Chapter 4: Cut Weeds and Remove Roots(1)

"The incident involving the rise of the necromancer cult in Airi has almost inflicted a devastating blow to the local economy, and the court is taking it very seriously. Moreover, various countries have shown interest in your proposal to establish an alliance…"

"Enough…" Bishop Ronis wearily waved his hand, stopping the archdeacon from continuing his report. He really did not like letting this subordinate handle such matters unless the church had summoned the other two archdeacons out of nowhere. With a voice that was old and weary, he asked, "How is the wanted notice coming along?"

High Priest Kusbert took out a portrait that clearly depicted a young man, with a line of small text below it stating: This person was originally a cleric from the Magic Academy. After investigation, he was found to be in collusion with the necromancer cult and is extremely dangerous; a bounty of five thousand gold coins is offered for his capture. Unlike the elf bounties, which were issued through the Adventurers' Guild and thieves' organizations, this one would use the power of the nation and the church to hunt him down across the continent.

Five thousand gold coins. Over the past ten years, the highest bounty on the continent for the most dangerous gang of thieves was only one-tenth of this amount. Once this wanted notice was distributed, every bounty hunter, thief organization, and mercenary group would pin this paper to their headboards, memorizing every detail about him down to the shape of every hair. They would go to great lengths to gather information on his personality, quirks, past experiences, favorite foods, walking habits, and even the posture he used when passing gas. If even the slightest hint about him leaked out, throngs of diverse pursuers would undoubtedly swarm in their thousands. Even the admiration and longing once bestowed upon the world's most beautiful woman and the most charming young man would pale in comparison to the attention this person would receive.

Bishop Ronis, with a dazed look in his eyes, glanced at the portrait of someone destined to be remembered by countless people, shook his head, and sighed heavily, saying, "You haven't forgotten the most important point, have you? Make sure to note: he must not be harmed; he must be alive."

"Yes. I will prepare it immediately and notify others to distribute it," High Priest Kusbert replied, putting the portrait away. His ugly face was filled with excitement, and even Bishop Ronis could sense that his emotions were a bit excessive. "Bishop, you've nurtured him and trusted him so much; I never expected he would collude with the necromancer cult…"

"Enough. You may leave now. I am very tired." Bishop Ronis waved his hand irritably. "You will announce this matter to the others."

The situation had finally progressed to the very step he had wanted to avoid. Although this matter had not been publicly disclosed yet, it was only a matter of time. Once this wanted notice was released, all his hard work and hopes would go to waste. Bishop Ronis closed his eyes, never before feeling so old.

The archdeacon did not leave the small study but stood in place.

"What's wrong? Is there anything else?" The bishop slightly opened his eyes.

"There's… Marquis Inham and Duke Murak are here to see you."

"Inham? Why is he here with the duke? Let them in," Bishop Ronis frowned. Though he was friends with the marquis, their relationship was very personal, and he seldom met with him in such a formal setting. It was even more unusual for him to come with Duke Murak today. He suddenly sensed something strange about the archdeacon and looked at him: "What's wrong? Your heartbeat and breathing are irregular. What are you nervous about?"

"Nothing… It's just… I thought of how you have been nurturing that cleric so diligently, and yet he has disappointed your efforts," the archdeacon lowered his head, his rigid face twitching slightly, as if the earlier excitement had not yet passed.

Bishop Ronis sighed deeply, shaking his head in silence. This subordinate had always been quite critical of his unconventional promotion of newcomers; perhaps it was jealousy. He was someone who placed too much importance on power and gain.

High Priest Kusbert left to bring in Inham and Duke Murak, then stood behind Bishop Ronis. The duke and marquis both respectfully bowed to the bishop, saying, "God be with you, Bishop."

Bishop Ronis nodded slightly and asked, "There's another set of footsteps that came with you; who is it?"

"It's just a servant of a lowly person; let him wait outside," the duke answered respectfully.

Bishop Ronis inquired, "What brings you two here?"

Duke Murak stepped forward first and said, "I have already heard that the cleric has colluded with the necromancer cult. So I came to report the situation to you. A few nights ago, I saw him jumping out of my daughter's window and disappearing into the streets. I asked my daughter, and although she wouldn't say anything, I could still judge that they must have… Alas, I truly have failed as a father, allowing my daughter to associate with such a person…"

"I believe you wouldn't have come just to say these pointless words," Bishop Ronis waved his hand. He still looked weak, but the flickering flame in his eyes suddenly flared up. He was in a bad mood and very tired, lacking the interest or energy to engage in the typical formalities of political niceties with the duke.

