Black Hearted Mage

Chapter 298 Evil

Kaisas stood at the other end of the arena, his dark grey magic robes fluttering in the wind, his pale, slender fingers drawing grey-green lines in the air. His spells weren't direct shadow bolts, but curses as insidious as venomous snakes—each spell left a corrosive mark on the battle priest's body.

The battle-priest, clad in heavy magic steel armor, had initially been like a raging lion, his longsword, inlaid with sacred magic patterns, piercing the air with a sharp sound with each swing. But now, his movements were growing sluggish, like a moth caught in a spider's web. Every time he tensed his muscles for a fatal blow, two faint flashes of light would erupt from Caesar's fingertips: a gray-white curse of weakness, precisely wrapped around his wrist, while a gray-green curse of fatigue pierced his knee. The priest stumbled to one knee, a vein bulging on his forehead. Even the simplest dispel spell required three consecutive recitations to dispel it—the strange cursed energy was like a cancer clinging to his bones, and each time it was dispelled, new threads of gray mist seeped out.

"Dang Cang——"

The sudden sound of metal clashing caused the entire crowd to erupt in an uproar. A smoky piece of steel suddenly peeled off from the left side of the battle priest's breastplate. As this foot-square shard of magic steel hit the obsidian floor, gray smoke still rose from its edges, as if corroded by invisible acid.

"Gods above!"

The referee wearing the Red Moon Badge in the audience suddenly stood up, his pupils behind his monocle shrinking violently. "That's heavy magic steel armor that can withstand pyroblasts!"

"Idiot, this is a curse erosion phenomenon!"

Kandel ripped his cloak from his way and rapped his staff against the railing with excitement. His wrinkled eyes twitched, as if he were seeing the battle images in the stone sent by the Roland Empire—Caesars raised his hand in the shadows, and the armor of the twelve paladins peeled off like rotting bark.

"The corrosive effects of Corrosion are cumulative! The first round of curses weakens magical resistance, and the second round corrodes material structures..." Kandel's voice was hoarse with excitement, and his spit glittered under the light. "Do you know why sorcerers were prioritized on ancient battlefields? They can turn an entire heavy cavalry unit into sitting ducks riding rusty iron lumps!"

"Kandel, please explain the spell in detail!" an old referee said seriously.

Kandel smiled smugly and then said, "Although a spell is also a type of magic, there are some differences. After a spell hits the target, all the spell damage is immediately unleashed. The direct damage of a spell is not high, but it will attack every few seconds, lasting about half a minute. Overall, the damage value of a spell is higher. The key is that a spell is an instant-cast spell, specifically designed for combat!"

In the center of the arena, the battle priest finally knelt on one knee. A crack suddenly appeared on his helmet visor, revealing a face as pale as paper behind it. This detail made Kandel tremble all over, as he knew very well that this meant that the corrosion magic had penetrated the last layer of defense.

"Holy light cannot defeat darkness!"

Caesar's voice, amplified by magic, reverberated like rolling thunder throughout the amphitheater. He deliberately trembled with sarcasm in every syllable, a cruel smile playing on his lips. This magnificent arena became his carefully chosen stage. He sought more than just victory; he wanted to completely crush the dignity of the Church of Saint Laurent.

"Arrogant, our battle is not over yet!"

The middle-aged priest's voice resonated like tempered steel, resonating powerfully. Though his magic steel armor, riddled with holes from dark magic and resembling a piece of scrap metal soaked in seawater for years, remained erect. Only half of his longsword remained in his hand, its blade rusted and cracked, yet he showed no sign of retreating. Caesars's insult to the Pope burned like a red-hot iron into his soul—not a personal humiliation, but a blasphemy against the entire Saint Laurent faith.

With a metallic whine, the priest ripped off the cuirass, which had become a burden. The rusted metal flakes fell like dead leaves, revealing the blood-red priest's robes beneath. The red was so glaring it seemed to burn the eyes. He removed his battered helmet, revealing a face weathered yet resolute as stone. His graying temples betrayed his age, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter than any young warrior's.

