Azure Scepter

Page 85

Since being reborn as a succubus, Orianna has seen too many so-called princesses in her long succubus life—they are all like the protagonists in the story of "Drunken Moon," weak and spoiled, fantasizing that a prince will suddenly appear and one day, like the most savage pirates and bandits, barge into the castle and rescue them from their boring but extravagant daily lives.

In Oriana's view, this was pure and utter insanity.

They talk about courage and self-pursuit, but in reality they are as ineffective as the most despicable cowards, their abilities as weak as a candle about to burn out, and their hearts as passive and frail as a puppet manipulated by strings.

If the so-called brave, self-pursuing princess in "The Drunken Moon" were replaced with Princess Edith of the Kingdom of Orco, then in the first act, after the Duke and Queen had just poisoned the old King and successfully usurped the throne, Edith would probably jump out in the second act and unleash a Holy Cleave, instantly turning the Duke, the Queen, and all their knights and wizards into pieces.

After all, even the Flame Demon Commander Rosat was killed by her head-on.

Orianna let out a soft breath.

The Balrog Rosat is no ordinary Balrog. Its name is a spell used to frighten children in the Demon Rift region, and Rosat itself possesses terrifying power. In the distant past, a lizardman wizard attempted to enslave Rosat, but Rosat simply crushed the wizard's head and then single-handedly slaughtered the entire lizardman kingdom.

This incredibly powerful fire demon was forcibly killed by Edith.

“I am Edith.” Orianna stood up, her dragon-print boots crunching over the shards of mirror. She tilted her head slightly, walked out of the dressing room, and came behind the deep red silk curtain of the stage.

The next moment, a rapid violin melody suddenly rang out, the curtain slowly opened, and all the lights focused on it.

Orianna flashed the shy smile she had during rehearsals.

The huge auditorium was empty, with only unoccupied seats as far as the eye could see, except for a middle-aged man in chainmail standing below the stage.

“Sir Nordman, this is a performance that belongs solely to you.” The succubus opened her arms to the light.

P.S.: There will be an extra update tonight!

Chapter 172 Necromancer

"The Drunken Moon" is a standard five-act play, and tonight's performance of the fourth act is the most thrilling climax of the entire story.

In this scene, the usurper duke, in order to uphold the kingdom's legal right, imprisons the princess in a tower near the moon, attempting to force her to accept his marriage proposal through confinement. However, to save her thief lover, the princess resolutely takes up a longsword. She lures the duke into the tower under the pretense of accepting the proposal, which leads to a raw verbal exchange and a cold, cruel sword duel.

“Only through fear can one be brave.” The succubus Orianna murmured her inner monologue, forcing a sorrowful smile. “Laughter is the antidote to fear, but how can I laugh? By the light above, priests often warn people to beware of love, for it cuts the heart of a lover like thorns, but when love is offered, people rush in like fireflies drawn to a flame.”

As she read, she slowly approached Nordman in the audience.

The succubus narrowed her eyes slightly.

Orianna knew very well that one of the main reasons why the demon worshippers were able to continue offering sacrifices to Lady Bloodthorn without being caught by humans was that she was in a relationship with Nordman, the chief spymaster of the Southern Duchy.

Although Nordman knew nothing about her true identity, Orianna could still learn about the progress and direction of the human investigation through various means. As a powerful spellcaster, she often used magic to mislead or even distort the human investigation and defense.

It can be said that Nordman is one of the main reasons why the Demon Order has been able to maintain secrecy for so long, and maintaining a close relationship with Nordman is crucial to the Bloodthorn Lady's plan to descend.

Now, Nordman is even more important to Oriana—Sir Nordman is the only relatively viable way to safely access the mysterious and dangerous Trier.

As the succubus's monologue ended, the somber sound of a cello rose up, accompanied by the urgent blasts of a trumpet. According to the script, the story's ultimate villain, the Duke, should have made his appearance.

However, the actor playing the Duke did not appear until the music ended.

Nordmann, sitting in the audience, couldn't help but frown.

