Hymn of Magic

Louis - Pasha, the leader of the largest assassin guild in Shangtu Port, and one of the five members of the Orphanage.

Deval - A henchman in the Assassin's Capital, Louis's right-hand man.

Salome - A demonologist who kills to create skins to maintain her youth, her lifelong wish is to obtain a demon's skin; her own skin is damaged, and human blood will fiercely corrode her fake skin. The Wordsmith

- The leader of the Old Gods cult, who, upon inheriting the position, erases his name and becomes a listener of the Old Gods, worshipping them with human sacrifices and creating undead puppets to eliminate dissidents.

Merry - A 16-year-old priestess of the Old Gods cult, the first Wordsmith, the next Wordsmith, whose adoptive father, Jess, died at the hands of a bandit, and who accompanies him in ghost form. She possesses powerful spiritual energy when necessary.

Mr. White - A former subordinate of the Demon King, an Eastern snake spirit. Propagating the doctrines of the demons,

he recruited the dwarf Metaron into the organization when he was down on his luck (see SIS)

. Metaron Inber - A dwarf prince of the Inber clan, son of Ameron, descendant of the forger of the Boundary Hammer, the fifth master of the Gold Shrine, his mother was an elf. Due to discrimination and exclusion from humans and his own kind, he joined an extreme

demonic cult and became a fanatical believer (see SIS).

Astaroth - An arrogant demon wandering among humans, his identity and origin are unknown. From the moment he became conscious, he has been creating chaos everywhere. He speaks and acts elegantly and enjoys teaching people to do evil. Singer -

A mercenary nicknamed the Bloodthirsty Slaughterer, Josephine's brother, serving

under Countess Isabella

. Isabella - She infiltrated the Duke's mansion with her beauty, poisoned the duke, and then took the throne herself. She is the Countess of Vannis, as well as the mistress and advisor of the king and princes. She has connections with various forces, including the Protestant Church.

The bishop of the Protestant diocese of Anthony, a contender for the next pope, was dressed in

a

deep

, orange-red hue that illuminated the face of eighteen-year-old Louis. Thick black smoke, like a monstrous dragon, coiled above the city. Fire raged throughout the city, and cries, alarm bells, and the clamor of destruction echoed everywhere. Louis led four boys through the burning city. "Keep up, we're almost at the bridge! Oh no, this way!"

A large pillar blocked their path. Louis grabbed a boy by the collar and pulled him back. The five of them darted into an alley. The black smoke grew thicker, and they couldn't help but cough. Suddenly, there was a crackling sound as a beam collapsed. Louis yelled, "Watch out!" and threw himself on top of a boy. The burning beam scorched his back.

"Louis! Quick, help move the beam!" The other three boys hurriedly moved it away. Fortunately, the beam wasn't heavy, but Louis's back was charred and crimson. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault. If I hadn't..." The girl cried helplessly.

"Don't say anything, I'm fine. The bridge is just ahead!"

Enduring the pain, Louis urged his companions forward. A bright future lay ahead. As long as they crossed these obstacles and passed the bridge called Redemption, the ship carrying these orphans to the new world would be waiting in the harbor. But time... yes... time, in this riotous city, was like a man-eating beast in the night, about to devour everything, leaving not even bones... They had to hurry, Louis thought, sweat dripping down his face, his breath turning into steam in the winter sun.

Finally, a sea breeze blew in, dispersing the stale air. In the distance, the harbor flags could be seen, and a white bridge came into view. Marble griffins stood on either side of the bridgehead. A group of orphanage children gathered on the other side. A girl in a long green dress stood outside the crowd, gazing into the distance. When she saw Louis, she waved excitedly and anxiously. Josephine, beautiful Josephine! Her hair, fragrant with lilies, danced in the wind. Her long neck, her sensual collarbones, and her alluring lips... Louis felt he could almost touch them again. 100 feet, 50 feet, 30 feet... Louis swore he could almost see her emerald eyes. Just then, a "whoosh..." sound came from the right.

"Watch out! The tower's collapsing!" One leg of the tower by the river sank into the water, and the entire tower crashed towards the bridge.

"

No!!!"

Louis reached out to Josephine, but the boy behind him grabbed him. The world before Louis's eyes slowed down, as if everything had entered a giant magic circle. The massive tower pressed down little by little, pressing down on the bridge between him and Josephine, pressing down on what was supposed to be his salvation. He could see the expression on Josephine's face—was it sadness? Pain? Remorse? In that instant, Louis knew clearly that his and Josephine's destinies would never intersect again.

A roar pulled Louis back to reality. He opened his eyes and sat up in bed. It was 1 a.m., the time when assassins and thieves roamed freely… He scanned the room without a trace of pity, checking that the traps he had set were still in place, before standing up with satisfaction. Inadvertently, casually, he glanced at the head of the bed; there was a wet drop on the pillow. Louis, expressionless, grabbed his dagger and short sword, and without hesitation walked out of his room, a black envelope and a crystal bracelet with a compass tucked into his pocket.

