Chapter 590: Intercepting

A blood-red cloud hung suspended in the heavens.

It seemed as if it had drifted in from afar—nothing more than passing by on the wind. And yet it also felt as if it had been floating above the city from the very beginning, looking down upon this mighty fortress-city that kept shuddering in the eye of the storm while the few of them fought their fierce battle below.

But no matter where that blood cloud had come from, or when it had appeared—before King Indra spoke, neither Adolf with the Star-Seer’s Eye, nor Professor Plang, who had filled the sky with magic arrays, sensed its existence in the slightest.

Those blood clouds were like a haze that lingered around the very word “fate,” masking all perception.

“A blood-red cloud... could you be...”

The Archbishop of Canterbury seemed to recall something. His expression shifted slightly.

“Heehee...”

Laughter rang out.

It was laughter so coy and alluring that the sound alone stirred up indecent fantasies and made the blood rush.

The blood cloud gradually spread. A shadowy silhouette emerged within it—like some peerless beauty lazily rising behind the cloud, revealing to the crowd a captivating curve of a figure meant to enchant all living things.

And when the blood cloud parted a little more, that alluring figure abruptly looked back.

In that instant, even Adolf—who normally flitted through every flower bed he could find—couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath, staring blankly for a long moment.

This woman... was ugly as hell.

In stark contrast to a devilish body that could make noses bleed, her face looked like a thousand-year-old female corpse freshly dug out of an ancient tomb.

Her skin was shriveled, packed with wrinkles; her eye sockets were sunken; her features were broken.

Her mouth, nose, and ears seemed half-rotted away. You could clearly see traces of bare bone. Her eye sockets held nothing at all—only wavering crimson firelight. Blood-red worms wriggled between those holes; strips of dangling rotten flesh swayed in the wind, and there was even a faint, nauseating stench.

“Heehee... We only met once in the past, and yet Your Grace still recognizes me. What an honor.”

The figure in the blood cloud giggled, casually pinching a worm and putting it into her mouth. She chewed it to pulp, fetid juice splattering. Her voice remained sweetly coquettish—but looking at that face, even the most seasoned old lecher wouldn’t be able to muster a single impure thought.

“Holy—what kind of top-tier beauty is this? Where’d you even meet her?”

At some point Adolf had slipped over next to the Archbishop of Canterbury and asked in a nosy whisper, his face full of gossip.

“Idiot. You still can’t tell what she is?”

The Archbishop of Canterbury had no mood for jokes at all. He said heavily, “She’s of the demon race. One of the demon race’s eight Grand Dukes—Ghostblood Princess, Arshabas!”

“Demon race?”

Adolf’s pupils shrank. He immediately understood.

“Those people actually dared to collude with the demon race? Are they insane? If this gets out, even if that First Prince takes the throne, he’ll face condemnation from every nation—maybe even from his own people. Can he really sit steady on that seat?”

“Heh. I don’t know if they’re insane, but...”

Off to the side, Professor Plang leaned on his silver staff and sneered. “The one choosing to collude with the demon race doesn’t seem to be only our wise and mighty First Prince, either... Am I right, former headmaster of the Royal Mage Academy of the Kingdom—Herman Sayangro?”

Inside the blood cloud, another figure emerged.

It was also an old man. Just from demeanor alone, he resembled Adolf—a crisp formal suit, silver-white hair combed perfectly, and a showy red rose pinned to his chest.

But this old man looked older than anyone here. Age spots mottled the exposed skin. A dying twilight clung to him, as if at any moment he might truly take that final step and put the other foot into the coffin as well.

“Professor Plang, you jest.”

Hunched over, the old man smiled. “I’m just an old thing with half my body already in the earth, taking a little stroll before I die. It has nothing to do with colluding with the demon race, and even less to do with the Kingdom.”

“So you’re still here showing your face.”

Professor Plang’s eyelids lowered. His solemn face showed no other emotion, but the joints of the hand gripping his silver staff had turned pale—revealing the fury the old man could barely suppress.

“You useless fossil who accomplished nothing your whole life, and whose academy spent its whole life under Saint Maria Academy’s shadow—how do you still have the nerve to appear here? So that’s it. The Kingdom tossed you out as a disposable pawn to stir °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° up the storm.”

Originally, he had come here only to carry out a certain archmage’s protective “backing my kid” errand.

But now—these two, who had no business being here, appearing in Berland at this time—made him understand everything at once. And the understanding made rage boil up from deep within.

Colluding with foreign powers, even colluding with the demon race—an enemy the Empire had a blood feud with...

Was this the way of kings?

Of course, if they dared to reveal a hand like this, they had their support and their calculations. After tonight, no one would be able to prove any connection between these two and the First Prince.

What a scheme.

For that seat, he was willing to use any force he could. He’d learned not even a fraction of what it meant to bear a king’s heart—yet he had mastered ruthlessness to perfection.

“Looks like it really is a huge problem now,” the Archbishop of Canterbury sighed softly.

