Chương 43: Chapter 20 part 3

Miles away from the violent sonic booms echoing across the northern horizon, the freezing rain fell relentlessly across the sprawling plains just outside the Royal Capital of Elyndria. Sir Thorne stood in the shadow of a jagged, muddy ridge overlooking the city. He wiped the rainwater and a smear of fresh blood from his handsome, aristocratic face. His travel-worn leathers were scorched, and his breathing was heavy, a physical testament to the sheer, terrifying difficulty of his recent mission.

Stealing a catalyst from the Dragon Crags was a suicide mission for any normal mortal. But Thorne was a master swordsman, his reflexes and vitality unnaturally enhanced by the dark, corrupting blood-magic of the Cult. Using incredibly rare, high-tier spatial scrolls provided by Elder Derry, he had bypassed the treacherous, freezing mountain climbs entirely.

He had slipped into the zenith of the peaks while the mother hunted, extracting his prize before the mythical apex predator even realized her hoard had been breached. But extracting the egg was only half the mission. Transporting it across the continent before the Crown, or worse, the terrifying anomaly known as Ming Xuan Ji, could intercept him required a timeline of ruthless precision. The Blood God Cult had orchestrated this moment perfectly.

While Ming Xuan Ji was delayed in the Grand Abyss Dungeon, Thorne had made his move. To outpace her unnatural, logic-defying speed, mundane travel was entirely out of the question. He had descended to a hidden cavern at the base of the Crags where the Cult had prepared their darkest art: The Blood Gate. Chained to the cold stone were ten innocent villagers, abducted from a nearby logging camp. The moment Thorne arrived with the prize, he slaughtered them all without a fraction of hesitation.

Their spilling blood and agonizing final moments fueled the chaotic, single-use spatial tear. The violently unstable gate had swallowed Thorne and his cargo whole, instantly spitting them out onto these freezing plains just outside Elyndria. It had successfully bypassed weeks of perilous travel, ensuring he arrived long before Ming Xuan Ji could even perceive the threat. Resting in the mud beside Thorne was a massive, square crate loaded onto a heavy dwarven-steel handcart.

It was thickly lined in dull lead, its surface deeply etched with hundreds of jagged, crimson runes that pulsed with a sickly, dark-red light. The ambient rain seemed to sizzle and violently warp around the metal. The anti-scrying wards were working at maximum capacity, forcefully repressing the blinding, solar heat of the Ancient Dragon egg resting inside. Thorne smirked, patting the cold lead of the crate. It was the architect of a kingdom's demise.

He looked down at the sprawling capital of Elyndria, his eyes locking onto the designated rendezvous point near the city's ancient aqueducts. This drop-off had been scheduled for weeks. Duke Valerius Morvant, a greedy, treasonous nobleman who had long served as the Cult's primary smuggler within the capital, was supposed to meet him here. But as Thorne peered through the storm, his arrogant smirk slowly vanished. Elyndria was not sleeping. It was bracing for war.

The massive, rune-etched iron gates, designed to withstand the siege engines of the Nakterngard Empire, were slammed entirely shut. Thousands of torches flickered angrily along the high stone walls as heavy infantry swarmed the battlements in perfect formation. And high above the city, a deep, resonating hum vibrated through the bedrock. A colossal, translucent dome of interlocking, pale-blue hexagonal mana shields was actively stitching itself together across the dark sky. The Aegis Array was fully active.

"What in the name of the abyss has that boy Prince done?" Thorne hissed, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his longsword.

"You are late, Swordmaster." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. A wet, pompous voice echoed from the shadows of a nearby cluster of dead trees. The heavy iron bars of a concealed drainage grate, the entrance to the ancient smuggling tunnels, swung open. Stepping into the faint, pale-blue light of the capital's glowing shield was Duke Valerius Morvant. The Duke was a monument to the kingdom's internal decay.

He was an incredibly obese man, draped in multiple layers of opulent, fur-lined velvet that cost more than a border town's entire annual defensive budget. He held a silk handkerchief, heavily perfumed with lavender, tightly over his nose and mouth to block the stench of the muddy plains. Flanking him were four of his private, highly paid mercenaries, gripping loaded crossbows.

"The drop-off was scheduled for an hour ago, Thorne," Morvant snapped, his voice tight with genuine anxiety.

