Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 351 The Saint Arrives

The Saint's motorcade arrived as promised. The three old men, who had been waiting at the gates of Rose Castle for a long time, could hardly conceal their excitement. Depero, the leader, rubbed his hands together, a strange glint in his cloudy old eyes. Lacio repeatedly adjusted his meticulously finished collar. Barov nervously stroked the crystal tip of his staff. When the luxurious carriage, inlaid with gold-threaded rose patterns, slowly came to a stop, Depero immediately hunched forward and, with trembling hands, personally opened the gilded door.

"Welcome Her Highness the Saint!"

Barov and Lacio shouted in unison, both kneeling on one knee, their luxurious robes spread out on the bluestone floor. They bowed their heads deeply, revealing the backs of their wrinkled necks, their postures humble and almost pious.

A slender hand wearing a black silk glove stretched out from the carriage, and then the skirt embroidered with golden irises cascaded down like the night.

As soon as Her Highness the Saint appeared, her sharp gaze pierced Depero. "Tell me, Depero," her voice was colder than the wind in the far north. "With your strength, you could easily kill the Pope. Why haven't you done it yet?"

The old priest's face, covered in age spots, twitched violently. He hunched his back and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Your Highness, please understand... even if St. Paul's blood spilled on the Holy See, it would not change anything." He closed his eyes in agony. "The entire College of Cardinals is rotten to the core. I... simply do not wish to set foot in this filthy Holy City again."

The Saint suddenly turned to look toward the castle hall. Caesars lazily leaned on a velvet sofa by the French windows, sipping wine. She snorted coldly, her black skirt sweeping a sharp arc. "Follow me in," she said, and began to walk. Her high-heeled leather boots made a crisp sound on the marble steps, and the three old men hurriedly followed.

All of the Saint's guards were ordered to wait outside the castle; even her closest personal maid was left behind. In the empty corridor, only her slender figure and three elderly men followed behind her, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

Cecilia, the head maid, had been waiting in the reception room for a long time. Her sharp eyes swept over each visitor, and she calmly directed several young maids to serve exquisite tea sets and freshly baked pastries. The silver tea sets shone softly in the candlelight, and a sweet aroma filled the air.

Caesars's gaze remained fixed on Depero, his suspicions growing deeper. This Patriarch, once a mentor to the Saint, now hunched over like a humble old servant, his face plastered with a fawning smile, even speaking with an overly humble demeanor.

When everyone arrived at the sofa in the reception area, Depero and the other two elders sat down on the soft velvet-covered sofa with trepidation, as if they were afraid of wrinkling the expensive fabric. Meanwhile, the saint, always shrouded in black robes, stared at Caesars with a scrutinizing gaze.

The living room fell into a brief silence, with only the head maid scanning the room. Suddenly, without warning, the Saint spoke, her cold voice breaking the silence: "Where's the fat dog?"

Depero seemed to have prepared the answer long ago. He jumped up from the sofa immediately, bent over and answered first: "Your Highness, it was thrown out of the castle by the Marquis!" There was obvious flattery in his voice, and his turbid eyes kept glancing at the Saint's reaction from time to time.

"Why throw it away?"

The saint's clear voice echoed through the living room. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on Depero, a hint of confusion in her eyes. Depero opened his mouth, but was momentarily speechless. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He truly had no idea why the fat dog had fallen into a deep sleep, and he could only subconsciously turn his gaze to Caesars, seeking help.

The saint keenly noticed his gaze and slowly turned her head, staring at Caesar with her golden eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"It ate an entire earth dragon's magic core and is now awakening its bloodline." Caesar shrugged, his tone revealing a hint of helplessness. "It's not that I want to throw it away, but I have to. The high temperature radiating from its body has melted the flame protection array. If it stays any longer, the entire castle will be burned to ruins."

The Saint nodded thoughtfully, a flicker of interest in her eyes. She had long been curious about this fat dog—a demonic dog that could comfortably bathe in a scalding hot spring, and even understand human speech, was clearly no ordinary being.

