Chapter 80
Chapter 80
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: In the Name of Glory (16)
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***
“Ottoman, how’s your mana holding up...?”
“No issues here. The ‘Wave’ I cast earlier barely drew on my own reserves. It was mostly built on the framework my disciples prepared—I just layered on the formula.”
Using spells powered by mana extracted by his disciples. Come to think of it, Isaac had done something similar inside the golem core’s influence, drawing mana from the tower’s source and weaving his spells.
“Is this kind of linkage common in water magic?”
“Hmm... yeah, it’s easier compared to other schools. Water’s a straightforward medium to manipulate. Truth be told, I didn’t plan on unleashing something that flashy from the start. But the kids were so stressed out from all the pressure—probably because you scared the hell out of them—they overdid it. Felt like they had to put on a show.”
As the Professor and Ottoman chatted amiably about magic, Aldritch scowled and cut in.
“Hey, you two—sorry to interrupt, but have you forgotten we’re deep in enemy territory? The corruption’s thick in the ground around here. One slip, and you’ll lose your mind in seconds.”
The Professor glanced around at Aldritch’s worried nagging.
“I’m aware. It’s not enough to break me. Don’t worry.”
“Same here. I may not be combat-specialized, but I’ve attained the fifth enlightenment. My body might fall, but my mind won’t.”
“...Let’s hope so. It’d be a nightmare if one of you snapped and went berserk mid-fight.”
“Absolutely not happening.”
[No! Don’t jinx it! What the hell is with all this crawling in?!]
The Professor couldn’t help but chuckle at the furious complaint echoing in his head.
[Gross! Disgusting! Skin-bag, get us out of here or smash that filthy tower already! I hate this!]
*Yeah, yeah. Hang in there.*
[Come in here and help! Like when I scorched those things—boom!]
*Keep it up.*
He pictured Hide—shapeless as it was, dressed like a janitor with a mop—brushing away the infiltrating black magic energy in his mind.
*Hide’s basically a consciousness-based lifeform. No wonder the black magic messing with minds feels repulsive to it.*
One of the most annoying things about facing a black mage who’d built their domain was how the corruption seeped into you just by being there—no direct spell needed.
The black mage could sync with that ambient energy and unleash unavoidable curses at will. Thanks to Hide, though, he’d gained some unexpected resistance to those attacks.
As the group slowly approached the village center, a tower shrouded in black mist finally came into view.
“...Good call not bringing the disciples.”
“Grrr... Couldn’t agree more. Greenhorns like that would’ve keeled over at the sight.”
Even the Professor—who prided himself on having seen every horror in GG and real life alike—fell silent at the scene before them.
What they’d thought was a tower was a colossal tree.
Could hatred from a land full of bones birth something like this?
A massive trunk formed from bundled spines pulsed with thick veins crawling over it like ropes. From that living, throbbing stem extended branches of femurs and ribs, each tip blooming countless fleshy leaves.
Every pulse of the trunk’s veins made the capillaries in the human-skin leaves—veined like leaf patterns—quiver in sync. The skeletal tree swayed endlessly like an ancient on a windy hill, and the black ash filling the air poured from its shaking boughs.
You had to crane your neck way back just to see the top. How many corpses did it take to build something this massive?
“This is...”
“My finest masterpiece. You there—the light-blinded hero and the black mana walker. Still think my domain’s only worth a six? Be honest.”
A voice like nails on glass pierced the stunned group. The thing appeared soundlessly, as if it had always been there, floating ethereally in the air a short distance away. It looked like a bloodless white-faced boy.
The Professor eyed the black mage with disgust.
“You sound like you’ve got some years on you, but your tastes are vile. Like kids, huh? Get more excited by a toddler than a full-grown adult?”
“Hmm. Less holy warrior, more back-alley merc. Mages define the world through their inner image. The shell’s just a shell, no? I figured a youthful form suited me.”
Whisper whisper.
“Doesn’t add up.”
“Mage. Just roll with it.”
While the Professor and Borca murmured,
The boy turned his back on them as if they didn’t exist, gazing at the great tree.
“Impressed? The world demands you give one thing to gain another. This flesh-tree turned the lowliest into the greatest—escaped that cycle entirely. You, the quiet compatriot—tell me. Don’t you see the beauty in this creation?”
Aldritch’s aged voice boomed with rage at the boy’s ear-drilling question.
“Zero points, necromancer. Peak inefficiency. Soul-ash piled up this visibly? Amateurish beyond belief for a mage-scholar. You’re more ignorant of spirit cycles than a commoner.”
The necromancer-boy cackled at Aldritch’s insults.
“The poor hoard every penny like treasure. Mages of spirits must be bold. Countless souls are mere grains of beach sand. Behold—the grand achievement forged from burning worthless souls that would’ve just plowed fields and herded cattle in meaningless lives.”
Green glow flared in the boy-black-mage’s empty eyes, and the whole village thrummed in resonance with his gesture.
“Lamentations sunk into lungs form life anew. Rise—resentments too weak for nightmares.”
[Life of Despair]
Wooong—
The black mage’s incantation echoed through the hollows, stirring the thick black ash. In response, the bone-and-flesh tree opened its maw.
“Oaaaaaaaah—”
Plop.
“Uuuuuu—”
Plop plop—
“Aaaah—”
Fruits grew on the white-and-red tree. Wrinkled old men, soft spring-rain girls, stern-lipped youths. Countless human faces covered the branches, all twisted in eerie ecstasy.
