Chapter 331
Chapter 331
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 331
Chapter Title: The Subjugation Wand
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"Here."
Ascanien picked up the wand that had rolled to his feet and handed it over. A smile even graced his face, as if he were being kind. Mecklenburg snatched it and pointed it straight at Ascanien.
"Let me go. Right now."
His hand trembled from the sheer madness of it all, something he'd never experienced before. No one had ever treated him, a member of a ruling family, like this. Subjugation? Was that really the meaning he knew? He'd lorded over others, never been the one under another's thumb. Ascanien tilted his head at the orange mana crackling at the wand's tip, as if he couldn't comprehend it.
"Why?"
That brazen question nearly made Mecklenburg clutch his head.
The Dowager, he'd said. How dare he even mention her? He could instinctively tell this was no proper spell. One wrong look from Ascanien, and he could die, couldn't he? At least Adrian Ascanien had pretended to be decent, but his brother was far more shameless and reckless. And he was only realizing it now. Who was he trying to fool...!
"Let's go."
"No, I said release me!"
Snap—
"Ugh!"
The moment he grabbed Ascanien's shoulder, agony stabbed at his heart.
"It seems to be working fine. Keep it down, Senior."
Ascanien snapped his fingers sharply and spoke calmly amid Mecklenburg's cry. Mecklenburg clutched his chest, fighting back the reflexive tears from the pain. Keep it down? After putting him in this mess? He nearly lunged to physically smack the junior ahead of him but reminded himself that brawling personally without ordering a subordinate was undignified. He gritted his teeth and took deep breaths. He'd rather duel to the death with swords than do something fit for drunks in front of Nicolaus. Ascanien, utterly indifferent to Mecklenburg's turmoil, spoke casually.
"If the worst happens, I'll send a signal like just now with this. You won't know my position, Senior, but I can roughly guess your direction and distance. The farther you are, the weaker the mana I've stored picks up."
"This is ridiculous. A signal with this thing? What nonsense..."
"It's useful in impossible situations. You have no idea how much hope it brings when you've lost everything but this one thing."
"......"
Mecklenburg had no choice but to shut his mouth. It sounded like Nicolaus speaking from experience. Had he been through losing everything but this? When? With whom? During what operation? And before that, why were you Nicolaus? Questions flooded him, but now wasn't the time—he doubted he'd get answers.
"...Unfortunately, you're quite far away right now."
"......"
Ascanien looked up, tapping the air with his fingers, and muttered something incomprehensible. Mecklenburg nodded silently anyway. Ascanien continued.
"You might have felt some peace for a moment, but Pleroma targeting all four of us means they've finished preparations for the aftermath."
True enough. It meant they were ready to face the entire Special Operations Command. They hadn't been sneaked away—they'd been kidnapped in front of everyone. The other two might even be hostages. Ascanien's pale blue eyes fixed straight on Mecklenburg.
"It won't be easy. We need to find the other two as soon as possible."
"......"
This wasn't a simple kidnapping. It might even mark the start of war between Pleroma and the Imperial government. Pleroma's preemptive strike had forced the Empire, holding its breath, to respond.
"Surprisingly, the Brandenburg Archdiocese priests didn't know we'd crash-landed here. They just responded to intruders. The 81st Class Seniors were probably in the same boat. They weren't briefed from above; these were the first to spot us."
"...Right. Otherwise, why send us to this Hall of Peace crawling with clueless priests?"
If leadership knew the two had landed there, the 81st Class Seniors—assuming they got the word—would've stalled Ascanien and Mecklenburg there as long as possible, not shipped them to Pleroma's hall expecting further action. If the Archdiocese leaders had known about the wizards dropping into the mansion earlier, they'd have arrived here long ago. Mecklenburg stroked his chin and continued.
"In conclusion, the Brandenburg Archdiocese either doesn't know we've infiltrated or only learned recently."
"You might not know this, Senior, but Pleroma manages each diocese differently. From experience, Brandenburg priests had brain links with some senior-junior priests. Maybe even the bishop."
