A Dangerous Inheritance

There were plenty of candidates.

Unresolved questions piled up like mountains.

—For instance, why had Baek Si-woo "drifted" here in the first place?

This place resembled Baek Si-woo's original world, yet it was infinitely different. Unrealistic elements like magic and demons actually existed, serving as major pillars of society.

Then what about this phenomenon—the absolute height of unreality—where he had usurped someone else's body? Did this, too, fall under the category of magic? Could magic even explain it?

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—For instance, what was the true identity of the message that had announced the start of his drifting?

What was its purpose in warning him of danger in advance and guiding his future path? And what of the intentions and emotions it occasionally revealed? Muzark couldn't tell whether the true face of the companion hidden behind those words was an ugly monster or a playful friend.

—For instance, was there a way to return to his original life?

'These are all things I can't find answers to just by thinking on my own.'

He had racked his brain until it practically smoked, but he couldn't find a single clue. Consult someone else? He'd be lucky if they just called him crazy; in a world like this, it wouldn't be surprising if he were kidnapped and turned into an experimental subject.

Muzark had caught a glimpse of a mage's madness in Yen.

Because the mystery of magic existed, they didn't blindly deny inexplicable phenomena. On the contrary, they took interest and tried to investigate their principles and causes.

Which made it all the more dangerous.

Even if he were lucky enough to find a friend to share his worries with, no secret remained safe forever. He had seen plenty of people who, even without malice, carelessly let slip other people's secrets.

He had no intention of revealing it to anyone in the future.

'The same goes for Harmensales.'

Harmensales treated his contractor solely as Muzark Bespard, the former Slave No. 17. Even in his contract with the demon, "Baek Si-woo" remained thoroughly submerged beneath the surface, completely hidden.

Shadia Drury had said it herself: no demon in the world, no matter how great, could be omnipotent. As long as Muzark didn't carelessly give himself away, his drifting would remain his most closely guarded secret.

'Since I probably won't get a proper answer to those questions anyway...'

In other words, he should ask a question that Harmensales would actually know the answer to.

Not about the foreign entity, Baek Si-woo, but about the person named Muzark Bespard, who had lived and breathed in Redline from the very beginning. The only straw to grasp, one that even Muzark himself had lived without knowing.

He would only know after pulling it with all his might.

Whether it was a rotten rope or a sturdy lifeline.

Or perhaps a fuse connected to a bomb.

The golden eyeball suddenly drew closer. The black pupil stamped in the center of the eye dilated. Drawn in as if by instinct, Muzark stared into the darkness within the eye.

Forgetting to blink, he kept watching, like a man possessed by a mirage.

Like ink bleeding into clear water, the darkness spread.

Before he knew it, his entire field of vision was painted black.

Muzark sat alone in an empty auditorium.

He found himself growing increasingly unfazed by the bizarre. Even though he had suddenly opened his eyes in an entirely new space, he calmly looked around instead of panicking.

'A theater?'

It was a structure both familiar and foreign.

A ceilingless theater, with a cluster of stars traversing the night sky. Tiny crumbs of light, like fireflies, drifted leisurely around him, making a rustling sound like rubbing grains of sand together.

For a novice mage, it was an incredibly mystical space. Although his panic was fading as his encounters with magic increased, it was a unique and fresh experience every time.

'Is this magic too?'

Back when he escaped the mine, magic had been nothing more than a survival skill to Muzark. To use an analogy, it was like a knife or a stun gun hidden in his pocket—a mere tool to defend against external threats.

But Muzark was gradually falling under the spell of magic.

Fascinated by the ecstatic stimulation he had never tasted in his previous life.

'Quite atmospheric.'

Was this place, composed of unfathomable magic, an illusion imagined and created by Harmensales? Or was it a reproduction of a building that actually existed in reality?

What meaning did this place hold for Harmensales that he would seat him here? Perhaps it was the demon's own form of amusement. It was a place that stirred the dry sensibilities and intellectual curiosity of a modern man.

After looking around for a moment...

Whirrrr.

The light projected from a film projector illuminated the screen.

A city in flames. Thick smoke billowed over the wretchedly collapsed ruins of buildings. Muzark observed the various aspects of the city along with the traces of destruction in the footage.

'First of all, it's definitely not Redline.'

Skyscrapers lined up behind the half-destroyed structures, and brilliantly glowing electronic billboards were visible. It was easy to imagine how developed the streets must have been. It was a world apart from the virtually abandoned Redline.

Presumably, a city belonging to the upper regions.

What connection did this have to Cryptofetica, and what did Harmensales want to show him? Muzark became the sole audience member and began to watch the play.

Dozens of men and women clad in uniforms surrounded the street.

At a glance, they looked like ordinary humans no different from the residents of Redline, but their abilities were far from ordinary. Pillars of fire soared and lightning struck down at the wave of their hands.

The earth shook every time magic erupted.

The gap was so immense that Claude Regan's magic seemed like child's play. While silently marveling at the sight, Muzark noticed an important detail.

The emotion cast over their faces was not pride in their own skills.

It was an impatience to flee this place immediately, a terror directed at someone. It was the exact same expression he had seen in the mines—the lowest of the low in Redline.

The gaze of the screaming, spitting man remained fixed straight ahead. The center of the chaos, where various spells were constantly being poured. The man stared into the smoke with bloodshot eyes.

Clink.

A tiny sound, one that should have been buried in the uproar, seemed to echo.