The duke smiled, seemingly finally revealing a sly expression that matched his true nature and intentions. "What I mean to say is, if Bishop Ronis truly wishes to capture him, we might as well use my daughter as bait. By spreading the news appropriately and letting him know about her predicament, he will definitely appear where we hope he will…"

His expression returned to the earlier sincerity. "I merely hope to relieve some of the bishop's worries…"

The fire in Bishop Ronis's eyes intensified, focusing on the duke's friendly face.

This was indeed a very simple and effective plan, aligning well with the duke's unscrupulous methods. However, from a certain perspective, it was also an unavoidable trap. Bishop Ronis felt a stirring within him.

But the bishop's attention shifted immediately. He vaguely sensed that even this seemingly sinister plan was not the duke's original intention for coming here; he had no need to curry favor or seek partnership with him.

Bishop Ronis's gaze remained fixed on the duke's face, suspecting there might be something unexpected beneath that plump, sincere facade… but in his current exhausted state, he lacked the energy to ponder deeper. His gaze inevitably wandered again. He turned away from the duke and looked at Inham, asking, "What do you want?"

"I have already heard the news that he escaped," the marquis replied quietly. "I find it quite surprising."

"I find it surprising as well," Bishop Ronis sighed again; he had sighed many times today. He truly felt old.

"I also heard that he didn't even see you and just left directly; is that true?"

Bishop Ronis nodded slightly in a typical elderly manner.

"Did he leave any message or word for you?"

Bishop Ronis shook his head.

"Oh." The marquis nodded. His demeanor today seemed quite strange, lacking the usual energy and vigor. He hesitated for a moment, then sighed, a sound full of helplessness and fatigue. "Actually, I came today to speak to you about something."

"Let's talk about it later; I'm very tired."

"No. It must be said now, here." The marquis's expression was surprisingly serious, seemingly incompatible with his usual character.

Bishop Ronis waved to the duke and archdeacon: "You both leave for now."

The marquis resolutely waved his hand, saying, "No need. This is a very important matter; they must be here too."

Bishop Ronis frowned; today everyone seemed a bit strange. He was very tired and annoyed, and these matters just kept becoming increasingly perplexing.

"You know, I have very few friends." The marquis stepped forward, his expression and voice filled with desolation. He spoke in a low tone and suddenly used air magic to ensure that their conversation could only be heard by the two of them.

"A person with a unique status, whether high or low, good or bad, finds it difficult to make true friends," the marquis continued. He looked up and sighed before lowering his gaze back to Bishop Ronis, the sorrow in his eyes deepening.

Bishop Ronis couldn't help but nod slightly and sighed deeply. This was indeed true; he likely understood this better than anyone. Although it didn't seem like the right place for such discussions, he believed the marquis had a special reason for saying this, as he could sense something unusual in his friend's gaze.

The marquis moved closer to Bishop Ronis, taking his frail hands in his own. "And you are one of my friends." The loneliness and helplessness in his eyes deepened, even tinged with sadness. His hands were cold, gripping tightly, and his words were sincere. "Since she died, you have treated me well and trusted me for these twenty years. I truly regard you as a good friend."

Bishop Ronis felt High Priest Kusbert's breathing suddenly become heavy, his heart racing. He was probably angry at this discourteous display from someone he had always looked down upon.

Duke Murak, however, maintained that sincere expression.

Bishop Ronis sensed something was off but couldn't quite place it.

"But now I need to tell you something that I know will surprise you," the marquis lowered his head, leaning closer to Bishop Ronis's ear. Although their conversation was inaudible to others, he adopted this posture, as if it were an extremely secretive and embarrassing matter. His voice remained sincere. "Do you remember the vampire that suddenly appeared last time? I released it... I am actually a necromancer. I came here today to help them kill you."

The light in Bishop Ronis's eyes flared up, concentrating into two nearly real flames that illuminated the face of his old friend. Shock, anger, unwillingness, and sadness twisted together in an instant on his gaunt face.

His mixed feelings of shock and fury stemmed not only from this completely unexpected confession but also from the murderous intent that appeared behind him and the icy sensation creeping in.

