Severing the Tether
She hadn't even considered the possibility of the ritual failing.
In soul-manipulation magic, the target's "consent" acts as the core mechanism. To breach another's mental barrier without permission required a profound understanding of both the soul and the magic itself.
That was why Yen conducted the ritual herself.
Since she was the target, there was no need for complex mutual contracts. As for the other target, the Inventor, its ego had already been completely erased before it was put on the market.
In terms of sheer skill, there was no better candidate than Yen.
Muzark, who had only recently stepped into the world of magic, was out of the question, and even Aiden's scholarly depth in the field did not surpass her own.
Though her Magic Circuit was in ruins, rituals of this nature were ninety percent preparation. It was far wiser to simply borrow help for the parts that required raw mana.
I have the magic formula perfectly memorized.
Placing the blood on both sides, she let it flow and mingle. Using the mixed blood as a catalyst, she separated it, only to blend it once more.
After repeating the process several times, a change occurred.
Gradually, the blood stopped mixing. It began to form distinct layers, like oil and water in a test tube. The magic circle was learning and distinguishing the information contained within the blood of the two living organisms.
Soon, the human and demonic blood gathered at the center, forming a perfect, symmetrical division without a single particle overlapping. It was proof that all preparations were complete; only execution remained.
Yen sat opposite the spot where the Inventor was placed.
"Please."
Upon her signal, Aiden let a drop of mercury fall into the center of the blood pool.
When she opened her eyes, Yen was standing before countless mirrors.
Miraculously, the mirrors, both large and small, did not reflect her current self, but her past. Scenes from different times and places unfolded simultaneously in a dizzying array.
She wasn't particularly panicked.
Whose thesis was that again? Was it Barthélemy Bokassa?
It was the "Re-establishment of Memory," a theory presented to the academic world long ago. A magical phenomenon said to occur frequently during soul-related rituals. Apparently, the way it manifested differed from person to person.
Her past flashed before her eyes like a revolving lantern.
A time when she had absolutely nothing, fueled by nothing but raw, bitter spite.
Back then, she had been absolutely bursting with rebellion.
There was even a time when she was so stressed she suffered from chronic constipation.
Self-loathing, mixed with a healthy dose of embarrassment. Swept away by the torrent of memories, all sorts of emotions welled up. Yen grimaced, a bitter taste in her mouth, before suddenly knitting her brows.
"What the... How is it that there isn't a single good memory?"
She was just beginning to realize what a pitifully unfair life she had led when—
—You're seriously terrible at this...
A voice that had gone beyond familiar to become deeply comforting.
—Did you do nothing but play board games your whole life? How are you good at everything?
—At this point, I think we have to start questioning your talent.
So there had been good times. Even if they had come a bit late in life.
"I let you win, idiot," she muttered.
Even back when they hadn't opened up to each other as they did now, her time with Muzark had been peaceful. Having spent her entire life being kicked around, those quiet, ordinary moments were so addictive they felt like a drug.
—Let's stick together as long as we can. That's what I want.
Suddenly, a fierce wave of embarrassment washed over her.
She had just remembered what she had done right before the ritual. It was a highly impulsive physical contact, and she had no idea what had possessed her to do it.
"...It was an act of God. You kept flirting with me. And besides, it was the very last moment I could be in my own body. So, yeah."
Even as she desperately rationalized it to an empty room, she discovered a desire rearing its head deep within her chest.
That someday, if possible, she would return to a proper body. She would face him head-on again. And this time, without any embarrassment, she would give him a proper piece of her mind...
Well, something like that.
The softly glowing magic circle lost its light the moment Yen's physical body collapsed. A heavy silence hung in the air, as the progress of the ritual could not be observed with the naked eye.
Rustle.
The Inventor slowly raised its head.
It fumbled with its upper body in awkward, jerky movements. Only after witnessing it move with its own volition did Muzark and Aiden finally let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.
"It's a success."
"I wonder if she can speak."
"It has vocal cords, but who knows."
At their exchange, the Inventor—no, Yen—opened its mouth.
