Lord of Spells from Faerûn

Bloodlust filled Cyric's mind. He had never felt such a powerful and unknown desire to kill. The emotion was not his own, and Cyric was furious.

"Sir, you are back." In the dark night, Cyric's men were waiting for him under a big tree. It was Finn, a former Zhentarim member who was recovered by Cyric and was very good at spying on intelligence.

Finn looked at Cyric with some worry, something seemed wrong with him.

"Kill him." A soft female voice came from Cyric's mind.

"You're still alive!!" Cyric roared, pulling out his dagger and staring at the weapon in his hand.

He picked up this weapon from a valley. Since picking it up, this voice has appeared from time to time, asking him for the blood of sacrifices to satisfy his desire for the dagger. Recently, this voice has not appeared. Hope Rick thought the other party was dead, but he didn't expect that he still appeared and had such a huge impact on him.

The weapons remain silent.

"answer me!"

The dagger grew dimmer before his eyes, desire and disappointment crept into his heart, and the thief found himself completely immersed in the pain of hunger and thirst. As the blade changed, Cyric became less and less able to pay attention to the things around him. When the weapon turned completely white, he knew nothing.

Behind Cyric, a female voice sounded. "I'm hungry."

He stood up and turned around. What appeared in front of him was a girl of fourteen or fifteen years old. She wears a thin red dress that hints at her physical maturity but also exposes her protruding ribs and belly swollen by hunger. The girl's black satin hair outlined a haggard face, and her eyes were sunken from exhaustion and despair.

Behind her was the endless white plain, and Cyric stood in a wasteland that was as flat as a tabletop and as void as air. The boulder he had sat on was gone, the surrounding mountains were gone, and even the dagger on his knees was gone.

"What is this place?" Cyric asked.

The girl ignored his question and knelt on the ground. "Cyric, please help me," she said earnestly, "I haven't eaten in days."

Cyric just looked at him coldly. This attitude angered the girl, and she turned into an ugly old woman, growing sharp teeth and pounced on Cyric.

But he didn't dodge, because he knew that if he wanted to become the master of this sword, he couldn't back down when facing the most ferocious side of the sword soul. He opened his mouth, smiled, and punched her temple with his fist. Then he stood up immediately and put his other arm around her neck.

The power disparity between the two became more and more disparate. Finally, he broke through the illusion, and the dagger in his hand surrendered.

After waking up, Cyric looked at Finn in front of him, and coldly inserted the dagger in his hand into the opponent's heart. The pulsating blood flowed into the sword. Finn looked at his commander in disbelief, the dark appearance of the dagger. , becomes as bright and red as a rose.

The other attendants on the side were shocked when they saw Cyric killing Finn so decisively, but they soon realized that the evil magic sword was once again in need of bloodthirsty sacrifices.

"Sir, what should we do next?" a subordinate asked.

Cyric was silent for a while and said coldly: "No one can stop me from getting what I want."

At this moment, Midnight also rushed over. As soon as she walked into the bushes, she heard Sirik's next words in the distance.

"She will come to me, and then I won't play these games with her." A hint of complexity flashed in Cyric's eyes.

"Ambush her, wait for her to arrive, tie her up, and gag her mouth for chanting spells." The thief ordered.

In the distance, the midnight heart feels like falling into an ice cellar. Kelemvor was right, Cyric was a traitor, and she needed no more evidence. The mage exhaled calmly, suppressing his anger. Her heart was still cold, and she swore that Cyric would pay for his betrayal.

A strange whine came from the river, and the rain became heavier and heavier. The smelly rain poured down, as if blown by a strong wind. The air was as calm as death, but there was a faint smell of blood. Midnight ignored the unusual rain; she had seen weirder things countless times since the night had fallen.

What she wants to do more now is to face Cyric, the damn traitor.

Midnight came out of the bushes, and Cyric unexpectedly recognized the black cloak: "Midnight?"

"It's me!" Midnight roared, "I know who you are."

Cyric shrugged, "What is it?"

Seeing the fresh corpse at Cyric's feet, and the tragic death situation as if all the blood had been drained from the body, "Monster!" Midnight shouted. This scene surprised her. "You're going to pay for this!"

"No," Cyric tilted his head, as if wondering why Midnight was so hostile, "You won't do anything to me, we are friends, remember?"

"That's over!" The mage wanted to kill Cyric, and the appropriate spell came to her mind.

"Dissociation.!" The spell came out slowly from the mage's mouth, but ended abruptly.

The thief's eyes suddenly widened in horror, his lips pursed tightly, and he urgently uttered one word: "No!"

Cyric's sudden panic made Midnight hesitate. She felt some movement behind her - and then the ambusher rushed toward her. A vicissitudes of hand covered the mage's mouth, and the contact burned her Lips. Another steel-like arm wrapped around her waist, and the strong smell of blood made her intestines churn in resistance.

Midnight wanted to cast her [Dissociation Technique], but found that she couldn't. The thing behind her made her unable to move, unable to pronounce spells or make gestures to perform spells.

The attacker in the dark night quickly lifted the mage up, retreated into the bushes, and disappeared in an instant. Cyric shouted: "Catch him! Get the female mage back to me!"

Cyric's heart was beating fast. That fleeting appearance of ferocity, those terrifying sharp claws, and the rich smell of blood were the murder god Baal who robbed Midnight.

Thinking of Baal's cruel methods, Cyric felt a tightness in his chest. Most of the mortals in Baal's hands ended up being scattered into hundreds of parts. Thinking that Midnight would soon destroy this clutches, Cyric Ke had to be nervous, for whatever reason.

Just when he was at a loss what to do, a huge flaming cross suddenly rose into the sky in the distance. In the dark night, the bright and sacred cross was like a morning star, breaking through the thick dark clouds and blood curses.

Five-ring magic: [Extremely effective and powerful spell enhancement, spell upgrade and expansion—Flame Strike]!

The silver-haired mage was fighting at high altitude, and the moonlight of Selûne focused on the white jade-like wand in his hand. In the blazing holy flames, there was Baal's miserable howl of pain.

"ah!!!"

I have been too busy with exams recently and have to review very late every day. I am cramming. I can only guarantee an update every two days this week. Normal updates will resume from Saturday and there will be more updates next week.