An

hour later, on a remote, rocky reef southwest of Shangtu Port, a small boat carrying Louis and Deval drifted slowly on the waves. Damp hair clung to his forehead, and the cold wind felt like daggers piercing his left side. No armor could withstand the sea winds of Shangtu Port; Louis's hands were already white with cold. It was the coldest time of day, and at sea, the cold seemed ten times greater. But Louis didn't care. Holding the invitation stamped with the Blackwing Eye's seal, he stood at the bow, occasionally glancing at the compass on his crystal bracelet. The needle seemed to have a mind of its own, carefully guiding the boat past the hidden reefs beneath the surface.

"We're here… this is it…" Louis murmured to Deval, or perhaps to himself, as the fog thickened.

"Hmm," a deep voice replied. The voice belonged to Deval, a burly man standing six feet tall with neat short hair. Beneath his black armor lay 800 pounds of brute strength. Beside him lay a heavy lance, and a sword hung at his waist. He sat quietly at the stern, steering the ship. Unlike Louis, Deval was not a nimble man. He was silent, stubborn, and uncompromising. He would only step forward when a direct confrontation broke out. But when he did step forward, God bless those who faced the tip of his lance, for they needed all the help they could get.

Since the fire, Deval had developed a deep hatred for magicians, especially those who wielded fire. He even used a spear that pierced flames as his mark. But Louis was grateful to have such brothers. Ten years had passed since the five brothers and sisters from the orphanage he had rescued from the fire. They had slept in sewers, stolen from fruit shops, robbed drunkards, and killed civilians together. Now, the five brothers controlled the largest assassin guild in Chantou. People on the streets feared and revered them. High officials and royalty maintained contact with Louis. In this dark world, even those who claimed to be on the side of light had to act in the shadows. Louis looked around. There was only fog around the ship; there was no gathering.

Deval also casually looked around, searching for figures. His breathing turned into puffs of white mist. At that moment, several lights lit up behind the thick fog in front of the two, illuminating the shape of a ship. Louis silently raised his lampshade, which flickered three times, and the signal returned, confirming his purpose. At the same time,

several lights also lit up around the two, sending out the same signal

. "It's them," Deval confirmed.

"It seems we're not the only ones here. Perhaps you'll find the clues you seek, or perhaps you'll encounter someone who displeases you. But restrain your temper, my dear Deval. When chaos gathers, even the gods cannot predict what will happen here."

"Understood, brother," Deval replied, his gaze fixed on the ship ahead. "Quite a few have arrived."

Slowly, the small boat moved forward, its bow cutting through the waves with a splashing sound. Louis vaguely heard voices, but the sea breeze and the sound of the water masked their words. He focused his attention on the ship, a large, five-masted iron-hulled junks, estimated to be over 350 feet long. Louis estimated its tonnage to be at least 3,000 tons. He counted approximately 36 sails: 18 side sails and 18 fore and aft sails. The mast, about four stories high, pointed straight to the sky, its effect even more pronounced from below. Combined with the surrounding sea fog, it even gave the illusion of being a spaceship.

A short while later, Louis and Deval boarded the deck. Louis silently memorized the information: [Longboats...8...Maximum 400 sailors...76 cannons...2 gunners in the lookout tower...] Louis didn't have a photographic memory, but years of training allowed him to absorb enough information in a short time to save his life. More than once, this training had enabled him to escape from the jaws of death. A dozen or so sailors in black were busy pulling the other guests aboard one after another. An elderly figure was trembling as he was helped up, followed by a young girl in light armor. Her face was covered by a hood, and both of them had a symbol of tentacles covering the sun on their chests. Louis uttered three words softly, "The Diggers."

Deval asked Louis in a low voice, "Do you know them?"

Louis shook his head. "I've heard of them. That old man is a Truth Speaker. These people dig up corpses to make puppets, so they smell of decay."

Deval looked at him with suspicion, sniffing the air. "I can't smell anything."

Louis smiled helplessly and gestured for Deval to be quiet.

The girl behind the speaker walked along, softly chanting the incantation, "dimittemedarevobis

somnumsempiternum."

Another person boarded the ship. She had short, fiery red hair, a corset that distorted her breasts, a small round cap perched askew on her head, and elbow-length gloves adorned with lace patterns woven into a spiderweb. Her long skirt trailed on the ground, with a similarly spiderweb-patterned veil covering her thighs. A pair of small, bow-adorned high heels emerged from beneath her skirt. A notebook and a pouch were tucked into her waistband. A black veil obscured her face, but what caught Louis's attention most was the skull she carried, revealing her identity.

"The sculptor," Louis murmured, but his expression remained unchanged; he simply watched silently.

"Does it matter?" Deval asked. "No, it doesn't matter," Louis said, but the gears in his mind were spinning rapidly, searching for information [A leatherworker who collects various leathers to make human faces, an appearance that hasn't changed in 30 years...

...Is the devil scholar also a member of the Shadow Council?] Louis could tell from the three of them that this gathering was not so simple.

