Chapter 132: The Shadow Council

Alexandria, situated on the northern side of the Golden Water River estuary, serves as a vital port connecting the Borry United Kingdom to the Seven Allied Islands. To establish Alexandria, five powerful lords united to launch the renowned Murloc War. The conflict spanned over eighty years, claiming the lives of more than twenty thousand human soldiers while clearing out over one hundred and fifty thousand murlocs. The riverbanks were stained red with the blood of both sides, earning Alexandria the moniker "Red Port."

Although the war was won, the strength of the five families was greatly diminished. For the sake of self-preservation, they ultimately joined forces to found the Borry United Kingdom. With the possession of Alexandria, the Borry Kingdom finally gained access to the seven large islands at the river's mouth, reaping immense rewards. The islands boasted staggering reserves of adamantine ore, precious juniper, fertile land with two harvests a year, and endless bounties of fish.

The abundant resources of the Seven Allied Islands allowed the Borry Kingdom to flourish rapidly, and Alexandria grew increasingly prosperous as countless caravans and freemen flocked to its gates. To this day, Alexandria has a permanent population of over two hundred thousand, the majority of whom are freemen.

The Borry Kingdom lacks a strong central monarchy; instead, it is governed by a council of the five families, who rotate power. As a result, the internal power dynamics of Red Port are deeply intertwined, providing fertile ground for freemen organizations to take root. Sin runs rampant within the city, and the countless gangs create significant public safety issues. Whenever a ruling family attempts to address the port's security, they are thwarted by the others. Over time, the port city has been strictly divided into three districts: the Noble District, the Trade District, and the Commoner District.

In the center of Alexandria's Noble District stands a magnificent and majestic cathedral. While the cathedral's thirty-meter-high dome inspires awe, it also feels remarkably desolate.

It was mid-afternoon, and the vast cathedral hall held only two noble figures and a few acolytes. The tall, well-built young man gestured toward a massive white-glazed stone statue of an angel and said, "Eva, this statue depicts the Glorious Archangel suppressing the Warlock King."

"Indeed, Vincent. It was the Great Lord of Radiance who saved our humanity, and I hold Him in deep reverence," Eva replied softly.

Watching the beautiful and enchanting Eva, Vincent felt a fire in his heart, yet the perfunctory tone of her response left him somewhat troubled.

Rarely would a nobleman bring a lady he admired to tour the cathedral; for nobles who lacked true faith, this was clearly not a place for romance. However, Vincent was different—he was a Paladin.

Over the millennia, the Paladin families had continuously intermarried with common knightly lineages, forming many branches. Vincent was a scion of one such branch, while Eva was of the noble bloodline of the Borry Kingdom's aristocracy and was Vincent’s betrothed. In Red Port, the moment Vincent first saw Eva, he was captivated by her beauty. Although their marriage was already destined, Vincent still longed to win his fiancée’s heart. However, this was clearly not a Paladin's forte.

Vincent could never have guessed that Eva had accepted his invitation purely out of etiquette. Now, seeing her lack of interest, Vincent felt a sense of regret and began calculating how he might regain her favor.

Catching sight of the prayer altar inlaid with white crystals in the center of the cathedral, Vincent had a flash of inspiration. He said to his companion, "Eva, even now, evil warlocks continue to threaten this world, and it is the mission of us Paladins to eradicate them. Have you ever seen the Ritual of Purifying Warlocks?"

Eva shook her head. She had just turned eighteen, and the last purification ritual in Red Port had taken place over fifty years ago; to her, warlocks were nothing more than creatures of legend.

"My dear Vincent, have you ever hunted a warlock? What do they look like? Is it true, as the rumors say, that they have horns on their heads and a venomous snake tail trailing behind?" Eva asked with curiosity.

The intimate address filled Vincent with joy. He chuckled, "My dear Eva, although warlocks are the spawn of devils, they look just like ordinary people—no horns, no tails. As a Paladin of the Lord of Radiance, I long to eradicate evil warlocks with my own hands. It is a pity, however, that modern warlocks are incredibly cunning; they hide among the common folk, making them difficult to distinguish."

Seeing Eva’s expression of disappointment, Vincent quickly added, "Warlocks may deceive the eyes of ordinary men, but they cannot escape the gaze of the Lord. Our Church possesses a 'Devil-Sensing Ritual' that can identify those evil beings among commoners. Of course, warlocks are very rare now, hiding in desolate, uninhabited places. Otherwise, I would certainly make an evil warlock feel the might of the Holy Sword."

"A Devil-Sensing Ritual? My dear, could you let me see it?" Eva’s eyes brightened as she spoke with a hint of coquetry.

Vincent felt his resolve melt away. Without a second thought, he commanded the acolytes nearby, "Go and prepare. I am going to conduct a Devil-Sensing prayer."

The Paladin’s order stunned the attendants. One quick-witted acolyte reacted first and dashed out of the hall. Shortly after, the presiding priest of the cathedral arrived with a sullen expression.

Father Rahm was annoyed; the Devil-Sensing Ritual was not something to be performed lightly. In fact, the ritual could only lock onto a warlock if they had recently used witchcraft. If a warlock had not cast any spells, the ritual could not distinguish them from an ordinary person. The standard procedure was to first find traces of witchcraft and then perform the ritual. Furthermore, each ceremony consumed twelve white crystals, which was a significant expense. Now, because a Paladin wanted to impress his sweetheart, he insisted on performing the ritual, and Father Rahm was naturally very displeased.

Although Father Rahm did not want to be taken for a fool, he also did not want to offend a Paladin whose influence was on the rise. He pulled Vincent aside and whispered, "Twelve white crystals."

