Lord of Spells from Faerûn

Cyric didn't speak. He was indeed a little shocked by what Marek said, but he was no longer the same person as he used to be. The hole in his heart and the lonely darkness had all been filled.

"Kelamvor Midnight," Cyric murmured.

"What did you say?" Marek asked with a frown, but he quickly stopped caring.

"The potion will make you confused. You will be a little confused before the fever subsides." Marek picked up the box and left it next to Cyric's pillow. "I don't want you to dismiss our conversation as just a morning fever dream."

As soon as Marek's hand grasped the doorknob, he heard movement from Cyric's bed. "Go back and lie down, Cyric. You will hurt yourself." He said, but he was feeling smug in his heart. Look, he was about to kneel down and beg me not to leave.

"Pfft." A sound.

The sharp dagger stretched out from Cyric's hand and was inserted into Marek's back accurately.

Cyric stared blankly at his former mentor falling to the floor, not knowing what he was thinking. After a while, Moglin appeared at Cyric's door, followed by two guards.

"A spy," Cyric's voice was hoarse, "wanted to poison me. He wanted to use the antidote to force me to reveal information. I killed him and got the antidote."

Moglin nodded, "It seems you are doing well under my command."

The body was removed and Cyric crawled back into bed. When the venom from the ground flowed through his body, he was on the verge of fantasy. He seemed to be trapped in a nightmare, and while he was half asleep and half awake, phantoms flashed in his mind.

He was a child on the streets of Zhentil Keep, alone, running from parents who wanted to sell him into slavery to pay off their debts. He stood before Marek and the members of the Thieves' Guild, allowing them to judge his worth as a human being, a young man in rags and bloodstains who survived by robbing. Their judgment eventually led to his becoming a member of the guild.

However, when Cyric needed him most, when he was sentenced to death by the Guild and forced to flee Zhentil Keep, Marek turned away.

Turn around and leave.

He always turns away.

A few hours later, Cyric struggled out of bed. The red mist in front of his eyes had disappeared. His blood had cooled down and his breathing had become regular. He was too tired to stay awake, so he fell on the bed again and fell asleep in the soft moonlight of Selune that filtered through the window.

"I'm free," he murmured in the darkness, "free..."

——

Five days later.

The details of the division of labor had been arranged long before dawn, and Kelanvor could not help but be amazed at the progress that had been made in the past few days. Mehel, captain of the militia of Shadowdale, has rallied hundreds of soldiers who have volunteered to defend Shadowdale, and Kelemvor stands beside him. Many came to the Vale through Gnoll Pass and Shadow Gap, knowing that if the Vale failed in battle against Bane and his army, a similar fate would befall them.

Half a year ago, Shadow Valley suffered heavy losses in the attack on Zhentil Castle. When they learned that they were about to invade their homeland again, everyone was furious and wished they could kill those evil murderers immediately.

Imric arranged a large number of magic traps for them outside the city. Many of the old preset points in Shadow Valley had been completely damaged due to the collapse of the magic network. Imric had to erase the original magic circles and replace them with New magic traps.

Midnight walked over anxiously at this time and said: "Come to the Taimora Temple quickly, someone is attacking here."

After hearing this, several people quickly followed, and when they arrived they found that the place was already full of people.

Morglin learned of the vicious attack on Tymora's temple. Elminster was also summoned to meet his lord at the temple gates.

The bard Storm Silverhand also appeared quickly. She wore the emblem of the Harper, a silver moon and a silver harp on a royal blue background. The night wind picked up her messy silver hair and they flew in the air, making her look more like an undead coming for revenge than a human woman. Wearing the bright silver armor of the valley, she walked past the lords and sages without saying a word.

Morglin did not stop her. Instead, he followed her into the desecrated temple. They began to observe the destruction and murder, remaining politely silent. The Holy Symbol of Bane, painted with the blood of the dead, immediately caught their attention. Storm turned to question the guard who had discovered the disaster.

The priest believed that the attackers were trying to demoralize the supporters of Shadow Valley. Storm Silverhand stared at the priest suspiciously. She treated any outsider who was at the scene of the tragedy equally.

"He was preparing the body of the deceased, so his hands were stained with blood," Elminster said. "There was no malice in these actions and he was innocent."

Storm looked to Morglin, who was furious at the attack. "The Harpers will be with you, my lord. Together we will avenge this despicable act."

Then she left, the grief of the tragedy threatening to break her iron self-control. Moglin sent people to do the aftermath work of identifying and burying the bodies. The old sage stood side by side with him and lowered his voice.