In truth, neither the demon Grand Duke Ghostblood Princess nor the Kingdom’s former headmaster Herman could fundamentally change the situation in Berland at this moment.

One had infiltrated a thousand miles deep into the Empire alone and was heavily spent, while the other was a dying man meant to allow the Kingdom to cleanly cut itself free from this affair at any time.

But it was like a scale that had been leaning slightly in their favor—suddenly gaining two weights on the other side.

Three versus one became three versus three.

And that decisive key factor...

Would finally be able to cut loose without restraint, with no shackles at all.

“He’s coming!”

Without giving any chance for reminiscing or exchange, the taciturn King Indra erupted again—amid the sound of ten thousand thunders roaring!

The nine black rings swelled. Demonic patterns appeared across King Indra’s cast-iron body. He murmured under his breath, chanting several strange syllables. Black characters flashed, circling him like a demon god’s blessing.

And then King Indra’s figure flickered—and vanished from where he stood.

This time he didn’t strike like before, crushing from a distance with sheer force.

This time he charged straight in—and his target was...

“Your damn mother—are you addicted to grabbing now?!”

Adolf nearly cursed out loud as he snapped his hand and threw a Queen of Hearts.

A majestic queen rose from the face of the card—her beauty peerless, her expression solemn.

Yet the voluminous robe suddenly slid down in slow, graceful folds. To the accompaniment of decadent music, ivory-smooth skin revealed itself little by little, and a seductive dance spun within pink mist.

And yet the queen remained high above, aloof. The contrast between coldness and allure—the unrivaled temptation of her elegance—paired with the occasional soul-hooking glance, and some eerie force laid upon her...

Even the Ghostblood Princess in the distance was stirred. Crimson light flickered in her empty sockets.

But King Indra didn’t care. He threw one punch and smashed the queen to pieces.

“You damn old—serves you right being single this whole time!”

Adolf shrieked a few curses. He didn’t even have time to mourn the loss of his treasured queen card. He fled in panic, then swept a hand—

Endless starlight gathered, forming a galaxy on the ground that temporarily cut the two of them apart.

King Indra strode forward. Punch after punch, he actually meant to chisel straight through the galaxy.

“God says: the arrogant shall fall into the abyss.”

Holy light evolved, and an abyss stretched across King Indra’s path, blocking his way.

The Archbishop of Canterbury naturally couldn’t sit back and watch Adolf get chased down. He chose to intervene.

But before the decree that borrowed divine might could fully take shape, thick blood fog drifted in from nowhere, rapidly contaminating that pure radiance. The abyss projection wavered—and in the blink of an eye, King Indra shattered it outright.

“Heehee. Such an important reunion after so long, and yet Your Grace won’t even spare me a glance. It makes my heart ache.”

The Ghostblood Princess dabbed at tears that didn’t exist at the corner of her empty eye socket, her tone as tender as lovers reuniting after a long separation.

It was just that her face really didn’t inspire tenderness.

The Archbishop of Canterbury’s face sank. He made the wise choice to turn away and temporarily abandon helping Adolf. Holy light surged, the sacred domain projection descending once more, clashing and corroding against that endless blood-red haze.

On the other side, Professor Plang and Herman collided as well. The whole sky lit up again—layer upon layer of exquisite magic arrays spreading out, brilliant magical barrages trading blows. The entire Berland seemed to tremble faintly within that roaring.

In both battles, whether it was the Archbishop of Canterbury or Professor Plang, they held a clear advantage. It was obvious victory was only a matter of time.

Only on Adolf’s side was it different—King Indra chased him around with clenched fists, pounding him until he could only run with his head covered.

Adolf looked like he was about to cry.

If he’d known, he never would’ve agreed to that brat’s request to come “rekindle old ties.” Only now did he understand what it felt like to fight an enemy like King Indra, whose moves and abilities almost completely countered his own—what an utterly miserable, ball-busting experience.

But even a rabbit will bite when it’s cornered. With King Indra pressing him step by step, Adolf clenched his teeth, secretly slipping out the card hidden in his sleeve—

“Wuu...”

Right then, the sobbing cry echoing through the lower district threaded itself into the background noise of battle, growing even louder—so loud that even amidst collisions of this level, it sounded startlingly clear.

Loud, and yet anyone could hear the pain contained in it.

A pain that tore at the heart.

It was hard to imagine that kind of pain really came from...

a little girl not even ten years old.

King Indra’s expression tightened. For the first time since the fight began, something finally changed on his face. His murky gaze crossed countless streets and alleys, as if locking onto that tiny, pitiful crying figure nearly on the other side of the city.

“...”

His lips moved, as if calling something.

Even that heart—unbreakable, a heart that not even city-annihilating magic could shake—softened slightly at this moment.

He threw another punch, knocking Adolf back.

But this time he didn’t continue chasing him like before.

His body dipped, and he shot toward the other side of the city.

“Not good!”

The Archbishop of Canterbury swept a glance over with the corner of his eye and barked sharply:

“Don’t let him get there, or that brat is dead for sure!”