Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Chosen Child (2)
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Mushy, squishy, squish.
A lump of black light, looking like clay or smoke, trailed after Oliver's fingertips, drifting through the air.
At first, all he could manage were simple round blobs. But in less than half a day, he was shaping them into triangles, squares, stars, donuts—even little people.
Yet Oliver showed no signs of boredom. Instead, he pushed on, crafting ever more complex and intricate forms: cones, Möbius strips, spiderwebs. He looked just like a child with a brand-new toy.
"Having fun?"
Joseph asked from up ahead, where he was leading the way.
"Yes... I never imagined... It's incredible."
Oliver answered with pure wonder. His ragged features and hoarse voice gave him a gloomy air, but the delight was genuine. Who knew Black Light could be used like this? It was astonishing all over again.
"Is handling this light what black magic is all about?"
"It's not light. It's emotions."
"Emo...tions?"
"Exactly. Anger, sorrow, hatred... Black magic starts with manipulating those. It might not seem like much, but it's incredibly powerful. Emotions are a kind of energy born from the soul—much like the mana from a magic stone. By the way, you're skilled at handling it, but your own emotions aren't that intense."
"Pardon?"
"You heard me right. Your emotions are small and feeble. But it doesn't matter. You can just borrow someone else's. That's the proper way."
At those words, Oliver's dull eyes lit up like a corpse springing back to life.
"You can control others' emotions too? How?"
"It's not hard. It's like seeing emotions or shaping them now. If you have the talent, anyone can do it. Think of it as a sixth sense beyond your five senses—like flexing invisible muscles."
Oliver furrowed his brow, struggling to grasp the abstract explanation, but one thing sank in instinctively: he had more than enough talent. No proof, just certainty.
In that moment, his rigid mind creaked to life, imagination sparking. He pictured himself wielding vast swaths of light, not these tiny wisps. His cold heart began to thaw, bit by bit.
It was a primal urge, like saliva pooling at the sight of good food or falling for a beautiful woman at first glance.
Quietly, Oliver asked,
"Could you... teach me more? About black magic, I mean."
His voice was soft, but his eyes burned with greed. Joseph paused at the look, then replied,
"We'll see... I'll teach you more once we're back home."
The words tell me now, right here nearly escaped Oliver's lips. It was his first real interest in life, after all—a natural reaction.
But seeing Joseph, he summoned superhuman restraint and swallowed them back. Only one reason: the light radiating from Joseph's body.
Lightning-crackling fury, churning sorrow, quivering fear.
Oliver had seen such lights since birth, using them to read moods and states, dodging wrath at key moments. Now, he realized disobeying Joseph meant no more lessons.
Yes—Joseph craved obedience. Spotting it, Oliver fell back on his survival instincts, playing the part of the docile beast Joseph wanted.
Pleased, Joseph gave a small smile and kept walking the road. Oliver trailed behind like a good boy. But even then, his mind never left black magic. No, his hunger grew fiercer.
Quite some time passed since their last exchange, but Joseph and Oliver hadn't spoken a word. They just walked in silence.
Objectively, trudging down a road for hours without a cart or train was grueling. Oliver didn't mind.
Still a kid, but hardened by heavy labor, plain walking felt like a stroll. Plus, he passed the time shaping emotions into his own games—never dull.
At most, crafting fancier models faster or passing them hand to hand. Child's play? Hardly.
With time and repetition, his fundamentals sharpened fast. Even his ossified brain began awakening.
Suddenly, Oliver wondered: what else could he do with emotions?
Beyond shapes, maybe tailor them for uses? A miner's pickaxe, a kitchen knife?
Or perhaps refine simple light into something new entirely. He hadn't learned it, but instinct whispered yes.
Unbeknownst to himself, Oliver's understanding and imagination for black magic blossomed. Just as the first bud unfurled—
"Perfect. There's an inn up ahead."
Joseph's voice pulled Oliver from his fantasy workshop back to reality.