"Squeak!"
"Guess not."
"Squeak, squeak!"
"Hmm. Indeed, its vocal organs and oral structure are likely unsuited for human language. An interesting observation. It seems demons of the Inventor class cannot speak, no matter how intelligent they are."
Aiden pressed his temples with his thumbs. Acting as the mana reservoir for the ritual had taken a massive toll on him. Enduring the throbbing headache, he handed a quill to Muzark.
"Use blood to engrave your name upon the Inventor. It is a master-servant ritual that establishes a magical link between a mage and their familiar. Normally, it only allows for one-way communication, but since this familiar retains a distinct ego, she should be able to transmit her thoughts to you."
A master.
Muzark accepted the quill with a complicated expression. To think he would end up employing Yen as his familiar. No matter how necessary it was, who could have ever predicted this?
"Squeak."
"Hold still."
He wrote his name on Yen's forehead as she squirmed, seemingly tickled. Soon, the bloody letters melted into her skin, and the quill dissolved into light, weaving a thin thread between the two of them.
The thread vanished in an instant, but Muzark felt it instinctively. It was similar to his connection with Harmensales. Using their Magic Circuits as a bridge, the contract binding him and Yen was complete.
"Whoa, shit. You startled me."
Her intent was delivered directly into his mind. It felt less like a voice and more like raw thoughts being injected straight into his brain. It was far more direct than the magic Aiden had used before, making the sensation incredibly bizarre.
As he shook his head, Yen offered her own analysis.
"How do you feel?"
Muzark let out a wry chuckle. True to her nature as a mage, the moment her life was saved, she was already plotting how to cast spells again.
"It seems there are no immediate issues," Aiden remarked.
"Probably."
"Are its functions working properly?"
"Functions? What functions does it have?"
Aiden nodded.
"The Inventor is a subspecies of demon with a habit of collecting and hoarding shiny objects. It stores them in a stomach that utilizes spatial distortion. It doesn't digest them, nor does it excrete them."
"So you're saying... people use this demon as a bag?"
"Didn't I tell you? They're highly sought after."
...Indeed.
Muzark picked up his familiar-slash-bag with one hand and perched her on his shoulder. Terrified of falling, Yen clung to him like a leech with her stubby limbs.
Soon, Yen's empty physical body came into view.
"We should store her original body separately," Aiden said. "Realistically, restoring it will be difficult, but I doubt you'd want to dispose of it either. And we never know when or how it might be used."
"Yes. Thank you for everything, from start to finish."
Even if her heart no longer beat.
He didn't want to think of it as a corpse.
"With this, we've wrapped up most of what we needed to do."
Of course, none of their problems had been cleanly resolved.
Although they had killed the mastermind behind the terror incident, his identity remained a mystery. Yen had only secured a half-life by borrowing a demon's body.
I can't say it's entirely satisfactory, but...
...it could be said that everything had reached a temporary conclusion.
Compared to what he had imagined right after the attack, things had gone phenomenally well. Back then, he had felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice.
"I believe it's too early to relax, though," Aiden pointed out, crossing his arms.
"Isn't there still a major headache left? From my perspective, that is the most critical issue. To be frank, I don't even have a clue how we should handle it."
Harmensales.
Muzark had declared he would destroy the demon, but the method was the problem. A careless move could trigger a catastrophe. There was even a risk of causing a magical disaster that could wipe the city off the map.
But that was only from Aiden's perspective.
"Leave that to me."
"You must have a plan."
"In front of me, he's just a pathetic old geezer."
It was time to put an end to this ill-fated relationship.
Harmensales's physical form was quarantined in the underground warehouse.
His body, reduced to a cocoon-like shape in the aftermath of the explosion, bled continuously. It was the pathetic end of a high-ranking demon, driven to the brink of extinction after suffering fatal wounds on top of being reduced to a mere husk.
Thump, thump!
The closer he drew, the stronger the vibrations radiating from the cocoon became. Simultaneously, Muzark felt a suffocating pressure tightening around his chest. It was more than just stifling; it was downright painful.
