Chapter 45: Please Lend Me All Your Magic Power
“Long time no see, Lady Cynthia.”
The man’s voice echoed in the silent cocoon, carrying an uncomfortable sticky quality.
He bowed slightly, performing an exaggerated, almost mocking bow. Golden short hair fell over his thick neck, creating three layers of folds, his priest robes embroidered with gold thread stretched tight over his corpulent body.
Cynthia’s pupils suddenly contracted, her right hand unconsciously gripping the sword hilt tighter.
She recognized at first glance this Light Temple priest who always squinted and smiled at everyone—Berkeley. Now those small eyes hidden behind lenses were completely open, revealing snake-like vertical pupils that reminded her of the marsh vipers she’d seen at the border.
“It’s you…”
Her voice was more hoarse than expected, her throat still carrying the bloody taste from fighting Erin.
“Half a month ago outside Messiah City, that beast disaster that completely contradicted intelligence, and the intercepted and delayed support requests—”
Berkeley straightened up, his pudgy fingers caressing the holy emblem hanging on his chest. That symbol which should represent light emanated an eerie purple glow in his hands.
“Your memory is truly good.”
He grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth.
“But your luck was really too good that time, actually managing to kill your way out of a medium-scale beast disaster encirclement…”
“So you set your sights on Erin?”
Cynthia’s boot sole ground against Erin’s ashes on the ground, making fine crackling sounds. Her fingernails dug deep into her palms.
“Turning my Crimson Knights’ deputy into… that kind of monster?”
“Allow me to correct you—it’s evolution, dear Lady Saint.”
Berkeley suddenly became excited, the fat on his face violently shaking.
“Erin’s witch transformation was very successful, wasn’t it? Though she was ultimately slain by you… her data is already precious enough.”
His gaze swept across the ground, then suddenly turned to Sean, his lenses reflecting greedy light.
“But now I’ve discovered an even more interesting specimen—that lord was right, mental soothing ability users really do exist.”
Sean felt a bone-chilling coldness climb up his spine, like a frog being stared at by a venomous snake.
He could smell the strange odor from Berkeley—beneath expensive ambergris, there was the stench of some kind of rotting flesh.
Someone… already knew of my existence long ago?
Cynthia suddenly propped herself up, though the recent hard battle made her steps unsteady, she still blocked in front of Sean.
“Try touching him once.”
Her voice was terrifyingly low, the sword tip striking sparks against the ground.
“Our Lady Saint is still playing tough?”
Berkeley suddenly burst into harsh laughter, the fat on his three chins rippling like waves.
“You can barely protect yourself, yet you still want to protect him?”
“Killing you would be like crushing an ant.”
Cynthia snorted coldly. Male mages were inherently far weaker than female mages, let alone she was a Saint. Even though she’d just fought Erin, with Sean’s mental soothing nearby, though somewhat tired, she could still exert her full strength. Such a guy posed no threat at all.
“What about now, Lady Saint?”
Berkeley wiped away tears of laughter and suddenly snapped his fingers.
The damaged parts of the cocoon wall suddenly lit up with dark purple patterns. Those seemingly random cracks now revealed the outline of a precise magic circle.
Cynthia immediately pulled Sean behind her, but the expected attack didn’t come. Only a sickly sweet smell filled the air, like rotting honey.
“Do you still feel you can crush me like an ant?”
Berkeley leisurely pulled out a staff embedded with black crystals from his robes.
Cynthia’s brow knotted into a death knot. She suddenly couldn’t sense the surrounding elemental forces.
She tried to summon the simplest fireball spell, but the flames in her palm vanished instantly like a snuffed candle.
“This is impossible…”
She murmured lowly, trying again to enchant her longsword, but the runes on the blade showed no response.
“Lady Cynthia?”
Sean noticed her suddenly pale face.
“My magic… has failed. The formulas can’t be constructed…”
There was a barely perceptible tremor in her voice. This was the first time Sean had heard such wavering from this always composed Saint.