After a brief silence, the saint spoke again, bringing the topic back to business: "Depero, how are you going to deal with the church's affairs?"

The corruption of the Saint Laurent Church had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored and must be addressed as soon as possible. Depero and the other two old priests had already discussed this issue for a long time. When the saint asked about this, he sighed deeply, and the wrinkles between his brows deepened.

"Your Highness, we are... powerless now." Depero's voice was hoarse and heavy. "Bitterwater Farm has become a cancer for the entire church. Necromancers are entrenched there, and even more terrifying are those monsters—ghouls, aberrations, and the extremely dangerous black water!"

"Your Highness," Barov, dressed in a priest's robe, took over the conversation in a low voice. "Bitterwater Farm has a Necromancer and a Grand Necromancer in charge. We are no match for them with just a few of us. Moreover, even if we can barely win, what if they strike back before their death and release all the monsters underground..."

He didn't continue, but everyone understood what he meant. Ghouls and aberrations weren't scary in themselves, but their blood was extremely corrupting. Once it spread, the entire area would be reduced to a deadly place, with disastrous consequences.

"I have a little suggestion!"

Caesars suddenly spoke, interrupting the solemn atmosphere. His lips curled up slightly, revealing a playful smile. "Why are you so fixated on Bitterwater Farm? Why not focus on something easier? For example, thoroughly cleansing the churches within the Saint Laurent Empire and burning all the guilty priests to death?" He paused, his tone light. "You call this 'purification,' right?"

"My Lord Marquis," Barov frowned, unable to resist asking, "What about Bitterwater Farm? Are we just going to leave it alone?"

Kaisas chuckled, a cold look flashing in his eyes. "When my fat dog wakes up, when I'm in a better mood, and after I've cleared out those troublesome ascetics, I'll naturally go to Bitterwater Farm." He glanced around at everyone, his tone casual yet unquestionable. "You may not know this, but my magic mentor is the great necromancer. With his talent, and the endless 'resources' of Bitterwater Farm, I'm afraid he'll be promoted soon!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire hall fell into a dead silence. The Saint, the two old priests, the elderly Paladin, and even Emily and the head maid beside him all looked at him in shock, their eyes filled with disbelief.

"You also know that necromancer, right?" The saint stared at Caesar closely, frowning slightly, with a hint of vigilance in her voice.

"His name is Sandro, I don't know him." Caesars's lips curled into a cold arc, and his fingertips tapped lightly on the armrest of the chair. "I only saw him once from a distance."

"Where did you meet?" The saint leaned forward slightly, staring at him with her deep eyes, her tone full of unavoidable questioning.

Caesars met her gaze and said slowly, "Many years ago, outside the tomb of the Duchess, Vivian Barton." His voice was calm, but inexplicably made people feel a chill.

Suddenly, Caesar's brow furrowed slightly. He keenly sensed a gentle holy light energy quietly seeping through his magical barrier, probing his body like tiny tentacles. This prying made him feel extremely uncomfortable, as if someone were gently scraping his skin with a knife.

"Ma'am!" His voice suddenly turned cold, and a dangerous light flashed in his eyes. "You'd better not continue to explore me, otherwise - the only one who will get hurt is yourself."

As soon as he finished speaking, a surge of magical energy suddenly erupted from his body, sweeping out like a pitch-black wave, instantly crushing the holy light energy. The Saint, who looked thirty years old but was actually well over sixty, groaned, her face turning pale, and her fingers unconsciously clenched the edge of her robe.

"This is just a small warning." Caesar said coldly, then turned to look at Depero, "Old man, tell her the rules of Rose Castle."

He stood up, his magic robes shimmering with dark silver lines as he moved. By this point, Caesars had completely lost interest in this new visitor. He casually straightened his clothes and headed towards the spiral staircase on the side of the hall.

"Cecilia," his voice echoed in the empty castle, "give me ten days' worth of salted meat and bread. I need to meditate for a few days."

