strokinit Chapter 158 A Dialogue in Despair
Chapter 158 A Dialogue in Despair
Chapter 158 A Dialogue in Despair
But it was also insanely convincing, hitting the dark wizard's deepest desires with pinpoint accuracy.
He glanced furtively at Hick, trying to read something from his face.
Hick's expression remained calm and composed, but deep within his unfathomable eyes, it seemed as if an undercurrent was surging violently, weighing and calculating.
A nation's complete sacrifice —
This was indeed an immense temptation, one that no wizard could have imagined, one that could shake their very soul.
As Layton said, the breadth, depth, and sustainability of the experiments it provides are simply unmatched by any piecemeal approach.
Furthermore, the vast hidden resources and strategic advantages that come from completely controlling a duchy far exceed what can be measured by simple magic crystals.
Of course, the risks are also enormous.
If this matter were to leak even slightly, the consequences would be catastrophic.
The Tower of Eternity and the other guardians of order on the continent will never stand idly by while a wizard tramples on the bottom line like this, even if he is a powerful dark wizard.
This is almost a blatant challenge to the very foundation of the default rules across the entire continent.
However—if handled properly, if done discreetly enough, if the Duchy of Arthur can be perfectly disguised—
The rhythmic tapping of Hick's fingertips abruptly stopped.
He slowly rose from his throne, walked step by step to Layton, and looked down at the prince who had already sold his soul to the devil.
"Your suggestion is indeed 'interesting.'"
Hick's voice remained calm, but it carried a decisive and chilling weight.
"But what I need is absolute and definite control, not empty promises."
He slowly raised one hand, palm facing up.
In an instant, the surrounding shadow energy gathered wildly, and a low, murmuring sound, as if from the abyss, echoed in the air.
A jet-black scroll, seemingly capable of absorbing all light, slowly coalesced in his palm.
On the surface of the scroll, countless complex and eerie runes, writhing and flowing like living things, flickered with an ominous light, radiating an absolute binding power that made one's soul tremble.
"Sign it."
Hick's voice was icy cold and devoid of any emotion.
"I swear by your true name, soul, and the blood of the entire Arthurian dynasty."
Core content of the contract:
The Duchy of Arthur and all its dependent territories and peoples voluntarily and permanently become the property and exclusive experimental ground of me, Hick Lane.
All living beings within the territory of the principality, their lives, bodies, souls, and even their offspring, are my private property, which I may take as I please.
And you, Layton Arthur, will be my sole agent in the Duchy, responsible for maintaining the basic stability and output of the ranch, and unconditionally execute all my orders without any disobedience or concealment.
The terms of the contract are cold, absolute, and inhumane, leaving no room for negotiation or compromise.
"Sign it."
Hick's gaze was as cold as ice, fixed on Layton!
"I can act immediately. The so-called army of the Duchy of Nar will soon become dust in history."
"reject----"
He paused, his tone chilling.
"You can turn around and leave now, to go back and be buried with your doomed country and family."
The incredibly heavy scroll of the contract, imbued with terrifying power and a heavy destiny, slowly floated up and hovered in front of Layton, awaiting his final decision.
Layton stared intently at the contract that emanated an aura of endless ominousness and despair. His body trembled uncontrollably, and the last trace of human life seemed to have been drained from his face, leaving it ashen.
He knew better than anyone that once he signed his name and pressed his bloody mark, there would be no turning back.
He will become the gravedigger of his own country, personally pushing his people into an abyss of no return, unknown and terrifying.
But he knew even more that if he didn't sign, right now, he would lose everything, without even the last chance for revenge or a struggle.
After a brief, suffocating silence, the last glimmer of light in Layton's eyes went out completely, replaced by a deathly stillness, utter obedience, and numbness.
He extended his trembling fingers, struggling to force out a drop of essence blood containing the very essence of his own soul, and slowly...
It pressed heavily on that traitorous contract that was destined to be infamous for eternity.
"I, Layton Arthur, swear by my true name, my soul, and the blood of Arthur—that I will willingly abide by all the terms of this contract."
The moment the drop of blood from his fingertip touched the black scroll, black flames suddenly ignited, silently devouring his blood and vows!
An invisible, chilling, and irresistible shackle instantly formed, binding him firmly to the core of his soul!