"Is that all? This is the last batch," the sailors whispered among themselves. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew, scattering the untied sails and causing various items on the deck to fall to the ground. The sailors frantically pulled and chased after the fallen items. The wind stopped abruptly, and two coughs were heard behind them. Turning around, they saw

a young man in a white robe standing at the stern, smiling broadly with one hand behind his back. Beside him stood a short-bearded

dwarf with black hair. "A pleasure to meet you. We have come at your invitation."

Upon closer inspection, the young dwarf with short hair and a beard had no excess fat on his body; his muscles were taut and agile. He wore light leather armor and thick winter boots, walking silently. He carried a longbow and quiver on his back, but Louis did not look at those items. What he saw was the tremor in the dwarf's eyes and the murderous intent like a drawn blade.

"These two... I don't know them..." Louis whispered to Deval, "But be careful of them, I have a feeling they're not ordinary." Deval nodded, his eyes fixed on the dwarf. Unlike the others, the white-clad man wasn't wary of anyone, nodding to each person in turn. In contrast, the dwarf stood like a steel-cast soldier, simply standing solemnly beside the white-clad man. Louis shook his head. "It's alright, everything will be clear once the leader arrives." Although his words were calm, Louis's mind was already tense. So many organization leaders and renowned experts had gathered in this place in an instant. Anyone would realize the scale of the event and the potential chaos, which made Louis even more curious about what awaited them in the lower levels.

Just as everyone was wondering where to go, a servant emerged from below the deck. He was impeccably dressed, his hair slicked back, and a small mustache parted to either side of his nose. He held a register in his hand.

"Distinguished guests," he said, "I am Arthur, here on behalf of my master to welcome you all. Um... Lord Truth-Teller, Priestess Merri, it is an honor for my lord to have you here. Miss Salome, and Louis Parselle from the Assassin's Capital, welcome. And Mr. White, thank you all for traveling so far to attend this council meeting. The sea breeze is cold outside, please follow me to the council chamber below. My master has prepared fine wine and delicacies as a token of his apologies." He then bowed deeply, drawing everyone's attention to the firelight below the steps. The yellow light seemed to foreshadow warmth and food, dispelling the biting sea wind.

The man in the white robe gently placed his hand on Metaron's shoulder, gesturing for him to relax. He then stepped forward and said,

"Thank you. I will gladly accept your offer." With that, he was the first to slip through the door. Metaron, expressionless, turned and followed the man in white inside.

As the man in white passed Salome, he smiled slightly and bowed slightly. For Salome, who had long studied demons, the young man in white evoked a peculiar feeling; something peculiar seemed to have stirred her curiosity, a curiosity with a deadly sense of coercion that sent shivers down her spine. Salome clutched her head tightly, murmuring, "Oh, John, John… such exciting things are hidden here, they've aroused me."

Louis remained silent, his chin held high with arrogance, and walked past the waiter, followed by the wary Deval, who glanced at the strange figures around him. Next came the hunched old man, who pointed with a trembling cane, his steps heavy with each thud as he slowly made his way through. Merry helped him into the ship's interior, which was immediately warmer than the outside. The spacious passageways were unlike those of ordinary warships or merchant ships. Judging from the materials and unnecessary facilities, the owner of this ship was either extremely wealthy or a fool. Various sculptures and paintings lined the corridors. There was also a huge coral, incredibly valuable. Merry muttered under her breath, "So extravagant..."

The group arrived at a double-doored structure, six feet six inches high and appearing very heavy. The Shadow Council's insignia was carved on the porch. The Blackwing Eye attendant pushed open the door, revealing a round table inside. Directly in front was a two-story balcony overlooking everything in the room. A stained-glass ceiling hung overhead. Inside, a blond man sat lazily, his hands behind his head, a book covering his face, and his feet casually propped up on the table.

Salome glanced at the sleeping man, snorted, and with a flick of her wrist, pulled out a chair and sat down. The others exchanged glances and quickly took their seats. The clatter of chairs and tables woke the man, who immediately stood up upon seeing others sit down.

"Welcome, welcome! I was just getting incredibly bored when these two budding daffodils arrived, adding a touch of brilliance to this tedious voyage. I am Astaroth, and may I ask how you two beautiful ladies are addressed?"

The blond man bowed politely upon seeing the newcomers and moved closer to Merry.

Merry, somewhat flustered by his approach, replied, "Just call me...just call me Merry..."

"Merry, the name that is so fragrant in the snow is truly intoxicating. Have we met somewhere else? I can see that beneath your cold exterior lies a hidden passion. Am I right, beautiful Miss Merri?"

He gently took Merri's iron glove in his hands and quickly kissed it.

A slight blush crept across Merry's face as she asked softly, "Excuse me, are you the master here?"

As if dancing, Astaroth floated to Salome's side. "No, dear Merry, and these menacing gentlemen, I am not the master here. I am a guest attending the meeting, just like you."

He turned to Salome's eyes. "In this respect, we are *the same*, aren't we?" He then picked up a wine glass. "Mr. Arthur, please bring us, guests gathered here from all corners of the world, a bottle of delightful wine!"