"Do you have any idea the risk I am taking stepping outside my estate tonight? The Crown Prince has completely lost his mind!" Thorne's brow furrowed.

"Explain, Duke. What triggered the Aegis Array? Did the Spymaster's hounds intercept our usual smuggling routes?"

"I have absolutely no idea what triggered it, but it has nothing to do with your petty cult," Morvant sneered, stepping closer to the heavy handcart, his greedy eyes locking onto the lead-lined crate.

"Less than an hour ago, Crown Prince Theron declared martial law. He grounded the wyvern riders, sealed the gates, and mobilized the First Battalion's heavy infantry. Every Royal Guard in the city is on high alert." Thorne completely froze. Martial law? It made no sense. If the Crown didn't know about the egg, what could possibly terrify a man like Theron enough to drain the kingdom's treasury by activating the Aegis Array?

'It matters not,' Thorne decided, brutally shoving the lingering doubt aside. His arrogant, manic confidence quickly reasserted itself.

'Whatever political ghost the Crown Prince is chasing, it only works to our advantage. If the Royal Guard is distracted, the lower rings are completely exposed.'

"We adapt," Thorne commanded smoothly, releasing his grip on his sword. He gestured to the lead-lined crate.

"The main gates are closed, but our arrangement stands. Are the tunnels clear?"

"Of course they are," Morvant replied, his chest puffing out with haughty pride. The sheer, sickening irony of the Nobility Faction was always a delight to the Cult. Men like Duke Morvant were so obsessed with their petty political rivalries and tax evasion that they would gladly invite demons into their basements if it meant undermining the Crown.

"My men will wheel the cart through the aqueducts directly to Blackwater Docks. Warehouse Number Four," the Duke confirmed, waving his thick, jewelry-laden hand dismissively.

"It belongs to the Iron-Tooth Syndicate. We stash the crate there, and the magical residue of its transport will trace back to the local criminal syndicates, completely bypassing my pristine estate."

"Perfect," Thorne chuckled, a dark, cruel sound that rivaled the rumbling thunder. Thorne stepped aside, offering the cart to the nobleman's guards.

"And the contents?" Morvant asked, his eyes gleaming with greedy curiosity as his mercenaries took hold of the heavy cart.

"The Elder promised me that this delivery would cripple the Prince's loyalists. Is it a theocratic bomb? A cache of illegal alchemy?" Thorne's lips curled into a terrifying, knowing smile. He looked at the fat, arrogant Duke, relishing the fact that this man was actively paying him for the privilege of committing suicide.

"Something much more reliable than a bomb, Duke Morvant," Thorne whispered, his voice dripping with calculated manipulation.

"It is a highly volatile, self-replicating magical anomaly. Keep it hidden in the lower rings. Do not open the lead lining under any circumstances. In a few days... the true payload will detonate, and the Crown Prince's authority will be shattered."

"Excellent," Morvant smirked, patting his bloated stomach. He gestured to his guards.

"Take it into the tunnels. Quickly, before Veyne's shadow-operatives start sweeping the aqueducts." Thorne stood perfectly still as the Duke and his mercenaries wheeled the apocalypse away from the ridge. They disappeared into the dark, rainy shadows, the heavy iron grate clanging shut behind them. The swordmaster turned his back on the locked-down capital. He looked up at the pale-blue glow of the Aegis Array and envisioned the Ancient Gold Dragon descending upon those shimmering shields.

He imagined the blinding solar fire, the screaming commoners, the utter, catastrophic ruin of the Zareth Kingdom's proudest monument. The entire continent's attention would be hopelessly fixed on this blazing inferno, completely blind to the true ritual taking place in the north.

"Enjoy your final days, Elyndria," Thorne whispered to the storm, a manic, triumphant grin stretching across his face. He had outsmarted the Crown. He had successfully robbed a Mythical beast. He had delivered the killing blow to the kingdom. Thorne began the long journey back toward Kaelen's Crossing, eager to witness the Grand Bishop complete the descent of the Blood God. As he walked into the dark, freezing plains, he looked up toward the northern sky.

High above the storm clouds, he thought he saw a strange, flickering streak of black and crimson light tearing through the stratosphere, moving at a speed that defied logic. He dismissed it as a trick of the lightning.