At the same time, a greater and more subtle binding force, through the deep connection of bloodlines, also enveloped the distant Duchy of Arthur, imprinting it with the mark of Hick.
The contract is established!
With a wave of his hand, Hick sent the scroll burning with black flames flying back into his hand. The flames gradually died down, and the scroll disappeared into his sleeve.
A smile of extreme satisfaction, yet also cold and unfathomable, appeared on his face.
"Very good. The deal is now done."
He turned to Sean, who stood silently to the side like a shadow, and his tone instantly became cold, efficient, and unquestionable: "Sean, immediately notify Sory that the original plan is canceled and the highest level of emergency response plan is activated."
Then, Hick's gaze fell back on Layton, who was still kneeling on the ground, as if all his soul had been taken away.
"You may return. When you return to the Duchy of Arthur, you will feel the support of power. My men will arrive then, and they will obey your will—or rather, my will!"
"Remember your new identity, Layton 'Agent'. Don't let me down."
Hick's voice, like a final judgment, echoed through the hall, bringing the hammer to a halt in this dark deal.
The Duchy of Arthur, its capital.
On the desolate city wall, the cold wind howled past, carrying the smell of gunpowder and blood.
The soldiers leaned against the broken battlements, their faces ashen, their eyes vacant and numb, as if their souls had long been ripped away.
Their tattered armor was stained with dark blood and dirt, just like their heavy and gloomy mood at that moment.
Since the Duchy of Nar brazenly broke the peace agreement and declared war on Arthur, in just two months, the well-equipped and highly motivated Nar cavalry has surged forward like a raging torrent!
With overwhelming force, they tore apart Arthur's painstakingly constructed defenses, their advance aimed directly at the capital city that held the last hope of the duchy.
Prior to this, the pillar of the Duchy of Arthur, the revered Grand General, personally led the nation's most elite troops to garrison the fortified city of Kate, built against the mountain and known as "the city that will never fall," vowing to keep the enemy out of the country's gates.
The soldiers were undeniably brave, and the generals were undeniably fearless and undaunted.
With their strategic location and fortified city walls, they repelled the Nar people's frenzied attacks time and time again.
However, all resistance vanished into despair after that figure appeared.
The mysterious figure in black robes with an indistinct face descended upon the battlefield like a nightmare.
With just a slight lift of his hand, an incomprehensible and terrifying force easily tore apart the thick city walls of Kate City, which were said to be able to withstand an army of ten thousand!
The formidable defenses were as flimsy as paper before that inhuman power.
The army was defeated, and the collapse was like a landslide.
When the city fell, the general drew his sword and committed suicide amidst the ruins, sacrificing himself for his country.
The Nar people—they carried out a brutal massacre of the city.
It is said that the entire city of Kate is now a giant tomb, with the streets piled high with the corpses of soldiers and civilians who could not escape, and rivers of blood flowing through them.
Now, outside the capital, the military camps of the Duchy of Nar stretch endlessly, like countless lurking, hungry black beasts, surrounding the entire city and casting a suffocating and despairing shadow.
The deep, rhythmic sound of war drums pounded, not so much urging an attack, but rather tolling a death knell for the Duchy of Arthur, each beat striking the already fragile hearts of the defending soldiers.
Inside the city, the once bustling and lively streets are now deathly silent, like a ghost town.
Occasionally, emaciated civilians with frightened eyes would stumble by like startled mice, futilely searching for food or a safe place to hide that might not even exist.
Despair, like the deadliest plague, spread silently, devouring the last vestiges of life and hope in the city.
"Your Highness—has he not returned yet?"
An old soldier with chapped lips and a face marked by the frost of time stared intently at the constantly shifting enemy formations outside the city. His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping, as he asked his companion sitting with his back against the city wall.
His companion shook his head, his face showing a numbness born of utter resignation, too lazy even to lift his eyelids.
"Who knows—even if they come back, what then? The Nar people have that—that monster helping them, how can we possibly stop them? The General and Kate City are finished—"
The "monster" he spoke of was the mysterious man in black robes who could destroy a city with a single blow and whose methods were like those of a god or demon.
His existence had long transcended the scope of war as understood by ordinary soldiers, becoming a terrifying nightmare that weighed heavily on the hearts of every Arthurian man, completely shattering the morale of the army.
"Do we still have a chance?"
