Chapter 330
Chapter 330
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 330
Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magical Noble Family
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What am I seeing right now?
Along with Ascanien's incantation, his senses dulled with drowsiness. At the same time, his optic nerves stung from the flash. A shock like someone had struck his head passed through his entire body like lightning. There was light. Light. The kind that held no color, that whitened all things with its intensity and blinded the eyes....
“…!”
Mecklenburg sucked in a convulsive breath and staggered backward.
Thud—
—Stretch out your hand.
Blasted by the gale of light, Mecklenburg shielded his face. The pure white light shattered into fragments and scattered. As if time had stopped here alone, the light crossed the air slowly. It would be like this if the sun descended to the floor. The Lord God said, I am the Alpha and the Omega, who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty... The awe-inspiring light that ordinary priests recited with solemn intonation began to blur in his mind. As that ancient light faded into oblivion, the pain permeating every corner of his body washed away.
—In your holy name, perform healings and signs and wonders.
“…….”
It was unbelievable. His mind, striving to maintain equilibrium, briefly suspected it was an illusion, but the magical effect of the light functioned perfectly, proving its reality through its signifier. For those who treat magic as routine, incantations typically hold nothing. They are mere empty echoes, devoid of what they should contain. In the post-magic era, wizards have become proxies of Jehovah, and wizards who wield divine power draw even closer to its essence. He could proclaim that Jehovah's influence lingered in this chaotic age. All signifiers draw power from it. It wasn't the rote words he uttered that empowered his magic. He was infusing power into words for God in an era where all seemed meaningless. That was the meaning of this magic being possible.
“You just...”
“…….”
How?
Not even a priest, branded with the stigma of Pleroma, how? It was ironic that this man, who until last year had been at the very bottom of the bottom, who seemed farther from anything holy than anyone, wielded such power. No, if he could use this from the start, why hide it? Was this his first time? Unlikely. Why keep it secret? Why on earth? With just this, that Pleroma rumor...
Ascanien's head turned toward Mecklenburg. As he stared into those emotionless, inhuman red eyes, incoherent thoughts flashed through Mecklenburg's mind like lightning.
Overwhelming divine power, concealment, unknown identity, transformation, 1897.
Ascanien could wield divine power yet had never revealed it. And by imperial fortune, an unidentified foreign hero wielding unmatched divine power emerged. In the fall of 1897. Ascanien began gradually resembling his own false witness from the winter of 1897. Ascanien had shown rare boldness, saving over a million lives at the terrorist site.
“…….”
No sound emerged, as if stones filled his throat. Even Nikolaus Ernst, whom they couldn't find despite searching after Pentaron, might come to save us, but for now, we'd better rely on the Pentaron hero here. The sharp words he spat, Ascanien's unusually weary expression, his gaze dropping to the floor with a sigh...
“…You, perhaps.”
His throat choked on the absurd possibility. Ascanien said nothing, merely waiting. Only Mecklenburg's trembling voice echoed off the lime dome and glass.
“You're... that divine power wizard in Bavaria...”
No way. No way. It couldn't be. Even if knowing now changed nothing, ignorance seemed better. Mecklenburg decided against haste. Instead, he wrung out a voice that barely emerged, stumbling over pronunciation twice with his stone-hard tongue, whispering a question like a breath.
“Why... didn't you reveal that you could use divine power?”
“You dislike Nikolaus Ernst, Senior. What more should I say? You'd only hate me more.”
“…….”
Knowing the intent, the calm confession deliberately shifted focus and resounded. Mecklenburg's mouth fell open. It was involuntary. No escape now. Footsteps of shoe heels echoed. Ascanien took a step closer. The inhuman pink eyes drew near.
So, so right now...!
Ascanien's leisure no longer irritated. The bright blue eyes of that new human in the occasional color newspaper, the indifferent, cold gaze close-up broadcast from Dasrote—they overlapped. How hadn't he noticed? The light they held was so similar. Staring at him dumbfounded, speechless, Ascanien tapped his staff lightly with his finger, as if interpreting it as needing explanation, and smiled faintly.
“Came to rescue you?”
Mecklenburg shook his head and retreated step by step from Ascanien. He couldn't even tell how he was standing.
