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"What corpse?" Midnight stared intently at Kevoran, his face filled with shock.
Kevoran took a deep breath: "The guards aren't unconscious, Midnight. They're dead, brutally murdered. The whole of Shadow Valley thinks it was you, but I know it was Cyric's doing."
Midnight was pale: "No...you're lying! Cyric told us he used the Gais Thorn, that magical device that can put people into a coma..."
“The Gais Thorn doesn’t slit a throat,” Kevoran said coldly. “I saw the body with my own eyes; that’s the work of a professional assassin. Cyric lied, Midnight.”
"What evidence do you have to prove he did it?" Midnight retorted, tears welling in her eyes. "Maybe it was someone else, maybe it was..."
“Midnight, wake up! Who else could it be but Cyric?” Kevoran grabbed her shoulders. “He’s the only one in the entire Shadow Valley with the skill and the motive!”
"Jumping conclusions without evidence is no different from Storm Silverhand accusing us of murdering Elminster!" Midnight shook off Kevoran's hand. "I will not believe my friend is a murderer without solid evidence!"
Just as Kevoran was about to retort, the sound of horses' hooves suddenly came from afar, interrupting the argument. He quickly pulled Midnight and Eton into the bushes.
A troop of knights clad in heavy black armor moved slowly forward, the leader bearing the emblem of Baal on his chest. Their armor was decorated with sharp rams and spikes, and their warhorses, also clad in black armor, trod with heavy, powerful hooves.
“Assassins,” Kevoran’s voice was tinged with fear, “Baal’s assassins!”
The assassin leader halted his mount, his voice, cold and hoarse, emanating from beneath his helmet: "Come out, fugitives. I can smell you."
Kavoran clenched his fist and whispered to Midnight.
Chapter 308
"They are too powerful; we are no match for them. But if we can hold out until dawn, perhaps we will have a chance..."
Before he could finish speaking, a stray arrow shot from behind, striking Kevoran squarely in the shoulder. He groaned, turned around, and saw Yablo standing not far away, soaking wet, a ferocious grin on his face.
“Found you, murderers,” Ablo sneered. “This time you won’t escape, Black Panther.”
Kavoran gritted his teeth and pulled out the arrow, but the poison had already begun to take effect; his vision blurred and his body grew heavier and heavier.
The assassin leader waved his hand, ignoring the rangers who had fled after the ambush, and the black-armored knights quickly surrounded Midnight and his group.
"Lord Bane is eager to see you," the assassin leader said in a cold voice tinged with anticipation, "and this warrior who can transform into a beast; he is very interested in your curse."
Kevoran struggled to stand in front of Midnight and Eden, but the poison rendered him powerless. Two knights stepped forward, roughly pinned him to the ground, and bound him with specially made chains.
Midnight attempted to cast a spell, but in the chaotic state of the magic, the pendant seemed to have lost its power; her incantation crumbled, only flickering a faint light at her fingertips. The assassin leader let out a cold laugh and knocked her unconscious to the ground.
“Take them with you,” the assassin leader ordered. “Leave the slow-moving infantry behind; we must get back to Lord Bane as soon as possible.”
The black-armored knights tied the three men to their horses and quickly disappeared into the night, leaving only trampled grass and a few drops of dark red blood to tell the story of this sudden attack.
Unbeknownst to anyone, a pair of eyes silently watched everything from the nearby bushes. Soaked to the bone, Cyric hid in the shadows, watching Midnight and the others being taken away. He could have helped, but his survival instincts led him to stand by.
“I’m sorry, Midnight,” he murmured, a complex look flashing in his eyes, “but you must understand, in this world, only the strong survive.”
He turned and left, disappearing into the darkness. His gaze followed the direction where the Santyr army had gone, and he already had a new plan in mind.
"Fortunately, I am still alive... and those who are alive always have a chance."
Two days later, he had established himself in the Santir army—he was originally a Santirman, and although he had long since escaped that prison, how to mingle in this filth had become second nature to him.
The “accomplice in the murder of Elminster” has been transformed into an “innocent person forced to participate” and will soon become a “loyal believer willing to serve Benn”.
“Betrayal and cunning are both ways to survive,” Cyric whispered to the campfire, wiping the blood-stained dagger in his hand. The newly promoted squad leader's armband gleamed a dark red in the moonlight, as if reflecting his soul.
