Gangs of Rome (11)
Splaaash—!
Blood-soaked floor slick beneath my feet as I faced off against the black mage. How many seconds had that exchange lasted? Seeing the ninth-floor zombies still getting their skulls popped like watermelons behind us, it couldn’t have been more than ten. Of course, the one on the receiving end of the beating had been the black mage the entire time.
…This cannot be. This is, this is impossible.
I didn’t bother answering, but the black mage hadn’t expected one. He kept muttering to himself as if the words were spilling out uncontrollably.
The warriors I stole techniques from were all seasoned veterans, at least Platinum Class. Even if you were the greatest fighter the world had ever seen, it makes no sense that they would be completely helpless against you.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
I hurled a Kaiser Phoenix behind me, incinerating the zombies that had been closing in, and spoke.
“Mattei Rossi. Young master of the Armaals family. A martial art that hardens the outer skin. Grip reinforcement. Muscle reinforcement. Spear throwing. Foot techniques. That’s seven right there, yeah? You really have killed a lot.”
You’re saying you surpass all of them? No, that’s absurd! Are you claiming a sloppy fighter like you could possibly be a Master Class warrior?!
“It’s not that I’m strong. It’s that you’re weak.”
The black mage’s jaw dropped in stunned silence.
Ah. Slip-up. I’d forgotten to stay in character for a second.
“Extracting martial techniques from corpses and the magic that makes it possible are both impressive… but you failed to grasp the intent the original owners poured into their martial principles. That’s why you lost.”
Even before coming here, I had already finished analyzing the black mage’s magic using Odin’s Eye and the information I’d gathered.
A spell that extracts martial memories from the body rather than the soul.
That was how he had transplanted the techniques of the warriors he killed into himself.
So that’s why Temurgul stayed perfectly fine even after touching me, despite being an undead.
The dominant soul was still the black mage’s. Since the bastard himself hadn’t died, contact with me didn’t cause him to ascend like the other souls. That was exactly why I had named it “Corpse Manipulation.”
The reason a black mage like him could handle Temurgul’s worthless body so skillfully was because he had inherited Mattei Rossi’s martial arts intact.
In other words, it’s like linking together the tentacles of different martial styles.
The black mage would extract techniques from Mattei Rossi’s corpse and make them his own, then deploy them through other undead bodies. A black magic that stole dozens of techniques others had spent ten or twenty years perfecting and used them in his own body or someone else’s—that was the true nature of the spell this man wielded.
To me, even that looked sloppy.
The black mage’s face flushed crimson then turned deathly pale. It was the familiar death throes of a researcher who couldn’t bear to throw his life’s work, hypotheses, and theses into the trash.
Don’t make me laugh! Don’t you dare! Such mentalistic nonsense cannot explain the flaws in my magic! My spell’s reproduction rate is perfect! I will never accept an excuse like lack of will!
“Mentalistic? No, it’s realistic. Shall I break it down for you one by one?”
I calmly spammed the provocation button. If he refused to accept the facts, I had no choice but to beat the truth into him with words.
“You were flying through the air with magic, so you couldn’t plant your feet properly and your slashes were sluggish. Your arm muscles were already wrecked, so even muscle reinforcement couldn’t generate real power.”
…What?
“You kept firing exploding mana spears from a distance, so they were easily intercepted. And when it wasn’t even time for a finishing blow, you spammed those wide-open foot techniques and ate my counters. You learned superb skills but used them like an idiot.”
I looked at him the way one regards a hopeless case. His pathetic close-quarters ability had stripped all the mystery from those stolen martial arts. It was the same level of stupidity as a cheater who palms a five-card straight in poker but doesn’t even know the rules and only plays two pair.
“I get why you’re obsessed with martial arts. You were terrified of black magic’s side effects devouring your body. The idea that a strong physique would make those side effects easier to endure is simplistic, but it does strike at the core.”
The longer I spoke, the paler the black mage became—until murderous rage flooded his face. He was furious that some stranger had skimmed his life’s research and laid every secret bare. I couldn’t blame him. It was like dragging a master chef out of his own kitchen, revealing every recipe, and then saying the food still tasted like shit.
Fuck, even I would lose my temper if some random asshole told me I’d written my thesis with my feet.