The sky had darkened into night, a curtain over the heavens. Streets and woods drowned in black. The inn's lone light beckoned from afar.
Joseph turned to Oliver.
"We're lucky. Finding an inn on this remote stretch."
Without hesitation, Joseph approached. The cozy yellow glow soothed just by nearing. Inside, warm air and savory food aromas welcomed them.
"Welcome, come on in!"
The innkeeper rushed out, greeting Joseph like a long-lost friend.
The burly middle-aged man rubbed his hands with a merchant's fawning grin.
"Thanks for gracing us. Party of two?"
"Me and this kid. Got a room for the night?"
"Of course! Right this way."
The innkeeper bowed politely, leading them. They passed the dining area—three or four other guests besides them.
"Looks tasty, huh?"
Joseph eyed the guests' tables. Fresh bread, stew, cheese, meat on the bone—rare fare for such an out-of-way spot.
The innkeeper chuckled.
"High praise. It's our sales pitch. Out here, guests are scarce—mostly passing travelers or truckers. So we make the food top-notch to draw 'em in."
"Makes sense. It does look good. Chef's got skills?"
"Yep, all my wife's doing. We run the place with five total, staff included. You'll be dining, of course?"
"Wouldn't miss it... But can we eat in the room? Want quiet. We'll pay extra."
The innkeeper's face twitched faintly.
"Ah... Sure, no problem. This room here. Food's coming right up. Anything else?"
"Nope."
"Right... One sec."
The innkeeper hurried downstairs. Joseph and Oliver entered the room. As he shed his coat, Joseph asked,
"What do you make of the owner? Friendly?"
"Uh... Not sure, but something's off."
"Heh heh heh. Knew it?"
Joseph laughed. Seemed like a fine innkeeper, but that wasn't his real trade.
About twenty minutes later, a knock. A sturdy man—waiter, probably—brought a laden tray.
"Food's here."
"Ho..."
Joseph marveled at the fresh bread, stew, steamed meat. He tipped the waiter generously. The man beamed.
"Leave empties outside when done—much appreciated. Anything else, just holler."
Once he left, Oliver and Joseph exchanged glances.
An hour later, spotless dishes sat outside. The innkeeper smirked evilly at the sight.
Deep into the night.
Dull thuds echoed in the inn room—thunk! thunk! Like hammering meat. Half right, at least.
People were meat too.
"Whew..."
The innkeeper exhaled, wiping sweat—or blood?—from his brow.
At his feet lay a guest. Too dark to see clear, but after bashing the skull with a hammer, it'd stay quiet awhile.
"Urgh... Few more years, and I won't hack it."
"Nah, boss—you're fit as ever. Twenty more years easy."
"Spare me. At that age? I wanna live classy later. Anyway, that the last?"
"Uh... No. End of the hall—one more. Man and a kid."
"Right, the room-service pair. Whew... Good haul tonight. One more go?"
"They ain't awake, right?"
"Don't worry. Cleaned their plates spotless—even licked the sauce."
"Phew, glad. Weird vibe had me edgy..."
"Yeah, that kid especially—creepy little corpse-lookin' thing."
"What're they? Not father-son."
"Dunno? Kid's got coal dust—probably from a nearby mine. We get workers, pervs who like kids, lab-rat buyers now and then."
"Real scum."
The innkeeper and his lackey stood before Joseph and Oliver's door. As always, they paused, whispering countdowns with nods.
"One..."
Nod.
"Two..."
Nod.
"Three—"
—Bam! Crash! Thud! Thud!
As they moved to enter, the door exploded outward, spilling something like marbles. So sudden, the lackey yelped and collapsed.
Regaining wits too late—shattered door bits and the innkeeper, covered and crumpled.
Chest pierced like buckshot, blood pooling as he fell.
What nonsense... No gunshot, yet heart pounding, breath short.
Footsteps—heavy—from the room. The guest emerged, looking down.
"One."