In the distant temple, Bane sat on the Black Bone Throne, which now occupied Fuzor's body, his body trembling slightly with excitement beneath his black robes.
“The Bone King has brought me back, my followers.” Bane’s voice was as somber as a tomb. “Mystra is dead, her divine power is scattered, and now is the time to gather it.”
He raised his bone claws, gesturing for the assassin to bring Kavoran forward. The warrior knelt on the ground, his eyes filled with hatred and defiance.
Bane looked down at him, his voice laced with sarcasm: "Your curse torments you, but I can lift it." A ghostly blue flame flickered in the empty eye sockets of the skull's face. "Freedom in exchange for the midnight pendant. A simple deal."
Kevlarn gritted his teeth and remained silent. Bane let out a low laugh. “You will be taken to the dungeons of Zambia. Consider my offer, warrior, or else…” With a flick of his bony fingers, Kevlarn felt the power lurking within him being pulled and stirred, the pain causing him to kneel on the ground. Then, the power was completely drained from his body—Bane had not deceived him; lifting a witch's curse was as easy as turning one's hand for a god.
Under the assassin's watchful eye, Kavoran finally met Midnight. In the dimly lit cell, the mage's face was pale, yet he remained defiant.
“I didn’t tell you the truth,” Kevoran said softly, tapping his fingers lightly on the cell door to signal surveillance. Midnight understood, listening intently as he recounted Cyric’s lies and the guard’s death. Kevoran’s eyes hinted at more—a plan of rebellion was taking shape.
Under the cover of darkness, they joined forces to repel the guards. Kevoran carried the still-conscious Eton and fled Bane's camp with midnight...
The Great Forest of Comansel was shrouded in morning mist. The towering canopies of the trees, influenced by elven magic, layered upon each other, obscuring the sky. Only scattered rays of sunlight could penetrate the dense foliage, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Isis carefully stepped across the moss-covered stones, subtly adjusting the baggage on her shoulder.
The chaotic magic made the dimensional bag unstable, and since Isis couldn't swallow everything like a true dragon, she had to make a huge bag to carry it.
Fortunately, although she was a mage, her strength was still decent—according to Casalos, her half-dragon form had greatly enhanced her strength and physique. Isis didn't know exactly how much this "great enhancement" was, but even elite warriors like Kevoran couldn't withstand her strikes.
59. My magic apprentice is going to become a magic goddess.
The tight-fitting soft armor clung to her body like a second skin, its star-like woven mithril fibers reflecting a faint light in the sparse sunlight. This unique piece of armor not only provided Isis with physical protection, but more importantly, it stabilized the magical power within her that had become increasingly restless since she left the Shadow Valley.
“I really wish my mentor were here,” the girl muttered to herself, recalling the Iron Dragon’s broad wings and majestic dragon eyes. “Why couldn’t he have escorted me for a while… How stingy.”
She stopped and closed her eyes, sensing the magical fluctuations in the air. Ever since they parted ways in Shadow Valley, she had felt a strange pull, like an invisible thread guiding her southward. The feeling was both familiar and strange, like a voice from a memory, or an echo from the depths of her soul.
“Midnight…” she whispered the name, a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words welling up inside her.
Isis opened her eyes and continued forward. Her sense of blindness and dark vision allowed her to see clearly ahead even in the shadows of the jungle. She proceeded cautiously with each step, her staff and greatsword, towering above her, ready to meet any potential danger.
The Great Forest of Comansel is no benevolent place, especially in this era of magical chaos.
She had been hiking for two days, encountering far more dangers than she had anticipated. Just yesterday, a giant man-eating tree suddenly awoke from its slumber, its vines coiling around her like venomous snakes, nearly dragging her into its gaping maw filled with sharp teeth.
Isis can still vividly recall that suffocating feeling—vines constricting her body, the stench of tree sap filling her nostrils, the strangling force ravaging her bones through her soft armor. She was unable to cast spells; it was the adamantite blade that sliced through the thick noose, shattering the giant tree's activated life core.
“My mentor is right. Adventure is different from academic research. Being a jack-of-all-trades and master of none is always better suited to adapting to complex and ever-changing situations than being a specialist in a particular skill.” Isis touched the bruises on her ribs that had not yet faded, shook her head with a wry smile, and cast a healing spell on herself.