Strange wails poured from those pain-and-joy faces, shredding minds and churning guts.
Amid the sanity-shattering screams, Aldritch bellowed.
“Fifth tier! At least late fifth tier black mage! Specialized in rooting down and fighting intruders!”
“...No easy burglary here.”
Crack, crunch!
The Professor stepped forward as Borca shifted to wolf-form without hesitation and Ottoman floated on rippling water.
“Good we ran that drill.”
“Boss, you see that freak as same tier as those ragtag losers earlier?”
“Then you see the you from before and now as the same?”
Borca bared fangs packed in his long muzzle, claws extended.
Kiiing!
“Not even close.”
Crack crack!
“Come, squirm for me, little ones. Clinging to life ripens despair best—your souls will be treasures! [Undead Rise]!”
As the black mage spread his hands, scattering blood droplets, undead erupted where they fell. Dullahan clutching their own heads, bloated ghouls, wailing spawn from child corpses... An endless horde burst from the earth—leagues beyond the palisade foes in quality and quantity.
*Classic black mage. Emits curse waves from a central structure to debuff foes, pins with summons, then piles on curses and spells. Plenty of banshees and specters—wailing spawn too. Curse-focused, huh?*
You couldn’t just brute-force these. The environment itself embodied their inner world made real—the longer the fight, the more you became part of it, vulnerable to their spells.
*Target the caster. No question. A black mage this strong can spawn endless monsters in their domain.*
The Professor moved to Borca’s side as the wolf prepared to charge, eyeing the black mage whipping endless black ash from the sky.
“Hey, first strike wins. Got it?”
“No mages on my resume, but I know I gotta buy time for the guys in back.”
Borca glanced at the two mages—who’d cloaked themselves in water and darkness and begun chanting the moment the black mage appeared.
“I’ll—”
“Take the ground.”
“Damn it. Shoulda spoken first.”
“Boss said you’re a mage. Fly around and fight like them.”
“That’s why I—!”
Thwack!
The Professor smashed a nearby stone into a charging wailing spawn’s head.
“Don’t know how!”
“Improvise! Looks like we die if you don’t!”
Borca pointed at the black mage sucking in ominous black ash and charged.
“Screw it! I’ll handle the annoying shit!”
The Professor plunged into the cold fray after Borca, who carved through undead like a hot knife.
***
Slash!
Slaaaash!
Borca rampaged through the undead like a wolf among sheep. His razor claws sheared dullahan armor effortlessly, and his silver fur—laced with spirit energy—warded off the flesh-tree’s screams.
Boom!
The Professor’s performance, by contrast, was lackluster. While Borca felled five at a swipe, the Professor barely downed one or two.
“Fight for real!” “What?!”
“You know! Like when we fought! Big one-shot!”
“Can’t! That costs an arm—then who grabs the black mage?! My punches are one-use!”
“What? You piece of—”
“No insubordination!”
Crunch!
Catching a charging dullahan’s head, the Professor hurled it like a shot put at the airborne black mage.
Claaaang—!
It shattered against the gathered black ash with a metallic clang.
“Damn it. No openings...”
Never thought he’d miss his mute status. He could’ve berserked and charged mindlessly, but now his heavy hits were limited—hard to close in.
*Full sprint uses legs, then right arm once, left once. Two shots to subdue?*
He considered it, then shook his head. Mages like Isaac always layered defenses first. The black mage ringed himself in foul black ash, attacking only via summons. Easily seventy percent invested in defense.
Groooowl—
“Ooooooo!!!!”
“Oaaaaaaa—!”
Time passed, and the dangling heads wailed anew.
“Life is the path to death—know your end lies at your feet. [Last Word]”
The black mage’s curse rippled out as a massive wave, catalyzed by the cries.
Borca and the Professor clamped hands over ears and crouched in unison.
Heads throbbed like bursting; bodies weighed like lead. Even the ground writhed to bury them.
Staggering, Borca leaped to the Professor’s side.
“Grrraaah, boss! Can’t last like this!”
“Damn! No choice. Borca—guard the mages! We—”
*- Heed my words -*
Drip—
Just as the Professor leaped skyward to beat the stacking curse, a low voice pierced the plaza. Charging undead froze, heads swiveling toward the source.
Not just them. The Professor, Borca—even the ash-whipping black mage—looked that way.
A small voice, yet striking the soul directly.
*- A distant road stops no steps—for halted feet find no way home -*
The voice came from Aldritch behind them, preparing his spell. With each word from his lips, shadows gushed like waterfalls from the soul urn at the Professor’s neck, flooding the ground.
The Professor and Borca’s heads snapped skyward. The pale boy’s finger pointed at Aldritch.
“Borca!”
“On it!”
Flash!
“[Hatred Thorns]!”
Blocking eyeless Aldritch just in time, they tanked the hatred spikes with their bodies. Eyes now black, Aldritch bowed, plunging hands into the shallow black mana pooling across the plaza.
*- Lost soul, your final signpost remains within—follow it -*
“[Nostalgia]”
Fsssh—
The spell’s end brought no fanfare, no flash. Just a tiny white light from the soul urn seeping into the black mana.
Aldritch staggered upright,
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud thud thud thud—
While every undead in the plaza collapsed like marionettes with cut strings.
***