Chapter 211: The Deadlock Broken (Part 1)

  "Stop! What are you going to do to Her Majesty the Queen?" the Old Marquis Minsen shouted at the priest before him. Just now, Rodhart's words that had exposed this person's identity had already made everyone's hearts leap into their throats. And now, he had already walked to the Queen's bedside, extending the hand that had just sent Rodhart flying and pressing it on the motionless Queen.

  "Naturally, it's to let her herself explain clearly to you what this is all about," this person replied lightly. He took a deep breath, and then the hand placed on the Queen lit up with a magical glow. This was a magical fluctuation, pitch-black like a mist formed from rising ink. This black aura instantly spread over the Queen's body, slowly seeping into her.

  Sensing the appearance of this magical fluctuation, everyone could feel that a gloomy, corpse-like aura began to fill the entire space of the sleeping chamber. Even though the people here had never seen this kind of magic before, they could still guess what it was.

  "Necromancy?" All the ministers cried out. Their expressions, already full of horror, now became utterly panicked. Minister Jason, Marquis Minsk, and General Thomas all charged forward at the same time. Even though they knew that in front of this person who could defeat Roland's personal disciple in a single move, they might be no different from insects, they did not hesitate in the slightest. Because on the bed was Her Majesty the Queen. Even though she had become a vampire, she was still the most beloved person of the Emperor of this Empire they had guarded their entire lives.

  But one person blocked their path. Her comparatively thin figure was knocked back several steps by the force of their charge, but she used all her strength to desperately hold the three of them back. This person also said to them in a loud, urgent voice: "Don't go. Trust him."

  "Trust him? That seems to be the murderer who killed Bishop Ronis and Duke Mrak. That's Necromancy, can't you see?" General Thomas roared, trying to pull this person away.

  But this person desperately pushed against the General's massive body, looked up at the three old ministers with exceptionally clear and firm eyes, and said in a concentrated voice: "If you don't believe him, then you can at least believe me, can't you?"

  The three men couldn't help but stand still. If it were anyone else, such an obstruction and such words would have absolutely no effect. But this person was the Empire's Chancellor, the Queen's own sister. Logically, she should be the one most concerned for the Queen here, so she was qualified to say this.

  At this moment, the Queen's body on the bed was completely invisible. The black magical fluctuation emitted from that person's hand had already turned the bed into a small patch of black mud, emitting a thick aura of death. Sweat seeped from the forehead of the priest before the bed, gathering at his chin and dripping down, drop by drop. He seemed to be exerting himself greatly.

  The three old ministers were held back by the Chancellor, watching the scene before them with shock and uncertainty. The other ministers were also at a loss. Only Rodhart, who had been knocked flying and was lying on the ground, struggled to prop himself up. He spat a small mouthful of blood and shouted outside with the loudest voice he could muster: "All members of the Paladin Order, hear my command. Stop that person at once. Kill on sight."

  In reality, there was no need for him to say so. The three swordsmen he had summoned earlier had already entered the sleeping chamber at this moment, drawing their swords and charging toward the person by the bed. The Chancellor wanted to move to stop them, but these three swordsmen were very skilled; their figures flashed and they had already brushed past her. And a hundred meters outside the sleeping chamber, hundreds of members of the Paladin Order also began to surge toward this side.

  The hand of the person by the bed remained pressed on the Queen, not withdrawn. The black magical fluctuation grew thicker, blacker, and more deathly still. The sweat on his head also increased. But at this moment, the three swords of the three swordsmen had already reached him. Although these three swords could not compare to Rodhart's earlier sword momentum and killing intent, which was like a mountain torrent, they were by no means a mere trickle that could be easily dealt with. Any single swordsman of the Paladin Order was absolutely worthy of the title "expert."

  This person did not move his body, nor did he let go of the Queen. He only raised his other hand—the one that had just taken Rodhart's sword, now covered in blood. The wound on his palm was deep enough to see bone; the injury from the sword aura was absolutely ten times more severe than it appeared on the surface. No one could easily take a full-power strike from Commander Roland's disciple. And now, the magical fluctuation on this person's other hand was so strong that even the ministers in the chamber who could not use magic could feel it. In contrast, the white Battle Qi light on this hand now was so thin it was almost invisible.

