"Ugh..."
Anello’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Saliva and tears trickled down his cheeks, leaving him capable of only hoarse sounds of agony.
The elites did not halt their assault for even an instant. Taking advantage of Anello’s inability to dodge amidst the onslaught, they drove ice spikes accurately into the meat of his calves. The bone-chilling, piercing mana rendered his lower legs completely devoid of feeling, as though they had been severed.
A pair of large hands shoved his head down against the floor, while the others, like starving tigers pouncing on their prey, plunged ice spikes one by one into his limbs, piercing through his collar and trousers. Blood instantly soaked his dark-gray coat, only to freeze solid in the next breath.
He felt only a fleeting jolt of agony before numbness took over each wound, yet that chilling, horrifying sensation almost tore an instinctive scream from his throat.
In the end, sensation steadily drained from his body, and the color faded from his face until he was paper-pale. He could only stare on rigidly, watching it all unfold, powerless to resist.
Even if someone were to sever his limbs now, he likely would not feel any pain.
The provincial Demon King's Army guards calmly bound Anello, completing their assignment.
Even if it had been the Holy Son or Saintess of another bishop who had dared stir up trouble in this city-state and walked so easily into a room blanketed in anti-mage suppression barriers, hunted down by a well-coordinated unit of warriors, they would have had no room to maneuver either, even at the peak of tier 6.
"You... all of you..."
Sprawled on the floor, Anello looked forward with great effort.
Viscount Chinston’s expression seemed completely transformed. He stood there gazing coldly down at Anello, as though looking at a lamb awaiting slaughter.
Though numb, freezing, and weak amid shock and fury, Anello still refused to surrender.
His voice hoarse, he shouted with venomous fury, "I am Anello! The Resurrection Church’s Holy Son of Extinction! Viscount Chinston, do you have any idea what you are doing?!"
He swore that no matter what, he would subject this frontier noble's entire family to the most horrific execution!
"The Holy Son of Extinction, is it? Well, aren't you impressive. Keep going, I'm listening."
Viscount Chinston seemed entirely unconcerned by Anello’s threats, nodding as though placating an exasperated child throwing a tantrum.
"Viscount Chinston! You have brought utter catastrophe upon yourself! You are committing a crime! You will be tried before the imperial military tribunal!"
Though Anello’s body was grievously wounded, his spirit remained unbroken.
He continued to threaten Viscount Chinston every way he could, but the viscount merely sneered, refusing to take him seriously at all.
"A military tribunal, is it? Look at you, knowing so much."
Viscount Chinston chuckled, drawing mocking sneers from the provincial elites restraining Anello.
A member of the Spectre Party still had the gall to act tough and try to scare them.
"Have you all lost your minds?! Loren is here! Loren has come to the Northern Continent! I must contact the Imperial Capital of Herrom!"
Anello choked on his words amid a fit of coughing, each desperate shout sapping more of his vitality.
With his composure unraveling, Anello finally understood the sheer stupidity and absurdity of these snowfield nobles.
Out here, they might truly dare to assassinate the Emperor himself.
Yet Viscount Chinston’s gaze never wavered. A flicker of pity gleamed in his eyes, mirrored by the expressions of the elite guards around him.
Instead of softening as Anello had hoped, Viscount Chinston looked down at the subdued captive, shaking his head with a laugh. "How absurd. A 'Holy Son of Extinction,' weeping and begging right here. You truly have gone mad."
The atmosphere in the office grew increasingly eerie and heavy with Viscount Chinston’s words. It no longer felt like a governor's office, but rather an isolation ward in an asylum.
Anello tried to rein in his shattered composure, but found it nearly impossible.
Anello’s shouts and struggles became the sole sounds in this ward, starkly jarring against Viscount Chinston’s cold sneers. The situation felt like an endless loop: the harder Anello tried to prove himself, the more Viscount Chinston treated him as a lunatic.
It plunged Anello into unprecedented despair.
He could not escape this fate of being misunderstood and ridiculed. The monumental truth he possessed—one capable of shaking the empire—was utterly meaningless to these snowfield dwellers.
Then he suddenly realized.
Viscount Chinston’s gaze, movements, and smiles all carried an unnatural quality he had never encountered before.
This province—or more precisely, this Governor's Mansion—was completely severed from the outside world. Every detail, every word, every interaction carried a bizarre dissonance, as though he had crossed into a parallel timeline and found himself trapped in an entirely different nightmare.
Hovering in midair beside the desk, that eerie transmission that chilled Anello to the bone was still ongoing, emitting a faint crackle like a distant echo.
"Viscount, it seems everything went smoothly."
The voice came through the receiver once more.
"Reporting to the governor: a set of tier-6 magic-suppression spikes has been driven into the criminal's body per standard specifications," Viscount Chinston said, turning toward the desk.
Although no one sat behind the desk, he reported the mission's progress with devout reverence, as though addressing an invisible figure seated there.
At that moment, Anello was finally certain: from the moment he entered the Governor's Mansion, it was the person on the other end of the line pulling the strings of these Snowfield Province locals.
Yet he could not fathom what kind of sinister mind-control spell High Priest Loren had used to make citizens of the Protos Empire serve him with such fanatical, mindless devotion!
"Move him five meters to the left. Have him face the sofa in the office."
From the receiver, the crackling static intertwined with the man's gentle voice.
Like a blunt blade, it slowly scraped across Anello’s mind and dignity.
"Yes, sir," Viscount Chinston answered.
Several elites immediately dragged Anello across the floor, positioning him directly in front of the sofa in the governor's office.
"Anello, I didn't expect you to reach my Governor's Mansion so quickly. I didn't even have time to greet you in person."
The clear, resonant voice emanating from the receiver echoed through the office, every word sounding poised, calm, and amiably warm.
To Anello, it was all the more unbearable.
"No matter, though."
As the voice from the receiver grew increasingly layered and surreal, the very same words began to overlap from just outside the room.
At last, two figures stepped through the doorway of the governor's office.
Light fell upon the two of them like a brilliant stream of radiance.
Lanqi’s suit and overcoat fluttered gently. His deep eyes seemed both smiling and contemplative. In his left hand, he held the communication spell, while in his other arm he held the little black cat, its long black tail gracefully coiled around his wrist.
After entering the office with Side, as though masters returning to their own residence, they sat upon the sofa and looked down at Anello sprawled on the floor.
"Student Anello, I believe every meeting in life is a reunion after a long parting."
Hearing Lanqi’s calm words, Anello felt his heart pounding like a war drum while his spirit plunged into an icy abyss.
Trembling, he lifted his head and met those eyes that remained so impeccably refined—an emerald green as clear as a lake in spring.
Even though the man had altered his appearance and now possessed brown hair, that gaze and voice had not changed in the slightest.
It was this very man who had briefly offered him redemption before, and who had now once again become a nightmare from which he could never escape.
Chapter 350