Chapter 5: Cut Weeds and Remove Roots(2)

Bishop Ronis's body was placed in the cathedral by the priests. Since its discovery, the white magic applied by the sorrowful priests had been enough to heal a thousand dying people. However, the horrific wound in his neck, along with the stab wound in his back that almost reached his heart, had turned into a ghastly blue stain due to poison and a powerful curse. These details forcefully conveyed that this respected elder was truly, completely dead; even a thousand times more magical power would be futile.

"Is it him?" Captain Roland's slender eyebrows were tightly furrowed. The appearance of this empire's greatest swordsman lacked the steely toughness and sharpness typical of warriors, but the light shining from his starry eyes now surpassed that of any unparalleled sword. Looking at Bishop Ronis's body, with its terrible scars and bloodstains, his voice and body trembled slightly.

"All of us outside saw it." An old priest, tears streaming down his face, choked out. The few old priests remaining in the cathedral were also in tears, consumed by grief and rage. Outside the cathedral, cries filled the air. Bishop Ronis had presided over the magic academy for over forty years, and it could be said that the academy's current status in the empire was built solely by him. Everyone in the academy held immense respect for this elder; to many, he was almost a divine incarnation. But now, he had been despicably assassinated.

Captain Roland did not ask further questions. There were at least a hundred clergy members outside the cathedral. They could swear by God's name that the bloodied high priest had burst out of here, colliding with several people before fleeing the magic academy. With so many sincere witnesses, there was no need for any further verification of the incident.

"We also found this in the study room." A priest presented the wanted notice that Kusbert had meticulously prepared, now stained with blood. However, the image and text remained clear enough to explain everything.

The duke, who had been silent on the side, was also in tears, his sorrow not inferior to that of the priests. He suddenly asked, "Has anything strange happened around the bishop recently?"

An old priest immediately realized, saying, "That's right. A couple of days ago, Bishop Ronis went there, but the spy wasn't present at the time. The bishop only spoke for a while with the old man Sandru who was guarding the body. I think I even heard the bishop getting angry. When he came out, I noticed he looked unwell, and he had been sulking for the last two days… and then this happened."

The duke's voice trembled with sadness, yet it was also filled with indignation. "We must catch those bastards from the Necromancer Guild as soon as possible," he erupted fiercely. "We must avenge the bishop!"

The duke's sorrow and fury immediately infected those around him. The priests, whose spirits had long been exhausted, were suddenly ignited by a tide of hatred. "Yes, all the mages in the magic academy must avenge the bishop!"

"So let's recall everything carefully. Think back meticulously," the duke, amidst his extreme grief, did not lose his keen reasoning. He spoke slowly and clearly, analyzing the thought process for everyone. "Consider the usual actions and behaviors of that spy. Where were the suspicious signs?"

A priest rushed into the cathedral. He was going to inform the emperor of the tragic news.

"Your Majesty was shocked to hear about the bishop's assassination and has fainted several times. His Majesty has ordered the Knights Templar to thoroughly investigate the murderer, executing anyone found to be associated with the Necromancer Guild on sight. The imperial edict will arrive shortly."

Griffinhart XVII had grown up watching Bishop Ronis; to him, this respected elder was almost like a grandfather.

Captain Roland's expression turned icy as he slowly nodded.

In the large room, Sandru was, as usual, fiddling with the corpse, but today he felt unusually unsettled for some reason. Just then, footsteps approached from outside.

The slightly ajar door was knocked twice, and several soldiers entered, led by a small captain from the royal guard who knew Sandru well.

"Sandru, there's been an incident at the magic academy." The small captain's expression was strange, his tone carrying an indescribable quality as he spoke to Sandru. "We have some questions to ask you. Come with us."

"An incident? What kind of incident? What does it have to do with me?" Sandru rolled his eyes at the small captain. "What do you want to ask me? I haven't been feeling well these past few days and don't want to go anywhere."

"It's nothing. We just want you to have some tea and chat." The small captain replied. His expression and tone seemed forced, clearly trying his best to create a relaxed atmosphere.

In contrast, the expressions of the three soldiers appeared much more natural. While the small captain spoke to Sandru, they slowly approached him.

"Tea? Speaking of which, you still owe me money. Last time you went to visit a brothel…" Sandru seemed completely oblivious to anything unusual, chatting casually with the small captain.

The three soldiers had stealthily reached Sandru's side. Two of them suddenly moved, one reaching for one of the old man's hands. The third soldier brandished a pair of dark red cuffs that shone ominously. These were magical dampening cuffs specifically designed to restrain mages.