The next moment, his lover on the stage suddenly tossed him a flat object.

Nordman hesitated for a moment, then caught it. He glanced at it quickly and realized that it was a silver mask that only covered the upper half of the face. He was stunned for a moment, then realized that what he was holding was the mask of the villainous Duke in "Drunken Moon".

—Whether by coincidence or not, the villainous duke in "Drunken Moon" also served as the king's chief spymaster before usurping the throne.

It seems Dorothy wants to replace the actor as the Duke?

Fun gameplay.

“Duke,” the actress Dorothy, or rather the succubus Orianna, timidly prompted, “you…”

Nordman was immediately overwhelmed with emotion, and without hesitation, he put the mask on his face.

The succubus didn't say much. She smiled radiantly, then dropped her longsword, bent down and pulled Nordman onto the stage. Using the momentum, the supple succubus spun around lightly, then lightly touched her toes and pulled Nordman into her arms.

"Shall we continue acting?" The succubus pressed her lips to Nordman's earlobe, her warm breath tickling him.

Nordman didn't say anything; he just hugged Dorothy tightly.

The warm heartbeats were like drumbeats, and Nordmann's worries about Trier's return gradually dissipated in his lover's embrace. His cold rationality also slowly melted away in her gentle words.

Nordman loved Dorothy deeply—he loved her angelic talent, her bright, spring-like eyes, and her gentle, summer-night lips; at the same time, he was grateful for her love for him.

As the head of the intelligence agency, Nordman was not stupid. He knew, of course, that Dorothy's love was not pure, or even real, but to be fair, he didn't care. In the end, this pretense still held a trace of his tenderness.

To be fair, despite his high position and great power, Nordman didn't really like his job. Compared to power, he preferred rest and a peaceful daily life. He knew that he and his ambitious subordinates, as well as other nobles, were complete oddities.

Nordmann remained unmarried, hoping that the Duke would grant him a fiefdom for his loyal service or introduce him to a widow with a fiefdom. However, to Nordmann's disappointment, he did not receive the reward he deserved until the Duke fell seriously ill and went into a coma.

Sometimes he even felt like a stupid donkey, forever driven by the carrot tied in front of him, like a puppeteer manipulating a doll at will.

He sometimes even had the thought of simply marrying Dorothy, whose origins were unknown, since he was no longer young and was already at the end of his prime.

Nordman quietly felt the other's heartbeat, then looked into his lover's purple eyes.

Then he read worry in Dorothy's clear, beautiful eyes—a worry born of love.

"What are you afraid of?" the succubus whispered, extending a finger to gently press against Nordman's lips. "Shh, don't say anything, just hold me tight."

The next moment, Nordman heard a whisper that vanished like the wind: "I don't understand those complicated politics, but I will always support you."

"You are my greatest hope, Sir, I love you."

As Lady Bloodthorn's most beloved handmaiden, Orianna is not only a powerful mage, but also a mortal hunter and a "Heartbreaker".

As Nordman's psychological defenses gradually crumbled, Orianna whispered sweet nothings while silently activating telepathy.

Close your eyes.

Nordman was not under any mental protection spells, but his mind was hard and cold; the mental tendrils probing into the frontal lobe of his brain through his nasal cavity could only catch a glimpse of a vague impression.

Love, warmth, gratitude... these weak and pathetic emotions disgusted Orianna.

She strives to extend her spiritual reach further.

The next moment, she felt a salty, sea-like fear and worry, a fear that penetrated to her very bones...

The succubus's mind is delving deeper; soon, she will pass through the surface emotions and enter a deeper area of ​​fragmented memories.

blink.

The next moment, Orianna felt a weightless fall. A few moments later, she realized that she was deep in the memories of the Chief Spy. She sniffed and followed the salty, sea-breath-like fear and worry to the fragments of memory.

—The mangled human body, every muscle and blood vessel in the forearm carefully unfolded, a short figure in a black robe is quietly and precisely dissecting the elven vampire on the operating table, holding various complex surgical instruments.