“What a beautiful expression Lady Saint has. How does the ‘Sloth Prison’ taste? Under that lord’s grace, any magic becomes…”
Berkeley took a deep breath in intoxication, deliberately drawing out his tone.
“A useless toy.”
“You bastard…”
Cynthia suddenly lunged, her longsword drawing a silver arc straight for Berkeley’s throat, but the magic barrier unfolding from the staff tip easily blocked this strike—normally, this level of barrier would be more fragile than an eggshell under her sword.
“Too regrettable.”
Berkeley shook his head in pity, the staff tip suddenly shooting out three dark purple magic arrows.
Cynthia barely dodged two, the third directly piercing her left shoulder, blood immediately soaking through her red and white uniform.
This was the first time she’d been injured since becoming a Saint. Normally, this level of magic couldn’t even break through the flame field around her body.
“Cough!”
She hit the cocoon wall hard, shaking down countless crystal fragments.
“Lady Cynthia, are you alright?”
Sean rushed over to support her, finding her body trembling slightly—not from fear, but the instinctive shiver from having magic power restrained.
“I can’t use magic anymore.”
Cynthia covered the wound on her shoulder, her whole person seeming so powerless.
“Too wonderful. That lord’s authority… is simply custom-made for you mages.”
Berkeley paced forward, his staff tapping out a heart-stopping rhythm on the ground. He was already fantasizing about the future—if he could present both the Saint and mental soother together, he might be promoted to executor rank.
“Listen, your flame bomb should have been anticipated by him, but at least it can break open this cocoon.”
Cynthia suddenly grabbed Sean’s wrist, her grip almost crushing bone. She lowered her voice, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll hold him off to buy you time. Run without looking back, understand?”
Sean felt the fingers in his palm were terrifyingly cold. He hadn’t expected this Lady Saint to say such words, his heart unexpectedly moved.
“Lady Cynthia, do you trust me?”
He gazed into Cynthia’s ruby-like eyes—the light within was dimming, yet still stubbornly burning.
“Saying such things at this point…”
The Lady Saint was stunned, but the blood-stained corner of her mouth lifted in a familiar arc.
“Then please lend me all your magic power.”
Sean smiled slightly. He pulled Cynthia into his embrace, making their bodies as close as possible, taking an object from his waist with his right hand.
The short handle forged from Black Death ore was less than a palm’s length, emanating a matte luster. A thin black tube extended from the front, and a container-like device could be seen at the grip.
Cynthia felt Sean’s arm encircle her waist, his spiritual power flowing into her body, moving along her magic circuits. As if by telepathy, she attached her magic power to the spiritual power and flowed it back into Sean’s body. This magic power rushed toward the strange device in Sean’s hand like a bursting dam, the container instantly boiling and emitting an eerie red glow.
Berkeley was toying with the staff in his hand, brazenly eyeing Cynthia’s graceful body, considering how to toy with this Saint later. Looking up, he saw the unknown object in Sean’s hand already aimed at him.
“What is that thing—”
He squinted in confusion, just about to raise his staff when his entire vision was suddenly filled with blinding red light.
“Bang!”
The gunshot shattered the frozen air in the cocoon.
Cynthia saw a blazing red beam burst from the tube mouth of that unknown device, the air along its path twisting and steaming.
The holy emblem on Berkeley’s chest vaporized first, followed by his silk robes, skin, flesh… When the beam pierced through the cocoon wall and disappeared in the distance, he looked down at the bowl-sized charred hole in his chest, his face still frozen in disbelief.
“This… what exactly is…”
His corpulent body fell heavily like felled rotting wood.
Distant sounds of trees collapsing in succession echoed as that red light had plowed a nearly hundred-meter trail of scorched earth through the forest.
The cocoon began to collapse, sunlight piercing in like sharp swords.
The weapon in Sean’s hand was smoking, steam still rising from the barrel mouth. Cynthia discovered her magic power was slowly flowing back, and what shocked her even more was—that usually gentle and docile youth now had unfamiliar cold light flashing in his eyes