Caesars stood at his ease, his black robes fluttering in the wind. Like a noble enjoying a play, he watched the priests strip off their worldly armor piece by piece. When the priests withdrew the staff, surmounted by a large cross, from their storage rings, a glint of triumph flashed in Caesars's eyes. He had long known that these fanatics only revealed their true power when they were at their most enraged.

"Are you finally going to get serious?"

Caesars spoke softly, casually tossing the image stones in his hand. He casually dropped dozens of crystals, gleaming with a faint blue light, onto the edge of the arena, forming an irregular circle. These image stones would record everything that happened next, becoming the crucial evidence for his plan.

When the last piece of shoulder armor fell, the priest was transformed. His blood-red robe billowed in invisible air, like a living being. His scarlet priest's cap cast a shadow, obscuring the upper half of his face, revealing only his tightly pursed lips. The gem atop his cross-staff began to glow a blinding white light, so pure it could burn through a person's retinas.

"In the name of Saint Laurent—"

The priest's voice suddenly became ethereal, as if countless voices were resonating simultaneously. The obsidian ground beneath his feet began to crack, and golden lines seeped out from the cracks, forming a huge sacred magic circle.

"You blasphemers will be punished by God!"

Caesars finally dropped his playful expression, his fingers twitching slightly beneath his black robe. Just as he'd predicted, a surge of divine energy erupted from the priest, several feet high. The light took the shape of a giant sword, pointing skyward. The previously gloomy clouds above the arena were stirred by this force, forming a massive vortex. This was the moment he'd been waiting for—a high-ranking Saint Laurent priest, willing to burn his own life to extinguish the blasphemer's madness.

"Very good..." Kaisas murmured softly, and dark magic began to gather in his palm. "Let us see, is your holy light purer, or is my darkness more eternal!"

Two diametrically opposed energies formed a stark dividing line in the center of the arena: on one side was a blinding holy white light, on the other, an all-consuming darkness. The image stones faithfully recorded all of this, revealing to the world how the priests of the Church of Saint Laurent publicly violated the rules of the competition and used forbidden divine arts.

The smile hidden in the shadows deepened. The outcome of this battle had already been decided, and what he wanted was never as simple as killing a priest.

Dark Torrent and Dark Corrosion, these two buff spells, were born from ancient high magic. After repeated refinements and simplifications by Kaisus's ancestor, Revan, they formed a unique system of spells. At this moment, they materialized into dozens of gray-black energy rings, flowing with liquid dark elements across their surfaces, forming layers of protective barriers around Kaisus. Most astonishingly, the dark patterns within the rings constantly twisted and shifted, seemingly possessing a sense of life, sometimes converging into hideous faces, sometimes transforming into eerie patterns, emitting a suffocating sense of oppression.

Archmage Kandel frowned at the referee's table, his snow-white beard trembling unconsciously. As a centuries-old friend of the dark mage Roman, he prided himself on his knowledge of dark magic. However, the ten or so intertwined, swirling rings of darkness surrounding Caesars, their compositional principles and energy fluctuations, were completely beyond his comprehension. He subconsciously stroked the flame emblem on his chest, a flicker of unease in his cloudy eyes.

In the center of the battlefield, three blinding green lights suddenly split open from a swirling gray-black mist, condensing into the form of a lifelike skeleton—the ultimate form of Death Coil. From its hollow eye sockets and gaping maw spewed netherworld fire, it lunged at the red-robed priest at astonishing speed.

At the moment when the holy light clashed with the energy of death, the expected violent explosion did not occur. Instead, there was a creepy corrosion sound, as if countless invisible poisonous insects were gnawing at the holy light.

The golden holy flames pulsing around the priest's body dimmed at a visible pace, their once brilliant light gradually eroded by the sticky darkness. As the final curtain of light shattered, the scarlet priest's robe, a symbol of divine authority, began to undergo a strange transformation: the sacred patterns embroidered with gold thread melted like snow exposed to the scorching sun, and the vibrant red fabric rapidly faded, first to the pink of a young girl's cheeks, then to a pale, eerie hue tinged with blood. The entire degeneration was astonishingly swift. Before the spectators could even gasp in surprise, the sacred red robe had already transformed into a cursed shroud.