The elven vampire was clearly still "alive," her bulging eyes were still frantically moving, and her jaw muscles were twitching due to tension, but the dissector seemed completely unconcerned. Orianna noticed that the dissector's hands were as steady as a dead man's.

“Enough, Trier, that’s enough.” The succubus heard Nordman’s trembling voice. “She has killed many people, but this is going too far…”

Trier? Isn't he a paladin?! And wasn't that lich who dissected people possessing the bodies of young children?

Orianna was taken aback. She never expected that her enemy this time would be a terrifying lich disguised as a paladin.

The surgeon continued cutting open one of the vampire's thoracic ribs at a leisurely pace. Then, he slowly put down the scalpel and turned around.

"How are the preparations for the storage stone going?" Trier asked softly. "Nordman, don't be nervous. Being too nervous is inefficient."

“This is really too much. One stab would be enough to settle the debt,” Nordman pleaded in a low voice.

“The effect is better when the body is transformed into a hanging corpse while it is still conscious.” The expressionless dissector suddenly revealed a strange smile. “Such material is rare. If you feel unwell, you can go to the shelf and get a dose of reagent number 9. It can quickly suppress physiological phenomena such as fear.”

"Give her a quick death," Nordman pleaded.

Trier sighed and helplessly spread his hands: "Dear Nordman, this monster has drained countless people over the centuries. Do you remember the village of Sylvani? Not a single one survived."

"From any perspective, it deserves to die. Since it deserves to die, why not make better use of it?"

"As long as we make effective use of this vampire lord's remains, we can protect more people from harm. This is honorable and righteous, and it does not violate any chivalrous code. Don't feel guilty, Nordman. That kind of thing will only hinder your progress."

Succubi are adept at bewitching people, and she immediately realized that Trier was maliciously twisting the facts. At this moment, she had to admit that Lady Bloodthorn's appreciation of Trier was entirely justified; this man was clearly a born demon, unbound by moral constraints...

“But…” Nordmann seemed to want to argue.

The next moment, Trier continued in a calm and unhurried voice, "Put down this stupid idea immediately, or you'll die."

As Trier's deep voice rang out, the entire fragment of memory instantly crumbled, and fear led Orianna to a recent memory.

The setting sun was like blood, and the fir trees rustled softly.

A handsome young man, branded with blasphemous marks on his body, kidnapped a soldier.

The succubus looked around and then spotted a familiar figure.

Trier's expression was cold, and he said in a slow and deliberate tone, "Put down the hostages and weapons immediately, or you will die."

The distant, terrifying memories overlapped completely with the recent ones, and every element in Nordmann's recollection screamed.

A mutilated human body, pervasive high pressure, an incomprehensible way of thinking...

That ruthless, tyrannical, and bloodthirsty necromancer is back!

At this moment, inside the Star Tower in the Upper City.

“The fireplace is so cozy.” Trier yawned contentedly. “I really hope Oris can end his divine revelation state soon.”

Chapter 173 Paladin

"The fireplace is so warm."

Despite saying that, Trier's attention was not actually on the fireplace. At this moment, he was standing in front of Oris's room, quietly waiting for the other party to exit the so-called "divine revelation" state.

Princess Edith took Futia to deal with the aftermath of the battle, while Noy volunteered to settle the dragons and the inquisitors who had been brought over by the mass teleportation spell. So now only he and the paladins on duty were in front of Oris's gate.

Through the window at the end of the corridor, Trier looked down at the city below, a city filled with death and despair. With his extraordinary perception of 20 points, he could clearly hear the mournful sobs of the dying and the hollow whimpers of the walking dead, which flowed like an undercurrent in the wind; the gray streets were littered with corpses, and the rotting flies and maggots hovering over the white body bags emitted a decaying stench full of the negative energy of the dead and the dying.

Decay, oppression, despair, and the manic gloom brewing with death.

The walnut clock beside the fireplace swung, its mechanical clicking incessant. Suddenly, a puppet inside the glass, driven by gears and levers, sprang out and stiffly raised its right hand to strike the drum in its left.

