Lord of Spells from Faerûn

Cyric stopped in the stairwell, hidden in the shadows. The trap door above his head led to the top of the circular tower, where several people were talking. His voice was low, but he believed that two of the men were Kelemvor and Midnight, whom the rogue had watched follow Melkor into the tower.

Cyric cautiously climbed the stairs and looked towards the roof. Elminster was picking up a Tablet of Destiny, putting it into the bag he had been carrying since Tanreth, and handing it to Midnight. Imric was casting a spell to heal Midnight, and then he and Black Staff left the tower. They flew into the sky and flew towards the border of Waterdeep City, where there were still some remaining demons and monsters that needed to be dealt with.

Midnight had fallen into complete weakness at this time. Even after experiencing the healing power of divine magic, the weakness emanating from her soul made her unable to even lift her fingers. She could only lie on Kelanvor's arms, panting and watching. Looking at the dim sky in the distance and the darkness and defeat in the streets, she couldn't help but feel depressed. It was she who killed Melkor with her own hands and caused the death of countless soldiers.

The old sage walked to the edge of the tower and stared at the port in the distance, which was the only way to the Deepwater Mountain. Many monsters also gathered. They tried to leave through the waterway. The army blocking there had been defeated by these monsters. , these remaining monsters seemed unaware that their master, Melkor, was dead, and were flying around like headless flies throughout Waterdeep City, trying to find a way out.

"I must stop them." Elminster couldn't help but feel a little worried when he saw the soldiers in the army being killed. Kelben and Imric had already gone to clean up the remaining monsters in Waterdeep City, but their speed could not keep up with them. The scattered monsters were killing so fast that there were twenty squads of soldiers left in the dock area, and he had to go and help.

He looked back at Kelemvor, "When Melkor's army begins to retreat, take the stone tablet to the Holy Steps of Heaven. But don't move before then, otherwise the demon people will come to trouble you. Do you understand?"

"But where are the holy steps of heaven?"

Elminster frowned, as if the answer was too obvious. "Over there," he pointed to the top of Waterdeep.

Then, the old sage walked out from the stairs.

Cyric slipped into another small room before the sage entered the stairs, watching and listening to everything that happened on the roof.

"It's a good thing you didn't steal the stone slab and run away immediately," his weapon commented, "even I can't protect you from the demon people's army."

Cyric didn't answer. He waited for Elminster's footsteps to fade away, and then returned to the stairwell, waiting for an opportunity, an opportunity that would allow him to gain everything.

A few minutes later, Midnight woke up and immediately noticed that Elminster was no longer there: "Where is Elminster, where has he gone?"

Kelemvor told Midnight the whereabouts of the old sage, and the two sat quietly waiting for the road to the top of Waterdeep to become safe.

But Cyric would not let them simply reap the rewards. The incarnation of the shadow merged into the shadow, and the thief, holding the scarlet dagger, approached the two of them step by step.

Midnight was the first to see Cyric. "Kay!" she screamed.

"What?" the soldier asked confused.

Cyric took advantage of Kelemvor's confusion and rushed forward, hoping to finish off the warrior quickly. The others could be taken care of slowly, but it was too dangerous to leave Kelemvor alive.

"It's Cyric!" Midnight shouted.

Kelemvor turned to face his attacker, and the warrior screamed as Cyric's blade slashed across the warrior's chest, missing its target by a hair. Realizing that he still had the advantage, the thief stepped forward and slipped his ankle behind the warrior's knee, tripping Kelemvor as he tried to retreat.

"Stop!" Midnight shouted, stepping into the range that could attack Cyric. Her arms were shaking slightly, and her deep fatigue prevented her from raising her hand to cast a spell.

"Don't be stupid!" Cyric shouted, "Put down your weapon, or I will slit Kai's throat immediately."

Midnight stared at him blankly, as if the person in front of him looked like something he had never seen before. Cyric took a deep breath and stared back. He is this kind of person, and he has always been. If Midnight had ever had any extravagant hopes for him , that’s just a castle in the air.

How can a canary in a cage be free?

"What do you want?" Midnight's eyes became cold, and her deep voice seemed to be filled with ice that could not be resolved for thousands of years.

"It hasn't changed all this time," Cyric answered. "The Tablet of Destiny."

"Then you can become a god," Midnight taunted, "Io won't let thieves and murderers become gods!"

Cyric burst out laughing. "Why not?" he asked. "This is the same king who created Baal, Bane, and Melkor!"

Midnight frowned. She had never considered that Io might be an evil god, or that he didn't care about good or evil at all. But it didn't matter at the moment. She took a step back and summoned a [Magic Missile] spell.

"He will die!" cried Cyric, recognizing the concentration in Midnight's eyes. "Give me the slate, now!"

The spell she was chanting in the middle of the night was stopped, and the backlash of magic made her already tired body even weaker. She spit out a mouthful of blood from the corner of her mouth, and grabbed the cloth bag with her left hand. It was the slate that Cyric longed for.

"So, are you really going to kill Kelanvor for this slate? Kill your best friend?" Midnight asked sharply.

Cyric's black eyes dimmed, but the dagger in his hand now glowed slightly red, and the last trace of hesitation was left behind by him.

"certainly."

The dagger was closer to the skin, and a trace of blood fell down, being absorbed by the hungry demon sword.

"What about between us? Are you acting in everything we have experienced?" Midnight is still unwilling to accept it. She doesn't believe that the young man who once poured out his heart under the moonlight is actually such a person.

"We all wear masks, don't we?" Cyric said meaningfully.

He raised the corners of his mouth, and his eyes became colder than ever before: "And I just have a better mask."

The red light of the magic sword in his hand grew brighter, and Cyric's heart became colder and colder. At this point, he could no longer look back, but when did it become like this?

There was a trace of confusion in the thief's eyes. He had treated them sincerely and tried to reach the top with them, but they turned a cold shoulder to him because he killed those hypocritical Shadow Valley people, and even wanted to take him back. Death, but didn’t he do it for them?

He is not a good person to begin with, and naturally he is not qualified to pursue those things under the sun.

In this quiet and noisy night, heavy rain fell, and it seemed that only the three of them were left on the vast land of Faerûn. This is a stage, and they are puppets, with dense silk threads wrapped around every inch of their skin. There seemed to be a weak female voice in the magic net in the void, and a deep sigh came from it.