The Birth of Muzark Bespard
How on earth?
There was no time to ponder.
"Aaaagh!"
The pickaxe, which had dug deep into his muscle, was violently ripped out, spraying blood. An unimaginable wave of pain forced a scream from his throat. His eyes twitched uncontrollably.
Then, Claude Regan saw him.
Number 17, the "termite," glaring down at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. A gaze filled with venomous rage, yet paired with an expression as cold as ice. He held the pickaxe high over his head like a lumberjack splitting wood.
Pure, unadulterated bloodlust poured over Claude.
He had to change his perspective entirely.
Number 17... this bastard is too dangerous to be left alive.
"...Get lost!"
Claude Regan swung his left arm violently. The dark magic within him obeyed his will. A thin barrier of physical force whipped out, slamming hard into Baek Si-woo's chest.
Thud!
Struck squarely in the torso, Baek Si-woo's body reeled backward. Yet even as he fell, his head remained held high. Forcing strength into his lower body to anchor himself, he drew his right arm back.
"You crazy...!"
Sensing the danger, Claude Regan immediately ducked.
Thunk!
The thrown pickaxe embedded itself deep into the wooden wall. Perhaps because it was thrown from an awkward, off-balance posture, his aim was wide. Far from inflicting a fatal wound, it merely grazed Claude's robe.
Yes, it grazed him.
But it had touched him again.
How is this possible?
It wasn't an illusion. His Shield was utterly useless. The self-defense mechanism that was a mage's greatest advantage wasn't functioning at all. Why?
His gaze naturally drifted to the pickaxe.
It was a cheap, low-grade tool, nothing special. It hadn't been replaced in ages and was in terrible condition. Piercing a Shield with a piece of junk like that should have been physically impossible.
But then, something caught his eye.
Dark magic?
Looking closer, a faint black haze characteristic of dark magic was shimmering around the pickaxe. He hadn't noticed it until now because the smoke from the cart had filled the entire area.
Yet, the mystery remained unsolved.
So what if it's dark magic?
Wrapping a weapon in dark magic shouldn't just tear through a Shield like paper.
It was an unheard-of phenomenon. If such a thing were possible, either ninety percent of the Empire's mages would have become dark mages, or dark mages would have been hunted to utter extinction.
His mind refused to process it.
"Ugh, you filthy insect..."
Clutching his right shoulder, Claude Regan hastily backed out of the ritual chamber. He judged that the confined space was too dangerous. At the same time, it was an unconscious urge to get as far away from Number 17 as possible.
The mine shaft, not just the ritual chamber, was now choked with smoke. Finally understanding what was happening, he screamed at Number 18, who was watching from just outside.
"It was you, wasn't it, you bitch! You burned the mana stones...!"
He covered his nose and mouth to avoid inhaling the smoke. The mana stones in this mine were of atrocious quality. If contaminated mana mixed with the refined mana inside a mage's body, it could rupture their Magic Circuit.
The only beings who could absorb contaminated mana without consequence were monsters like Harmensales. To an ordinary mage, it was pure poison.
But there was one exception.
"I don't think you should be worrying about me right now."
If it were a complete novice with almost no mana of their own,
they could temporarily boost their power.
Step.
Claude Regan spun around the moment he heard the footstep.
Number 17 emerged from the ritual chamber, holding the blood-stained pickaxe. Covered in dust and wearing clothes no better than rags, his vivid blue eyes glowed with a faint, eerie light.
A cold sweat ran down Claude's spine.
Was this really the same "termite" he had looked down on all this time?
"...Damn it!"
He forced his magic to manifest.
Shadows rose from the darkness clinging to the mine walls. Soldiers constructed from the lingering grudges of those who had died in the depths. It was a half-baked necromancy, the only spell he could properly cast.
It wasn't an impressive spell by any means, but it was still magic. A mystery that ordinary people could never hope to touch. An overwhelming force that a mere human body could do nothing against.
Just last month, there had been a riot. It was a much larger disturbance than this. Over a dozen slaves had banded together to take over the mine, but he had easily suppressed them by raising his shadows.
Killing two of them as an example had instantly crushed their rebellion.
That was the difference between a mage and a non-mage.
A fundamental difference in species that could never be bridged, no matter how hard the insects tried to crawl up.
"I won't even wait for the collection! I'll kill you right here, right now!"
Six shadow soldiers charged forward in unison.
And Claude Regan could only stare in utter disbelief.
Crack!
The pickaxe slammed directly into the skull of a shadow soldier galloping on all fours. Another shadow attempting to claw at his legs was grabbed by the neck and met the same fate. A third shadow that clung to his back was violently thrown to the ground and crushed underfoot.