  Three swords, carrying three dazzling glows, a soul-stealing momentum, and a lethal killing intent, were already upon him. One stabbed at his head, one at his chest, and one at his abdomen. Even without a spoken command or reminder, the seamless tacit understanding between the Paladin Order swordsmen still maximized the effectiveness of their assault. Attacks from three different directions, and at three different angles with subtle time differences in between, were ten times harder to defend against than three swords striking simultaneously from the same direction.

  This person's hand first accurately and without error landed on the sword flying toward his face. With a press and a slap, the long sword broke from the middle. But amidst the clang of breaking metal, there was also a teeth-grating sound of bone grinding against the sword's edge. The swordsman's twisting and changing of direction at the instant the sword broke had nearly sliced off a small half of his palm. His little finger flew off from the root, and the bone of his ring finger was completely fractured, remaining connected only by the muscle and skin on one side. Blood immediately sprayed from the wound. Rodhart's earlier strike had probably already shattered at least half the blood vessels in this palm.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  After the sword broke, the swordsman's forward-charging body also swerved, and then this person's elbow struck the swordsman's chin. The swordsman's face was instantly deformed, and he fell, spraying blood and teeth. The broken half of the sword flew downward and happened to strike the sword stabbing toward his abdomen, causing that sword's trajectory to veer again. This person took advantage of this momentary deviation to kick the swordsman on the shoulder. Amidst the sound of bones shattering, this swordsman was also thrown backward.

  The strength in this hand was not actually that great, perhaps even less than the lethal power of any one of the swordsmen's swords. But the timing, force, angle, and method of the strike were precise and ingenious to the extreme, and in this way, he completely defeated the attacks of two swordsmen.

  But these two swordsmen were just the prelude, the prefix. His hand could no longer be used. His hand had already struck out, his foot had already kicked out, and he could not even maintain his body's balance at this moment, but the sword to his chest had already arrived. He could no longer block it, no longer dodge it.

  At this moment, this person still did not let go of the hand pressing on the Queen. Instead, using his standing foot as an axis, he twisted his waist with all his might.

  The sword's edge had already torn through his clothes and entered. As this person twisted his waist, it also carved a wound nearly an inch deep on his chest, and blood splattered out as the sword edge pulled across.

  If the sword edge had been half an inch deeper, it could have surely passed through the gap between his ribs and split open his chest cavity. But this swordsman could not drive his sword in any further. The muscles before the sword's edge were full of elasticity and resistance. And the speed and direction of this person's twisting waist and chest also almost completely dissipated the swordsman's forward-striking force. Finally, the sword stabbed into the center of his chest, and after carving out a wound, it slid out from the side of his chest. The distance between the swordsman and this person had also closed, becoming so near that he could attack without using his hands or feet.

  As he twisted his waist and chest, he also threw his head back. With a dull thud, his forehead collided squarely with the swordsman's face. The swordsman's nose bridge was directly caved into his face. Amidst the splattering blood, the swordsman flipped through the air and was thrown out. His face wasn't just flat; it was practically concave.

  Waving his hand, kicking his leg, twisting his waist and chest, shaking his head, this person spun in place in a near-dance-like posture and stood firm again. The three Paladin Order swordsmen were already on the ground. His hand had not left the Queen's body from beginning to end.

  Except for the hand pressed on the Queen, the rest of his body was already soaked in blood. His palm that had taken two swords was a mangled mess, with blood continuously flowing down from the mangled hand. The blood gushing from the wound nearly an inch deep on his chest had also soaked his clothes. On his forehead, a layer of skin had peeled away from his hairline and hung down. His face, covered in fresh blood—whether it was the swordsmen's or his own—set against the increasingly thick and rolling black magical fluctuation, made him look like a ferocious ghost that had emerged from hell.

