Ember Dragon

Chapter 566: The Warlock of Victoria Harbor

Northwest Silvermoon Bay, Victoria Harbor.

The sky was just beginning to brighten as a few rays of morning light pierced the clouds, shining down on the busy docks, where all kinds of fishing boats were moored.

Shirtless dockworkers bustled about, their skin tanned dark by the sun. Merchants on the shore argued fiercely over prices.

Seagulls circled above, their cries mingling with the occasional sound of ship horns.

Some fishermen murmured prayers toward the sea, hoping the "Sea Queen" Ambori would calm her wrath, still the seas, and prevent monsters like the Sahua fishmen from appearing.

This was Victoria Harbor, a city at the estuary of the Zeller River, one of the rare deepwater ports, and the largest and most prosperous trade city-state in the Silvermoon Bay region.

The city was named after a hero from centuries past—Victoria, the adventurer from Gray Harbor.

Victoria had once led her fleet across the vast western seas, gathering immense wealth over the years and selflessly building this magnificent port city.

However, some say she was merely a pirate queen born to plunder, and the city was just a haven for storing stolen treasures. Thus, some skeptics mockingly called her the "Pirate Queen."

Centuries later, the current rulers of Victoria Harbor were the Council of Four Dukes, with the most respected duke serving as the consul.

From nobles and commoners to thieves and infamous pirates, everyone gathered here. Dozens of faiths coexisted, and secret cults operated in the shadows.

Today, Victoria Harbor was a melting pot of chaos, known to adventurers as a "breeding ground for conspirators." Recently, a group of mysterious "undead" had appeared out of nowhere, plunging the city into deeper uncertainty.

On Victoria Harbor’s mottled city wall, space rippled as a man in a gray robe holding a bronze staff appeared out of thin air.

He looked to be in his fifties, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His pale green eyes were deep and mysterious.

Stroking his beard, he looked down at the bustling streets and the departing merchant caravan, muttering to himself:

"Looks like I’m a little early. The Seaver family caravan just left.

According to the original story progression, the kidnapping incident should happen in five days. I should appear around then.

Tsk tsk, ever since I became Emperor, I’ve handed all the chores to my vassals. It’s been a while since I handled anything personally. I almost miss it."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Now, what name should I give this disguise?"

Suddenly, he spotted a street fortune teller drawing a tarot card—an old man in a gray cloak holding a lantern: the Hermit.

The corners of his mouth lifted, and he clapped his hands. "Hermit, then. Albert the Hermit. Sounds pretty classy."

This "Albert" was none other than Cassius’ draconic shadow projection—a vessel for his will.

Cassius had come to Victoria Harbor, ready to stir the already murky waters.

On the Faruk Wasteland, a caravan was traveling southward, clearly headed for Victoria Harbor several miles away.

The caravan was large—50 horses, hundreds of guards, and dozens of wagons full of heavy goods, all bearing the golden hawthorn crest.

—The mark of the cargo’s owners, one of Victoria Harbor’s four great families: the Seaver family.

Despite the delicate floral crest, the Seaver family commanded the strongest military power in the harbor and controlled the city’s largest mercenary group, "Mithril Hand."

Inside a lavish carriage surrounded by guards sat a blonde woman in a long dress. She looked no older than her twenties and wore the hawthorn crest.

Her name was Heloise Seaver, the only daughter of the current Seaver duke and the family’s heir.

Heloise lifted the curtain and peered at the quiet wilderness outside, saying to the nearby guard captain, "Marvin, it’s a little too quiet here. We left Gray Harbor and headed south for over ten kilometers without encountering a single caravan. That’s very unusual."

The guard, a grizzled man in his forties with a long facial scar, wore standard armor.

He was Marvin, the caravan’s head of security and a loyal servant of the Seaver family for decades.

But now, faced with the noble lady’s concerns, he appeared slightly distracted.

After all, he had escorted Seaver caravans for years. To him, Heloise was still a rookie sent by her father to learn the ropes.

"Lately, there’s been bandit trouble in the Faruk Wasteland. Many caravans have taken detours through the east to Gray Harbor, but..."

Marvin puffed his chest proudly. "Miss, we’re the Seavers—Victoria Harbor’s overlords. No mere bandit would dare touch us. If they try, we’ll blast their hands off with our muskets!"

He patted his rifle confidently, as if stating a mundane fact.

Heloise frowned slightly but said nothing more, merely telling him to stay alert.

As Duke Aidan’s daughter, she knew her family’s strength well.

This caravan had 574 well-trained guards and advanced muskets purchased from the northern Ember Empire.

Not even local city-state armies could defeat them, let alone random bandits.

And the cargo this time was especially valuable.

The wagons held crates of new firearms, ammunition, and even small cannons—over 3,000 basic rifles alone.

During the bloody "Battle of the Three Emperors," Ember Empire weapons gained fame and spread rapidly thanks to the Wokin Guild.

Duke Aidan’s purpose for purchasing these arms was clear: strengthening the Seaver military.

Heloise stared into the quiet wasteland, hearing only the chirping of insects.

Then she spotted wreckage among distant rocks—broken wagons, shattered wheels, severed limbs, even crushed skulls.

No, this scene of carnage was far beyond what common bandits could cause!

As the Seaver heiress and half-trained mage, she knew the might of supernatural forces.

Her expression shifted sharply, her deep purple eyes filled with gravity. She raised her hand to stop the caravan.

"Marvin, stop."