"Thump—thump—thump—thump—thump."

It's already five in the morning. Since the battle ended and they entered the Tower of Stars, Trier has been waiting for two whole hours, but the old paladin Oris is still in a so-called divine revelation state and insists on staying inside.

The longer it drags on, the more people will die from the plague, and when the death toll reaches a certain level, a major riot will inevitably break out in the city. Trier knows that the window of opportunity to perfectly resolve the situation is rapidly closing, and time is running out.

Although he was extremely impatient, Chuan Chuan remained calm. He looked away, glanced at the clock, and then looked up for the third time at the paladin guarding the door.

A paladin with a stereotypical expression, his face solemn and seemingly unsmiling, but his attire looked extremely absurd.

He wore spotless silver plate armor, with the purple emblem of the Knights of the Holy Judgment hanging on his chest. The gaudy, colorful tassels under his pale green cloak swayed in the wind, making an annoying "whooshing" sound. The iron handle of his halberd was inlaid with dazzling gems of various colors, their brilliance causing a sense of unease.

Trier even smelled a cloying ambergris scent on him.

"This design is way too flashy. Adding so many gemstones makes the halberd's center of gravity look really weird," the time traveler thought to himself.

Seemingly noticing Trier's observation, the strangely dressed paladin spoke for the first time.

"You're quite easygoing. Waiting this long must be uncomfortable."

Trier didn't reply immediately; after a moment's thought, he also gave a smile.

"Then you must be working very hard too."

“At least we don’t have to risk our lives, right?” The paladin on duty smiled, revealing a set of white teeth. “Quite a few people died in that battle just now. Fireballs, fire demons, death… even His Highness Edith suffered a concussion. Oh, by the way, you have now passed Lord Oris’s test of patience and can go in for an audience.”

"Test? What is he that he's worthy to test you? Trier, you're far too kind!" The voices of the crowd echoed in Trier's mind. "My dear friend, you don't think you can get anything of value out of this puppet, do you? You're just wasting your time!"

Trier remained unfazed, nodded his thanks to the paladin on duty, and then walked into Oris's room one after the other.

He knew perfectly well that the negotiations with Oris would most likely fall apart and yield no results, but Trier's purpose was not just to talk to Oris, this puppet in the public eye; his main goal was to find out Saint-Sel's true intentions.

To shatter the "Blood Plague Crisis" chessboard right under the noses of so many powerful beings and achieve final victory, understanding the objectives and strategies of each party is the foundation of all decision-making.

Moreover, from a certain perspective, the cooperative relationship between the dream realm's demigods and himself is not stable.

The only two points of agreement between Him and himself are the hostile relationship with Losevie and His promise to release Him. If things progress to the point where Losevie is at a disadvantage, there is a high probability that Losevie will shake hands with the others and make peace. To avoid this situation, the reasonable approach is to bring in more people to make the balance of power at the demigod level change and become more complicated. The more complicated the situation, the more room He has to maneuver and operate.

If he couldn't get Saint Seil out of him and couldn't reach an agreement with Oris, he could use the fact that Hult was unjustly wanted as a way to maneuver.

Trier raised his head slightly to observe the layout of Oris's room.

The room was exceptionally spacious and its luxurious design made it seem nothing like a paladin's dwelling.

Three crystal chandeliers overhead emitted the scent of incense, while a golden phonograph on the table played the ethereal chorus of a choir.

A panoramic floor-to-ceiling window hollowed out the entire south wall, and the night breeze, carrying the smell of sulfur and blood, gently swayed the gauze curtains; the curtains faced a long table made entirely of black marble with a wood-grain pattern, on which sat a platinum-gold ivory teapot shaped like a deer.

On the wall hung an expensive carpet from the Endless Desert. The emblem woven on the carpet was not the silver acanthus emblem most commonly seen in the Church of Radiant Light, but a golden longsword. Trier knew that this was the emblem of Saint Sel.

The paladin guarding the door clicked his tongue, then turned and left the house.

"You are Trill Rowland, the one who was exiled by the Duke of the South?"