The movements of these three soldiers were swift and precise, lacking any flashy gestures, resembling three leopards that had long awaited their prey in the grass. Their timing, movements, and positions were all perfectly coordinated, and their roles were unambiguously defined—this could only be achieved through long-term practice and countless real-world drills.

Faced with such a sudden and flawlessly coordinated attack, even a formidable swordsman would have had no choice but to surrender. However, this seemingly lackadaisical old man merely stepped back, easily grasping the wrists of the two soldiers who intended to capture him. With a quick inward tug, the two soldiers, much larger than him, crashed into one another. Just moments ago, they had been robust and powerful, but now they collapsed as if their strength had been sapped away, their bodies beginning to turn a deathly gray.

The third soldier, who had lunged forward, had already replaced the cuffs with a sword, swiftly stepping in for a stab. Such quick reflexes and agile movements were unmatched even by the highest-ranking officials of the royal guard.

But unfortunately, this beautifully executed sword strike landed on nothing; his wrist inexplicably ended up in the pale, withered hands of Sandru.

"When did your subordinates get mixed with the Knights Templar? Have you been promoted?" Sandru's half-closed eyes glanced at the small captain, still speaking as if they were chatting in a tea house. However, one of his hands was now effortlessly lifting the soldier, who was much sturdier than himself, as if he were merely hoisting a bear.

The small captain did not respond and collapsed to the ground. He seemed to lack even the strength to rise, trembling as he backed away, his eyes glazed as they stared at Sandru. Sandru had not only lifted this Paladin swordsman but was also squeezing him.

The swordsman's moment of death was now untraceable. His tall, muscular body seemed now to be filled with cotton, effortlessly lifted by the old man and, under the grip of those withered hands, began to deform. The armor and other items on his body fell off in fragments, as his form was crushed and folded, quickly becoming a round, bloated mass in Sandru's grasp.

"Are you also here to invite me for tea?" Sandru coldly gazed toward the doorway and waved his hand. The massive blob that was once the swordsman flew toward the person who had just entered. The heavy object now whistled through the air, its weight proving to be truly astounding.

The meatball was flying forward, leaving behind some black juice, one drop of which landed squarely on the small leader on the ground. The small leader let out a horrific scream, akin to that of an animal, but it was cut short.

The person who had just appeared at the door took a step back, and a line of light flashed before him like a startled swan. Then, the meatball was split evenly in half.

"Good." Although Sandru's cheer seemed weak, a glimmer finally sparked in his otherwise lifeless eyes.

He wasn't applauding merely because the meatball had been split in two. After the two halves separated, they did not fall or continue flying forward; instead, they rolled away and gently collided with the walls on either side. The toxic juice that splattered only corroded two large holes in the walls, not a single drop touching the person.

This sword strike did not just cleave the incoming meatball in half; it also shattered the swirling air, the splattered juice, the magic energy contained within, and even the momentum, inertia, and scent that came with it. Everything about that meatball was erased in an instant by this one sword.

"Good." After splitting the meatball, the man stepped back three paces and returned Sandru's applause in a deep voice. The brilliance in his eyes even surpassed the sword in his hand. Had there been any deviation in that strike, failing to completely neutralize the magical power within, the poisonous magic sphere, which was heavy enough to kill everyone in the capital, would have exploded right in front of him.

The person who appeared at the door was a middle-aged man in his forties or fifties. He had a refined and cultured face; even with such a serious and grave expression, he did not exude any authoritative or menacing aura from his features. If it weren't for the suit of armor shimmering with magical light and the long sword in his hand radiating a chill, he would have seemed just like a well-read scholar.

"You say good? Does that mean you want to invite me for tea?" Sandru replied in a buzzing voice, finally standing up straight for the first time, having always been somewhat hunched over.

"No. I'm here to capture you, or rather, to kill you." The newcomer's words were direct, as sharp as his earlier strike.

"I see." A series of crackling sounds erupted from Sandru's body as his joints popped. With those sounds, his body seemed to swell a bit. "Unfortunately, I have never liked being captured, and I dislike being killed even more."

"I also never liked small talk." The man flicked his wrist, and the humming of the long sword filled every inch of space in the large room. "Let's get to the point."

Outside the large room, three hundred meters away, an old priest frowned and asked Duke Murak beside him, "Your Grace, isn't this a bit excessive?"

"No. We must be extremely cautious and go all out when dealing with those evil necromancers." The duke's face was unusually devoid of its usual warm and friendly smile, showing a serious expression as his slender eyes remained fixed on the distant large room.

