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... h the man’s bottom-up through his body till it exited out his mouth outside the manor gates. The winds carried the scent of blood across Vastaroph as the man—the Spy— gargled on the iron spear. He would not die soon. Maybe in a week, possibly two, if no one aided him. There would be some, of course, Forsaken whose single job for the next month it was to keep this man alive.

The man had been a spy sent by Silos, the foolish king, who did not seem to know his place. A warning had already b ...

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He rubbed his hands together gleefully. Was there such a good thing?

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Cyril struggled to make it through the Blackheart Wizard Academy. Fortunately, there was the gentle and courteous chief gentleman to cling to. This was until he found that the handsome chief seemed to be plotting against him…

My god! This seemed to the other identity of the crazy great magician and necromancer?

***

According to legends, the dark, paranoid, crazy and perverted great necromancer rubbed the white and delicate neck of the beautiful young man in his arms and whispered, “My dear, I heard that you have been very close to the commander of the Holy Light Knights recently?

Cyril denied it three consecutive times with an innocent face, “I’m not! I didn’t! Who is talking nonsense?”

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