The waiter bowed slightly and brought over a bottle of wine, roast meat, various fruits, and cakes, their greasy beauty shimmering in the candlelight. Louis glanced disdainfully at Astaroth, a displeased snort escaping his nose. The aged Truth-Speaker shrank even further into his hood, obscuring his form. Merry was somewhat at a loss.

"

Hmm, it's a pleasure to meet you, handsome Mr. Astaroth. Have a pleasant evening," the young priest raised his glass in appreciation.

Astaroth sat down next to Merry, recounting stories of various places and occasionally praising her demeanor. "I've been to Lake Rotra. The beauty of the water and sky merging into one, with its reflections of clouds and boats, still lingers in my memory. But the clear water pales in comparison to my eyes, and I can easily lose myself in it..." Merry

replied shyly, "What are you talking about? I'm just a country bumpkin. But you, with your golden hair, handsome appearance, and extraordinary manner, are clearly no ordinary person. I bet you must be an exceptional individual."

Many people were influenced by Astaroth's words and relaxed, reaching for their glasses to drink. Only Mr. White smiled silently at him, as if he had found something he wanted. The dwarf Metaron remained standing indifferently, neither intending to drink nor eat. Astaroth, like a peacock, attracted the attention of everyone at the table, talking about everything from anecdotes from his travels to exotic customs.

His voice seemed to switch at will, mimicking everything from a stern king to a lowly prostitute with uncanny accuracy. Then, switching to a gruff accent, he said, "That ogre said, 'Uh... cross the bridge... 3 gold coins.' I replied, '3 gold coins! For that price, I'll wade under your broken bridge myself!' Guess what the ogre said?"

Merri leaned forward casually, asking curiously, "What did it say?"

"Uh... 2 silver coins, I'll help you with your shoes."

"Hahahaha... Ogre hahahaha!" The young priest couldn't help but laugh.

At this moment, five people walked out of the door of the room on the high platform. The man and woman in the lead wore white Venetian masks. The man's mask was an eagle, while the woman's mask only covered her eyes. They stood on either side of them with two attendants, and a fierce-looking man in black armor stood behind them. They sat down on two high chairs facing you in the room overlooking the hall. The fierce-looking man scanned everyone in the hall, his gaze lingering on Merry and Salome for a while. After snorting coldly, he walked to the wall and stood there.

Judging from their attire, the man in the lead was impeccably dressed, his clothes meticulously detailed, from the patterns on the sheer fabric of his sleeves to the gold trim on his handkerchief. His neat white wig suggested he was likely of noble birth. The woman, however, was astonishing. A semi-transparent black lace dress accentuated her curvaceous figure, her two perfectly round breasts nearly bursting out. The V-neckline seemed to open at the waist, revealing her flat stomach and beautiful navel, adorned with a shimmering purple gemstone. The skirt parted on either side, revealing

her long, slender legs. She lazily reclined, casually crossing one of her flawless,

alluring legs and playfully rubbing it against the other. Her relaxed, leaning posture exuded an air of arrogance, perhaps genuinely disregarding the ruthless people present.

The man first took a glass from a servant, then went to the balcony and raised it to the crowd below. "Gentlemen and ladies, accomplished colleagues, I am Antonio, Giorgio. Welcome to my ship. This is the first meeting of the Shadow Council in 500 years. You are all powerful eagles, but I have gathered you here not merely to make acquaintances or reminisce about old council days; that would be a waste of time."

The people below returned the toast, except for Metaron, who remained unmoved, as if the occasion had nothing to do with him. He neither looked back nor returned the toast, only showing a slight reaction to the words "waste of time."

"What I want to give you is something you can never have too much of, something the powerful will never refuse, something the lowly can never obtain in their entire lives... *Power*." As he spoke, he handed a map to his bodyguard, signaling him to take it downstairs. The Bloodthirsty Brutalist, Singer, took the map, pulled up his hood, and slowly descended the stairs.

When Singer approached the table, Louis saw his face clearly: his long, thick hair, scarlet glasses, rough skin, and stubble indicated his long years of travel. His armor was simple and crude, covered with marks from swords and knives, but it was well-maintained. A long gray cloak was wrapped around his chest, adorned with a green olive branch brooch. He carried two javelins on his back, a sword at his waist, and wore military black boots that clattered on the wooden floor. But what drew Louis's attention was the brooch. An invisible hand was tugging at his nerves from the depths of his memory, yet it refused to reveal itself.

With a "whoosh," Singer roughly swept the food aside and tossed the map onto it. It was a tattered nautical chart, the parchment worn and frayed, looking as if it could easily crumble into millions of pieces and drift away with the wind. Everyone gathered around the map to examine it. The map indicated that there was a small island between the Sea of Sighs and the Sea of Viran,

called Akgas.

The man continued, "On Akgas, there is a three-story fortress, but two of the stories are underground!"