There was no pain, just a cold, prickling sensation that surged through his skin, almost reaching his heart. This seemingly mild sensation was rapidly devouring the life force of his body nearby, and he could even feel the magical energy within him beginning to solidify. This was not just poison; it was a potent curse infused with strong malice.

That blade had to be the work of High Priest Kusbert standing behind him.

It was a despicable stab and a poorly executed one.

The High Priest was certainly not a skilled assassin. From the very beginning, his breath and heartbeat had been abnormal, and the murderous intent that burst forth before the attack was clear to feel. Even someone not particularly astute should have been able to detect it in advance and dodge.

However, Bishop Ronis failed to notice. He was simply too exhausted and mentally drained. Even if he had sensed his subordinate's abnormalities, he didn't investigate further. Moreover, the words from the marquis were so shocking that he had no time to react to the sudden murderous intent behind him. Thus, the deadly ambush succeeded smoothly.

But a successful ambush did not equate to a successful assassination.

White magic surged within Bishop Ronis, rushing toward the wound on his back. There was no need to chant prayers; the light of two high-level healing spells—Rebirth in Fire and Cleansing of Evil—instantly flickered around him, suppressing the curse and damage. In terms of pure white magic prowess, even the Pope might not surpass Bishop Ronis on this continent. Regardless of how severe the injury or curse, as long as it didn't lead to immediate death, it could be suppressed under the full force of his white magic.

High Priest Kusbert's face changed. He had been tense, but seeing the healing magic's light made him even more fearful. He knew better than anyone the magical level represented by the instantaneous casting of these two high-level healing spells. He realized that the old man's magical power had long exceeded their expectations and imagination.

He drew out the dagger used for the assassination, aiming it sharply at Bishop Ronis's neck. His ugly face was twisted with terror and anxiety, looking far from human.

Unfortunately, this stab only struck against a sudden appearance of a pale blue electric shield behind Bishop Ronis. With a crackling sound, Kusbert was sent flying back.

From the moment Kusbert attacked, the duke had stood there without moving, maintaining that sincere expression on his face. Only when Kusbert was bounced back did a twitch appear at the corner of his eye.

Although he had long known Bishop Ronis was not easy to deal with, he hadn't expected it to be to this extent.

That dagger's poison was enough to kill an elephant. Yet this frail old man not only endured it but was also able to cast spells that would instantly defeat his attacker.

Even so, the duke still did not move. He couldn't move. He was the last link in all the plans, and if he failed again, the entire plan would collapse. He had to wait for the absolutely final moment. Now it was a battle between the dagger's poisonous curse and Bishop Ronis's white magic.

At this moment, only Bishop Ronis could feel another kind of magical fluctuation silently transmitting from his hand at this very opportune time.

The marquis still wore that sad, frozen expression. His grip was tight; even if Bishop Ronis pulled with all his strength, he couldn't free himself.

This magical fluctuation that came through was not fierce or turbulent. It was like thick, foul sludge, continuously pouring into his body, staining and blackening his flesh along the way, pulling at the magical fluctuations and resonance of his entire body with a corrosive scent. The two healing spells he had just placed upon himself immediately collapsed under this fetid water's permeation, like soil dissolving in mud.

"Flesh-Eating Rot," this was a dual erosion of necromancy and dark magic. If it weren't for the holy white magic swirling within his body, simply touching this fluctuation would cause his flesh to become a mass of decay that not even rats and flies would find appealing.

"You..." Bishop Ronis's voice had turned hoarse. His magical power surged outward, and white electric sparks erupted around his body, instantly forming five glowing white orbs.

"Elemental Spirits of Thunder, I summon the wrath of the storm in my name..." Bishop Ronis finally shouted out the hoarse incantation. He had given up on healing, channeling all his magic into an offensive spell. The five thunderous explosive orbs floated above him in a pentagram formation, and the central electric light began to emit a pure white radiance, gradually evolving into a magical circle. This was the last strike made at the cost of all his magic and life; if he completed the incantation, these three people would definitely not escape unscathed.

Wrath of the Titans. This was a forbidden spell created by the fusion of light magic and air magic.

This was almost a spell that existed only in theory. It was incredibly rare to find a magician who could cultivate both air and light magic to their peak level, and most importantly, this spell's power was entirely uncontrollable, with an unimaginable destructive force that would turn everything within its vicinity, including the caster, into dust.

