Sagres's gaze swept over the terrified prisoners before finally settling on the young man who had been tortured to the brink of death.
He casually waved his wand, and a soft glow instantly enveloped the young man.
His wounds faded at a visible rate. Broken bones knitted back together, and even the horrifying burn on his thigh quickly grew new flesh, leaving only a faint pink mark behind.
The young man groaned and slowly opened his eyes, seemingly unable to believe that he was still alive and that the pain had vanished.
Ignoring the astonished gazes of the young man and the other prisoners, Sagres walked directly towards Omar, the old wizard from the School of Withering who was still shackled.
Omar could no longer maintain his previous composure.
The way Sagres had dealt with the clerics, crushing them as casually as insects, had filled him with unprecedented fear.
"Wait... wait..." Omar tried to speak, his voice dry and hoarse.
But Sagres had no intention of talking to him.
He pressed the tip of his wand directly against Omar's forehead.
Omar's memories were like a warehouse filled with rotting filth, packed with dangerous plague formulas, records of cruel human experiments, sinister rituals for controlling corpses, and an extreme contempt for ordinary people.
He was indeed a pure Dark Wizard who took pleasure in spreading pain and death, using the lives of innocent people as stepping stones in his exploration of dark magic.
To Sagres, this knowledge was not only worthless but also filled with repulsive stupidity and shortsightedness.
A moment later, Sagres withdrew his wand.
Omar seemed as though his soul had been sucked out. His eyes became as hollow as those of the clerics before him, and he collapsed limply to the ground.
"Tch. Rubbish."
Sagres muttered to himself before casually draining Omar's magic.
He then turned towards the remaining prisoners.
Most of them were ordinary villagers. They were now trembling in fear, uncertain what this black-robed figure, who seemed even more terrifying than the Church, intended to do next.
Sagres's gaze swept across the group before finally settling on a frail young girl huddled in one corner.
He raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.
"Look up," he ordered.
The girl trembled all over before slowly raising her head in fear.
Her face was covered in dirt, but her eyes were exceptionally clear, and deep within them Sagres could sense the faint ripple of magic.
Only then did Sagres realise that there really was someone among these prisoners with the potential to become a witch.
It seemed that even the girl herself had never noticed it, or perhaps she had instinctively been suppressing and concealing it.
Sagres waved his wand.
With several crisp clangs, the iron chains around the prisoners' wrists and ankles snapped apart and fell to the ground.
The prisoners froze.
They stared at their freed hands in disbelief, then looked back at Sagres with fear.
Sagres ignored the others and looked only at the girl.
"Are you willing to leave this place and come with me somewhere you can learn to control your own power? A school of magic."
The girl's eyes widened.
The sudden flood of information left her unable to react for a moment.
She looked at the clerics lying on the ground with vacant expressions, then at the mysterious and powerful black-robed figure before her, and finally at her equally bewildered but now liberated companions.
In the end, her instinct for survival and her yearning for the unknown overcame the fear in her heart.
She nodded vigorously.
"I... I'm willing."
Her voice was weak but firm.
"Very well."
Sagres said nothing more.
He stepped forward and grasped the girl's arm.
Crack!
Space twisted for an instant, and the two vanished from the spot.
A deathly silence descended over the camp.
Only the crackling of the bonfire, the muffled cries of the knights writhing on the ground, and the vacant stares of the clerics remained.
The freed prisoners looked at one another, their relief at having survived mingling with their awe and fear of such overwhelming magic.
But soon, their attention was drawn to the Church personnel lying on the ground, now completely incapable of resisting.
Long-suppressed fear, anger at having been forcibly taken away, humiliation from being wantonly tortured... all of it erupted at once like ignited gunpowder.
No one knew who moved first.
Someone bent down, picked up a stone, and hurled it viciously at a writhing knight.
"Die, you devils!"
"Go to hell!"
"They're finally getting what they deserve!"
Roars erupted one after another.
The surviving villagers, including the young man Sagres had just healed, rushed forward with bloodshot eyes, grabbing stones from the ground and surging like a tide towards the immobilised knights and clerics.
Stones rained down.
Dull thuds of breaking bones mingled with dying screams as the flames of revenge swept through the camp.
The cruelty once inflicted upon them was now being returned in the most primitive way.
The exhilaration was like strong liquor, fierce but short-lived.
When the last bloodstained stone slipped from their hands, the villagers stared at the blood-soaked scene before them.
Their boiling anger gradually cooled, replaced by dazed exhaustion and bone-deep weariness.
The air was thick with the smell of blood and burnt flesh, stinging their noses.
The brief silence was broken by a faint sound.
The young man Sagres had just healed stumbled towards the Chief Priest's still-luxurious tent.
The tent flap hung open, and warm light spilled from within.
He hesitated for a moment before ducking inside.
The other villagers' gazes instinctively followed him.
A moment later, a muffled thud came from inside the tent, followed by a suppressed gasp.
Then came the clear clinking of metal.
"Money! There's gold in here!"
The people outside immediately reacted and rushed into the tent.
As soon as they entered, several of them saw the Chief Priest's body lying on the ground.
The young man was clutching a heavy cloth bag. Its opening had come loose, revealing several gold coins and silver objects gleaming enticingly in the light from the bonfire outside.
These were precisely the valuables the Chief Priest had previously plundered from the villagers, selecting the most valuable pieces and keeping them for himself.
In that instant, whatever reason remained in the camp was completely overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of wealth.
Fear, bewilderment, and even the anger that had only just subsided were replaced by an even fiercer desire.
Greed.
___
o(*≧▽≦)ツ💫 Read up to 12+ chapters in advance on Patreon/DarkDevil1