"It is under the control of the Yggdrasil Church," Anthony said, slowly taking a few steps to the side while holding onto the railing. "Why would Yggdrasil build a three-story fortress on a godforsaken island, station 20 skilled guards, and protect it for hundreds of years? I think you all want to know too." "Is it treasure? Is it weapons? You might think so, but my answer is..." Anthony paused, glancing at the crowd. "Everything you can imagine that you desire is on this island!" The

crowd erupted in a flurry of chatter. "Who knows if it's true or not?"

A glimmer of hope flickered in Merri's eyes. "Wait, even resurrecting people?!" Suddenly, Merri felt a chill run down her spine. Turning around, she saw Singer staring at her with the same fascination he showed his prey. The little priestess immediately turned away to avoid his gaze. Singer was clearly pleased with the girl's reaction, and he sneered in a low voice to the crowd, "In reality, isn't it just about killing and looting everything?"

Astaroth raised an eyebrow. "You mean..."

"Have you heard of the Demon King from 600 years ago?... The magic that could destroy continents was divided into seven pieces, sealed and guarded by seven heroes generation after generation... Legend..." As he spoke, he turned to examine the wine in his glass, then looked down at the crowd, studying their reactions. "With that legendary magic, what is impossible...?" Antonio's lips curled up like a wolf's.

Merri recalled a tattered tapestry in the library, depicting an epic catastrophe: a shattered land, surging ocean currents, a battle between humans and demons between sea and sky, lightning flashing like silver serpents across the heavens, and the fate of humanity resting on the shoulders of ten individuals. The once invincible Demon King, defeated over 600 years ago by ten saints, was shown in the painting with holy light emanating from behind their heads. The battle was exceptionally fierce; three heroes perished on the spot, but humanity ultimately triumphed. The remaining humans severed the Demon King into seven pieces, storing them in different places to prevent its resurrection. Some say its soul still wanders the continent, instigating war and evil with an unseen demonic hand. Meanwhile, the Yogtrashield, the main religion in the eastern part of the continent, and the Protestantism in the central region have long been in conflict, but recently they have been at peace.

Salome was the first to step forward, calling out to the man upstairs, "I am willing to participate in your actions." "As a reward, all I need is a tiny, tiny piece of skin, skin from the Demon King."

The little priestess, Meryl, stepped forward anxiously. "If it's really as you say, I'm willing to go too." Then, uneasy, she looked at the Word Master, seeking the elder's approval.

Astaroth frowned in distress. "Ah, such a thing... I have no desire for such an existence, but I certainly can't leave it unattended."

Mr. White turned to the side and whispered something to Metaron, who nodded cautiously.

The Manifestor struck the floor three times with his cane, silencing everyone. He asked in an aged voice, "Even if the legend is true, how do you intend to divide this power? There's more than one of us here."

Anthony absentmindedly sipped his wine. "I naturally have a way to ensure everyone gets what they need. What you Old Gods want is flesh, isn't it... an immortal, incorruptible body..."

"That's all empty talk! Before that, we need to break through into this fortress and obtain what we need before we can share,"

Deval's deep voice echoed through the room, drowning out the others' discussion.

"A pragmatist, huh? Heh heh, this one's right, Singer! Explain the configuration of this obstacle," Anthony chuckled, instructing the black-armored warrior.

"Nothing more than a hundred monks, soldiers, servants, and priests. But..." he sneered, "there are a few tough ones, though."

Singhler extended his left index finger. "That old man, Golandir..."

Singhler extended his middle finger. "That monkey with the gun, Abu-la-raha..."

Singhler then extended his ring finger. "And there's another guy I don't recognize at all, but he looks pretty good.

Of course, you can leave anytime if you're scared, after all, I think you're weaker than them." He looked at Dval and continued to sneer.

Salome frowned. "Fighting, how..." "Rude,"

Singer replied with a forced smile, looking at Salome. "There are things that aren't so rude, you can come to my room tonight to find out. Hmph."

Deval slammed his hand on the table and stood up. "Old man, put away your arrogance. You underestimate the Assassin's Capital. Even a five-year-old could make you eat shit in the gutter."

Singer immediately stepped forward and sneered. "In that case, those tough guys are yours to handle, Assassin's Capital. Show them what you're made of."

Deval was about to explode when Louis suddenly stood up and blocked him, his eyes locked on Singer.

Mr. White also stood up. "Alright, alright, everyone, don't start fighting before you even get the treasure. This humble one and this resolute dwarf Metaron are willing to participate in this operation." After speaking, he deliberately looked at Astaroth. Astaroth noticed Mr. White's gaze and felt a strange familiarity with him, but he couldn't pinpoint the source. He was only certain in his heart that they were of the same kind.

"Welcome," Anthony nodded slightly in greeting.

The True Word Master, tapping the ground with his cane, slowly said, "Then... the Old Gods... will join as well."

Merry nodded happily upon hearing the decision. Louis's gaze never left Schindler, and he said, enunciating each word clearly, "The Assassin's Capital, will also join."

The remaining people looked at Astaroth. Astaroth looked around helplessly, then rose and bowed. "Then...

I look forward to cooperating with you all."

