Black Sail
Chapter 341: CCCXLI. The White Tower

Chapter 341: CCCXLI. The White Tower

The highest tower of the main city building in the castle.

Located at the very center of an oversized estate, outside there was a huge open-air swimming pool, but the tower was even taller.

Unless one had extraordinary skills to use Hook and Flying Rope, reaching there required entering the center of the city building and climbing the stairs to the top.

Furthermore, the castle’s Guard Team never gave Ben the chance to even use a Hook,, much less any interest in going there.

Ghost Eye Mad Blade Saleret, having a handle in Doringger’s hand, would continue to fight for Doringger until the dust had settled.

If Doringger returned in triumph, Saleret would be guarding a stolen good, and his only kin in the world had only the path of death.

Saleret would kill anyone who tried to approach the main city building.

And Ben, as a dark contender, never regarded Saleret’s life as anything but a tool to be exploited.

Even after entering the breach of the castle.

There were still plenty of guards within the vast estate.

Violet didn’t know what sins she had committed, doing well in the Western Continent, she had to cross the ocean with Fisher to extort.

Arrows shot out wildly, shooting the guards, along with their armors, into the air.

Weber, Nishi, Violet, and four Heavenly Punishers from the Holy Spirit Church, along with a High Priest, formed a line of eight, each guarding the others’ backs.

Inside this ten-zhang-tall majestic castle breach, they slaughtered the endless stream of guards.

"I’ll go alone and hack Doringger to pieces,"

Morison issued the command without further discussion, leaving Caroso and others to hold the line, leading the way for Ben. Flying Knife exploded one guard after another, piercing armor and nailing them several meters away. His hands wielding the Maple Forest High-frequency that cut through anything, in a magnificent whirl of violence, he blossomed into flowers of flesh and blood, cutting through the encirclement, and heading straight for the main city building.

One must live life with a howl, these recent times, or risk falling ill.

"You go too, we can handle it here,"

The Holy Spirit Church’s High Priest, knowledgeable in identifying Dragons, asked Celeste to follow the man with the disfigured face who had lost his wits.

Celeste was really done with this man.

"I’ll come too,"

Fen’s Spiritual Body was also present. He was multitasking, needing to understand the situation inside the castle to better direct the battlefield.

Main Tower.

The interior was extremely empty.

Mo’er, as a person wanted by the Warlock Council and the Tower Alliance, naturally didn’t have any concept of loyalty. It was just a cooperative relationship. Doringger, as the boss, was an extremely good decision-maker, stalling for time whenever possible.

Of course, he believed that Doringger would certainly not be defeated. This truly was the grandest battle in over a decade, but it was nothing more.

Main city building, tenth floor.

An incredibly luxurious hall for entertaining guests.

The evening banquet at the castle that very day took place in the secondary building to accommodate more people, while this hall was used for hosting high-end intimate gatherings, inviting the true movers and shakers from around the world.

The opulent room was of unimaginable luxury, with top-grade fluorite iron art chandeliers and peach heart wood wall panels with hidden lighting strips intricately embedded within ornate carved patterns.

On both sides of the walls, there were water curtains falling, the sofa seats, and tea tables were all crafted from top-tier wood by skilled artisans. The dazzling performance stages used by the artists and beautiful musicians glittered, and the ground was fully covered with soft mats made of magic animal fur, feeling like human skin to the touch, exceedingly comfortable.

"So, you guys usually throw debauched parties here; where’s Doringger? I don’t have time to deal with underlings,"

Morison observed the surrounding decor, thinking these cavemen really knew how to enjoy life. After more than a decade of pleasure, it was time to send them to the afterlife.

As a person steeped in darkness, when Ben came to the island last year, he was traumatized by the man with the disfigured face, now hiding behind him, and concentrating only on leading the way. Saleret was not someone he could afford to provoke.

Mo’er sat in the center chair sipping tea. These people were incredible, making even Lord Dor himself go to battle. However, the secrets of the tower must be kept securely guarded.

"I have some fame across the entire Western Continent, the one unheard of is you."

Mo’er could stall for as long as possible. His needle-sewn, sinister face let out a cold laugh, "By the way, Diaz once sent a letter saying to see if there was a gray-skinned Zor thief among the Black Sail, that would be you, right?"

His chilling gaze focused on Ben, his aura overwhelmingly sinister.

Whether the Chimera or the sea monster,, both were his masterpieces, and he was one of the top technicians under Doringger’s command. And in his own right, he was an incredibly powerful Magician.

