The Vastness of Magical Destiny

Chapter 72 - 72 24 Setting a Trap

?Chapter 72: Chapter 24: Setting a Trap Chapter 72: Chapter 24: Setting a Trap “`
Lying in the continuously rocking pleasure chair, the elderly man dressed in a loose nightgown stared vacantly at the portrait above the fireplace, his face weary for a long time. The crumpled letter he had tossed into the fireplace disappeared with the flicker of the flames.

The Minister of Internal Affairs stood three meters behind the elderly man, motionless and waiting for instructions. It seemed that His Majesty the King was not in a good mood.

Ever since the Beastmen began their relentless and large-scale attacks in the North earlier this year, His Majesty the King’s mood had turned sour, to the point where he even reduced his favorite hunting activities. Spending more time in the Hunting Manor, he was mostly engaged in the tedious affairs of state. His gray hair had lost its luster, and with a heavy sigh from the depths of his soul, Tez thought perhaps His Majesty the King had truly aged.

“Tez, do you think this fellow named Komer can take in 100,000 refugees? Can the Caucasus accommodate them all?” A somewhat deep voice filled with a heavy nasal tone spoke, sounding as if the speaker had a congested nose.

“Your Majesty, to be honest, the Caucasus simply does not have the capacity to accommodate 100,000 refugees. However, located in the South, the Caucasus enjoys a much warmer climate than the North during Winter, which could help these refugees better survive this severe Winter. In the North, I estimate at least a third of these inadequately clothed and housed refugees would struggle to make it through the Winter. In the Caucasus, perhaps a tent would be enough for them to escape this predicament,” the Minister of Internal Affairs replied, bowing his head.

“Is that the reason you agreed to this plan?” The elderly man leaned his head back on the cushion of the pleasure chair and closed his eyes.

“Your Majesty, not entirely. Although the lord of the Caucasus is young, I can tell he is quite ambitious, and what’s more, he and Philip have a deep animosity. He was banished to the Caucasus to die by Philip—a place where, it is said, no one has lived normally for a year as its lord. This time, this fellow came to recruit refugees from Versailles, bypassing Philip, which displeased him greatly,” Tez replied with a smile, knowing his master would enjoy this news.

Sure enough, the old man’s eyes brightened slightly, “Oh? Then do you think this fellow could safely stay in the Caucasus?”

“Hmm, I dare not assert that, Sir, but there is something odd about this man. I have an intuition that he isn’t so simple—maybe he can create a miracle. It’s said that the traders of the Barefoot Society are also involved with him, seemingly as partners,” Duke Tez hesitated before speaking.

“Hmm, so you mean to support him in this endeavor?”

“Your Majesty, success or failure, at least for now, will leave Naples and the Three Kingdoms of Medea with nothing to say. As we’ve accepted the refugees, they must also take on obligations. If this fellow can hold out in the Caucasus, all the better—we’d have a chess piece in the South to check Philip. If he fails, it costs us nothing, we’d still have provided the refugees with a place to stay, and given the people an explanation,” replied the Duke, shrugging nonchalantly.

“However, I do hope he survives, for Philip and Zellin have crossed the line too much in the past few years. I fear that without some form of check, and the kingdom continuing to fight the Beastmen in the North without restriction, it won’t be long before Your Majesty has to become a debtor slave to these Great Lords. They will use this to demand more privileges from you and the ‘Utrecht Decree’ may have to be abolished,” Tez continued.

With a soft snort, the old man was noncommittal.

“Your Majesty, I would also remind you that Prince Hoffman has been getting too close to Philip’s daughter. I’ve heard that Prince Hoffman has proposed marriage to Philip, I don’t know if Your Majesty and Her Majesty the Queen are aware?” The Minister of Internal Affairs continued, ignoring his master’s displeasure.

“We are aware. It’s a matter for the next generation; We don’t wish to interfere,” the old man closed his eyes again.

“Your Majesty, for the stability of the kingdom, I advise you to look into this matter and carefully weigh its pros and cons,” the Minister of Internal Affairs insisted firmly.

His words once again filled the room with silence. The dim sunlight filtering through the thin gossamer drapes cast a long shadow of the warrior statue in front of the window. The axe held high by the warrior statue created a distorted shadow on the room’s floor. As the curtain swayed, the warrior statue seemed to come to life, its curves and strong lines as if imbued with life under the sun.

The Purple-robed Priest, having just finished writing a letter, re-read it with satisfaction. Today’s harvest was not small; a noble lord of the land turned out to be a Mage, and even harbored profound and inscrutable Dark Magic Power. Although the man concealed it well, and nothing unusual was found in subsequent detections, Malone was confident in his Spiritual Sense and intuition.

This man was highly suspicious; he must be hiding unspeakable secrets, perhaps even astonishing ones. A noble lord, a Dark wizard – these two identities could hardly be linked, yet here they were. And he had encountered them.