Vincent felt a pang of darkness; twelve white crystals were worth six thousand gold sols, equivalent to two years of his stipend. Looking back at the expectant Miss Eva, Vincent gritted his teeth and said, "I will pay it!"

Under Father Rahm’s chanting, the white crystals on the prayer altar began to glow one by one. A gentle holy light washed over the body and soul of everyone present. The sacred and warm sensation brought sincere smiles to everyone’s faces, though Vincent’s smile was somewhat forced.

Suddenly, the white crystals turned a piercing, blood-red hue. A set of runes manifested within the bloody glow, and everyone froze in place, as if pinned by the gaze of a hydra.

"My dear, what is happening? Is there a warlock?" Miss Eva covered her cherry lips with one hand and clutched Vincent’s arm with the other. Her delicate frame trembled, whether from excitement or fear, it was hard to tell.

Vincent was completely oblivious to his fiancée’s actions. Beauty, love, and six thousand gold sols were all cast to the back of his mind; at this moment, his eyes saw only the blood-colored flames.

"Ring the alarm! Summon the Justiciars!" Father Rahm shouted, his voice hoarse and shrill.

"Do not ring the alarm! We go quietly!" Vincent caught the attendant who was running outside and said in a low, grim voice.

***

In the Commoner District of Red Port, at the end of a deep, narrow alley, a cracked wooden sign creaked as it swayed. It read: The Eternal Sleep Inn.

The location of The Eternal Sleep Inn was poor, and it had no business, nor would it ever have any. It was the lair of the Black Scythe.

The Black Scythe was a small, bottomless-barrel gang with a loud name. Though insignificant, it was home to a group of ruthless desperadoes who made their living there. However, after today, these desperadoes would no longer need to eat.

A lean man sat on a battered barstool, wiping his slender fingers with a snow-white handkerchief. His expression was focused and meticulous, as if the twenty-odd corpses on the floor had no effect on him whatsoever.

"Bach! You bastard! It took me so much effort to recruit these men, and you’ve killed them all!" The leader of the Black Scythe, Hartman, glared viciously at the indifferent man.

"Councilor, with a 'Beguiler' working for you, isn't trash like this replaceable?" Bach said dismissively.

"You know I am a Councilor! You come in here and slaughter my men! Do you have no regard for the Council?" Hartman growled in a low voice, though his tone betrayed his underlying fear.

Bach casually tossed the handkerchief onto the floor and said nonchalantly, "If I didn't kill these eyesores, how could I discuss serious business with you, Councilor?"

"If Fleet were here, would you dare to be this arrogant?" Hartman spat hatefully.

"If the 'Soul-Breaker' were here, of course I wouldn't dare be arrogant. I wouldn't even have come," Bach sneered.

Hartman’s expression shifted, and he stammered, "You... what do you mean?"

"The Soul-Breaker is already dead in Blackfort Town in the Centaur Hills! The Vice-Councilor wants me to ask you: what was the Soul-Breaker doing in the Centaur Hills?" Bach’s gaze was cold as he stared at the pale-faced Hartman.

"How is this possible? How is this possible! How could Fleet die? He is the Soul-Breaker! He has even killed Paladins from the Inquisition! Who could have killed him?" Hartman raved incoherently.

Bach said coldly, "Fleet is dead, and it is a major loss for the Council! I am here to investigate this matter. Now, tell me, why did you send Fleet to the Centaur Hills?"

Hartman was silent for a long time before he spoke: "I don't know what Fleet was doing in the Centaur Hills. I ordered him to assassinate those who had awakened the Moon Elf bloodline."

"You are insane! Those who awaken the Moon Elf bloodline are all nobles! You will get us all killed!" Bach grabbed Hartman by the collar, his voice chilling.

"What do you know?!" Hartman slapped Bach’s hand away and said fanatically, "Only I can hear the voice of the Lord. The Great King of Shadows ordered me to slaughter those who awakened the Moon Elf bloodline. I must follow the Lord's will. Those old fools don't believe a word I say, but one day they will regret it!"

Bach wanted to strangle the idiot before him. The King of Shadows was a deity fabricated to unite fledgling warlocks, a counterpart to the Lord of Radiance. The upper echelons of the Shadow Council knew it was a lie; only this madman took it seriously.

"You fool! You will expose us all to the Inquisition!" Bach cursed through gritted teeth.

Hartman smiled smugly, "Don't worry, I have a perfect scapegoat; the Church will never trace this back to us! I had the Beguiler..."

"Bang!" The door of the inn was kicked open. A Paladin, clad in armor and brandishing a longsword, burst in. "Heretics! Accept your fate of purification!"

Seeing the stunned expressions of the two warlocks, Vincent was filled with immense excitement. Church clerics are divided into five levels, and each promotion grants new divine spells and more abundant holy power. There are two ways to advance: unwavering faith and obtaining divine grace. Compared to ordinary clerics, most Paladins raise their spellcasting level by obtaining divine grace. Fighting against alien races and purifying warlocks both grant such grace.

In Vincent’s eyes, these two warlocks were merely fodder for his advancement as a Paladin. He had used the excuse of not wanting to alert the warlocks to persuade the priest to carry out this secret arrest, but in truth, he had no intention of bringing them back alive. He wanted to strike them down with his blade to reap the maximum amount of divine grace.

"Running dog of the false god! Die! The darkness will eventually descend!"

Hartman roared madly. His eyes turned pitch black, and streaks of black light emanated from his body. A violent explosion instantly engulfed both Bach and Vincent.

After the explosion, the soot-covered Paladin stood blankly in the ruins of the inn. The dual protection of his Holy Armor and battle aura had spared him, but the fanatical look in the warlock’s eyes sent a chill down Vincent’s spine.

"Why did he look so much like a Justiciar?!"