"Bane is the god of strife. It is not unexpected that he wants to disturb us, shake our spirits, and make us immersed in sorrow and unable to fight." Elminster said, "We cannot let his plan Succeed."

"We won't," said Morglin, shaking with rage.

This episode did not cause a huge blow to morale. On the contrary, it aroused the people of Shadow Valley to have greater resistance and fighting spirit. Moglin personally selected signalmen. They would send signals above Harp Mountain and Old Skeleton to announce the enemy's arrival. Before they headed to their outpost, Moglin checked all of their equipment and supplies to make sure they would last long enough.

Archers were lurking in the woods, ready to protect the road and be wary of the Zhentil troops coming from the northeast. War may not come in a few days, but the archers know they must be prepared.

Kelemvor was busy these days gathering craftsmen, who had been working for some time, forging shields, swords, daggers, and armor for those who had no blood and determination.

On the other side, Cyric organized an army at the Abasha Bridge in Shadow Valley, but he was troubled to find that "his" men were full of resentment. First of all, no one is here voluntarily, everyone wants to be on the front lines to witness the glory of war, not to guard the bridge in case other forces attack from the west. Second, and most importantly, they resented having to be ordered around by outsiders. However, in this regard, they were evenly matched, and Cyric also disdained to give orders to these idiots who, in his view, were unreasonable, rude, and loud-mouthed.

There are also ambushes at the intersection of taverns in the city, and workers are building movable straw barriers to defend against the Zhentil bows and arrows that reach the town. Merchant Willund's warehouse has been emptied. If the Zhentils want to fight at the crossroads, an ambush will appear in the warehouse, hoping to catch the opponent off guard.

Imric was standing outside the Temple of Tymora with Elminster and Midnight, and invisible magical energy surrounded them.

"This is..." Imrik frowned, seeming a little familiar.

"The Holy Steps of Heaven." Midnight said every word, with sadness in her eyes.

"Yes, it's the same as the one your Lady Mystra wants to use to return to God's Realm." Elminster said.

Midnight took a few steps back in panic, "Then Bane..."

"What he wants is not the Vale," Elminster said, "what he wants is to return to God's Realm."

"But Heim will stop him, even kill him-"

"Then the Valley of Shadows would be reduced to a smoking pit, an ever-black mark on the traveler's map."

Midnight covered her face with her hands, "It's like the Tomb Castle. But what should we do?"

Elminster patted the air beside him, "Of course, to destroy this holy staircase of heaven!"

Midnight asked the sage, "How do we destroy what the gods have made?"

"Perhaps you can tell me the answer," said Elminster.

"Come in with me." Elminster waved his hand and said, "Imric, Midnight, I need your help to find the answer."

The Temple of Tymora has an extremely rich collection of spell books, and Elminster decided to lead the two of them to find a solution to everything here.

——

On the other side, Bane's army had arrived outside the forest.

The scene was the same as half a year ago, but what was different was a more elite and powerful army.

Knights wearing black armor formed a knighthood of hundreds. They wore swords shining with magic aura around their waists and rode on terrifying black horses. In the middle of them, guarded a huge black throne, the God of Dispute— -Bane, sitting proudly on it.

Outside the knights, there were thousands of elite warriors and archers. Fu Zuoer, wearing a priest's robe, was standing respectfully next to the throne, but strangely, Manson was not seen.

"My people, my believers," Ben said softly, "Kill, kill for me."

"Ban!" "Ban!!" "Ban!!!"

Fierce roars resounded among the legion, and the army rushed into the forest like a black torrent.

"Enemy attack!!" The Harper agents lurking here quickly sent a message. They activated the traps they had already installed and used the rain of arrows to kill the lives of these troops.

Ben didn't take any action and watched everything in front of him quietly.

"What a wonderful feeling, the power is back again." Ben said beautifully, clenching his fists.

His power grew with each death, just as Melkor had promised. The body of the Lord of Darkness exudes a red spiritual light, which is the effect of absorbing a large number of souls. As more and more people died, both Zhentil and denizens of the Vale, and the aura grew in intensity, it became increasingly difficult for the Dark Lord to contain his joy.

Ben coldly continued to order the army to enter the forest and carve out a path with human lives. However, the soldiers who had been captured by the gods had no scruples. They rushed madly towards everyone who was not wearing the uniforms of Zhentil Fort, their sharp long spears The sword killed them one by one. It didn't matter even if his limbs were cut off or even his intestines came out. The bloody killing started grandly in the forest.

Before Shadow Valley was ready, the war began.