  This person took a deep breath. The pitch-black magical fluctuation grew thicker and more ferocious for another layer, and had already begun to spread to other parts of the sleeping chamber. Those ministers without martial skills or resistance had already begun to retreat one after another.

  The layer of skin hanging down from his forehead blocked his view. He seemed to find it a bit troublesome and grabbed it with his bloody, injured hand to tear it off. A mask was ripped away, revealing another, slightly thin but sharply defined face beneath.

  Although they were already mentally prepared for this person's identity, when they saw that face, the most famous, renowned, fiercest, and most terrifying on the entire continent, all the ministers let out a collective cry of alarm, and a few even screamed.

  Only the Chancellor did not cry out or scream. Her gaze as she looked at him was filled with joy and relief.

  The black magical fluctuation that had begun to spread suddenly contracted, all of it gathering and clinging to the Queen's body. The Queen's form was completely invisible, becoming an object wrapped in black aura. And he finally let go of his hand. Although he seemed very tired, he also seemed relieved, and he looked at the Chancellor, who was watching him, and smiled.

  Outside the hall, the Paladin Order swordsmen were already approaching. But this was only "approaching." After all, Rodhart and Bishop Javi had ordered them to stand too far away. Although their movements were also very fast, it seemed it was already a bit too late.

  On the ground, Rodhart struggled to his feet, but even just standing was very strenuous for him, let alone doing anything else.

  Finally, all the black fluctuations automatically retracted and seeped into the Queen's body, but this person's expression suddenly froze, and he looked up toward the outside of the hall.

  At the very same moment, a strange whistle came from outside the sleeping chamber.

  Almost all the ministers turned their heads to look outside the sleeping chamber. It wasn't that they didn't care about the Queen, but because this sound was too sharp, too intense, and carried too much killing intent and momentum. Just hearing it gave them the illusion of being torn apart, so they all turned to look out of instinct.

  The one who made this sound was a sword—a sword in mid-air above the heads of the Paladin Order members, stabbing toward the person in the sleeping chamber.

  It was not a sword, but a river, a sea, a bolt of lightning. Everyone who saw it had this inexplicable illusion.

  It was clearly a sword in mid-air, but it possessed the surging, endless flow of a great river, the vastness and violence of a sea, and the swift, stunning speed of lightning. So much so that everyone looked at the sword, and no one saw Cardinal, who was wielding it.

  Cardinal's figure was almost completely submerged in the brilliance and momentum brought forth by this sword strike, making it impossible to distinguish whether he was holding the sword or if the sword was carrying him as it stabbed forward.

  It was almost just that strange impression, like a river, like a sea, like a bolt of lightning, and then what everyone saw was a expanse of snow-white, brilliant white light that crossed time and space, arriving directly from outside the hall to inside the hall. The tip of this light was aimed precisely at the person standing before the Queen's bed. Only a few with good eyesight could see that along the trajectory of this light, the Paladin Order swordsman who had been kicked away and had just struggled to his feet seemed to turn into a scattered pulp, like a mud doll carelessly slapped with a stick.

  Whatever it was, at the tip of this light, it would become that pulp shattered into dust. This should have been the feeling anyone had after seeing Cardinal's sword light. And what about the person now standing before the tip of that light?

  When this person saw the sword in mid-air, he drew a saber from behind his waist. This saber was jet-black in color, ancient in shape, and without any special qualities, but he used this saber to chop at that light, which seemed capable of shattering anything.

  No one heard a sound, at least, no one in the sleeping chamber did, because they were thrown into the air by the sudden gust of wind before they could hear it. But the Paladin Order swordsmen outside all heard it, and saw it. They saw that peerlessly sharp sword light collide with that knife, which was like a rock, and then a deafening, colossal crash threw the surrounding people, and even the bed beside that person, into the air.

  That brilliant expanse of sword light had shattered. The long sword turned into fragments and scattered from Cardinal's hand. Cardinal's the web of his hand had already split open. His body, which just a moment ago had been as unstoppable and seemingly omnipotent as that light, now staggered back. His face first flushed red, then faded to the paleness of paper. A trace of purplish-red blood overflowed from the corner of his mouth.