The Magicians

"Kid, what is the meaning of this? This is not what we agreed upon."

The ruby flashed incessantly, carrying the robust and powerful voice of an old man.

Leon sat upon his chariot, listening to the old man's interrogation through the gem. His face remained calm as he replied, "My apologies, old man. I have broken our agreement this time; you are free to blame me."

On both sides of the chariot, people of various ages knelt in rows. Most were young, ignorant children, while the few adults present trembled and broke into cold sweats as they listened to the voice echoing from the vehicle.

In the distance, ahead of the chariot, hundreds of people were bound to wooden stakes piled high with firewood—men and women, old and young alike.

With a wave of Leon's hand, the wood was ignited. Flames surged upward, dyeing half the sky a deep crimson. A monstrous heatwave, mingled with the cries and curses of the victims, drifted from afar. Leon caught only fragments of their pleas, drowned out by the wind.

"Old man, I sympathize with the plight of these magi, but they were too obtuse. I truly could not find a reason for them to continue living."

The old man's angry voice erupted from the phone: "So you just killed them!"

"There was no other way. Since they would neither submit nor die, I could only help them repent."

As time passed, Leon could even smell the sickening scent of roasting flesh. He listened to the reproaches from the gem, waiting until the voice faded before speaking again.

"To be honest, I respect you greatly. I hope this incident will not affect the bond between us."

Unable to endure Leon's self-centered arrogance any longer, the man on the other end let out a cold snort and cut the connection.

Leon could only sigh; old men were truly difficult to appease once their tempers flared.

He did not fear the old man, but since he had been the one to break his word and flip the table, he didn't mind taking a few verbal lashes, provided the man didn't stand in his way.

Ever since his conversation with Merlin, Leon had been unable to restrain himself. He had immediately raised his blades and led his army to surround the fortress city of Londinium.

After the Age of Gods ended, the disciples of Solomon founded an academy to preserve the mysteries, forming the prototype of the Mage's Association. Magi established numerous magical cities across the continent.

Britain had one such city: Londinium, the magical city situated above Spirit Tomb Albion. At this time, Londinium had not yet become the headquarters of the Clock Tower—one of the three pillars of the Mage's Association—but was merely a magical city under the Association's jurisdiction.

However, as mysteries faded across the continent and magecraft declined over the years, the magical cities established by the Association were closed one after another under the opposition and suppression of the Holy Church, gradually shifting toward the island of Britain across the sea.

The plan had been for the magi to slowly establish Britain as their base, continuously excavating the Spirit Tomb to maintain the survival of magecraft and the pride of the magi.

But Leon's order of conquest had directly interrupted the Clock Tower before it could even develop.

Faced with Leon's sudden army, the magi in the city had been bewildered and chaotic at first, but they eventually began to resist. Yet, they were no match for the thousands of troops.

Seeing the magi's actions, Leon laughed inwardly. These magi had been detached from the world for too long, or perhaps their arrogance had rotted their brains, for they actually dared to attempt a head-on confrontation with an army.

If they were truly capable of fighting an army, they wouldn't have been hiding in dark corners like rats, afraid to expose themselves; they would have been ruling the world in plain sight long ago.

As Leon breached the city, these magi were dragged out by his soldiers like dead dogs.

Except for those who surrendered at the very beginning and the children who were not yet tall enough to reach a chariot wheel, everyone else was sentenced to death.

Leon had specifically chosen the fire execution to suit the medieval atmosphere.

These magi could enjoy the same treatment as the future Saint; they should be happy about it.

Seeing the flames gradually dying down, Leon put away the gem and stood up, looking at the people kneeling on both sides. These were the magi who had chosen to surrender, along with their children.

Executing the others in front of them served as a deterrent, preventing any unwanted thoughts from taking root.

He had heard these people were of noble magical lineage, with generations of family history—talents that were hard to come by. Leon had kept them specifically to form a magical force under his command, to serve as assistants for his future research into magecraft and as labor for excavating the Spirit Tomb.

Magi excavating the Spirit Tomb? No.

Him doing the digging? Yes.

"Barthomeloi, that is your name, is it not?" Leon asked, looking at the old man at the front. "From this day forward, you are incorporated into the Royal Observatory, under the command of the court mage Merlin. You serve me. Do you have any objections?"

The old man dared not look up, trembling as he replied, "We dare not. We are fortunate—fortunate that our King is magnanimous enough to spare our lives. Grateful for this grace, we shall serve until death."

During the Mage's Association's westward migration, the Barthomeloi family had seen the trend of the Association's development and seized the opportunity to settle in Britain, allowing them to control a significant portion of the discourse within the organization.

He had originally been a member of an insignificant branch of the Barthomeloi family, lacking talent and strength of character. He knew he wasn't clever, merely drifting through the magical circles under the title of a magical noble.

Yet today, the elites and geniuses of the clan had suddenly met with disaster.

Instead, he, a small old man, had become the head of the illustrious Barthomeloi family due to his seniority. Because his magecraft was the most refined among the survivors, he had become the collective leader of the local magical families under Leon's command.

Truly, the world is fickle.

It was not just the Barthomeloi family; the entire influence of the Mage's Association in Europa had likely lost a third of its strength today.

"My King, come quickly and see. Your mount is failing."

As the execution ended, Leon heard Merlin's message and immediately went to the rear of the army. There, a gray-black dragon over ten meters long lay upon a massive flatbed cart.

The dragon's eyes were half-closed, its horns were still tender, and its scales were soft. Even the sharp spikes on its claws and wings did not look as keen as before. Its wings hung limply, and its spirit was incredibly lethargic.

Seeing his treasure in such a state, Leon asked anxiously, "What is going on?"

"This dragon is too young. I fear it has been away from the Spirit Tomb for too long, remaining in a weakened state due to the lack of ether. It cannot recover; we must temporarily send it back underground so it can recuperate."

Leon frowned, unwilling to give up. "Merlin, what about your miraculous magecraft? Can you not think of a way?"

"My King, even if you have such high expectations of me, I truly have no solution."

Merlin had specifically asked others, and had even learned the magecraft to turn a dragon into a horse, but he truly did not know how to make a dragon survive in a place devoid of magical energy. It was like pulling a fish out of water; it was simply against its nature to survive.

"Sigh, if that is the case, then send it back to the Spirit Tomb."

Leon sighed. He had truly wanted to ride the dragon and soar through the sky a few times to satisfy his craving. Now, it seemed that wish would have to wait for the future.

"Dragon, oh dragon, you must grow up quickly so you can take me for another flight then."

"Awn~" The dragonet let out a low hum, though it was unclear if it understood Leon's words.

Leon waved his hand, and a squad of soldiers immediately escorted a mage over, ordering him to return the dragonet to the Spirit Tomb Albion.

Looking at the ruined fortress city before him, a sudden thought occurred to Leon.

Since this place would eventually become the renowned London, and the Spirit Tomb Albion lay beneath it, could he move his base of operations here?

It would make exploring and excavating the Spirit Tomb much more convenient in the future.

"Hmm, I'll issue the order to relocate the capital as soon as I return."