"Singler will join as the fortress's guide," Antony added. "This is also our sincerity."

Schindler grabbed the spear from his back and slammed it into the floor, removing his hood. "Originally, I didn't intend to get involved in this

mess... but since it's so interesting..."

The Cruel Schindler turned to face the woman who had remained silent, kneeling on one knee. "I accept your terms and swear allegiance to you. My spear will be with your will, my lady."

The lady smiled gently, tossing him a fragrant handkerchief. Schindler bowed, placed his hand on his chest, swore an oath, put the handkerchief away, and rose.

Louis, observing this, immediately felt a pang of unease. Who was this woman? Why was Singer swearing an oath to her instead of being the meeting's leader? Why was she hiding in the background? A barrage of questions popped into his mind like bamboo shoots after a spring rain. But ultimately, due to insufficient information, he had to set them aside for the time being.

"In that case, please rest here for the night. We will meet again in three days to take a ship to Akgas. It's been a pleasure working with you, my fellow members..." With that, Anthony and the woman disappeared from the back.

"

You should all get some rest too. Otherwise, you'll be too weak to handle the rest of the time..." Singer looked at Salome. "Of course, as I said before, my bedroom is always open to you." With that, he turned and left the hall.

The instant he stepped out the door, Louis grabbed Singer's arm. "Hey, haven't we met somewhere before?"

Louis's murderous gaze pierced Singer's face like a sword, as if it could peel away his

skin , slowly, layer by layer.

Singer was startled at first, then let out a cold laugh. "How should I know? But you look kind of familiar, huh? Maybe I deflowered you before?"

At this moment, Deval squeezed in. "Maybe you want to deflower someone, but you might lose your dick in the process."

The two started arguing, neither willing to back down.

"Anyway, if you're going to do this, kill those idiots as soon as possible tomorrow, so I can get rid of this job sooner." Breaking free from Louis's grasp, he turned and left, pausing at the corner to mutter to himself, "Speaking of which, you do look familiar...where have I seen you before?" He shook his head and went back to his room.

Louis stared threateningly at Singer's retreating figure for a while, then left without a word with Deval, but instead of returning to the cabin, they went straight to the deck. Trouble seemed to shroud the area like a sea fog, and one question after another stirred in Louis's mind, elusive and incomprehensible. Retreat was the best option. After some thought, he jumped into the small boat and began the return journey.

In Merry's room after she fell asleep, Merry slept peacefully, her breathing steady. Suddenly, a terrifying, transparent face appeared above her, gently stroking her face and brushing aside her unsightly hair before disappearing into the darkness.

—On

the deck, Astaroth took a deep breath. The surrounding fog dissipated, the sea breeze subsided, and the night sea calmed, revealing a crescent moon in the sky. Further away, a storm of lightning and thunder slowly gathered. Astaroth concealed himself

and flew into the night sky, summoning his throne, which floated there, lost in thought. "Things are getting more and more

interesting… What's next…?"

He reached out and traced a path in the void, channeling his magic to tear through space. "Come forth, my servant!"

A strange, alien cry rang out, and an insect-like creature emerged, wielding a trident. Its pincers tapped rhythmically, as if awaiting its master's command. Astaroth nodded, quite satisfied. "Hmph, go play as you please, just don't attack that ship!"

Astaroth waved for his servant to leave, and the insect-faced creature groaned and plunged into the sea. He continued to ponder,

his eyes once again fixed

on . Deeper into the cabin, a woman's seductive moans pierced the night. On a large, prototype bed large enough to hold ten people, a noblewoman in a nightgown, her breasts exposed, rode on Antony, wildly swaying her hips. Their bodies collided violently, creating a primal symphony of desire.

"Ah, ah, ah, you're doing it so well, I'm coming! I'm coming! I'm coming ahh ...

Isabella pushed open her bedroom door and entered the room, lighting the oil lamp on the table. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of her eye. Isabella abruptly pulled open a drawer and drew out a delicate, small flintlock pistol.

"Are you so happy to see me?" Astaroth emerged from the shadows. Isabella's arm, which had been holding the gun, seemed to have lost its strength, and she casually tossed it onto the table, the heavy firearm making a thud.

"Astaroth, weren't you bewitched by that little priest? Why are you here looking for me?" She leaned back seductively on the table, teasingly lifting her robe slightly at her chest, revealing two snow-white mounds. Her slightly parted lips were not only flirting but also a challenge.

"Just playing along, I thought you needed me to put on a show." He took two more steps forward. "But...

I still don't know what you're up to."

"Astaroth, you handsome devil!" Isabella reached out to touch his face, but Astaroth twisted her wrist. "I'm immune to your seduction. I don't like being played like a pawn, woman." "But you will be the most important pawn in my plan. You'll enjoy this game, oh yes, the intricate relationships and schemes. You'd love it, wouldn't you? Now... let go of me." They smiled at each other, and Astaroth released her wrist.

Isabella's eyes darted around, and her hand moved downwards, her fingertips feeling a hard bulge. "Now who's happy to see whom?" A provocative smile appeared on Isabella's lips.