Yet Bishop Ronis was using this spell now. He was not afraid of harming innocents or of the entire magic academy being shattered by the explosive force. It was better than allowing the magic academy or even the entire empire to fall into the hands of these three assassins.

He understood that this was a meticulously planned assassination, and the significance and malevolence of this assassination were perhaps even beyond the comprehension of the two assassins involved. He had to use this self-destructive method to inform Sandru…

At that moment, Duke Murak moved. The kind and sincere expression on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming aura of killing intent. His plump face, which seemed to naturally carry a look of kindness, turned into a visage of sheer authority and severity when it became fully cold and hard.

He understood all too well what a desperate final attack from a top-tier sorcerer meant. He had to wait—wait until Bishop Ronis made his move, wait until the bishop's spell reached its conclusion and could no longer be altered, and then strike, allowing his attack to be both lethal and capable of interrupting the bishop's magic.

He lunged forward, drawing his sword and stabbing in a single fluid motion. His plump body displayed the speed and agility of a cheetah; from the moment he moved, he had already appeared before Bishop Ronis, his slender sword piercing precisely into the bishop's Adam's apple.

The incantation immediately faltered, the last few characters stuck in the bishop's throat, unable to break free past the sword's obstruction. The slender sword punctured through the base of the bishop's neck from below, so accurately that it didn't even graze the bone but pierced his medulla oblongata.

This was a wound beyond any magic or healing's reach—or rather, a death wound.

Perhaps he was right to leave. Bishop Ronis only had time for this vague thought before his body slumped onto the table. One of the most powerful sorcerers on the continent, the most esteemed bishop of the church, the spiritual pillar of the Empire of Einfast, an old man who held onto great hopes of light, thus perished.

The assassination was successful.

Yet there was no relief or joy on Duke Murak's face. The high priest next to him, who had already turned pale, began to distort, his complexion turning even more ashen. They both stared at the five white orbs crackling with electricity that floated in the air.

The magic circle had disappeared, the Wrath of the Titans could no longer be invoked, and the thunder magic formation in the air had reverted to a standard thunder explosive, its power now vastly inferior to that of the forbidden spell.

Even so, these five were still the most offensive high-level spells in air magic. Any one of them could blow the room to pieces. They might be able to escape through their abilities, or perhaps survive the explosion, but everything that happened here would be exposed in the blast.

Duke Murak and the high priest involuntarily held their breath. The five thunder explosive orbs floated lightly in the air, and even the slightest movement of air could cause them to collide or drift against the walls or other objects. The duke's narrow eyes, usually gentle, now gleamed with a sharp light, piercing into the already pale face of the high priest. He was not a sorcerer and had no idea how to resolve the current situation.

It was then that the high priest woke from his shock. He crossed his arms, pointing at the five thunder explosive orbs, mumbling an incantation. He then turned to Duke Murak and said, "I don't have a deep understanding of air magic; I can only fix the magic like this... It's up to you to think of a way."

"Come help, you don't want to die either," Duke Murak said to the marquis. Although he wasn't sure of the marquis's magical abilities, and even doubted whether this wastrel, who had merely lingered at the magic academy for a while, would even remember any magic, he had no one else to rely on now.

However, the marquis acted as if he hadn't heard a thing, remaining utterly still. It seemed he not only hadn't heard but also hadn't seen the five deadly orbs hovering above, which could turn him into mush. His expression was filled with sadness, loneliness, and regret, still holding the hand of Bishop Ronis, who he had betrayed to death, gazing at the bishop's unclosed eyes.

Duke Murak glared fiercely at this useless wastrel. There was no time to waste. Kusbert could not hold the thunder explosive orbs in the air for much longer, and it was impossible to rely on these little things to dissipate on their own. He had to take action himself.

The duke steadied himself, taking a deep breath. He stood firm and slowly reached out, bringing the sword he had just used to kill Bishop Ronis close to one of the glowing orbs. Just as the sword tip was about to touch the edge of the orb, he suddenly exerted force with his hand and shoulder.

The slender sword moved at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, merely seeming to tremble. The orb brightened for a moment before fracturing into countless tiny white light points scattered in the air.

