Azure Scepter

Page 164

"You know nothing, you foolish and arrogant nymph!" The creature was now in a state of hysteria, unable to bear the water sprite's mockery of the lifeline it had grasped. "Just wait to die!"

Having said that, the freed individuals left the Silver Garden.

PS: Only one update today.

Chapter 315 A Conspiracy Brewing

"I've come to find you... I'm right behind you... Turn around..."

"Behind you..."

"Behind you!!!"

Cohen's face was contorted with rage. He grabbed Sophie's thin shoulder and plunged his sword into her throat, the blade emerging from her body and the iron handguard shattering her nose. Only then did he twist the blade violently before slowly releasing his grip.

A sword plunged into Sophie's throat, but Sophie's ghoul-like claws also tore open his skull...

"boom!"

The next moment, Cohen suddenly opened his eyes, fine beads of sweat slowly flowing down his forehead like blood. The lingering palpitations from the nightmare seemed to screech back and forth in his brain like a dull file—he couldn't quite tell whether the pain was caused by the hangover or the nightmare.

As I awoke, the distant tinnitus and intense headache gradually subsided, and pale moonlight streamed through the gauze curtains onto the headboard.

“It’s that nightmare again,” Cohen muttered to himself. “The ghost in the dream is getting closer and closer—ah, my head hurts—according to its usual pattern, she should be touching me today.”

He didn't rush to get up, or even open his eyes. He took a deep breath and carefully felt the warm contact between the velvet mattress and his back. After a while, he slowly sat up.

"Dong...dong...dong..." The wall clock outside the bedroom struck three times; it was three in the morning.

Cohen sighed, closed his eyes, and reached out to grab at the headboard a few times. A moment later, the cold touch of the wine bottle came from his fingertips.

"Alcohol, give me courage," he whispered.

It wasn't until the sound reached his own ears, which were ringing loudly, that he realized his voice sounded slightly like he was crying.

The next moment, Cohen grabbed the wine bottle and took a few big gulps.

When the familiar dizziness surged up his frontal lobe again, he suddenly opened his eyes.

The bedroom was dimly lit, with only a few dim moonlight peeking through the gauze curtains. The wardrobe cast a shadow even deeper than the darkness, but he did not see Sophie's ghost as usual.

Where is Sophie's ghost? Cohen thought to himself, feeling dizzy.

“Sophie, I know you’re here,” Cohen said in a hoarse voice.

The sound echoed in the bedroom, and after a moment, everything returned to deathly silence.

Cohen waited a few more seconds, then took the dagger from under his pillow and slowly stood up.

At that moment, a premonition welled up in his heart—whatever the reason for Sophie's ghostly disappearance, he would have to face the truth tonight.

"Ah, I know, it's behind me, isn't it?" Cohen gripped the hilt of his short sword and muttered to himself.

Without the slightest hesitation, he turned his head sharply.

He found nothing; behind him were nothing but his bed and a storage cabinet.

Cohen remained vigilant. In traditional ghost stories, ghosts often feint before launching a sudden attack once the victims believe they are safe.

Although, according to Trier, the ghostly figure might be a deity, ghosts and deities could both be spirits, so their habits should be the same, right? Cohen's mind wandered.

As he pondered this, he slowly turned his head back to face the camera. However, to his mixed relief and disappointment, he still did not see the ghostly figure, or rather, the divine figure, that should have been right in front of his face.

Cohen sighed, walked slowly to the bedroom door, and then gently pushed it open.

The living room remained empty, with embers still burning in the fireplace, and the full-length mirror reflecting the orange-red flames within.

Cohen gripped the short sword like a dagger and walked steadily toward the stove.

When the warm flames were rekindled and their orange-yellow light illuminated the room, the gloom in Cohen's heart dissipated considerably.

“Perhaps the only way to see ghosts is through a mirror?” Cohen said, turning to look at the mirror.

No supernatural phenomena occurred.

Cohen let out a long sigh.

To be fair, waiting for the battle was far more agonizing than the battle itself. As a standard atheist, he was not afraid to fight against the gods, after all, they were just stronger mortals. But the long wait was just too torturous.

"Let's go back to sleep. Maybe the real battlefield is in our dreams." Cohen shook his head and turned to walk towards the bedroom.

However, the next moment, he suddenly stopped.

A faint tremor came from outside, and several people were walking in the corridor.

“Not a guard,” Cohen muttered to himself.

He slowly turned his head and looked at the door in the distance, but at that moment, he saw that sinister and terrifying rotting ghost again.

In the mirror's reflection, Sophie was hunched over, clinging to her back like a piece of paper! Seemingly noticing her gaze, Sophie turned her head a full 180 degrees, flashing a sinister smile at the mirror.