"Yes, Marquis," Cecilia, the head maid, bowed slightly, her voice respectful and steady. "It will be delivered to your room before lunch." She knew that Caesars wanted more than just dry food—the bacon had to be venison haunch roasted with black pepper and rosemary, and the bread had to be hot, fresh from the oven, fragrant with honey and milk. She had to prepare all of this herself.

Seeing this, Emily immediately followed Cecilia's steps like a clever kitten. When the head maid prepared food, she always took the opportunity to grab a few pieces of the crispiest meat or the softest bread.

After the sound of Caesar's footsteps completely disappeared, the Saint slowly exhaled and turned to Depero: "What are the rules of this castle?"

The old priest stroked his gray beard and explained in a low voice, "Guests can only stay on the second and third floors. The fourth floor is off-limits. As for the castle's attic..." He paused, his voice unconsciously lowering, "That's an absolute restricted area. Not even maids can get close. Except for the little girl just now, the head maid, and the butler, no one is allowed to go up there!"

"That Marquis... lives in the attic?" The saint's gaze unconsciously looked towards the stairs, where a figure in a magic robe was walking away step by step.

"Yes." Depero nodded, a complicated look flashing in his eyes. "That's where he meditates. The Marquis is a powerful magician. Nothing in the castle can escape his perception!"

"Your Highness, that fat dog is not to be underestimated!" Wrathion suddenly interjected, his gray eyebrows trembling slightly with excitement. "It is a bottomless pit, swallowing everything—even the holy energy of the Holy Light. Even if the three of us were combined, we would not be its match!"

As he spoke, his right hand unconsciously touched his chest, his knuckles turning white from the effort. Just last year, the elderly paladin had secretly used Holy Light to test the fat dog that lay around all day, only to be nearly knocked unconscious by the backlash. Thinking back on it now, he could still feel the tearing pain of the Holy Light energy being forcibly drained from his body.

Depero and Barov also nodded repeatedly. They were also victims, and their holy light energy was almost sucked dry by the fat dog.

"Depero, how do we accommodate the people I brought with me?" The Saint tapped the gilded handrail with her slender fingers. Her eyes swept across the castle gate, where the guards stood solemnly and the maids with their brows lowered. "Guards plus maids, I'm afraid this castle's two floors won't be able to accommodate so many people."

Depero smoothed his gold-embroidered cuffs and calmly half-booed. "Rest assured, Your Highness, there's more than enough space. This castle was emptied by its previous owner, and now most of the rooms above the third floor are vacant, with not even a decent bed to be found. They can lay out animal hide mats in their rooms." He waved toward the shadows, and the gray-haired butler, Sean, hurried forward. Ever since Cecilia had clearly refused to receive church members, the burden of all daily arrangements had fallen upon the butler's slender shoulders.

At dawn the next day, before the morning mist had cleared, the sound of horse hooves could be heard on the gravel road in front of the castle. The Roland Empire's men arrived, dusty and exhausted, their faces weary after the long journey from Fire Maple City.

Leading the charge, Duke Joyce slowly stepped down from his gilded carriage. His sword, a symbol of supreme authority, gleamed with a dazzling brilliance in the morning sun. The twelve rubies inlaid in its scabbard shone like congealed blood, radiating an eerie brilliance in the morning light. Old Quinn, the Empire's eagle-eyed deputy commander, always a step behind, narrowed his gray eyes, capable of penetrating conspiracy, and scanned the vast gardens of Rose Castle with the meticulousness of sizing up prey.

In the vast, mist-shrouded garden, roses, drenched in morning dew, were blooming profusely. Crystalline dewdrops rolled down their crimson, velvety petals, and a fragrance so rich it was almost suffocating carried through the courtyard by the south wind.

This castle, famous for its roses, was once one of the most prestigious buildings in the south. Its former owners, the Soren family, hosted countless lavish banquets here, the envy of the entire aristocracy. Yet, even now, the stone pillars carved with the family crest still bear faint traces of blood—just one hundred and fifty years ago, this prominent family was secretly massacred by members of the Saint Laurent Church, and the counterfeit Earl Soren occupied the Rose Castle.