"Fuck you," Ben was just such a straightforward man.

Mo’er remained unprovoked.

Bang!

A Flying Knife shot out from Morison’s hand, piercing through Mo’er’s chest and flipping him over, chair and all.

However, just a few wisps of black smoke floated up, apparently only a Spiritual Body.

"That thing is up in the Main Tower. Just follow the stairs here and keep going up, and you’ll get there," Ben said to Morison, afraid to go up himself. "I’m going to wander around nearby, to find Mo’er in person since the cavemen aren’t quite dead yet."

Morison was undeterred, bravery born from skill. He went alone, entering the back passageway to the private banquet hall, eager to see what it was that made Doringger treasure it so, something Ben said was indescribable and could only be understood by seeing it firsthand.

Celeste and Fen’s Spiritual Bodies also quickly arrived at the banquet hall.

Even the corridor decorations within the castle were extremely ornate—who knows how much wealth Doringger had amassed over the years, so much so that probably even dukes wouldn’t dare to touch it.

And the hall itself was even more luxurious.

Celeste hadn’t expected that in a corner of the East Sea, there would be such a place, whose arrangements were no less than those of the royal relatives.

"Where is the disfigured face?" Celeste asked Ben.

"He’s already gone upstairs," Ben replied.

"Something’s not right; the defensive forces in this castle are too weak." Fen had thought, on his way here, that the situation should have been a hard-fought battle. Apart from the guards in the manor’s courtyard and gardens, there hardly seemed to be anyone inside the tower.

He could no longer afford to divide his attention.

The Spiritual Body stiffened in place, eyes unfocused, attention shifting to the Sea God, as any mistake in the grand rear formation was unacceptable.

Mo’er believed that letting the disfigured face go up to be killed by Ghost Eye Mad Blade was quite appropriate, considering the disfigured face and drunkard’s considerable reputation on the island.

At that moment, a voice, sourceless, came from all directions, "Did Liszt not come over? What a pity, I had prepared a surprise gift especially for him."

With that said, from the entrance of the banquet hall came the sounds of a large group of bipedal creatures rushing in frenzy.

Mo’er could fabricate living beings, sewing together parts from Magic Beasts, though Life Alchemy was required to manage it; yet, these monsters could survive for a few months.

Celeste turned around to look.

She had severely underestimated the pathology of the people in the East Sea region.

Mo’er being on the Warlock Council’s expedited list was not without reason.

Those people were still alive, their bodies stitched with Magic Beast claws on various parts, on two legs, runes from Life Alchemy also activated, looking incredibly painful, yet out of their own control, they charged toward Celeste and Ben.

"Aren’t you a high-ranking officer of Lostra? Do something!" Ben retreated a step, shielding Celeste in front of him.

Celeste really had to give it to these Thieves; they truly were the most foul creatures of the Western Continent.

"This is considered a surprise gift?"

Celeste drew two short swords from her tactical belt, her swordplay fierce like the wind.

Main Tower.

Morison had lost his way and was walking circles in a room even more luxurious than the banquet hall, finally using the whip blade to violently yank open the folding glass doors—glass shards scattered everywhere. He found himself in a grand open-air plaza.

There was even a huge swimming pool; Morison could imagine having a silver party here, overlooking the East Sea—it must have been marvelous. Damn it, Doringger, you really should die!

"This is not a place where you should be."

Saleret was eternally stationed here; the Tower had a barrier set by Doringger, even more formidable than the castle’s defenses, inaccessible without special orders.

Morison followed the source of the voice.

A terrifying specter with an iron mask seemed to be embedded in the face, with crimson light pouring from the two holes of the mask, striking even in broad daylight.

Lean and tall with spiky hair like steel pins, bare-chested and covered in tattoos, wearing deep brown breeches and boots of unknown origin, he wielded an Iron Sword with a gap in the middle.

"Are you going to charge admission or what?"

Morison, always in his cracked crocodile skin jacket that hadn’t been washed in half a year, the hem still burned with holes from an incident at the secret port.

"This is a meaningless fight; just leave," Saleret insisted, playing both sides; he wouldn’t let anyone pass until the dust had settled.

Morison was speechless; he hadn’t found Doringger himself, but threatening him with something from the Tower didn’t seem like a bad idea either.

"I can only say, it’s quite substantial."

He lifted his double-barreled shotgun and pulled the trigger, a gesture of respect.

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