Cohen instantly realized the truth of the matter.

The two were so close that he couldn't see the ghostly figure by turning his head alone, nor could he see his own back by looking in the mirror. Only by turning around and looking in the mirror could he see Sophie's ghostly figure...

In a flash, Cohen showed no fear. He gripped his short sword and swung it backward!

A true warrior is never afraid of battle; even if someone is a god, he will simply chop them down.

The blade is as swift as lightning—

"boom!"

A muffled thud echoed down the corridor.

The treasurer took out a handkerchief to wipe his sweat, then looked at the secret agent Williams beside him.

“By the Radiance above, what is that sound?” The elderly treasurer shrank back.

The spy's voice was hoarse and low: "Your Excellency, whatever that sound may be, we should see Earl Cohen as soon as possible."

“I’m still not sure if I should get involved in this vortex…” the treasurer said weakly. “Perhaps Earl Cohen knows that Lord Trier is gathering his vassals to prepare for war. I find it hard to imagine… Earl Cohen is completely unaware of this. After all, they are uncle and nephew.”

The spy shook his head: "You know I used to be loyal to Sir Nordman, and Sir Nordman was loyal to Trier—since Sir Nordman ordered me to keep this news from Earl Cohen, it naturally means that Earl Cohen was unaware of it."

"But...."

"Don't you want to go further?" The spy suddenly pressed close to the treasurer's face, his cold eyes sending chills down one's spine. "Are you content to be a court nobleman without a fief for the rest of your life? Now, the opportunity is before you. If we can stop Trier's perverse actions, we can support the new duke."

“I’ve heard that Lord Trier is like a god in Erlav, and you saw it for yourself at the Duke’s wedding; he’s a legend…”

“The Earl is also a legend.” The spy sneered. “Besides, we’ve already come this far, it’s too late for you to regret it. The guards have seen us. Even if Trier doesn’t settle accounts with us, Sir Nordman won’t let us off the hook.”

After saying that, he walked quickly forward.

The finance director was startled, then gritted his teeth and followed with his head down.

But at that very moment—"creak."

The door was suddenly pushed open from the inside.

The impeccably dressed Earl Cohen slowly emerged from the house. His face was deathly pale, and he held a bloodstained dagger in his hand, from which a series of round drops of blood slowly dripped onto the luxurious carpet.

For some reason, the finance director felt that the blood seemed to radiate a strange dark gold color. The longer he stared at it, the more he felt the itchy blood vessels under his eyes wriggling like worms.

“I know why you’ve come.” Count Cohen didn’t turn to look at them; he turned to the side, as if reciting poetry. “But you might as well be frank with each other.”

The treasurer hesitated to speak, but the secret agent Williams glared at him fiercely.

A moment later, the spy stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and said, "Your Excellency, Trier is conscripting vassals, demanding they fulfill military obligations—as everyone knows, only a duke has this authority..."

Count Cohen slowly extended a hand, signaling the other to shut up, and chuckled softly.

“Ah, power,” he said, as if talking to himself, “So, you think power comes only from the bonds of loyalty brought about by contracts and oaths?”

The treasurer took a sniff of the air; there wasn't a trace of alcohol in it.

As is well known, Count Cohen has never been one for aristocratic decorum. He utterly despises refined arts such as poetry and drama—and since the mysterious death of his wife, Cohen's tastes have become extremely vulgar, consisting of nothing more than two things: heavy drinking and wielding a sword...

But the Earl of Cohen before them seemed rather odd; he appeared excessively pretentious...

"Please forgive my foolishness." The agent's voice grew more respectful. "But I believe that power belongs only to those who dare to grasp the scepter; cowards are not worthy of it."

“Power exists only in imagination.” Count Cohen nodded slightly, then turned his head, his dark eyes slowly sweeping over the spy Williams. “Just like death, they do not exist for the individual.”

The tone was like that of a preaching pastor—no, more like that of a seductive cultist. The elderly treasurer thought to himself.

"So, what's your answer, Morrick?" Cohen suddenly called out the treasurer's real name. "What do you, at your age, think of power?"

The treasurer was startled. He instinctively defined the necromancers of the Great Swamp as "the exclusive possession and control of material and human resources."

“…” Count Cohen fell silent, his brows furrowing slightly.

“Your Excellency, whatever power may be, only you can stop Trier’s perverse actions now.” The spy knelt on the ground. “We are all willing to pledge our loyalty to you.”

“The fear of death is the most primal form of psychological control, and violence is precisely the perfect means of creating that fear,” Cohen shook his head. “And your violence is nothing compared to Trier’s.”