A young soldier next to him, whose face still looked childish and whose armor seemed too large, asked in a low voice, his voice carrying a barely perceptible sob.
The seated man's eyelids twitched, but he kept his eyes closed and replied dryly, "I don't know."
"We...we'll all die? Is that it?"
The young soldier, unwilling to give up, continued to press for answers, his voice beginning to tremble.
"have no idea."
"Your Highness—did he—run away on his own—right?"
The young man voiced the most terrifying suspicion buried deep in his heart.
"have no idea!"
The man seemed to get annoyed by the barrage of questions, and suddenly opened his bloodshot eyes, glaring at the young soldier.
"Why are you asking so many questions, you little brat? Just wait to be beaten! Whether you live or die is up to fate!"
What he saw was the young soldier silently weeping, the tears washing away the dirt on his face, leaving clear marks, his shoulders heaving as he tried to suppress his sobs.
The old soldier sighed, reached out his rough hand and patted the young man on the shoulder, whispering to the agitated soldier.
"Hawk, stop yelling at him—this kid's parents, his newlywed daughter—his whole family—didn't escape from Kate City—"
The soldier named Hawke fell silent, a hint of guilt and a deeper sense of powerlessness flashing across his face.
Kate City—that fortified city now a ghost town—is also an unhealable source of pain in the hearts of countless soldiers who defended it.
Just as Hawke opened his mouth, about to say something to the young soldier, an extremely arrogant and haughty shout came from below the city, interrupting his actions.
"Risoo! You old bastard! Stop resisting! Surrender!"
Before the Nar army's ranks, a general dressed in magnificent armor, wearing a scarlet cloak, and riding a large, ferocious demonic wolf, was using amplification magic to shout into the city.
He is the vanguard officer of the Duchy of Nar, Krov.
"Your country is finished! There's no point in resisting any longer! Open the gates now, surrender, and swear allegiance to King Longqi, and you can still have a respectable place in your homeland and live out your old age in peace! But if we have to break down the gates ourselves—"
Krov gave a cold laugh, his tone turning sinister.
"Then you'll really have nothing left! Not even a shred of dignity!"
"Hahaha! Lord Krov is right!"
"Surrender, Risso! Stop struggling in vain!"
"Face reality! Arthur is dead!"
The other Nar generals behind Krov echoed loudly, their arrogant laughter and calls for surrender clearly reaching the city walls, lashing at the last vestiges of the defenders' self-respect like whips.
"Don't even think about it!"
Just then, a man wearing blood-stained armor, with graying temples but still standing straight as a pine tree, appeared on the city wall. His voice, like a broken but still unyielding bronze bell, was hoarse but carried an undeniable determination, drowning out the clamor below the city.
This man is none other than Risso Arthur, the king of the Duchy of Arthur!
His deep-set eyes burned with the last flame as he swept over the arrogant enemies below the city walls, his gaze finally settling on Krov.
"Nar's lackeys! Listen! The Arthurian family has a centuries-old tradition of never living on our knees! Even if we fight to the last man, until our last drop of blood is shed, we will never surrender to you butchers and executioners!"
The king's words, like a stone thrown into stagnant water, though faint, still stirred up ripples and ignited the faint embers in the hearts of the remaining soldiers on the city wall.
The young soldier, who had just been crying silently, suddenly wiped away his tears, gripped the spear beside him tightly, and fixed his hateful gaze on Krov, who was riding a demonic wolf below the city.
"That sounds nice!"
Krov chuckled and patted the fiend wolf beneath him, which was becoming restless due to sensing the murderous aura.
"Risoo, open your old eyes and see clearly! Your city has fallen, your army has scattered, and your most capable general has slit his own throat! What do you still hope for? Do you hope your missing precious son Layton will descend from the sky and bring reinforcements?"
He deliberately raised his voice so that every soldier guarding the city could hear him: "Stop daydreaming! Who doesn't know where he ran to for help? The Silent Forest! Those cold-blooded dark wizards hiding in the shadows! Why should they help you?"
Can you afford the price? In their eyes, you struggling mortals are no different from ants! Wake up!
His words were like poisoned needles, precisely piercing the most vulnerable and untouchable places in the hearts of every defender of the city.
Even King Risso's lips twitched slightly, and his face turned even paler.
Layton's whereabouts were indeed their last, most distant, and most unthinkable hope.