“At first you only wanted to suppress the side effects, but it turned into putting the cart before the horse. I understand the feeling. A scrawny mage who could barely control his own body suddenly finds his limbs overflowing with power. Of course you’d want to test it out.”
…Who are you?
“Yesugei of the Volcanic Sect.”
I answered, then activated the Ansuz rune to open a telepathic channel and whispered in the Narmer-Nile tongue.
And I’m also the adventurer who killed that horned eunuch unicorn—the mascot of your Immortalis.
……………….
You people are a bunch of scattered ashes anyway, so you don’t bother with revenge when a comrade dies, right? So why don’t you just die cleanly here? I wasn’t planning to go easy on you anyway, you bastard.
There was a reaction. So this bastard really was an Immortalis black mage.
…I see. So it was a trap from the very beginning?
The black mage stood there as if his soul had left his body, then his shoulders began to tremble with quiet, choking laughter. I frowned at the sheer self-importance.
Oh, cut the crap. You think I’d go through all this trouble just to kill one of you? Do I look that free? I came here because I have things to do. After I finish cleaning up, why don’t you confess everything with a clear conscience? Yeah?
…Ha. I see. My hospitality was lacking. Another bad habit of us black mages.
He bared his teeth, crimson light in his eyes growing thicker and darker.
The stronger one becomes, the more one thinks first of the side effects that follow victory rather than the victory itself!!
—Splaaaaash!!
The blood storm that had been fouling the ninth floor surged toward his body like it was being vacuumed in. The sight reminded me of a cheap splatter film where someone was stuffing a sack full of blood and gunpowder.
“Senior!”
Larilura shouted as she snatched up the equipment that had been abandoned on the floor. The other zombies seemed to have all been wiped out; Primor and the guards, though utterly exhausted and stumbling, still managed to form up around me.
The female thief stared at the black mage weaving a cocoon out of blood and grimaced in disgust.
Damn it. Hey, what the hell did you say to piss him off this badly? Just kill him already!
“Sorry. My internal energy isn’t infinite either.”
…Fuck. Forget it. After this is over I’ve got more than a couple of apologies I need to make to you anyway.
Hans had naturally laid the groundwork for his own death. Uh… well. He was an annoying bastard, but I’d feel a little bad if he actually died.
Honestly, I saw several clear kill windows but deliberately let them pass. Sorry.
It was unfortunate for the guards, but this process was absolutely necessary for me. If I killed him outright, the chances of extracting information about Tirsi would plummet.
A black mage of his caliber probably wouldn’t let his soul submit obediently after death.
The soul might commit suicide out of spite or resist as a vengeful spirit using whatever mana remained. Unless I thoroughly drained his strength while he was still alive, there would be no way to learn Tirsi’s whereabouts.
Watching the enemy enter his second phase wasn’t exactly what I wanted either, but here we were.
We watched the blood cocoon with tense silence. Sinister muttering leaked from within.
I will overcome the weaknesses you pointed out one by one. As you said, it has been nearly two hundred years since I last moved my own body. I truly did enjoy it.
“Two hundred years old? A black mage? That’s horrifying.”
A chilling laugh escaped the mage.
You have keen senses for a mere mage. Yes. Gambling debts, usury, youth, and life force—I plunder them all from the trash.
—Pop.
The cocoon collapsed limply like a burst balloon. From within it, the black mage emerged wearing vivid crimson armor.
Shall I tell you the truth? I am the one who founded the Corbona family. The bosses after the second generation who inherited the tradition are nothing but zombies that deliver youth and money to me.
The blood armor spread across the black mage’s face as though it were merging with his blood vessels. I clenched my fist, ready to reveal my identity if necessary.
“That’s a filthy story. But who asked you?”
Since I heard your name, I thought it only proper to introduce myself as well. My private organization, which has endured for more than a white century, seems destined to collapse today. This may be the last time I call myself by that name.
The black mage appeared to have regained his confidence after stacking every buff he could find. Or perhaps, as he himself said, absorbing life force had even revived the recklessness of his youth.
Whatever the truth, he smiled with wicked glee and declared:
Kruntus=Corbona, first boss of the Corbona family.