As they ventured deeper into the jungle, the strange magical fluctuations grew stronger. Isis could feel the power within her resonating with them, a feeling that was both unsettling and strangely reassuring, like a signpost leading home.
“It must be midnight… her pendant,” Isis said with certainty, quickening her pace.
However, it wasn't just the living plants or ferocious beasts that were hostile to intruders in the Comensall bush. As she walked through a dense thicket, the sound of a bowstring taut suddenly rang out ahead.
"Halt, human," a cold voice commanded in Elvish.
Isis stopped abruptly and slowly raised her hands. Her gaze swept around, taking in...
Chapter 309
At least five wood elf archers were hidden among the tree trunks and bushes, all with arrows pointed at her heart.
“I meant no offense,” Isis replied in fluent Elvish. “I am merely a traveler searching for my friend.”
The lead elf leaped gracefully from the tree, his long silver hair fluttering in the breeze. A glint of doubt shone in his eyes, and his longbow remained taut in his hand.
“Human travelers do not cross Comansel without a reason,” he said coldly, “especially in these turbulent times. State your true purpose, or remain in this forest forever.”
Isis took a deep breath and quickly considered her options.
“My name is Isis, and I am a mage,” she said carefully, choosing her words. “My friend, a mage named Midnight, and her companions are being hunted by the Santir. I must find them and help them escape danger.”
The elf's sharp gaze scrutinized her, taking in her tight-fitting armor, massive weapon, and bookshelf-like baggage: "A mage? How can you prove it?"
Isis hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out her hand, concentrating her mind to try and guide the magic within her. At first, the magic was restless like an unruly wild horse, but as she focused her will, a small magical flower bloomed in her palm, radiating a soft silver light.
The elves exchanged surprised glances. The leader's expression softened slightly: "There are very few mages who can still control magic these days. You are not an ordinary human."
“My mentor’s teaching was excellent,” Isis smiled slightly, silently thanking Casalos for his rigorous training. “He taught me how to find ways to control magic outside the magic network.”
"Who is your mentor?" the elf asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
Isis hesitated for a moment, then decided to remain honest: "An iron dragon named Casalos."
Upon hearing this, the archers tightened their bowstrings again, while the leading elf narrowed his eyes: "A dragon's apprentice?"
“My mentor once visited Miszrono,” Isis hurriedly explained. “He was a friend of Ms. Otaleia Canos.”
The elf was silent for a moment, seemingly weighing the truth of her words. The silver dragon Otaleria Kanos was the protector of all the wood elves who remained in the Great Forest of Komanthal, and if the mage truly was her friend's apprentice… In the end, he made his decision: “We will escort you through our territory, but that is all. Once you leave our domain, you will be alone.”
Isis breathed a sigh of relief and nodded gratefully: "Thank you for your generosity."
Guided by the elves, Isis safely traversed the dangerous jungle. The wood elves moved with astonishing speed through the trees, and Isis had to concentrate fully to keep up with them.
Before parting, the elven leader gave her a warning: "The borders of Zambia are guarded by Bane's minions, who are searching for mages like you. Proceed with caution, dragon apprentice."
After leaving the elven territory, Isis felt the magical pull within her grow even stronger. She quickened her pace, crossing a low hill, heading towards Zambia. In the distance, the faint sound of the Asaba River signaled her imminent departure from the jungle.
Just as she emerged from the last grove of trees, a low horn blast shattered the silence. Isis quickly hid behind a boulder and saw a squad of Santyr sentinels patrolling the path ahead—an army of Bane followers, clad in black armor with silver skull insignia on their chests.
“Damn it,” Isis cursed under her breath, “the wood elf was right.”
She had to cross this line of defense to reach Zambia.
Isis observed the patrol's route and noticed a low-lying area to the west where the patrol was less frequent.
As night fell, Isis stealthily approached the area. In the darkness, her soft armor reflected the light behind her, roughly concealing her figure in the night. Holding her breath, she moved step by step toward the least guarded area.
However, just as she was about to break through, a sentry suddenly turned around, less than three meters away from her. Bathed in the light of Suren, their eyes met, and the air froze for a moment.
"Intruders!" the sentry shouted, drawing his longsword.
Without hesitation, Isis unleashed a blinding beam of light from the tip of her staff, piercing the sentry's eyes. Taking advantage of his temporary blindness, she lunged forward, the blade at the end of her staff slicing across the sentry's cervical spine, spurting out warm liquid.