"Sucks to be you," Muzark muttered.
The demon was still exerting such a powerful influence over its contractor. What would have happened if they had made two or three more deals? Perhaps Muzark would have lost control entirely.
But that was a meaningless assumption now.
"I won't make a long speech. I've already said everything I wanted to say. Usually, the desperate one does all the talking, but you already know that."
Jet-black iron armor formed over Muzark's right hand.
"Because I don't need anything from you anymore."
He didn't hesitate or calculate. He plunged his gauntleted hand deep into the cocoon. *Thump!* Rummaging through the convulsing interior, he grabbed a handful of flesh and ripped it out.
Squelch!
The surface of the cocoon began to melt like candle wax. Countless eyeballs sprouted from the dark red slime, glaring at Muzark. Their venomous gazes screamed a silent shriek of pure malice.
Black smoke belatedly rose to envelop Muzark, but it was nothing more than a futile struggle. Unable to even maintain a solid shape, it thinned out like mist by the second.
An overwhelming presence was being torn away in chunks, fading into nothingness.
Incredible. Is this only possible because he is the contractor?
Aiden swallowed hard at the spectacular sight of a high-ranking demon dying. He could only try to piece together an explanation to comprehend a scene that defied all logic.
Yen, on the other hand, observed the phenomenon strictly from a mage's perspective.
...As expected, that magic makes absolutely no sense.
That cocoon was a mimicry for self-defense. It wasn't just a physical shell; it was layered with multiple magical protection systems so complex that even Yen couldn't decipher them.
Yet, he had bypassed it with simple physical contact, obliterating a powerful mana-based lifeform—even if it was severely weakened. It was an absurd phenomenon that defied cause and effect.
It was truly like magic.
It was then.
Black tentacles burst from the half-melted cocoon. Thirteen tentacles, their tips bristling with countless teeth, slithered like snakes up Muzark's forearm.
"What is this now?"
Before he could shake them off—
*Chomp!*
The mouths on the tentacles bit deep into his arm.
The bite wounds themselves were minor, but the moment the teeth pierced his flesh, pitch-black characters began to crawl across Muzark's skin.
A curse.
It wasn't standard magic. It was a form of witchcraft, considered far more sinister than even dark magic within the Empire. It was a final, desperate struggle to leave behind a lingering grudge before fading away.
But the situation shifted once more.
*Sssss!*
Steam hissed off Muzark's skin as the black letters erased themselves. Soon, dark, shadowy flames erupted along the tentacles binding his upper body.
Inside the cocoon, the glowing yellow eyes rolled wildly.
The dying thoughts of Harmensales pierced Muzark's mind.
"What?"
*Whoosh!*
The flames that incinerated the tentacles spread to the cocoon itself. The already tattered surface was completely consumed by fire. Only then was the interior of the cocoon exposed to view.
Embedded in the center of the condensed smoke was a crimson gem.
Cracks, like knife scratches, began to etch themselves onto the surface of the gem one by one.
Harmensales let out a scream filled with pure, unadulterated malice.
As if he had realized something far too late.
But his voice grew increasingly fragmented,
and the moment it dissolved into a mere shriek,
the gem shattered into pieces.
That was all. With both his physical form and his core destroyed, the curse he had squeezed out with his dying breath amounted to nothing. It was a complete death, leaving not even a ghost behind.
In the end, even the fragments crumbled into ash.
It was a hollow and powerless demise for a high-ranking demon who had lived for countless eons. Yet, none of the three present thought of it as anticlimactic.
"A pain in the ass right to the end," Muzark muttered, clicking his tongue.
The mysterious flames had caused no harm to Muzark. They had simply subsided on their own before he knew it.
It was a messy conclusion, but he couldn't hide the profound sense of liberation.
Finally.
He had finally laid down the unwanted burden. Though his worries and anxieties were still overflowing, and though he still lived in constant danger of death, one thing was absolutely clear.
Orangeline.
Everything would unfold in a place far higher than where he stood now.