Duke Murak let out a long sigh of relief; this improvised method had indeed proven effective. But a fine sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.

It wasn't just from the tension but also from fatigue. Just moments ago, in what felt like a half-blink of an eye, he had unleashed dozens of strikes with sheer wrist strength, infusing the sword with sword energy. This had disrupted the entire magical structure before the violent magical force brewing within the thunder ball could react. His skill, speed, and sword energy had all been executed to perfection, without a single misstep. The effort and spirit exerted in this precise and rapid slashing were no less than what would be required in a fierce battle.

Steeling himself again, the duke rapidly advanced with his sword once more, and the second thunder explosive orb was completely disassembled into scattered magical elements. Sweat was now streaming down the duke's face.

As the third thunder explosive orb disintegrated, it emitted a faint crackling sound. The other two orbs shifted slightly in response to this disturbance, nearly colliding with each other. The duke stepped back a few paces, a flush crossing his face, then paling again.

The duke's back was already soaked through. With the third strike, he felt his strength waning; both the sword energy and the speed of his swing were lacking. Most crucially, the magical shockwave from the disintegrating thunder ball nearly knocked him back. His right shoulder and half his body were tingling.

Kusbert's ugly face had turned the color of dried liver. Maintaining this suspended air environment was a bit much for his level, and it was clear to anyone that he couldn't hold on much longer.

There were still two orbs floating in the air. They were not large, their pure white color and the surrounding crackling electricity made them appear rather beautiful, emitting a faint buzzing sound. But the duke looked at them as if they were two terrifying ancient beasts.

The duke closed his eyes and took a deep breath; sweat gathered on his plump face and dripped down his chin. He suddenly exhaled sharply and struck again with his sword. The fourth thunder explosive orb was finally disassembled. However, this was accompanied by a muffled thud.

The sound was not loud enough to alarm anyone outside the cathedral. Though exhausted, the duke managed to concentrate nearly all his spirit and energy into that one strike, almost severing all the magical fluctuations within the thunder ball. Only about a thousandth of its magical power reacted, resulting in a small explosion.

The force of this explosion was even less than that of a large firecracker and would definitely not injure anyone, but in the current circumstances, it could still be deadly. The last remaining thunder explosive orb, though not directly exploding, was shaken by this blast and sent flying toward the adjacent wall.

Kusbert's ugly face darkened, and he collapsed to the ground. Protecting this dangerous little object from directly detonating in the shockwave had already drained all the mental energy he had been desperately maintaining.

The duke's complexion was not much better. That last strike had pushed him to his limit, and it was impossible to swing again in such a short time. Without sufficient sword energy and speed techniques, attempting to strike that orb full of destructive explosive power was akin to poking a pack of dynamite with a burning torch.

The thunder explosive orb floated slowly, making it easy to see. For the first time, despair appeared in the duke's eyes. He, who had never believed in any religion and had just personally killed the bishop, began to pray for a miracle from the heavens.

But a miracle did happen. Just as the white orb was about to collide with the wall, it suddenly stopped, then turned and flew out through a small window above, vanishing into the sunlight in just a few blinks.

The duke stared in shock for quite some time before turning to look at the creator of this miracle: it was the marquis, who had not moved at all until now.

The marquis lowered his hand, which had been raised to unleash air magic, and, looking at the duke's astonished gaze, said calmly, "It's nothing; this isn't some profound magic. These little tricks are just within my grasp." His expression remained somber as he looked at the corpse of Bishop Ronis, sighing, his eyes filled with sorrow and melancholy. "You should do what you need to do."

Duke Murak narrowed his long eyes, not hiding his wariness, scanning the marquis's handsome face—perfectly matching that of a carefree artistic wastrel—but finding nothing noteworthy. He turned to look at the high priest, who was struggling to get up from the floor, and frowned, asking, "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing." Kusbert gasped a few times, shook his head, and looked at the marquis with a hint of astonishment. He had always looked down on this good-for-nothing. However, he wasn't too surprised; it was indeed not some profound spell, just a more skillful manipulation of air magic. Perhaps this good-for-nothing liked to fool people with these little tricks.

The duke nodded, finding some reassurance in the high priest's expression. He raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, sighed contentedly, and then his face returned to its usual friendly demeanor, like a merchant who had just completed a satisfying deal and was now waiting for the conclusion. He said to Kusbert, "Then let's continue."

