Chapter 272: The Unlikely Alliance

  "Fate? Heh..." Pope narrowed his eyes, as if savoring the mysterious and unfathomable charm contained within the word, then he looked at Marquis and said: "This is not the first time I've heard these words. Someone mentioned them in my presence over twenty years ago. It was the previous Pope, His Majesty Dracon. Inham, do you know of him?"

  Marquis nodded: "His Majesty Dracon was not only the Pope at the time but also the recognized strongest expert on the continent. It's a pity I was too young back then to have the chance to witness the figure of this legendary person."

  "Hmm, in terms of magical cultivation, His Majesty Dracon's dual cultivation of white magic and fire magic could already be considered among the three great mages of the continent. And even without counting magic, his martial skills were among the top ten experts on the continent. His status as the continent's strongest was beyond doubt. During his reign, I, Ronis, and Eschol were his three Cardinals. It was also when the glory of Celeste was spread the widest and shone the brightest. He was deservedly the most powerful person on the continent. Inham, tell me, could a person like this be said to have already gathered all power?"

  "Of course." Marquis nodded. A person like that could claim to be anything. In fact, in the eyes of most people at the time, His Majesty the Pope was no longer a man, but a god. Even the Lord in heaven was not as dazzling as his own representative on earth.

  "It was in front of me that he spoke of this prophecy of Archibald. He also said that he could already see fate, that fate was already in his grasp, and that he would tread upon this prophecy to surpass the strongest mage in history, Archibald, and pull out The Black Star, which no one had ever been able to draw." Pope smiled faintly, as if reminiscing, yet also mocking. Perhaps because he was too immersed in his own memories, or perhaps because he truly regarded the new Cardinal before him as an ally he could fully cooperate with, these words of his were something absolutely no one else could ever hear: "But it's a pity, this strongman who thought fate was already under his feet, died in the end. He didn't even fall on the path he thought would lead to conquering fate."

  "Don't go looking at fate, and don't take any prophecy too much to heart. Look more at what's right in front of you, at your feet. You may not go far, but at least you won't be shattered by a fall. This is the lesson I learned from him. The prophecies of the ancients are usually ambiguous and vague. The result of trying to forcefully interpret them is merely projecting one's own wishful thinking."

  "I think we don't need to concern ourselves with whether what Archibald spoke of is a single individual or a group, nor do we need to worry about what power is gathered. We just need to know that the Central Lands must not be allowed to truly become the place where the beastmen start to change this world." Pope stood up from his chair, a gleam in his eyes.

  Perhaps what he said was right. Interpreting the words of the ancients is really just projecting oneself. This sentence applies to many people. Marquis silently made a smiling expression in his heart, but he didn't show it, only saying: "Your Majesty, please be at ease. Lord Lancelot and the Temple Knights have already departed. As long as things proceed smoothly on their end, Oufu won't last another two or three years."

  "Hmm, this time, I truly have you to thank. Inham, if Oufu is truly eradicated, it won't be eradicated by me, but by you." For the first time, the gaze Pope directed at Marquis held genuine appreciation and a hint of gratitude.

  Two days later, another letter sent by Dragonfly from Celeste appeared on the desk of the City Lord of Sedros.

  The content of the letter was that all seven Temple Knights, including Lancelot, had disappeared from The Radiant Citadel. The griffins in the castle were not missing, and there was no news of any Temple Knight leaving the city. It seemed one could infer that the seven of them had left Celeste using a teleportation scroll.

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  This letter gave Sedros quite a headache. It wasn't that every secret letter from Celeste cost over a hundred gold coins, but that he truly couldn't figure out where these seven Temple Knights could have gone.

  Including Lancelot, none of these seven Temple Knights were anything less than top-tier experts; they represented the Church's highest combat power. A mission that could mobilize these seven to carry it out silently and without a trace was indeed something that gave one a necessary headache to figure out.

  The number of teleportation magic arrays on the continent was countable. Using a process of elimination, one could list the places the Temple Knights could go, but after eliminating them one by one, the most valuable places were precisely the ones they seemed unlikely to go.

  Diya Valley? Putting aside whether they had that many teleportation scrolls to Diya Valley, even with all twelve Temple Knights present, to dare to barge in there would be no different from courting death. The Black Star's barrier is not as gentle as Sunwell's. Moreover, all the Necromancers would absolutely return to Diya Valley in the shortest time possible, possibly including Sandro and Agrael, who has been hiding for years.