“You will have the support of a large number of nobles. Even if Trier is a legend, he is still just a mortal. He will bleed if he is stabbed and die if he is beheaded. Even if the assassination fails, you can at least win over most of the nobles to support you.” The spy said hurriedly. “We have already made a meticulous plan and made a list. As long as you agree, we are confident that we can kill Trier and at the same time wipe out his supporters near Wirth.”

Count Cohen seemed amused. He chuckled twice, then whispered, "If only it were that simple."

“Complex matters are made up of simple ones,” the spy mimicked Earl Cohen’s new speaking style, speaking in a cryptic tone. “You don’t need to worry about potential interference from the royal family. As long as we act quickly enough, they won’t have time to interfere in our internal affairs. Besides, we can try to take Princess Edith hostage. Once we have the Crown Prince hostage, they will be more cautious.”

"Do you really think that a bunch of mortals can take down Trier?" Count Cohen asked with a smile. "Do you really know what Trier is? And do you really plan to kidnap the legendary paladin who wields the holy sword? That's too... um... too interesting."

“Your Excellency, the situation is on the verge of exploding. Trier’s forced conscription of vassals into this inexplicable war is illegal—you must seize this opportunity.” The spy seemed anxious; he raised his head, his tone urgent. “Even if you don’t want to hurt your family, don’t you think they want to hurt you? Don’t forget your son’s death! Trier did it on purpose!”

The treasurer remained silent, forced to admit that Agent Williams was an ambitious man who was very good at persuading others.

Count Cohen across from him also fell silent. After a moment, he said in a deep voice, "When do you plan to take action?"

“Three days from now, on August 1st, the Masked Carnival.” The agent said in a deep voice, “Sir, please don’t think we are slow. After all, concealing our whereabouts and making connections takes time, but as long as you agree, these are not problems.”

The treasurer was horrified. Only now did he realize that the spy was not a sudden idea, but a complete conspiracy group had long been formed behind him!

Perhaps we should report their conspiracy to Trier...

“Perfect timing, exactly as I envisioned, how artistic—” Cohen smiled slightly. “Very good, very good, now there’s only one last thing left, Morrick, come up here.”

The treasurer looked up in surprise. He hesitated for a moment, then walked up.

“Please give me the handkerchief,” the count said.

The treasurer had no choice but to hand the count a handkerchief for wiping his sweat.

“Very good.” The count nodded slightly.

The next moment, the short sword plunged into the chief financial officer's chest!

The treasurer's eyes widened suddenly, a feeling of powerlessness and numbness, accompanied by excruciating pain, swept over his consciousness.

Count Cohen stared into his eyes with a smile, then gripped the hilt of his sword and pulled it down sharply.

The sword tip sliced ​​through the heart's artery, its blade shattering the heart.

The treasurer fell backward, and in his dying moments, he vaguely heard a muffled conversation.

“Why…why did you kill him? He was the treasurer, he was helpful to our plans…” Williams’ voice trembled.

Count Cohen remained smiling as he gently wiped the blood-stained dagger with a handkerchief: "Some people outwardly obey our will, but deep down they do not—they want to betray you."

"How...how did you know...?"

“Me?” Cohen sneered. “My reason for killing him wasn’t because he wanted to betray you.”

The treasurer's consciousness was plunged into a cold darkness, and his spirit and will gradually dissolved.

However, in the next moment, in the cold darkness, Count Cohen's solemn and sacred voice resounded in his soul.

"Why do you insist that something is wrong with me? Being too perceptive can lead to death."

Chapter 316 Revelation

The candle wick burned silently, and the melted wax slowly slid down the white candle body, solidifying and piling up on the iron-gray candlestick.

"So, in conclusion, we have essentially taken control of area 80 of the Wilt Underground City over the past two days." Edith's serious and clear voice echoed in the room.

In the bright orange candlelight, she stood before a long table. On the mahogany table lay a huge map, its four corners held firmly in place by daggers. The map's outline was rather rough, but the lines representing streets and buildings within were quite clear.

Seven people sat around the long table, including Trier, who was basically the head of the temporary army, a mix of Asmo and mercenaries.

“However, we encountered obstacles in the area centered around Chanjin Avenue.”

Edith pointed to the crooked, golden avenue on the map, with a thick, blood-red outline enveloping it.

"That is another labyrinth besides the entrance. Only by breaking the labyrinth can we find the throne room in the underground mirror city, and only by finding the throne room can we find Lorsevie's life box."

"That puzzle is extremely complex and ingenious. There is no shortcut to breaking it; it requires a lot of calculations over a long period of time."