"From experience...? Have you been here before?"
"Last year."
Ascanien answered curtly and turned away. He clearly didn't want to discuss it. Mecklenburg wanted to ask how much he'd prowled Pleroma and why he'd infiltrated Brandenburg, but with no trace of amusement on his features—and crucially, that face reminding him of someone every time—his words died in his throat. He bit his lip lightly and stayed silent.
'That aside, if their brains are linked... Yeah, they must've known about five minutes ago. Why haven't they come yet?'
Meanwhile, Ascanien approached a door in the hall, cast a soundproofing spell, and said,
"Senior. Want to open this door?"
"...!"
Mecklenburg glared irritably at Ascanien, who nodded as if he understood and kindly pointed to the handle.
"I said brains are linked. The trailing Pleroma probably expect us to use common sense and walk out this door. High chance of spatial magic traps waiting, so opening it means death."
"...No need to explain."
Open it, he says—in this situation, joking around. But thinking of what experiences bred that composure silenced him. The sharpness Ascanien had shown throughout the exam, that poise and savvy, now made perfect sense. He felt ridiculous for trying so hard to break him.
'...Someone who should be chief of staff judging, not running the Mimesis Field, why bluff through the exam so shamelessly!'
His face heated up again, so Mecklenburg slapped his cheeks to snap out of it. Ascanien looked at him like he'd seen a lunatic—was it that absurd? Who was looking at whom like that? Mecklenburg felt unjustly on the verge of collapse, wondering who the real outlier was—and headed to the opposite end of the hall connected to corridors.
"Now, the spatial magic expert Senior will handle something."
"Are you mocking me?"
"There must be additional spatial magic links in this building. Find them. Like candelabras, books, frames, for example."
Ascanien mimed pushing a candelabra aside.
What was this? Spatial magic on candelabras, books, frames? He'd heard something like that vaguely...
Whatever, he couldn't ignore Nicolaus.
"Did you learn this from your previous visit to Brandenburg Archdiocese?"
"......"
Ascanien paused, then nodded. To break the silence, Mecklenburg switched his wand to staff and poured mana slowly to the floor. It rippled oddly at certain points. Mana lamps first. Anything with mana reacted similarly, so he'd have to check one by one.
'What am I doing?'
The day he learned his junior was Nicolaus, he'd been subjugated without consent, and now he was poking mana-infused furniture. Ascanien shamelessly tugged his sleeve and stood blankly.
"Why?"
"......"
Mecklenburg turned away with a "don't talk" look and kept checking. Casually lifting a leather-bound book, a gust of wind blew.
"...!"
The scene changed. From the bright space to a dark room. He'd found it. A real new place—someone's study, clearly. Ascanien glanced around and said quietly,
"Alright, here's the plan. First, send the interlopers packing at once. Second, find the Wittelsbach pair."
"Easier said than..."
"We can do it."
Cutting him off, Ascanien paused at the door, then flung it open and bolted. Manpower could arrive soon, so it made sense. Mecklenburg followed, but hesitated at approaching footsteps from a corridor corner.
"...!"
Three sets of footsteps. Time to hide and hold breath—or so he thought, but Ascanien charged out yelling,
"Brother Klaus! Where are you headed?"
"...?!"
Klaus?! Fine for his own name, but making up others'? Mecklenburg's vision whitened. Unexpectedly, the called priest looked confused briefly, then stern.
"Didn't you hear? Leadership's plan's gone awry—we're heading to handle it now!"
"I know! But is chasing Ascanien right?"
"Yes."
"Let's go together."
Ascanien kept distance while running, slipping a hand into Mecklenburg's wrist. He tried shaking it off, but clear divine power flowed under his skin, easing air-induced pain. Clearly to prevent nosebleeds or burst veins.
'...More importantly, heading to find Ascanien with Ascanien along...'
