Greatest Legacy of the Magus Universe

Chapter 2173: Slaughterhouse

While the trap at the Gala had fully sprung, traps elsewhere throughout the city were also flaring to life.

In a luxurious manor in Lords’ Borough, a scene straight from the bloodiest pits of hell had unfolded.

The estate belonged to Nicholaus Hitchcock, a Paladin renowned for his strength and one of the wealthiest merchants in Davos.

He was also one of the Unknown Lords who had supported Emily Damon’s ascension to the office of Known Lord a decade ago.

Tonight, his manor had become a slaughterhouse.

Every guard protecting the estate had been killed. It didn’t matter how powerful they were; none had managed to escape the slaughter.

The courtyard was dyed red with blood. Bodies lay scattered across the stone pathways, their weapons still clutched in their hands. Some had been cut down before they could even draw their swords. Others had fought desperately, leaving deep gouges in the surrounding walls and pillars.

But their efforts had amounted to nothing.

Whoever had invaded the manor had possessed overwhelming strength. And they had shown no mercy.

Inside the house, the carnage was even more appalling.

The servants—mortals, all—had been beheaded, their bodies discarded wherever they had fallen. Blood stained the carpets, splashed across the walls, and pooled beneath overturned furniture.

The members of the Hitchcock family had suffered an even more horrific fate.

The children had been dragged into one place and slaughtered beneath the iron boots of their killers. Their small bodies lay broken on the floor, their skulls and spines shattered beyond recognition.

The men and women of the family had been butchered like cattle.

There had been no distinction between the young and the old, the armed and the unarmed. Everyone had been slaughtered without exception.

A line of corpses stretched through the manor, leading toward the master bedroom.

And there, at the end of that bloody trail, lay Nicholaus Hitchcock himself.

The aged man rested upon an enormous bed, surrounded by an assortment of life-sustaining apparatuses. Tubes connected his frail body to strange devices that hummed and clicked intermittently, keeping him alive despite his failing health.

His hair had all but disappeared. His skin had turned a sickly shade of grey, clinging tightly to his emaciated frame. His gums were yellowed, his remaining teeth blackened, and his eyes had sunk deep into their sockets.

He stared blankly at the shadowy figures in the room.

Several men in armor surrounded his deathbed. They stood silently, their faces concealed behind their helmets, their weapons stained with fresh blood.

One of them approached closer. He looked at the dying Paladin, observing the frail figure with neither pity nor hesitation.

Then he spoke: "Lord Nicholaus Hitchcock. We have come to collect what is owed."

The old man’s eyes shifted to the speaker, then to the rose carved into the breastplate.

Something akin to a sneer escaped his lips. "So it was you all along."

Nicholaus had always wondered where the insidious poison had come from.

At first, the symptoms had been subtle. He hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong until the damage had become irreversible. By then, it was already too late.

The poison must have been administered daily in small doses by someone close to him. Someone he trusted. Someone who had betrayed him. But none of that mattered anymore.

He was going to die.

All he wanted to know was one thing.

"Why?"

The man in blood-stained armor tilted his head, glancing at Nicholaus curiously.

Without bothering to even answer the Unknown Lord, he raised his sword and drove it into his chest. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The figures silently departed, leaving behind the dying man as his agonized moans echoed through the bedroom.

Nicholaus Hitchcock would not die quickly.

He would die a slow, agonizing death.

***

Mount Davos.

Deep beneath the mountain lay an ancient vault, carved directly into its heart.

It was the lair of the Dragon of Davos, Ajax.

The anguished bellows of a wounded beast echoed mournfully throughout the enormous cavern.

Torches placed at fixed intervals illuminated the horrors of this place, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls.

A dozen powerful figures surrounded the silver dragon. Each radiated an overwhelming presence equivalent to the dragon’s, their auras filling the cavern with a suffocating sense of oppression.

Brilliant mana strings, thick as trees, coiled around the dragon’s limbs, tail, and neck, pinning him firmly to the ground. His wings had long since been torn apart.

A pond of blood had gathered beneath his thrashing body, spreading across the stone floor with every desperate movement.

Twenty figures had infiltrated his lair. The dragon had killed eight of them. In the end, he was still overwhelmed.

Ajax, once the proud and mighty Dragon of Davos, had been reduced to this miserable state by twenty Magi and Paladins.

His silver, predatory eyes gleamed with rage, betrayal, and perhaps most disturbingly... fear.

"You bunch of vermin think you can take this city?" Ajax snarled.

One of the figures, a Paladin whose armor was dented and whose body was bleeding profusely, nodded in agreement.

"We know, mighty dragon. A city as powerful as Davos cannot be destroyed from without. Only within. We are not fools."

Ajax’s giant eyes trembled.

One of the Magi, who was also in a terribly disheveled state, waved his hand impatiently.

"Enough! Kill the beast already. Do not damage the organs. We need to harvest them in prime condition. Every body part is valuable."

The other Magi exchanged glances before nodding.

Then, one after another, they poured their mana into the bindings and unleashed a final spell.

A guttural roar of pain and agony erupted from Ajax’s maw. The silver dragon thrashed violently, desperately trying to break free, but the bindings held him firm.

Then came a terrifying, bloodcurdling tear.

ROOOAAAARRRR!!

Ajax’s tail was the first to be torn from his body. Blood gushed from the severed stump, splattering across the stone floor.

One by one, the bindings tightened. Another horrific tear echoed through the cavern. Then another. And another.

Ajax’s screams reverberated throughout the vault, his once-mighty body violently dismembered by the combined might of the Magi’s spell.

Blood flowed like a river.

The Paladins stepped forward, driving their weapons into the dragon’s limbless body, pinning it to the ground.

Finally, the bindings around Ajax’s neck tightened.

The silver dragon let out one last, earth-shattering roar.

With a tremendous burst of mana, his head was torn from his body.

Silence descended upon the cavern.

The Magi collapsed onto the bloody ground, their faces pale and their mana reserves dangerously low. The Paladins fared no better. Taking down a dragon was no joke, especially one as powerful as Ajax.

Yet they had succeeded.

And just like that, one of the guardians of this great city had met his end.

The mighty Ajax, the Dragon of Davos, was dead.