The Vastness of Magical Destiny
Chapter 709: Volume Twenty: Wolf in the Mediterranean - Sixteen: Traitor

Chapter 709: Volume Twenty: Wolf in the Mediterranean Chapter Sixteen: Traitor

The racer who had once stood loftily upon the chariot like a deity now seemed rather odd, entangled in a tattered fishing net—it took a closer look to realize that it was actually a cape of fine quality. His face, which would remind one of the forging god Vulcan, was smeared black and grubby, with only the whites of his eyes and his teeth making it discernible as a human face. Wisps of smoke still trailed from his curly hair, the very image of a man who had just narrowly escaped a fire with his life.

The absurd and comical figure of the racer, intertwined with the eerily peculiar skeleton horse, left the audience in the Grand Arena feeling as if they were in the midst of a nightmare, until Komer’s distinctive appearance finally drew raucous laughter from them, breaking the spell and causing an uproarious awakening throughout the stands.

When the racers from other city-states and countries crossed the finish line, the spectators in the stands were horrified to find that two Spartan competitors—one had been speared to death against the carriage, and the other was paralyzed by a stone that had come from seemingly nowhere, slumped over next to the track. The subtle signs of conflict and blood that had emerged through the clouds of dust made the Spartans aware, for the first time, of the brutal dangers inherent in chariot racing, their pleasure usually built upon the sorrow of others; now, at last, they too tasted the bitter aftermath of grief.

The first to cheer were the people of Piraeus, witnessing their surprising victory over the Spartan racers and claiming the laurel wreath of the horse race. Regardless of the racer’s questionable identity, no matter how ridiculous his appearance, he had ultimately won the championship. This was an honor Piraeus City State had never received since its founding. Even if he wasn’t a representative of Piraeus, the mere fact that he had knocked the ever-proud Spartans off their decades-long monopoly was cause for jubilation.

Cheers erupted from every corner of the arena, from the crowds of the Southern Mediterranean’s various nations and city-states. Their excitement and ecstasy were a stark contrast to the despondent Spartans, who, accustomed to witnessing the downfall and death of others, were now keenly aware that their own nation was not invincible. It took this loss to shatter their beautiful dream, one they had believed unbreakable.

Enraged Spartan spectators began to unleash their dissatisfaction. Despite being surrounded by fully armed guards, they did not hide their disappointment and frustration. The mood quickly ignited, with the flames of discontent pointed, intentionally or not, at the kingdom’s government, complaining that the government had not valued the horse race sufficiently and had been lax and overly confident, causing the laurel to fall into other hands.

The Spartan guards, caught unprepared, were also at a loss, forced to stand guard passively against the stones and trash hurled by the frenzied crowd. They had never anticipated a defeat in a sport their nation consistently dominated, second only to gladiatorial combat. Now, the gold trophy in the shape of a horse-drawn carriage would have to be taken away by the people of Piraeus, to be displayed in their City Hall until it was returned four years later at the next Olympian festival to determine its fate. The widespread gloom and dejection spread instantly throughout Athens City.

The city was filled with drunken men causing chaos; the typically commendable discipline of the Spartans was now nowhere to be seen. They vandalized public infrastructure, attacked foreigners, and overnight, Athens became a veritable hell. It wasn’t until the guards received explicit orders and urgently deployed to apprehend the offenders that order began to be restored.

"Very good, this turmoil is exactly what we like to see. The confidence of the Spartans has been severely shaken—they’re no longer self-assured and no longer believe in Athena’s protection. Of course, this is just the beginning. The Gladiator Competition in two days will be when we truly destroy their confidence. We need to make them utterly disillusioned with Athena, enveloping the populace entirely in confusion and disappointment. That will be the perfect time for the Dark Lineage to make their move."

Komer stood by the window, coldly observing the noisy tumult on the streets below the hill, with occasional flames rising high—those were the rioters burning down public structures. The guards, clearly not yet in control of the situation, faced off against the public, fueled by alcohol and armed with stones, clubs, and even crudely made spears and axes, their weapons of choice against the fully armed soldiers.