Nikolaus is this Pleroma Ascanien. No one on the continent would know. This was impossible. Nikolaus Ernst, rumored as Bavaria's next chancellor, perhaps even the empire's, whose age no one knew—twenties or seventies—this man, no, I had been advising, scolding, and punishing Nikolaus as a subordinate. Realizing this, his face burned as if it would burst. What must he have thought of me? Only now did the leisure and nonchalance on that impassive face make sense. Ascanien had been humoring Mecklenburg. Why? He found no value in giving his all to a small fry like this! Far from annoyed, he had probably enjoyed watching every word and action of Mecklenburg's. The puzzle fit. He knew the endless "Senior," the "I respect you" were fake, but this truth shocked more. He toyed with Mecklenburg thoroughly from above to defeat the opponent at his feet. He knew how to handle his feelings. Exposed to the core he never wanted anyone to see, let alone face himself, he couldn't stand before him anymore. Caught in the hand of the sleeping Pleroma, Mecklenburg collapsed onto the pile of Pleromas. His legs gave out. Ascanien sighed briefly, narrowed his eyes, and muttered nonsense.
“Think of those under you.”
“Right now, right now that's... You're Nikolaus and you have no thoughts...!”
“I said I came to rescue you, but I'm trapped too. Still, I'll get us out alive.”
Ascanien shrugged even now, trying to lighten the mood. It wouldn't lighten. Ascanien's hand thrust before his eyes.
“Even if it purifies the air.”
Ascanien wiggled his fingers as if to grab his hand. Mecklenburg stared blankly. Understanding the confusion, Ascanien exhaled lightly and knelt on one knee before him.
“It's not infinite. Depends on the drug's properties, but fundamentally, air keeps pouring in from somewhere. Cleanse it, and it repeats endlessly. Long-term, it's futile. So...”
Ascanien pressed his forehead with his hand.
“Conserve your strength.”
“…….”
Divine power seeped into his forehead. Even experiencing it again, the divine power was impeccably perfect, beyond doubt. Like another life. Like air. Like purifying fire. The pain scraping his gut and pounding his head vanished cleanly. If conserving was needed, he wanted to snap back that he should conserve his own, but such retorts stayed inside against Ascanien's kindness.
“Why hide that you're Nikolaus?”
Ascanien looked down with emotionless eyes. Mecklenburg shook his head in confusion, then asked in a drained voice.
“Why are you Nikolaus to begin with?”
“Nikolaus isn't important now. No cathedral means this isn't their base.”
Ascanien glanced around and murmured lowly.
“No bishop-level priests either...”
Before he could grab him, Ascanien nudged a robed Pleroma with his foot. He yanked him up by the collar and infused divine power. The Pleroma convulsed and sprang up.
“Huhhh!”
—Enter through the narrow gate.
“Guhk...”
“You must be very sleepy. Sleep will pour over you soon.”
Ascanien brazenly commanded with a smile. Mental manipulation magic. Not the spell to use after urging conservation. He didn't know if Ascanien wielded it freely, but clearly less energy than other divine wizards.
The Pleroma's eyes were already glazing, yet sanity remained, tilting his head in denial. Ascanien seemed to have left it intact on purpose.
“Th-that...”
“Looks like 72 hours without sleep. Heart racing slow then fast, total mess, right? I know you want to sleep now.”
The Pleroma paled, nodded blankly. His eyelids drooped slower. Then Ascanien seized his nape.
“…Agh!”
“But no sleeping yet. Answer, and I'll let you. Where are we? Nice place.”
“Br...”
Ascanien nodded patiently.
“Brandenburg Archdiocese... of Peace...”
“Of Peace?”
“Hall of Peace.”
“Pretty brazen. What do you do here?”
“People like us gather to debate.... Why?”
“People like us—priests? Or including believers?”
“Priests only.”
“Oh, thanks. Someone attacked? You collapsed from the air here, so shouldn't control it again? I think the drug changed.”
“What?!”
The Pleroma stiffened, eyes snapping wide. He babbled hysterically, face about to cry. The sudden change startled Mecklenburg slightly.
“No, no.... What? Did everyone here die? Me too?”
“No.... Instead of crying, fix the air. Crying changes nothing?”
“What are you saying! I don't know that. Not my level.”
No way priests handle much. Bishops know important things; even some don't, depending on division. Ascanien, unsurprised, nodded and continued.
“Too bad. One more question...”
Ascanien readjusted his grip on the nape. A death rattle escaped the Pleroma. He writhed in pain.