It wasn't as if Number 17's movements were abnormally fast or supernatural. In fact, they were quite ordinary. He was simply, casually crushing the shadows as if he were squashing slightly oversized caterpillars.
"T-this..."
Claude's lips trembled violently.
"This makes no sense!"
He lacked the skill to wrap his shadow soldiers in Shields, but he had put considerable effort into their durability. Unless there was some kind of magical interference, they shouldn't have been shattered by mere pickaxe swings and kicks.
This can't be happening... It's impossible...
His mind went numb at the sight that defied all common sense.
Patter, patter.
By the time he snapped out of it, he was already running down the mine shaft.
It was a pathetic, unjustifiable flight. He was running away, showing his back to an insect he had despised so thoroughly. Because his ego as a mage was so inflated, the terror gripping him was all the more intense.
If he had been defeated by pure, superior magical skill, his spirit wouldn't have broken like this. He might have felt self-pity, but at least he could have understood it. The magic world was full of geniuses, after all.
But this was different.
This shouldn't be happening! This power shouldn't exist!
It wasn't just overwhelming; it was destruction. It was erasure.
His entire life as a mage was being utterly denied.
—Perhaps Claude Regan possessed a shred of insight after all. Even from this tiny glimpse, he had partially grasped the sheer danger of the power Baek Si-woo held.
In an Empire built on magic, in a society where magic determined one's entire life.
A power that could tear magic itself to shreds was nothing short of heresy.
But that was a secondary concern to the immediate reality.
If Claude Regan had been even a slightly better mage, or if he had learned magic to enhance his physical abilities, the outcome might have been different. At the very least, he might have escaped with his life.
But it was a pointless thought.
Claude Regan was nothing but a third-rate hack.
"Agh!"
A searing heat bloomed in his back. He had been stabbed. Once again, his Shield had done absolutely nothing to protect him. Tripping over his own feet, he collapsed face-first onto the dirt floor.
Footsteps drew closer.
"Haa... haa..."
Number 17, Baek Si-woo, looked down at the fallen Claude Regan. The dagger he had snatched from the ritual chamber was buried deep in the man's back. It had landed with perfect accuracy, even though he had thrown it while running.
He had been lucky.
No, maybe it wasn't just luck.
Baek Si-woo glanced down at his right hand.
At some point, half of it had been encased in iron gauntlets.
It was thanks to this that he had achieved such a result.
"What... ugh... what are you?"
The sight of him crawling away on his elbows was pathetic. This was the true face of the overseer who had ruled the mine like a god. Claude Regan was dying without even putting up a proper fight.
They both had to face reality.
"Ugh... This can't be... Me, in a gutter like this...!"
Baek Si-woo gripped his pickaxe.
The black-tinted pickaxe began to swing down.
Tring!
He's one-shot! ☞(‘ω’)☞
Last hit! Last hit! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و
His descending arm froze.
This bastard.
Baek Si-woo detected a blatant "intent" behind the messages. It was a prompt openly urging him to commit murder. The sense of unease that had been building in a corner of his chest flared up, prickling his skin.
Does it have some other motive?
Up until now, it had been fine.
It had warned him of danger twice and even given him a hint to pique Number 18's interest. Though suspicious, he had gradually come to view it in a positive light—like a guide or an advisor.
But could he truly rely on it?
Was it safe to follow its lead blindly?
Just as hesitation began to take root...
What are you doing?
Kill him.
He realized once again that there was no one in this world he could trust.
However, the die had already been cast.
"L-Lord... Har... men...!"
Claude Regan began to draw a geometric pattern on the ground with his blood. Whether it was wariness toward the system messages or resistance to committing murder, a much stronger motivation pushed Baek Si-woo forward.
Leaving him alive is far more dangerous.
Crack!
The body, its skull crushed, shuddered violently before quickly falling still. He was dead. Baek Si-woo had killed a person for the first time. Unlike with the leeches, he had done it directly with his own hands.
He felt disgust, but guilt? Not really.
The relief of survival was far stronger.
Perhaps it was a matter of reality. The weight of ending another person's life hadn't truly sunk in yet. That was probably why he could accept it so numbly.
But it was still too early for deep reflection.
Keep your wits about you! (๑•̀ㅁ•́๑)
Rumble!
The ground beneath his feet suddenly shook.
"Now what?!"
Baek Si-woo snapped. The timing was too perfect to be a mere coincidence. The rapidly shifting situation was starting to grate on his nerves.
"G-gargle..."