"Miss, we must hurry. Duke Aidan wants the delivery made before nightfall."

"I said stop. This is an order from the Seaver family caravan leader."

Her voice was firm, her eyes commanding. Marvin flinched at that unmistakable Seaver gaze.

"Yes, Miss."

Reluctantly, he called the guards and drivers to halt.

Yet he still thought the young heiress was being paranoid—not very duchess-like.

This was Victoria Harbor territory. Who would dare mess with the mighty Seavers?

Ahead lay the narrow Carl Valley, where only one wagon could pass at a time. The caravan now stood at its entrance.

Marvin tried again. "Miss, there’s no need to worry. I know Carl Valley like the back of my hand. I’ve crossed it a hundred times in thirty years. It’s easier than going home."

But Heloise coldly cut him off, pointing at the wreckage and ordering:

"Marvin, stay on alert. Send a squad to investigate. If there’s any danger, we detour east."

"But Miss..."

He faltered before her steely gaze. As the golden hawthorn heir and potential duchess, her word was final.

Just as he prepared to dispatch scouts, a scream rang out from the front, followed by chaos and whinnying horses.

"Ah—"

"Ambush! Protect the lady!"

Marvin tensed, quickly loading his rifle and shouting orders to the guards.

He couldn’t believe anyone dared target the Seaver caravan!

Clear, synchronized sounds rang out as trained guards loaded weapons and formed a protective ring around Heloise’s carriage.

Mounting his horse, Marvin spotted the source of the scream—a young driver pierced by an arrow, blood pouring out.

Then black-robed figures emerged from the rocky hillside, like shadows from the night.

"Praise the Lord of Dominion."

"You are the only master of all things. We offer sweet blood as tribute."

They murmured prayers and giggled eerily, chilling even Marvin’s battle-hardened spine.

Dismounting, Marvin drew his sword and roared, "Damn cultists! Do you know who you’re dealing with? This is the Seaver caravan! Duke Aidan will burn you all! Leave now or die!"

"Hahahahahaha!"

A tall, gaunt figure on the slope raised a bone staff. His raspy voice echoed: "Seaver family. Yes, exactly. Capture Heloise Seaver alive! She’ll make the perfect sacrifice for our god!"

Marvin turned pale. He had blundered. These cultists were after Heloise!

"Damn it. Prepare for battle!"

"Borel, take the elite guards and escort the lady out! She must not be harmed!"

"Enemies targeting the Seaver family..."

Heloise was grave but calm. She mounted her horse and fled north toward Gray Harbor.

"Fire! Turn those cultists into sieves!"

Marvin fired first, and the guards followed, unleashing a hail of bullets.

"Bang!"

"Bang! Bang!"

Hundreds of rifles roared. Bullets tore into robed figures, dropping many instantly.

"That’s it! Kill them all! Show no mercy!"

But the cultists only laughed. Their leader raised his staff, summoning swirling black mist.

"Damn caster!"

The caravan’s mages chanted spells, releasing radiant magic, but it couldn’t pierce the darkness.

Meanwhile, Heloise’s retreat met enemies—goblins, worgs, gnolls—thousands strong.

Their faces were marked with black cracks, eyes blackened, faces twisted in fanaticism as they chanted their god’s name.

This was no impromptu attack. It was a long-planned ambush.

Heloise gestured to Borel, saying coldly, "Stop. They were waiting."

Borel trembled. "Miss, what do we do?"

Her tone was firm. "Return and regroup with Marvin. We hold until reinforcements arrive."

A trained hawk soared into the sky carrying a plea for help. Heloise and her escort turned back.

At Carl Valley, the black mist thickened. Arrows struck despite the soldiers’ frantic gunfire.

Seeing Heloise return, Marvin gasped, "Forgive me, Miss. This is my..."

She cut him off, calm despite the crisis. "Marvin, this is a planned ambush.

The north is blocked. We hold until help arrives. Everyone follows my command now.

Also, give me a gun."

Stunned, Marvin retrieved a rifle and handed it to her.

Heloise loaded it smoothly, aimed at a robed figure, and fired.

"Bang!"

The cultist fell. Marvin gaped, then picked up his rifle to fight.

He remembered—this was the heir known as the "Blade of Victoria Harbor."

The battle raged. Both sides took losses, but the guards held their ground.

"Foolish mortals. You resist the Lord of Dominion’s grace?"

The leader raised a skeletal hand, eyes glowing.

A massive black vortex appeared overhead, pulling in trees, rocks, even people.

"Gods above, what is that?!"

"So strong!"

"No—NO!"

Screams filled the air as guards were sucked up, blood drained instantly.

Even their weapons were torn into scrap.

"Gods? They are lies! Only the Lord of Dominion is the true end of all things!"

Blood rained down. The robed man raised his arms, reveling in the massacre.

Heloise stared up at the vortex, sweat running down her pale face. Her hands gripped the wagon tightly.

"This is... Psionics."

She had seen it before from monks invited by Duke Aidan, but this was far more sinister.

In seconds, the vortex left hundreds helpless. The cultists grew bolder, and more enemies closed in.

This wasn’t an ambush. It was war. A declaration against the Seavers.

O Sheenworth, who can save us?

Even calm Heloise now felt despair. Leaning against the wagon with her gun, she couldn’t help but think this.

And just then, as if answering her prayer, a mysterious male voice rang in her ears.

"Heh, didn’t expect those bugs to get so cocky after a few centuries of sleep."