More sentries were alerted and surrounded her.
Isis swiftly drew a gem from her waist and hurled it far away. The moment the gem shattered, a powerful burst of elemental energy erupted, forming a violent elemental storm that shredded the Zantir camp.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Isis broke through the defenses and ran forward recklessly. She heard roars and the sound of pursuit behind her, but she didn't turn back. She simply accelerated until she was sure she had shaken off her pursuers, only then daring to stop and catch her breath.
At dawn, Isis finally saw her destination—the Zambian resistance camp. Hidden in a secluded valley, the makeshift stronghold of wooden huts, tents, and iron cages looked rudimentary yet orderly. She felt the magical pull within her reach its peak, a feeling so intense it almost suffocated her. She knew midnight was here, nearby.
She took a deep breath and strode towards the camp entrance. Two guards immediately stopped her: "Halt! Who are you? What brings you here?"
Just as Isis was about to answer, she suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from behind her.
"Isis?"
She turned around and saw Midnight standing not far away, his face filled with disbelief. In that instant, all her weariness, fear, and worry vanished, leaving only the joy of reunion.
"Midnight!" Isis rushed forward and hugged the person she had been longing for tightly.
The moment they embraced, a strange silver light flickered around them, as if the threads of fate had finally intertwined. The resistance soldiers stared in astonishment, bewildered by what had happened…
“You’re all here…that’s wonderful!” Isis said happily.
The four sat around the campfire, exchanging their experiences. Isis recounted how the Iron Dragon had repelled Bane's army and the accusations made by Storm Silverhand; Midnight told her about her encounter at Blackfeather Bridge, the disappearance of Cyric, and Bane's threats; and Kevoran explained his deal with Bane and the false betrayal.
"Cyric killed the guard?" Isis asked in shock. "That's impossible!"
“The evidence is very bad for him,” Kevoran sighed, “but Midnight insists he is innocent, just as you would believe she did not kill Elminster.”
Isis held Midnight's hand, her eyes full of understanding and support: "Cassaloz said Ilminster will come back, he said..."
“Wait a minute,” Midnight’s expression was a little strange, “You mean your mentor?”
Isis nodded: "Of course. It's strange, why do you always look at me strangely whenever I mention it?"
"It's nothing, it's just... such a coincidence." Midnight frowned, looking at the pendant on her chest. "So it says we have some kind of connection?"
“Yes,” Isis gently touched the pendant, a flash of silver light, and both of them felt a warm current flowing through their bodies. “It says it’s the power of the goddess of magic, Mystra. I really don’t know when it fell on us.”
Midnight's expression grew even stranger: "You remember... that night... before we parted, I was praying to the lady, but you... I vaguely thought I did hear her response—because at the time you... I thought it was just a hallucination, but now it seems..."
Isis interrupted her: "Perhaps this is our fate, midnight."
Midnight blushed slightly and lowered her head to avoid Isis's burning gaze. The night, a tapestry of magic and rain clouds, was their destiny; how could she say such a thing in front of others?
Chapter 310
A flicker of understanding and bitterness crossed Kevoran's eyes, but he said nothing. Eton remained silent, but his gaze was no longer so empty; it seemed to be gradually recovering.
“So, what should we do next?” Isis asked, gripping Midnight’s hand tightly.
“We need to get to Tanreth,” Midnight said. “The information revealed when Bane attacked us indicates that a Tablet of Destiny is in Tanreth.”
“But first, we have to get out of Zambia,” Kevoran added. “Ban’s henchmen are everywhere, and we must leave by boat as soon as possible.”
Isis nodded, then suddenly remembered something: "Cassaloz said it would come looking for us. Maybe it can help?"
“Iron Dragon…” Kaivoran’s expression was complicated. “It is indeed powerful, but why is it helping us?”
“Because…” Isis hesitated for a moment, “because it cares about me, like a teacher cares about a student. It may seem cold, but it’s actually quite ‘gentle’ by dragon standards.”
“Gentle… Pshaw.” The midnight voice was barely audible.
The four discussed until late at night and finally decided to head to the port of Scar Valley early the next morning to find a merchant ship bound for Tanris. They rested separately, but Isis and Midnight held hands tightly the whole time, as if afraid of being separated again.
At dawn the next day, the four men mingled with the crowd and quietly made their way towards the port. A light drizzle provided them with extra cover.