"But this seems too much even for caution," the old priest said, glancing at the seemingly exaggerated setup ahead.

One hundred meters outside the large room, hundreds of members of the Knight Templar formed a surrounding circle. Behind them stood nearly all the priests and mages from the Magic Academy.

After a thorough discussion and analysis, the location where the traitor had been living came to everyone's attention—Sandru, the old man. Although he had been at the Magic Academy for a full twenty years, and the bishop seemed to be quite familiar with him, the earlier incident with the traitor demonstrated how infiltrating the necromancer's guild could be. Moreover, the traitor had not studied at the Magic Academy; he had always been with the old man. Given the old man's eccentric habits, there were enough reasons for suspicion.

After sending out scouts, they discovered that the old man was still there. They decided to capture him first for questioning; naturally, any resistance would be met with lethal force.

This task was entrusted to Captain Roland, who was executing it under imperial orders. No one questioned the strength of the empire's greatest swordsman. However, the duke exhibited a rare caution typical of someone in a high position of power, suggesting that Captain Roland bring more people and summon the priests from the Magic Academy to the scene. If that old man truly was a necromancer, they could avenge Bishop Ronis.

"It has been a while since Captain Roland went in. I believe he has probably already caught him and is in the midst of interrogation," the old priest remarked, looking at the encirclement, which could undoubtedly take down a city. He found it rather inappropriate that the mages from the Magic Academy were gathered here as if watching a spectacle. Everyone kept their distance from the large room; although they couldn't see what was happening inside, they could definitely guess.

Suddenly, a furious shout was heard, followed by a strange noise like cloth tearing.

The large room was split cleanly down the middle and then broke apart at the waist. The separated walls and ceiling slowly tilted to the sides, crashing down and stirring up a cloud of dust. The fracture appeared remarkably smooth, as if it had been sliced with a knife. From a distance, it resembled a finely crafted toy that had been struck with force.

The members of the Knight Templar remained silent and motionless. However, the mages and priests from the Magic Academy collectively gasped and shouted in response, their exclamations rivaling the sound of the walls and roof collapsing. Such might could only have come from Captain Roland. The fact that they had resorted to violence clearly indicated that there truly was a necromancer inside.

A figure shot out of the dust and smoke, landing in front of the encirclement—it was Captain Roland.

But in stark contrast to the earlier impressive scene, he stumbled as he landed, almost unable to stand. His once slender and refined face was now filled with fury and surprise. Moreover, not just his face, but the exposed skin all over his body, even the tips of his fingers, had turned a nauseating dead gray, reminiscent of a dirty toilet corner. He had been poisoned and cursed, and it was a particularly vicious form of corpse poison. If it had been anyone else, they would have already been a rotting corpse.

Two beams of white magic light erupted around him, and two senior priests from the Knight Templar immediately cast healing spells. The hundreds of priests from the Magic Academy, having regained their senses, also sprang into action. A staggering number of healing spells surged forth, immediately washing away the poison and curse from Captain Roland, followed by an equal number of various supporting spells from all schools of magic.

The light from the supportive spells was so bright it was almost blinding. Yet, Captain Roland's complexion remained grim as he glared at the swirling dust ahead, shouting, "Prepare for battle!"

The hands of the hundreds of Knight Templar members simultaneously drew their swords with a resounding echo. Then, a massive chorus of spells began to resonate through the air as thousands of voices recited incantations in unison. Each member of the Knight Templar glowed with various supportive spells, resembling a grand exhibition of magic.

As the dust in the encircled area gradually settled, a chaotic array of grotesque corpses appeared within. Some of these corpses were headless, some handless, some footless, and others missing limbs or halves of their bodies. They had all been struck by the powerful sword strikes of Captain Roland, which had even brought down the building. Yet now, they appeared full of vitality, moving with agility. Among this group of corpses stood a figure cloaked in black robes, with white hair and beard.

"Avenge the bishop!" someone shouted, igniting a grand and chaotic resurgence of spellcasting. This time, however, it was not a display of supportive magic but an array of attack spells: Holy Word, Holy Light, Undead Dispersion, Fireball, Wall of Fire, Chain Fireball, Inferno, Lightning, Ice Burst, Thunder Crash... except for top-tier high-level spells and various complex forbidden spells, almost all the magic that appeared in the Magic Academy's textbooks was unleashed, rushing toward the corpses and the figure in black robes, like a tidal wave.

Seeing this unprecedented and perhaps unparalleled display of magical firepower, the duke finally revealed a charming smile that others had no time to admire. For anyone could be certain that even if a deity descended, under such fierce magical waves, there would be no room for survival.