Thump!

Cutting through the thick smoke, a human silhouette shot forward like a ballista bolt. The man instantaneously raised an earthen wall. Even though it was summoned in a rush, the wall was as thick as a fortress rampart.

Yet it failed to buy even a single second.

Cracks formed, and the earthen wall shattered in an instant. The object visible through the debris flying in all directions was a steel rebar. Just a plain piece of rebar that one might find rolling around a construction site.

The man leaped backward, waving his arms to widen the distance. But before he could manifest his next spell, a pitch-black, shadow-like figure arrived right in front of his nose.

Crunch!

The body, its head completely crushed, rolled across the ground several times from momentum before coming to a halt. A young man who had witnessed his comrade's death right beside him collapsed to his knees.

A shadow fell over the young man, who had completely lost his will to fight.

Looking at the sabatons that entered his field of vision, the youth slowly raised his head. What was reflected in his eyes could only be described as a monster.

Black armor covering the entire body.

The flickering, ominous dark mana made it look as if the figure was wrapped in black flames. In the face of those flames, countless mages had already been slaughtered without any way to resist.

The youth desperately deployed his Shield. Normally, a Shield was cast to be invisible to the naked eye, but he had raised its density so high that light reflected off it as if he were surrounded by glass.

Shatter!

It took only a single blow.

The monster's gauntlet crushed the Shield, which had been reinforced to its absolute limit, and smashed the youth's head. Whether they resisted or not, several others met the exact same end.

It was the work of a madman.

The monster ruthlessly slaughtered and tore the mages apart. He didn't utter a single word, but his every movement spewed intense rage.

Muzark watched the one-sided massacre from his seat. It was a gruesome sight that naturally made his stomach churn. However, there was no doubt that this was the "knowledge" he had desired.

And after some time had passed...

Click!

The screen turned off. Immediately after:

The words came from the seat right next to him. The tone itself was identical to Harmensales, but the harsh, snake-like hissing noise had completely vanished.

Muzark took his eyes off the screen and looked to his side. Surprisingly, the wine-colored chair was still empty. No matter where he looked, there was no one else in the auditorium besides himself.

Only the voice echoed like a narration.

The scale was so massive it felt surreal.

Just how strong were the mages stationed in the 4th Region, Greenline? At the very least, the magic shown in the video was overwhelming. It was a realm that neither Yen, Claude Regan, nor perhaps even Shadia Drury could ever hope to reach.

What about Haran, who had slaughtered them like insects? What about the Elder of the 2nd Region, Navyline, who had killed Haran? From the bottom of Redline, looking up at them felt so distant that it almost seemed absurd.

However, there was one thing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he could understand.

This was a bomb.

A bomb that, if detonated carelessly, wouldn't even leave his bones intact.

At the same time, it was a power that could lead its possessor to that distant, lofty height.

How he handled it was entirely up to him.

With the viewing of the knowledge complete, Harmensales withdrew.

In the basement where the fog had settled, only the two of them and the low-tier demons remained once more. Overwhelmed by Harmensales's presence, the demons huddled in the corners of their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠holding cells, not even daring to breathe loudly.

Shadia Drury picked up the lantern she had set down and spoke.

"It seems to have ended safely."

"Yes. Somehow."

"What kind of knowledge did you receive?"

Muzark felt a surge of vigilance at her casual tone. The physical and magical observation attempts Harmensales had mentioned—Shadia didn't say a single word about them.

Before answering, he recalled Yen's advice.

—Think carefully about the boundary line—how much to hide and how much to reveal to protect yourself.

He couldn't just shut down the conversation by saying he didn't want to talk. Just because he couldn't trust her didn't mean he should hide everything. He had to avoid getting on her bad side and being completely cast out.

A proper compromise, a tightrope walk, was the key.

"I asked a bit about my magic."

"Magic? What kind?"

"I heard from Yen that innate magic passed down through bloodlines has to be learned from one's kin. But I was never in an environment where I could do that. The way it manifested was largely accidental, too."

It was all true. He was repeating exactly what he had heard from Yen. Whether Muzark's family was alive or not was unknown, but he had never found even a single point of contact with them.

"If I hadn't met Yen, I probably still wouldn't know what kind of person I am."

This was both sincere and calculated. It was to plant the perception that his relationship with Yen was good. Since Shadia cherished Yen, Muzark's value would increase accordingly.

Shadia nodded and steered the topic back.

"Did you get the answer you wanted?"

"Is that... an order to confess?"

It was a defensive mechanism he could naturally show.

After a brief silence, Shadia spoke.

"I apologize if that sounded coercive."

"No, I should be the one to apologize. You prepared everything from start ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to finish, yet I acted rudely. It's a sensitive issue, so I suppose I reacted too defensively."

"That is the correct attitude to have. As I said, magic is a mage's precious asset. Asking you to disclose your magic was no different from asking you to strip bare, so it was indeed my mistake."

Her gaze, which had felt as if it were monitoring his every move, softened slightly.

"You don't need to worry about the food. As long as you maintain the contract, you'll be coming here periodically anyway. Think of it as a side benefit."

That was something to be grateful for.

'She really showers me with all kinds of things, but...'

Why did he still find it so hard to trust her? Perhaps it was because he lacked peace of mind. His singular focus on survival forced him to view others with prejudice.

'When will I finally be able to stretch my legs and sleep in peace?'

If he became as strong as Haran, would his heart feel lighter then?