After instructing his attendant to send his letter to Marco, Malone felt much relieved. That man had gotten involved with Caffrey; should he warn Caffrey? No, there was no need; these merchants were only out for profit and would not heed groundless warnings. Only facts would prove the truth.

“Mage Sir!” a call came from outside the door.

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“What is it?” Malone asked with raised eyebrows as he opened the door. It was time for his own cultivation, and he found the interruption quite displeasing.

“Someone has delivered a letter, requesting that it be opened by you personally,” said the guard, his simple face full of respect as he handed Malone a beautifully enveloped letter.

Surprised, Malone accepted the envelope and tore it open to reveal a blank sheet of paper. “At dusk, go west five hundred meters from the gate of the Birch Forest fence. Anonymous,” he read softly. Malone turned the paper over, but there were no marks or symbols. Could someone be playing a joke on him? But everyone in Versailles knew this man was not one for jests.

“Who brought this?” Malone asked, the surprise on his face fleeting. He neatly folded the letter back into the envelope and tucked it into his robe.

“It was passed on by the guard at the entrance of the Hunting Manor. They said it was a middle-aged man in a gray cloak, but they couldn’t make out his face,” the guard replied respectfully. To them, a mage was always shrouded in mystery, and such peculiar means of communication were seen as a distinct display of a mage’s uniqueness. “Sir, is there a problem?”

“Oh, no problem at all. It’s an old friend of many years. He likes to use these methods for greetings and appointments. I didn’t expect him to be in Versailles too,” Malone said, not wanting the mysterious affair to become common gossip before he understood the situation.

The gate behind the Birch Forest was usually closed because it led to His Majesty the King’s favorite Hunting Garden. His Majesty’s royal hunting grounds were vast, spanning over one hundred square kilometers, with undulating hills and expansive forests teeming with deer, roe, and elks, while larger animals like bears and wild boars were also frequent visitors.

There was even a small lake within the forest where many beasts liked to drink. It was also a favorite hunting spot of His Majesty the King.

Between the birch forest and the mixed broadleaf forest, there was a wooden fence that served as a boundary to separate the Hunting Garden from the Hunting Manor. Just two days ago, His Majesty the King had embarked on a hunt; hence, there would be no hunting in the near future, and the gates of the fence were already closed. But for a mage, these were not obstacles.

The thick fallen leaves carpeted the interspersed shrubbery and trees densely. The crunch and crackle of dry branches underfoot mingled with the occasional snap, signaling the breaking of twigs. At times, the faint rustling of wild rabbits or wood pigeons threading through the underbrush could be heard. The Purple-robed Priest’s spiritual sense was exceptionally keen now, so much so that even the breathing of the trees seemed to pass unfettered through the air and the earth into his perception.

He could feel someone waiting for him at the designated location and had a vague sense that this unusual appointment might be connected to the strange lord from this morning. This hunch was purely instinctual, and perhaps only by meeting face-to-face could he uncover the real truth.

Even though he was near Versailles, Malone remained extremely cautious. He wasn’t worried about any nefarious intentions from the other party. At his level of mastery as a mage, his ability to sense danger had reached a considerable degree, and it was not easy for external harm to touch him.

The common belief that a mage, once engaged in close combat, had little protective ability and was easily killed by warriors and nobles no longer applied to a mage of his caliber. He could effortlessly and swiftly cast a variety of different kinds and scales of magic, including both offensive and defensive spells. Hence, he was not overly concerned about the choice of such a secluded location.

Even if there were any ill intentions, Malone was quite confident in his ability to cope. He had absolute faith in his own strength; within the kingdom, not many could harm him easily unless they had made meticulous and careful preparations.

However, as he approached the designated spot, Malone’s perceptive senses had already scanned around him within a hundred meters. Should there be any dangerous ambush, he could effortlessly detect it. Within that range, there was only himself and one other person, with no one else present.

This was a rare clearing, surrounded by tall trees, forming a natural depression. Likely due to the exposed rock, even the shrubbery was sparse, scattered in the crevices. The grayish-black basalt was starkly visible, and the uneven rocks lay scattered about. A tall, thin figure swathed in a deep gray cloak stood still atop an outcrop, facing away from Malone, enveloping the space in an indescribable sense of mystery, as if even the warm sunlight suddenly lost its heat.

Malone strolled forward, casually taking in the entirely shrouded figure. He sensed the tension in the air but wasn’t overly fearful. He had faced the frantic charges of hundreds of Beastmen with tranquility, and now, faced with this somewhat eerie individual, he did not believe any trickery could surprise him.

Apparently hearing the Priest’s footsteps, the still figure finally turned around.

“It’s you indeed!” The Purple-robed Priest was momentarily taken aback, then a look of sudden realization dawned on his face, and he nodded heavily, “It seems you’ve been planning this for a while.”