She looked up at the blond man, her hands moving swiftly to skillfully unbuckle his belt, pulling out his thick, prized member. With a wicked grin and a seductive wink, she knelt down and grasped Astaroth's erect penis. Her tongue licked along the shaft from base to head, then greedily swallowed the large glans, each suck accompanied by a gurgling sound of saliva. As she exhaled, several strands of saliva still connected her mouth to Astaroth's magnificent member.

Astaroth watched expressionlessly, then suddenly grabbed Isabella's head and forced his entire penis into her mouth, plunging it deep into her throat. He thrust into her as if she were an inanimate object, feeling the throbbing pleasure of his glans tightening as she suffocated. After about ten thrusts, he pulled out his penis, grabbed Isabella's hair, and tilted her head back. Her face was covered in tears and saliva. Astaroth used his other hand to hold his penis, pounding and wiping it against her face like a paintbrush, coating it with her fluids and mixing them together. Then he laughed, "That's more like you, you bitch."

Isabella laughed, a victorious smile, everything under control. "I am a bitch, and you like me being a bitch," she said, using her large breasts to clamp and stroke his penis, while licking his glans with her long tongue. Astaroth closed his eyes, looked up, and let out a long breath. The pleasure had finally overwhelmed his restraint.

The arrogant Astaroth, clearly unable to tolerate his vulnerability before this harlot, mocked, "Such a wanton body, so unsatisfied. What, that pretty boy can't satisfy you?" Isabella stopped, licked his glans one last time, stood up, and leaned back against the desk with a smile. She gently pulled her belt, parting her robe to reveal her alluring body. Her firm, full breasts contrasted sharply with her slender waist, and her long legs stretched from heaven to hell. Below her flat stomach, a small patch of neatly trimmed black hair formed a triangle. Looking between her legs, white fluid was slowly flowing from a crevice, a few drops already dripping onto the floor. Astaroth's gaze lingered there.

"What, are you scared? Should I go take a shower first?"

"That's good, I like you being a slut." Astaroth accepted the challenge, pulling Isabella's waist with one hand and lifting her legs with the other. His red, burning glans parted her labia and, lubricated by his semen, thrust all the way in, making Isabella gasp with pleasure. She quickly wrapped one arm around his neck.

"With a body naturally suited for sluts, you'd get itchy if you didn't do it for a day, wouldn't you? I haven't even touched you yet and you're already this excited."

Astaroth kneaded Isabella's soft, elastic breasts, pinching and rubbing her erect nipples with two fingers. Isabella moaned with pleasure, and Astaroth could clearly feel the layers of flesh enveloping his weapon more tightly. He

frowned slightly, sensing something was amiss.

"Heh, talk is cheap... Ah!"

Before he could finish, Astaroth's massive member slammed into her flower, waves of tingling pleasure spreading from his lower body throughout his entire being.

"Oh, that's more like it. Come on, show me what you've got."

Astaroth stopped wasting words and began to move his hips, the sounds of their bodies colliding officially signaling the start of this sensual battle. Sex, like all competitions, has its opponents—good ones and bad ones. Isabella and Astaroth were good opponents. At this moment, her legs were already on his shoulders, one hand on the table, while Astaroth gripped her waist and thrust powerfully. The two were evenly matched, each wanting the other to reach climax before them. Sweat covered their bodies, glistening in the candlelight.

"Yas, I feel your cock filling me up, it's so thick and long, it's burning hot, ah, don't stop, right there, ahhhhh, how is it, my pussy is tight enough, my pussy swallowed your cock completely, come on, you know you want me to cum inside you, to get pregnant with your bastard, come on, cum!" The lewd words seemed to stimulate the blond man's senses like a second cunt.

Astaroth growled, lifting Isabella up in his arms, cradling her full, alluring buttocks, and carrying her towards the bed. They tumbled together onto the soft goose-feather mattress. Isabella felt Astaroth's hot breath on her neck and let out a soft moan, arching her upper body slightly to accommodate his weight. Suddenly, Astaroth felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He lifted himself up and discovered a row of teeth marks on his right shoulder. Isabella's beautiful eyes widened slightly, and she seductively traced her index finger across his muscular chest, her wanton tongue inviting him to join in. The next second, their tongues intertwined like mating pythons. "Mmm!" Another sharp pain and a muffled groan followed. Isabella had forcefully twisted Astaroth's nipple.

"Hahahaha," Isabella playfully mocked Astaroth's reaction. Astaroth's eyes turned dangerous. Suddenly, he attacked, tearing a section of the sheet and grabbing Isabella's hands, binding them together. Isabella's lips parted slightly, a hint of surprise, a touch of excitement, and mostly defiance. She awaited Astaroth's service like a queen. His large hands roughly kneaded her ample breasts, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. The battle between his erect penis and her vagina continued, the rapid friction turning their bodily fluids into thin, white strands that clung to their genitals. There was no tenderness, no sweet talk, only the desire for self-gratification.