His tone and expression were so practiced—not a first-time act. Mecklenburg felt his common sense shatter. But more crucial than Ascanien's bold con was the name Klaus. How long would they buy it? Even trying to recognize Ascanien's face now yielded only a blur—definitely magic, layered perhaps. Mecklenburg glanced between them, cast soundproofing, and whispered,
"Brainwashed? Klaus...!"
"No. That's his real name. Know the Vatican publishes newsletters? Saw it in an old ordination interview."
What? Mecklenburg gaped in disbelief. Ascanien dropped the spell and urgently asked,
"Brother. After subduing Ascanien, where next? I left blood reagent with a fellow priest mid-task—asking now."
"What?! Priest?! You should've brought him! No wonder only two..."
'Damn.'
Mistake. Ascanien slipped. Improv had limits, but a hole this quick? Mecklenburg paled. Turning to ask what now, he doubted his eyes.
"......"
Light flashed across Ascanien's profile as he ran wide-eyed. A split second. Then distress appeared.
"I wanted to, but that priest's a fresh ordination—not combat fit. Basically a deacon. Plus, the captured material's a wizard, too feral to leave alone. Couldn't leave him with the reagent—need to wrap up fast and return, but where after Ascanien?"
"Where? Just inject and wait. Bishop handles the rest later."
"Ah, the injection!"
"Didn't get it?"
"No, got caught tussling with the material. Vicious one. Spare vial?"
Ascanien shook an unused syringe to prove innocence. When swapping clothes with the Pleroma priest earlier, he'd nabbed the belt clutch too. Inside were syringes. Klaus rummaged, tossing a finger-sized vial. Ascanien nodded thanks and fell back. He opened the belt clutch over his priest robes' fascia, showing Mecklenburg: empty unused syringes, a cross—his elixir aside, nothing else.
"That priest lacked this drug. Only outgoing Pleroma have it—meant for us. Wittelsbach side too."
Ascanien rarely licked his lips. He closed the clutch and asked while running,
"We're looping back. Senior, how to kill those in the hall with your power?"
"...Rush blood to faces to burst them, or starve brain/heart of blood."
"High mana cost."
Yes. Feasible for one or two, not dozens. Even on few, killing beyond disabling meant holding five minutes past golden time—suicidal for him. Ascanien stroked his chin, muttering,
"How about forcing blood harder to the floor than now?"
"...Better for wide-area. Might faint or slow from poor oxygen, but killing's hard."
"Good. That's enough."
Ascanien turned, squeezing Mecklenburg's wrist firmly, a chill smile on his face.
"Senior, three takeaways. First, three-man teams. They follow orders blindly, no deeper thought—single-cells from tension. Good for mental health to believe that. Lots like them, so commands must be detailed—tough luck. Second, Archdiocese isn't underestimating us. Third, bishops are elsewhere. Where?"
"......"
"Crisis is opportunity."
Simple, but undeniable. How was he so calm? Mecklenburg bit his lip, heart pounding wildly. All from Nicolaus experience? How many extremes had he survived? Did he even see this as extreme? Had he forged results through such trials?
Then, lead-running Klaus clutched his head, whipped around yelling. Ascanien quickly released Mecklenburg's wrist.
"Fifty at each of Hall of Peace's four exits! Brothers, where to?"
Two hundred. Mecklenburg swallowed, breath catching. Two hundred priests to take their heads. Beyond not underestimating—overestimating, or iron will to prevent escape. Their home ground, resources made sense. Odds favored Pleroma. Yet Ascanien, unflustered, clutched his head and bellowed back,
"And you, Brother?"
"North gate."
"Same. Positions based on last known spot."
"Apparently."
What apparently? Mecklenburg swallowed retort as Klaus nodded seriously, grabbing railing to turn corner.
Finally, robed wizards appeared. Unlike lime dome, wooden grand corridor. Huge wooden door at end, soundproofed.
'North gate?'
Doubting as Ascanien's words echoed: spatial traps outside doors. A Pleroma spotted Klaus, said,
"Warped here two minutes ago—no life mana or anything inside."
"Traps?"