Froth bubbled from the mouth of Claude Regan, who should have died instantly. While spewing crimson blood, his limbs began to creak and twitch like a stiff wooden puppet.
"Number 17! Over here!"
At Number 18's shout, Baek Si-woo backed away and watched the situation unfold. As his anxiety grew, his grip on the pickaxe tightened. The solid sensation in his palm was his only anchor.
Snap, crack!
The corpse floated into the air, its joints snapping and bending in unnatural directions.
"What the hell is that..."
It was a gruesome sight that made him want to vomit just looking at it.
He was seriously considering whether he should run away right now when the darkness squirmed.
"Ugh...!"
Baek Si-woo collapsed to the ground without realizing it.
It was an instinctive reaction, a biological imperative.
An absurdly massive presence!
The pressure was similar in nature to what he had felt during the collection, but the intensity was on a completely different level. A vivid, sickening, and overbearing sensation crushed down on him, incomparable to anything before.
Tearing through the darkness, a pair of glowing yellow eyes opened.
It made no sense.
When did he summon it?
Claude Regan had definitely died before he could summon Harmensales. Even though Baek Si-woo had acted purely on instinct and split-second decisions, the outcome was bizarre.
Realistically, Baek Si-woo knew he couldn't handle Harmensales. That was why he had swallowed his doubts and followed the system's prompts. There had been no time for Claude to pull any tricks.
As his mind raced with questions, a voice spoke.
"It's not your fault."
"What?"
"That thing was already here from the start."
Even while speaking to him, Number 18's eyes remained fixed on Harmensales. Her face held emotions beyond mere terror. It was the same obsession he had witnessed on the day she manifested her magic.
"A third-rate dark mage just happened to stumble upon it and exploit it. I can't tell if it's in relatively good shape, or if it's so battered that this is all it can muster. Either way, a monster is still a monster."
"Why are you only telling me this now?!"
"Ahaha. I wonder if we're both going to die here?"
Dying here. That was the natural conclusion. He had somehow managed to deal with Claude Regan, but this opponent was on a different level. He didn't know exactly what Harmensales was, but there was no way a pickaxe would do anything to it.
Number 18 didn't seem to have the power to overcome this crisis either. She had only watched the previous battle, after all. In fact, her face was so pale she looked ready to collapse at any moment.
Yet, why was it?
I don't feel like I'm going to die.
※ You die when the counter reaches zero ( ◔⊰◔)
The message clearly hinted at a different path.
The situation unfolded exactly as he expected—or rather, exactly as the messages intended.
The massive eye drifted closer, as if to swallow Baek Si-woo whole. At the same time, he could clearly see Claude Regan's corpse being crushed into the darkness, vanishing without a trace.
It was basically telling him to make a deal or die.
"What kind of offer is that, you bastard?"
At his blunt, unfiltered response,
Harmensales seemed to chuckle.
A thin tentacle extended from the eye. The black strand burrowed into Baek Si-woo's chest. Without causing any pain or leaving a wound, it entered his body and melted into his Magic Circuit.
Whoosh.
Like waking from a nightmare, the oppressive presence vanished.
The darkness clinging to the mine remained, but Number 18 could sense that Harmensales had departed. Her constricted airway cleared instantly, as if it had never been blocked.
"The world is a funny place. Absolutely nothing goes as expected."
She brushed her hair back and let out a sigh. Then she looked at Number 17. A chuckle escaped her lips at the sight of him staring down at his own body with an expression of utter disgust.
"Hey. Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Though puzzled, Baek Si-woo strained his ears. Soon, he caught a distant sound. It was the voices of workers and the commotion of people rushing toward them.
"It looks like they detected Harmensales' movement and are breaching. I told them I'd handle it, but I guess they weren't satisfied. Well, I did go radio silent for too long."
It was a disjointed explanation, but he could grasp the general context.
"No wonder you were so relaxed for a mine slave."
"So you did suspect me?"
She must have been on an infiltration mission. Naturally, he had no idea what organization she belonged to. He had been trapped in this mine the entire time and knew almost nothing about the outside world.
Did she say this place was called Redline?
It was something he would have to learn about from now on.
"Call me Yen from now on."
Number 18—the girl formerly known as "scrap metal"—extended her hand.
Baek Si-woo hesitated, his lips parting slightly. Two names flashed through his mind. This was not a simple exchange of names; it was a crucial crossroads that would determine his mindset and his entire future.
But it was a pointless thing to agonize over.
He reached a conclusion easily enough. In a world filled with malice, the unknown, and the supernatural, the name "Baek Si-woo" did not belong.
"I'm Muzark. Muzark Bespard."
With that, Muzark stood tall on his own two feet.