“Why capture us?”
“I-I don't know...”
“Do you know who I am?”
“...Eye color... Ascanien? The younger one.”
“Good. Asking again. Why capture us?”
“I don't kn-know. You attacked us. Right? After Pentaron, all cocky, you...!”
Ascanien tapped his forehead with two fingers. The Pleroma closed his eyes and collapsed. Mecklenburg gaped, so Ascanien glanced and excused.
“Not omnipotent after all. Limits to info here.”
“Omnipotent enough.”
At least to you.
He knew divine power wasn't omnipotent for others. What divine wizards say to avoid misunderstandings. Usually need hours rest after one or two mental spells—far from omnipotent. Defensive psyches often disrupt too. But Ascanien could wield his will freely, barring bishop-level priests.
‘...Ah, wait.’
Mecklenburg eyed the lingering light, realizing too late he'd voiced it aloud, snapping alert. Ascanien's eyes widened, then he burst laughing. Mecklenburg belatedly covered his mouth, frowning. Ascanien quickly lost interest, scanning around.
“Let's go out. If word spreads a divine wizard entered, sleep magic won't work well—minimize divine power. Before that...”
Mecklenburg grabbed Ascanien's arm as he turned.
“…….”
“What.”
“Kill these Pleromas. All of them.”
Ascanien nodded slowly, as if expecting it.
“Fine. If you have strength left, do it.”
Only then did Mecklenburg bite his lip. ‘Cleanse it, and it repeats endlessly. Long-term, futile. Conserve strength.’ He'd forgotten Ascanien's words minutes ago. Escaping alive was hard now. To save unique ability for later, no manipulating blood here.
‘Damn...’
Mecklenburg eyed his waist. Revolver cartridges: six, for one deployment. Wanted to shoot them all, but couldn't. Post-death vitriol unmanageable in this air. Ascanien eyed him.
“After finishing, return here if possible.”
“…….”
Mecklenburg nodded. He knew what Ascanien meant.
Unexpectedly, Ascanien didn't leave but bowed his head. Gauging the interrogated priest's height, he stripped the robe and unbuttoned the chasuble abruptly.
“…?! What are...!”
“Heard this before; reactions similar.”
Ascanien shamelessly commandeered clothes. He modestly covered the Pleroma with his robe, made the sign of the cross. Psalms recited now sounded holy.
“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot.”
Verse memorized donning priestly garb. Stealing and wearing while following procedure—devout or what? His skill donning chasuble too expert; amid speechlessness at Nikolaus's antics, Mecklenburg seriously pondered if he was a priest.
‘No way.’
Probably not. Meanwhile, Ascanien straightened his attire and turned.
“Length fits, but ordinary priest clothes lack style. Not important.”
“…!”
In that instant, Ascanien's hair turned ash-blond. Eyes shifted to a reminiscent hue. Though hair darker, the maskless blue eyes choked him—like Adrian Ascanien stood there. Reading his face, wry amusement crossed Ascanien's.
“Got time? Change quickly, Senior.”
“…….”
Told to steal too, darkness fell before Adrian or whatever. No choice. Didn't get why so far, but Nikolaus said, so do it.
Fully changed, standing sour-faced, Ascanien struck his staff once more, casting mental manipulation on floor Pleromas, then strode out. Mecklenburg drew wand for vigilance, asking.
“What did you just do?”
“Altered memories. Ah.”
Ascanien clapped as if remembering, turned, pushed Mecklenburg's chest. Not push—personal space gone, hand pressing heart absurdly. Fury rose, then agony struck.
“Ugh!”
—I can do all things through him who gives me strength.
Mecklenburg doubled over, grimacing. Foreign object stabbed heart. Ascanien's divine power—no, mana? Didn't matter. Magic rummaged core, layering lightly atop. Precisely the core. Wouldn't budge despite pushes. Mecklenburg desperately denied illusion, hand shaking.
“Wh-what is this...”
“For if attacked and it falls off. Wanted since exam; comfortable now.”
“No, no! What spell on the core...!”
“Subjugation spell.”
Mecklenburg gaped. Ascanien said casually, then realized rights issue, widened eyes, raised brows, smiled innocently.
“…….”
Smile useless; water spilled.
Mecklenburg felt mind reeling, dropping wand unwittingly. How many shocks in this short time? Couldn't stay sane.