After kneading her for a while, Astaroth's hand slowly reached towards Isabella's face, but in a swift motion, it gripped her slender neck. The pressure on her trachea was immediately felt on her face. She rudely lashed out at the strong man's chest and arms, but to no avail. Astaroth applied pressure to Isabella while increasing the speed of his hip thrusts. The impact of his lower body was almost a continuous syllable. Isabella's alluring face was gone; her tongue was slightly protruding, and her tear-filled eyes were beginning to roll back, on the verge of consciousness. Suddenly, Astaroth released his hands, and a painful cough immediately burst from her mouth, only to be filled by a thick, hard penis. "Ugh... ugh, ugh," Isabella whimpered. Like pulling the reins of a wild horse, Astaroth grabbed Isabella's hair and violently thrust into her warm, wet mouth, enjoying her helplessness and loss of control. As he gained control, Astaroth became increasingly excited.

Unbound, Isabella, powerless, fell onto the bed like a rag doll, her hands still bound. Astaroth flipped her over; Isabella's face pressed against the bed, her buttocks arched high, a thin, now deep red slit slightly parted, like the lips of a passionate young girl, but the white froth flowing on it added to its lascivious air. Astaroth grabbed her waist and plunged into her cannibalistic lair once more. A new wave of battle began. Biting into the sheets, Isabella's moans were replaced by muffled groans, repeated with each thrust from the man behind her. With every few thrusts, As would slap Isabella's buttocks like whipping a racehorse, the sound of flesh hitting flesh audible from the other end of the corridor. Each slap brought a pleasurable scream from Isabella, who twisted her hips even more forcefully to meet his thrusts, only fueling As's lust. Watching her full buttocks slam against his lower abdomen, As felt his blood rush to his head, and his movements intensified.

"As, ah! Hahahaha, ah! Like that, ride me, fuck me, As, you pervert! Huh?

You like this ass? You like it? Ah!"

Astaroth pulled out his filthy penis and placed it on Isabella's anus. "Woman, I'll show you who's in control." With another forceful thrust, the egg-sized glans entered her forbidden zone!

"Oh..." Isabella's eyebrows furrowed tightly, but her smile remained. "Pervert!

Big cock, I can feel your thick, fat cock going into my ass, what a greedy cock!" As thrust his hips again, most of his cock squeezing into her narrow, tight anus. After a few thrusts, the sliding became natural, and As resumed his previous fierce thrusts. Isabella, not to be outdone, joined him, their movements as savage as two boxing opponents. Each time, As's cock was pulled halfway out, the glans emerging, before being thrust in all the way in again, their movements perfectly synchronized.

After more than a hundred thrusts, As untied her hands, lifted her by the waist, and pulled her off the bed. With her hands on the ground and on tiptoe, she was on all fours. As continued thrusting, still gripping her already reddened buttocks. Like a skilled knight, Astaroth directed the alluring mare forward with his thrusts and the direction of his penis.

Step by step, they returned to the desk, a trail of white dots left on the ground behind them.

"It's time," Astaroth said, his eyes flashing with white magical light. A surge of consciousness forcefully rushed into Isabella's mind, and pleasure flooded her body like a burst dam—Astaroth's pleasure. Isabella, suddenly experiencing double the pleasure, trembled involuntarily, almost unable to stand.

Astaroth grabbed her by the waist, placed her upper body on the desk, spread her legs, and lifted her into the air. He thrust even harder from behind, his hands pressing against the desk, Isabella half-suspended, enduring the storm of pleasure from behind. The long shadows cast by the candlelight illuminated their figures on the wall. Astaroth's shadow slowly swelled, growing larger and larger, until it transformed into a winged, horned demon! Isabella's swollen body strained her brows, but the impact did not stop. Each collision made her firm buttocks tremble. With nowhere to escape and no way to break through, Isabella finally climaxed with her tongue sticking out in front of her powerful opponent!

"Ahhh, don't stop, fuck me to death! Ah...ah..."

After the screams, Isabella collapsed to the ground with a thud, panting heavily. With tired eyes, she raised her head and asked, "You hateful devil, how about it, want to join my play?"

As, who was also a little exhausted, looked down at the defeated one with the expression of a victor, but there was no pleasure in victory. "...You already know my answer..."

"Then let's make our pact with this sacred semen." Smiling, Isabella greedily held the engorged penis that made her lose her mind and stuck out her tongue to bring it to her eyes. Streams of hot white semen spurted out, one wave, two waves, three waves. The viscous white liquid covered her beautiful face, stuck her eyelashes, and blurred her vision. It smeared onto her full breasts, but she seemed to receive it with divine joy, sticking out her tongue to accept it until the ejaculation ended. Only then did Isabella lean back on the table, satisfied, licking the semen that had dripped from her face to her mouth.

"Strive to please me... mortal..."

Astaroth's figure gradually faded and disappeared from the room...

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/160282.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=160282&aspx=1

Previous Page : The punishment for adultery is inescapable.

Next Page : Female bandits and mountain bandits

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Hymn of Magic

comment Open a new window to view comments