  To go to Whispering Woods to forcefully seize the Leaves of the World Tree? This seems to be the most likely possibility. But Sedros, on the contrary, somewhat hoped they would go. The barrier formed by the combined forces of Sunwell and the War Ancient Tree, when used flexibly, could even be stronger than The Black Star's. Although there are no Necromancers there, there are tens of thousands of elves. As long as Gru goes to cooperate with the elves, these seven Temple Knights will have no chance to return to Celeste.

  To go to the Tower of Fangs to forcefully seize a large number of scrolls? There are thousands of mages there. Ainfast? Not very likely. There are two or three other places that seem to be of no value at all...

  Could they be going to... But what for there? Is it still courting death? The City Lord of Oufu thought and thought, only to feel his head hurting more and more.

  This underground hall was less of a hall and more of a plaza. Although it was indoors, looking up revealed an endless darkness with no ceiling in sight. Only four stone pillars, built from countless massive stones and slowly extending up into the darkness, indicated that this was not a plaza. Although there was a large amount of fungi supplying oxygen, there was generally no custom of burning torches in an underground city. The entire hall was illuminated by fluorescent gems on the surrounding walls. Perhaps because they were products of an underground city, the light of the fluorescent gems also seemed to inherit its characteristics: dim, ambiguous, yet able to extend fuzzily into the distance.

  In the middle of the hall was a stone table, gigantic and proportional to the hall itself. Surrounding it were still giant stone chairs, also made of stone. But the guests sitting on the stone chairs now seemed somewhat small in stature, and the faint glow and aura they exuded were quite out of tune with this gloomy and somber underground world. It was the holy fluorescence unique to white magic.

  The air carried a whiff of sulfur and rot, the characteristic air of an underground city. However, when this smell of sulfur and rot traveled from Lancelot's nose to his mind, it always seemed to transform into the smell of blood. This made him always feel that there were hallucinations before his eyes, as if countless pieces of flesh and blood were flying across, splashing onto his body. Lancelot subconsciously sized up the standing Minotaur warriors. He could see that these were all elites among the Minotaurs, but he didn't think much of them. He then subconsciously began to think about how he could use the most effective tactics to kill all these Minotaurs within three breaths... His hand nervously moved to the hilt of his sword...

  Although ten years had passed, the impression of that half-month of slaughter in Nighon was a brand on his mind that could never be erased in his lifetime. The moment he saw these monsters and breathed the air here, even if there was no killing intent in his mind, the habit of wanting to kill would unconsciously emerge.

  Letting out a long breath, Lancelot stabilized his emotions. He reminded himself that this time was not the same as ten years ago. Today, his identity here was no longer that of an enemy, but of an ally.

  A strange ally. Ten years ago, when he led twelve Temple Knights on a killing spree into Nighon, they had at least cut down a small fraction of Nighon's population. The Harpies were almost completely uprooted. In the end, only two of the twelve Temple Knights were able to leave Nighon with him, a devastating defeat for both sides. But ten years later, he could sit in this Minotaur hall and receive the most grand welcome.

  Inconceivable, from a knight's perspective. But Lancelot also understood that what brought him back here was not the power of a knight, but the power of politics. Therefore, he was now not an enemy, but an ally.

  However, including himself, these seven were not people suited for politics. Each person's face was as cold as frost. The battle between humans and Nighon could be traced back to prehistoric times. After the Church was founded, the extermination of these heretical creatures had never stopped. As elite warriors of Celeste, each of them had at least a hundred Nighon lives on their hands. And their students and friends had also lost their lives in battles with Nighon.

  Troglodyte servants brought in basin after basin of meat and various types of bracket fungi and other food unique to the underground. There were no utensils like knives, forks, bowls, or plates here. Except for the self-righteous Drow, the living habits of Nighon's residents were much like the beastmen of the former Barbarian Highlands.

  At the front of the conference table, a huge figure stood tall. Its entire body was covered in a dark high priest's robe adorned with many strange objects. The twin horns on its head were carved with dense, dark totems. If not for the slight heaving of its enormous chest, this burly figure would have been mistaken for a statue in the dim light.

  Although slightly shorter than the average Minotaur, High Priest Tima still looked like a small mountain before Lancelot.