As the middle-aged priest moved, his faded robes were ripped apart by invisible hands, shattering into countless shreds that drifted through the air. The tattered fabric fluttered in the sunlight like a flock of dying doves. The priest who had just threatened divine punishment now stood naked in the center of the arena, like a newborn baby. His bloated belly glistened in the light, his wrinkled face frozen in a daze of disbelief.

"Gods be damned, his tattoo is turning black!"

Suddenly, screams of terror erupted from the audience. Beneath the priest's pale skin, the magical patterns that had once shimmered with golden light were turning black at a visible speed. Like parchment splashed with ink, the sacred lines were instantly transformed into twisted stains.

In the front row of the stands, a middle-aged man wearing an alchemist's badge suddenly stood up. "The priests of the Saint Laurent Church actually tattooed the sacred magic pattern beneath their skin!" His voice trembled with shock. "No wonder these people survived the last battle in the southern border, even after being hit head-on by the mage group!"

The entire arena erupted in excitement. The secrets the Saint Laurent Church had guarded for centuries were now exposed to the public like the peeling of an onion. Embedding a magical array within the human body required not only the power of forbidden alchemy but also sinister materials forbidden by all nations—each of which meant the loss of countless lives.

While the general audience might still be whispering and speculating, the magicians in the VIP seats had already changed color. Several elderly arena referees simultaneously revealed expressions of disgust, one even pulling out an alchemical bomb.

"Master Kandel!" An old magician with white hair and beard stood up, holding a staff inlaid with amethyst. His voice, though old, was exceptionally resonant. "As the only great alchemist in the judges' booth, please tell us what forbidden materials are needed to set up this magic pattern array in the human body?"

The old wizard activated his magical loudspeaker, and the entire arena fell silent. Kandel, seated at the end of the judges' bench, slowly rose, his red robe swaying gently in the breeze. The renowned alchemist, renowned for his meticulousness, removed his monocle and slowly wiped it with a silk handkerchief, as if orchestrating the most brutal testimony.

"At least four types are needed." Kandel's voice was eerily calm. "First, the bone meal and bone marrow of babies under a month old. The bone marrow must be extracted while the baby is still alive. Second, there are plague flowers grown using rotting corpses as nutrients. Each flower requires a fresh corpse. Finally..." He paused, his eyes behind the lenses sweeping across the room. "There's the vengeful spirit grass, which can only grow where wronged souls gather. For every plant grown, several souls who died with hatred will be forever dissipated!"

There were bursts of retching sounds coming from the audience. The great magician Joanna slammed the table and stood up. Flames of anger burned in her brown eyes, and fire elements were gathering in her red crystal-like dragon blood wood staff.

"Totally devoid of conscience! Totally devoid of humanity!"

Joanna's furious rebuke echoed throughout the arena. "Is this what the Church of Saint Laurent calls 'holiness'? Trading the lives of infants, the dignity of the dead, and the peace of wronged souls for so-called divine favor?"

In the VIP seats, several representatives from the Church of Saint Laurent looked ashen, one of them slumped in his seat. Under the dome of the Grand Arena, countless condemning glances shot like sharp arrows at the shivering, naked priest in the center of the arena. The rotting black magic patterns beneath his skin looked like a confession written in sin.

The magic pattern array under the priest's skin has turned into a pitch-black patch, and black blood is flowing out.

"Master Kandel, you've missed the most important point. Without a necromancer, even if all the forbidden materials are prepared, it's useless. After these materials are filled into the body, necromancy is needed to activate them, otherwise the body will reject these foreign substances!"

Kaesas' voice, amplified by magic, echoed throughout the Grand Arena. Necromancers were a taboo among taboos, the recognized source of evil on the Roland Continent. And yet, within the Church of Saint Roland, there were necromancers. The so-called holy light was merely a facade of evil.