Kusbert struggled to move Bishop Ronis's body to the corner, pulled over a coffee table to block it, and then walked out.

Not long after, when the high priest came back in, he was accompanied by someone else. It was the young man who had been standing outside, the one Bishop Ronis had recognized. He was in his twenties, quite tall and thin, and bore a striking resemblance to Asa. He wore a set of priestly robes and had a hat that obscured half of his face. He looked a bit shy and curious as he glanced around, but immediately lowered his head and froze under Kusbert's commanding gaze.

He was originally just a street punk from a village outside the capital, and a few days ago, he had been inexplicably captured by some people. These nobles, it seemed, had arranged a task for him, promising a great reward upon completion. Little did he expect to be dressed up like this and brought to the capital's magic academy today.

The high priest pulled out a small pouch from his pocket and threw it to the young man, saying, "Pour this on yourself." The young man opened the pouch, which contained a small bag of blood. Following the high priest's instructions, he poured the blood on himself and his face.

"Alright. Now turn around and run out of here, out of the magic academy. Do you remember the route we arranged for you?" Kusbert fixed a penetrating gaze on the young man. "Well? Do you remember?"

"Yes…" The young man nodded nervously.

"Don't be afraid. We're just playing a game." The duke's gentle voice always calmed people down, and when he pulled out a gold coin, it immediately dispelled the young man's fear, filling him with determination to obey. "Listen, if you reach there faster than we expect, I'll reward you with another gold coin."

"Understood." The young man's firm response indicated that he would soon create the fastest run of his life.

"Go." The duke waved his hand generously, and the young man immediately sprang into action, sprinting out.

Outside, there were already many people around the cathedral, all of which Kusbert had arranged. When the young man charged out energetically, he certainly bumped into someone, as muffled exclamations drifted in. "Isn't that the high priest?" "Are you hurt? So much blood…" "High priest, please take it slow…"

Finally, even Kusbert's typically stoic face began to show a smile. As for the young man running with such vigor, propelled by the promise of gold, he would surely not be caught by anyone chasing after him. As long as he followed the pre-arranged route, he would soon disappear into the streets of the capital. Not long after, he would vanish from this world forever, for his purpose had been fulfilled—things that have fulfilled their purpose must disappear.

Suddenly, the blue light of a teleportation spell illuminated the room. The marquis, who had been beside them, opened a teleportation scroll at some point. After the light faded, he was gone.

"What is this fool doing? Where did he get that teleportation scroll?" Kusbert glared at the air where the marquis had disappeared.

"He's not a fool." The duke chuckled lightly. "He's quite clever, knowing that his usefulness has ended. So he escaped quickly."

"We must find a way to silence this guy, right, Duke…" The high priest's words were cut off abruptly as he suddenly felt himself lifted into the air. His lips continued to move, but no sound came out.

As he flew in mid-air, he rolled a few times, taking in everything in the room. Bishop Ronis's body was still over there; the duke was wiping the blood from his sword while stepping back to avoid the splattering blood. In front of the duke, a headless corpse had blood gushing from its neck as the body slumped down, its shape and clothing looking very familiar.

Thud. He fell to the floor, gazing up at the duke in a daze, and finally vaguely heard the duke whisper, "Yes. I know."

The duke turned and carefully erased every footprint he had left in the room, eliminating every trace of his presence. Everything in the magic academy had been meticulously arranged by the high priest; he and the marquis had arrived quietly. Others only knew that Kusbert and the high priest had visited the bishop's study, and then saw the blood-soaked high priest rush out.

Soon, everything was tidied up, and the duke opened the teleportation scroll. The next moment, the weary duke appeared at the magic academy's teleportation magic circle.

"Good day, Duke." The two wizards guarding the magic circle nodded and smiled at the duke. "Are you out on official business again? You've been quite busy these days."

"Yes." The down-to-earth duke nodded kindly. "There have been urgent matters to attend to both in the capital and elsewhere. I've used quite a few teleportation scrolls in the past few days."

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the direction of the cathedral. "What's going on?" The two wizards and the duke went outside together. They saw many people surging in and out of the cathedral, the turmoil spreading rapidly.

"The bishop and the high priest have been killed." A panicked priest stumbled over, breathless.

"What?" The two wizards were taken aback. The duke's expression turned even more horrified.