"Waiting for that possibility."
"Already escaped?"
"Plenty possible. Not time to wait! South gate agrees."
Another chimed in.
Ascanien, listening silently, yelled low—perfectly masked by corridor noise, audible nearby.
"My take: they know we're spatial experts, so they'll smash spatial magic before opening!"
"What?"
"They're escaping via real Hall exits. Any mana shift, charge in—no waiting. Tell everyone at each door!"
"Obviously."
"Ah, obvious?"
Ascanien nodded, shrugging lightly. Mecklenburg inexplicably fumed at the sarcasm. Definitely better as ally. Luckily, others focused on mana/strategy, ignoring him. Ascanien patted his shoulder.
"Underestimated them too much. Opinions align, so time to borrow Senior's power."
"......"
Mecklenburg eyed "really?", but Ascanien nodded firmly. Mecklenburg pulled him to corridor wall.
Tap—
Boom!!
Light foot, then slammed floor—light raced wall to door, exploding, crumbling view. Mecklenburg grimaced at his own boom/light but kept eyes open. Spatial shattered, lime building appeared—priests surged as one through door. Fewer analyzed break point than reacted instantly. But mere instant chaos—before a minute, thirty seconds even, it'd reverse. That was their last window.
"—!"
Shout synced with core-squeezing pain. Ascanien's signal drowned in attacks, but core signal worked.
Boom...
Mecklenburg slammed staff down, eyes shut. Death rattles rose amid Pleroma. His own blood felt yanked floorward.
—Unless the Lord guards the city, the watchman labors in vain!
Boom!!
Ears rang deaf.
After gale, Mecklenburg heard nothing, slowly lifted head. Ears blocked excess sound. Even if not, silence now—no one could scream. Hot liquid dripped under nose; he steadied spinning vision. As hearing returned, end-vision priests struggled divine power, soon collapsing. Then Nicolaus's light faded.
He'd overdone it more than before. Needed to wipe alert Pleroma at once. Mecklenburg, vision red-tinged, doubted eyes. Tears streamed from Ascanien's. No expression change. In high-stakes, reflex pain, surely. Leaning on staff, swaying, Ascanien met eyes, smiled.
"Ah, good. True spatial master. Used decoy to dodge strike points."
"In this situation...!"
"Normally I wouldn't, but fighting together changes it."
Ascanien closed eyes, continued.
"Usually handle these solo."
"......"
No point saying "normally"—others wouldn't know. Nor was he seeking sympathy.
"Bishops alerted now—no time. Shake 'em off, next phase."
Ascanien staggered, grabbed a collar. Light flared; Pleroma convulsed, eyes opening.
"Brother Klaus, who here best at spatial?"
"Wh-why..."
"Fire's engulfing this. Get out or burn—save comrades?"
Klaus's eyes clouded. He weakly pointed; Ascanien cast final spell.
"You spoke to no one, saw no light, no divine power. Chased Ascanien—none here."
"......"
Thud—
Ascanien dropped unconscious man, lifted another—Klaus's pick. Carrying him out Hall, yelled,
"Wake up! Bishop says rip Hall coordinates, toss outside Pleroma! Ascanien fled, set to blow soon. Hurry!"
"Ugh! Wh-where?!"
Dropped, priest clutched head like just woken, flailing.
We three were already out, so even if lie true and he moved coordinates, he'd die. Divine muddled brain blocked that.
Mecklenburg swallowed watching Ascanien switch personas like clothes. Madman.
"Where to? Senior."
"......"
Stunned, Mecklenburg finally spoke.
"Defense Ministry Building 4th floor. Conference room."
"Pleroma know government coords?"
Ascanien smiled, told priest,
"Unter den Linden."
Government street-packed.
Priest fumbled mana to floor, mumbling incoherently. Black-robed mass vanished. Sanity returned with mana feedback, eyes focusing.
"...Wait."
Crash!
Ascanien smashed head to floor, knocking out, stood smiling at Mecklenburg.
"First phase success."