"However, Dark Lord, the Gladiator Competition isn’t going to be so straightforward. This horse race has already kindled the wrath of the Spartan rulers, and they will certainly take the competition seriously. I’m concerned that Aristotle’s two disciples might appear on the field. Solonberg and Vladimir Koff may be skilled warriors, but they stand little chance against Kaiserlon and Slupig," Xerob said calmly. "And about Miss Helena, the Spartans will surely find a way to have a contender from Piraeus voluntarily challenge Saint Helena. If Mr. Uma isn’t free to use Dark Magic Power and can only rely on his martial power, he’s unlikely to be a match for Helena."

Komer nodded silently. Since Xerob had said so, he must have already compared the strength of Solonberg and Vladimir Koff with those two disciples of Martial Saint Aristotle. Solonberg and Vladimir Koff were already the knights with the strongest martial arts power around him, making their way into the martial arts stage, tirelessly exploring its mysteries; however, they were still too far from the Martial Dao realm. Komer was well aware of this. It was just that martial arts emphasized accumulation and cultivation far more than magic did and they certainly didn’t offer the temptation of immediate success. Although Komer had used memories in his mind to guide the two knights’ martial arts, thereby helping them to avoid detours in their exploration of martial arts techniques, he couldn’t assist with their actual practice. This, they had to manage on their own through innate talent and rigorous training to make any progress.

"But we cannot miss this opportunity. It’s the best chance to strike at the Spartans’ psyche. If we can undermine the mainstream public’s faith in the Goddess Athena, it will be the perfect opportunity for the Dark Lineage to establish a firm foothold among the Spartan elite. In the whole Southern Continent, no country can compare to Sparta’s status; the Iberian Kingdom can only play a supporting role," Komer said somewhat anxiously.

Xerob wisely chose not to speak. He knew this wasn’t the time to make unnecessary comments; the Dark Lord was naturally weighing the pros and cons.

"Go invite Mr. Mihailovich over. I have something I want to discuss with him," said Komer, after a long period of intense thought, finally looking up. It was at this moment that Xerob noticed the confident expression seemed to resurface on the Dark Lord’s face.

"Sir, are you saying, for either Solonberg or Vladimir Koff, to create an Illusory Puppet?" Mr. Mihailovich’s face showed unprecedented surprise. "Am I hearing this right? An Illusory Puppet? Are we talking about Illusion Magic or magical armor? What do you plan to use as the medium? You should be aware that although the use of magical armors is not prohibited in the Spartan Gladiator Competition, the use of magic tools is absolutely forbidden. This isn’t a mage’s duel; they hold in higher esteem the clash of true martial power."

"What I mean is that you could grant the armor of either Vladimir Koff or Solonberg a puppet’s intelligence so that at critical moments, the armor could attack or intercept the enemy on its own, distracting the opponent’s lethal moves. It doesn’t have to be too complex—just one opportunity is enough. A martial arts master’s duel is often decided in a single move. If they can grasp one opportunity, I believe Vladimir Koff and Solonberg should be capable of holding their own. I have also sought their opinions, and they both are very eager for such a chance to experience the peerless style of a Martial Saint Aristotle’s disciple," Komer explained slowly.

Mihailovich fell into deep thought. Not too complex? Was this not complex enough? Intelligent armor with even a hint of life, the Lord was indeed putting him through a trial, and to do it all within just two days—that seemed excessively daunting. Nevertheless, Mihailovich knew he had been captivated by Komer’s peculiar idea. Although it was still a vague preliminary suggestion, it had broadened his thinking substantially.

"How about it? Are you interested, do you have confidence?" Komer knew it wouldn’t be wise to interrupt the other’s thoughts at this moment, but time was of the essence. The semifinal of the gladiator competition would begin in two days, and a project as ambitiously inventive as this one would require a substantial amount of materials, not to mention intricate design and concept planning—all requiring time.

"Sir, I certainly have the interest, but as for confidence," Mihailovich chuckled wryly, massaging his temples before sighing, "to be honest, I don’t have much of it. If you, Sir, are willing to assist me, I might be willing to give it a try."

"Well, Mr. Mihailovich, you should also add that each time we meet, I always bring you infinite inspiration and surprises as well. I suspect that by now, your mind might already be filled with expectation about what sort of creature this modified armor will turn out to be. I’m right, aren’t I?" Komer also began to laugh, but his smile was much more cunning.

(To be continued. For further details, please visit WWW.CMFU.COM. There are more Chapters available. Support the author, support authorized reading!)