitor woman, his tone carried a few grievances, "It happened about five or six days ago, they replenished supplies near my manor before entering."

The team of knights lined up behind him, and the leader stepped forward slowly, taking off his heavy round-topped helmet.

He was tall, with the face of a hawk, bald, probably in his thirties. Notably, his face was covered with a silver-white metal cross—about two fingers wide—the metal surface was quite smooth and tightly adhered to the skin. The horizontal part of the cross covered the eyes and ears, while the vertical part extended from the back of the neck to the top of the head, then all the way to the chin. Spiral-shaped metal spikes pierced along the cross through his eyes and ears, replacing the organs that humans should use to receive external information.

—The Steel Magistrate.

"Sir, you can return to your manor now."

A deep, yet surprisingly gentle voice—directly sounded in the petite knight's mind.

"They disappeared near my manor, so I also have the divine duty to save them! Although I really dislike that fierce female Inquisitor, that's irrelevant," he said without restraint under the relatively light helmet compared to the Steel Magistrate, completely unconcerned about whether 'slandering the Inquisitor' would make the extremely fierce-looking man in front of him unhappy.

"I don't care if you are rude, as your reputation has always been so. The Lord teaches us to be tolerant towards the kind, but the Church has not made an accurate assessment of this place..."

"Well, if Sir Magistrate is worried about me—" he interrupted the bald man's warning, puffing out his chest and said, "I am absolutely capable of protecting myself, I am Astolfo, a certified knight, ready at your service!

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