Chapter 322: Night Thieves
Time soon passed, and fortunately, with Barnabys and cipher’s connections, which had spread to almost all parts of the continent over the years
After entering the capital, they soon found a safe house he had prepared for them before now
The safehouse smelled of mold, cheap ale, and the sharp, ozone tang of superheated air.
From the single, grime-caked window of the attic room, the Grand Cathedral of the Kingdom of Light loomed over the city like a golden mountain.
Even in the dead of night, it was illuminated by massive arrays of holy magic, a shining beacon of the Pope’s absolute authority.
In the shadows of the attic, away from the window, three hardened veterans of the Black Thread prepared for a sacrilege.
"So many months," Lukas muttered, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that bore no resemblance to the terrified teenager who had once faced Prince Nero.
"So many months of hauling cargo, burning cultist camps, and sleeping in the dirt. And it all comes down to breaking into the Pope’s personal piggy bank."
Lukas sat on a rickety wooden chair, a set of fine dwarven tools spread across his lap. He was performing maintenance on his arms.
Or rather, the heavy, matte-black Magitech Gauntlets that seamlessly covered his forearms where his flesh ended. He twisted a wrench, loosening a pressure valve near his wrist.
HISS.
A jet of scalding steam vented into the room. Lukas didn’t flinch. His mana channels had been burned away a lifetime ago by the Golden Prince, but Hephaestus’s engineering had given him something better than natural magic: pure, unadulterated plasma.