Chapter 13 Fear the Deathmongers
Before the figure could escape, a crooked staff slammed into his back, then whipped down to knock the vial from his hand.
He groaned and turned, stunned someone had struck him hard enough to slip past his guard. His eyes, the only part that was visible from his masked face, flickered with dread. "Ragnar Crowfield."
He spun to jump down the platform, but his steps halted as a crushing sound filled the air. His eyes widened in horror as he looked down at his chest, only to find a crooked staff piercing out of his chest, his blood dripping slowly from the tip of it.
The moment the stick was retracted back, he dropped to the ground, his body going still. The vial lay just a reach away. But everything turned dark.
"Emperor Ragnar," Federick mused as he stared at his handiwork.
"A thief, how despicable?" Ragnar clicked his tongue in distaste. His long black hair cascaded down his back, his lips were painted black and his eyes looked dark from the black eyeliner. His skin looked paler in contrast to the black paint. His ears were adorned with earring rings.
"Poor fellow. Only if he knew the Emperor of Gravemarch was here." Federick shook sorrowfully as if he really pitied the thief. "Guess you’ll need more than shadow magic to steal from a Creowfield."
He stretched his short legs over the thief’s lying body, picking up the vial. He held it up, his eyes widened in awe. "You know this is my first time seeing the Oas liquid."
However, Ragnar ignored him, as he made his way back to his seat. His sharp gaze moved back to Dimitri and Aura, who were trying to suppress the attack. A crazy glint flickered across his eyes.