Chapter 174: Dragon Devouring Breathing Method

The crystal lamps of Lake Beryl suddenly flickered on and off three times, as if an invisible hand had clutched their throats.

When the seventh crystal lamp fell into the lake surface, the honey wine in Duke Hawke's goblet rippled, and a woman's scream from the direction of the central pavilion startled the night raven perched on the altar eave.

"Lord Duke!" the Legendary Knight Aiden, who reacted first, took three strides and split the human wall for the duke with his heavy sword.

Robin blended into the scattering nobles, seeing six Legendary Knights responsible for security surge toward the central pavilion like a black tide; the seams of their armor glowed with faint magical rune light, the mark of enchanted gear, each worth hundreds of Gold Coins.

"Seal off all exits!" Duke Hawke's voice rang with anger.

Robin pretended to be pushed backward, but his peripheral glance locked onto the gray‑robed knight standing to the duke's left rear.

That man remained with hands hanging in the shadows, his breathing lost amid the festival clamor; only the occasional turning of his pupils revealed inhuman sharpness, the frequency of those eye movements instantly made Robin realize his opponent's strength.

"Order Knight." Bitterness rose in his throat.

The gray‑robed knight's shoulder guard bore no insignia, yet when he turned it revealed a silver‑threaded lining embroidered with a twin‑sword motif, a design reserved for knights directly under the Knight Guild.

It was surprising that Duke Hawke secretly kept a master of this rank; no wonder he dared appear openly at the ceremony.

This also meant that Duke Hawke had gained the support of the Knight Guild.

The sound of clashing armor came from the direction of the central pavilion.

Robin heard Aiden's roar: "Viscount Brian's side‑sword is missing!"

A wave of startled cries erupted among the crowd; several countesses fainted on the spot, their jewelry scattering across the ground.

Duke Hawke's face flickered green then white in the candlelight, and he suddenly pointed at Robin: "That wandering knight! He was near the central pavilion!"

Four heavy swords sprang from their scabbards, the gust they generated flinging Robin's cloak.

He stepped back a half‑pace, but as he reached the edge of the floating bridge he saw the gray‑robed knight standing three zhang away, his shoes not even wetting the planks.

The man wore at his waist not an ordinary knight's sword, but a broken blade wrapped in an iron chain, its rust faintly showing royal forbidden‑curse engravings.

"You misunderstand," Robin spread his hands, letting his cloak fall to reveal the half‑worn chainmail beneath.

The six Legendary Knights formed a fan‑shaped encirclement, one of them already pressing the tip of his sword against Robin's throat.

"He's a Devouring Lord Knight!" shouted some noble, "The Devouring Lord Knight killed his lord to break through the Legendary!"

The crowd instantly stepped back three feet, fearful whispers spreading like a plague.

Robin felt a sting in his throat and suddenly laughed.

Rumors and prejudice are indeed the sharpest knives, silently taking lives.

Robin's title could never be used.

That smile made the gray‑robed knight's broken blade lift slightly, as if sensing a flaw in its prey.

"Search him!" the duke snarled.

Two Legendary Knights roughly tore off his chainmail, ultimately finding nothing, because Robin had already given those items to the wind chime, his new Tang Sword included.

Lady Aisarl's ivory fan ribs suddenly spanned the space between Robin's throat and the sword tip; as the fan unfolded, scented powder shook off, forming a violet mist in the moonlight. Where her skirt hem swept, the cracks in the blue‑gray stone slabs burst open with eerie night‑egg flowers, their narcotic fragrance causing the sword‑bearing knights to lag half a beat.

"Knights, your swords are more impatient than a raven's beak," she said, her emerald pupils swirling in the shadows, the fan tip gently prying apart the blade that pressed against Robin.

The finely forged heavy sword suddenly showed rust as if corroded, its magical patterns curling away like a snake encountering its natural enemy.

The gray‑robed knight's broken blade emitted a buzzing, the coiled iron chain moving on its own without wind.

Robin noticed a bone ring on his left little finger, the emblem of the Necromancy School.

"No way! This gray‑robed knight is a Death Knight, and an Order‑grade one at that," Robin shouted in his mind.

Death Knights are one of the three pinnacle knight professions of the Knight Guild; they wield the power of death, utterly crushing same‑rank knights in combat, and even Second Ring Wizards give way when they encounter them.

When the iron chain fully unwound, the blade's surface revealed dense forbidden‑curse inscriptions, matching the ancient script on the central pavilion's column.

"Darling, are you shielding the suspect?" Duke Hawke's scepter thudded heavily, its raven‑eye gem suddenly oozing black blood.

The blood beads that fell to the ground turned into writhing shadows, crawling toward Robin's feet like living things.

Lady Aisarl chuckled softly; from the shadows six arms formed of raven feathers extended, each palm bearing amber eyes.

These arms gracefully caught the shattered crystal‑lamp fragments drifting from the lake, arranging around Robin a pattern of the Northern Astrological Formation.

"Darling, have you forgotten—" she suddenly smashed a floating crystal lamp with a fan rib; the splashed lamp oil solidified in the air into the Twelve Family Crests, "On a festival night witnessed by the stars, any lie becomes a dagger aimed at its master."

A huge crack of wood rang out from the direction of the central pavilion.

When everyone turned, they saw Viscount Brian's side‑sword hovering above the altar, its blade constantly dripping silver‑blue liquid.

That was Star Marrow, kept only in the royal secret vault, said to dispel all illusion.

Robin involuntarily swallowed; according to his mother's intel, Lady Aisarl was just an ordinary person, now it seemed she was at least a basic Second Ring wizard.

No wonder Duke Hawke was so wary of Lady Aisarl.

He was thought to be a sycophant, but turned out to be a henpecked husband.

The gray‑robed knight's pupils suddenly contracted.

Robin caught the tension in the muscles under his cloak, a prelude to the knight preparing to unleash "Flash Light Slash".

But Lady Aisarl was faster; her skirt suddenly expanded into a three‑meter‑diameter shadow domain, completely enveloping Robin.

Robin's vision plunged into darkness, only his rapid heartbeat echoing in his ears.

The shadow wrapped him like viscous liquid, scented faintly with violet, yet tinged with a barely perceptible whiff of blood.

"Don't move," Lady Aisarl's voice whispered at his ear, gentle yet unquestionable, "unless you want to be split in two by Hindenburg's 'Flash Light Slash'."

Robin froze; he could feel violent Magic Wave emanating from beyond the shadow.

The gray‑robed knight's domain clashed with Lady Aisarl's darkness; the air even emitted a subtle tearing sound, as if invisible blades were dueling.

"Madam, are you publicly sheltering a 'Devouring Lord Knight'?" the gray‑robed knight Hindenburg's voice came through the shadow, cold and suppressing, yet Robin heard the suppressed anger within.

Lady Aisarl smiled lowly, the shadow rippling slightly like a curtain stirred by wind. She did not answer directly, but lightly tapped Robin's chest with her fan, her voice lowered so only he could hear:

"Luobin Gabriel, that's the man who mastered the Dragon Devouring Breathing Method?"

Robin's pupils suddenly contracted.

How could she know?

(This chapter ends)