Sacramentum Arcanum
Watching the television, which was broadcasting nothing but news of a violent criminal's escape, I sneered and asked Victor Malenkov, "It seems they're trying to hide the fact that you escaped?"
"..."
"A multi-car pileup caused by poor road conditions, and you took advantage of the chaos to flee... I suppose a scenario like that sounds plausible enough?"
Well, I didn't know how long they could keep it under wraps. Still, if they chose not to inform the public, I had no reason to object. Looked at another way, it was practically a declaration of their intent to conduct the investigation entirely in the shadows. I made a mental note to tell my subordinates to stretch their information networks to the limit.
The sacrificial lamb had already been fried with electricity a few times. Since Charm loses its efficacy when the target is consumed by such raw terror, I hadn't bothered to make eye contact. Besides, I had used so much magic since entering the station that I was starting to feel utterly drained.
"She has arrived. Shall I send her in?"
"No, I'll go myself."
It was the least I could do to show respect for someone who had bravely taken the step to come here on her own.
"So, you've decided to choose the second option?"
Meeting Delis again after just a day and a half, she looked much better than before—both physically and mentally. Perhaps it was because she had hit rock bottom and managed to climb back up. Or perhaps it was the glimmer of anticipation for the hope she had glimpsed once more.
Probably both.
Delis cast a fleeting glance at my attire. I was wearing a pristine, snow-white dress without a single speck of blood, simply because I had found no reason to change. Besides, bringing Delis into the Syndicate and under my wing was an extension of the "sacrificial lamb procurement" we had conducted this afternoon. I couldn't deny that, psychologically, I wanted to maintain the exact same atmosphere.
In any case, I led Delis to Victor Malenkov, who was still bound tightly to his chair. His slumped head lifted, his eyes locking onto Delis.
"Now, first of all, I've brought the man who killed Mr. Arthur Bloomfeld here."
Upon identifying the bound man, Delis's face paled with shock. After all, the very man she had just heard about on the radio while coming here was sitting right in front of her. Regardless of her reaction, I calmly finished what I had to say.
"We do have some 'traditional' tools here whose primary purpose is to inflict pain, but I suppose it would be a bit much to expect Miss Bloomfeld to handle them skillfully right away?"
Long, slender needles; electrodes for electric shocks connected to a crude DC power supply; even a branding iron heated in the fire. Traditional they might be, but to an ordinary person who had never had any association with such things, they were bound to be deeply unfamiliar. Delis nodded slowly. Curiosity about the man tied up before her still lingered in her expression, but I gave her passing marks for refraining from asking unnecessary questions.
Meanwhile, Malenkov seemed relieved that he wouldn't have to endure those things "again." The word "again" meant that I had already squeezed as much information out of him as possible before Delis arrived. He had indeed run down and killed Delis's father with a car under orders from the Soviet Union. However, he hadn't recognized my face. In other words, he had no idea who Yerina Bronska, the second leader of the Northern Covenant Syndicate—the organization that had once ruled Kaliningrad with terror—actually was.
It was once again clear that Victor Malenkov was merely a low-level pawn, a tail to be cut off. As such, he had ceased to be of any use to me from this moment on. I had no qualms about handing him over to Delis to do with as she pleased. Thus, I asked:
"Well... blowing his brains out with a gun would technically complete your revenge, but surely you don't want to end it so quickly, do you?"
Those who claim that only emptiness remains at the end of revenge have surely never watched their victim suffer for a long, agonizing time. I believed that if one took enough time to watch the perpetrator suffer prolonged torment, there was no emptiness that could not be filled.
Looking up slightly at Delis, who was a bit taller than me, I declared, "Therefore, Delis, I will first become the master of your soul. Only then will you be able to see a new world."
A sufficiently skilled mage can guide a person outside the path of magic onto it. How capable a mage the newly awakened person becomes depends not only on their personal talent but also on the ability of the mage who opened their eyes. Yet, even without theoretical understanding, they would easily be able to cast the most basic spells. Of course, the old-timers would sneer, claiming that forcing someone onto the path of magic artificially is useless and only increases the risk of secrets leaking.
Magic is engraved upon the soul. Personally, I found the term "soul" a bit ambiguous. However, there was no other word to describe "an intangible something that is somewhat detached from physical reality, exists only in organic life, and scatters into nothingness immediately after death." Of course, our communist friends, who were both materialists and mages, would go a step further and try to deny the very concept of a soul.
Well... the name didn't really matter. In any case, the place where the soul resides is undoubtedly the brain. Thus, the ritual for Delis to serve me as the master of her soul had to be performed by placing my hand upon her head.
I placed my hand on the crown of Delis's head as she knelt before me, and focused my mind. Though she knew nothing of what was happening, she grew solemn, swept up by the gravity of the atmosphere. Traditional mages often referred to this act—where a pioneer and seeker guides another onto the path of magic—as a "baptism." While I had no desire to validate those elitist old-timers who loathed administering baptisms due to their chosen-people complex, it was a highly fitting name given the similarities of the ritual.
The first step of baptism was for the baptizing mage to perceive the origin of the world. Primitive magic, created to mimic primordial natural phenomena. Relic magic, developed to alleviate the immense physical toll that casting magic inflicts on the body. And modern magic, which sacrificed raw power to enhance versatility and spontaneity so that anyone could use it, overcoming the drawback of having to carry expensive and rare relics at all times. Whatever the form, the root was the same. In the end, they were essentially one.
Allowing a soul and body ignorant of magic to open their eyes to a new world was also a process that forced the initiating mage to realize this fundamental truth once more. For me, however, this was a truth I had realized dozens, if not hundreds, of times over the past few weeks. After all, there was no more effective way to imprint upon the members that the leader of the Syndicate was an incomparable mage, and to foster a collective consciousness, than for me to personally bestow the baptism.
Even allocating just ten minutes per person, bringing hundreds of Syndicate members onto the path of magic would take two full days of non-stop work, even if I skipped sleep and meals. Balancing this with other duties meant it could easily take days or even weeks. Because of this—or perhaps thanks to this—guiding Delis onto the path of magic was a baptism administered by a mage who had literally done nothing but this day in and day out. The subordinates who had received my clumsy, early-stage baptisms had even had their paths corrected by me once my proficiency improved.
Midway through the baptism, Delis noticed the strange sensation flowing through her body and let out a soft gasp.
"This is...?"
"You're starting to feel it. Fundamentally, the energy you feel right now played a far greater role in Arthur Bloomfeld's death than the man sitting in front of you."
Her body trembled beneath my hand. Just like me, Yerina Bronska, Delis had clearly not yet moved past her father's death. As I continued the baptism ritual, I spoke words designed to soothe her and bind her to my will.
"There is no need to worry. A sword is merely a weapon whose nature changes depending on who wields it and how it is used."
"How to choose a sword, how to grip it, and how to strike with it. I will teach you everything, step by step. So, Delis, simply walk the path I lay out for you."
"Do not let others toy with your life, your emotions, and your destiny, or those of your loved ones ever again."
"Those belong only to you, and to me, the master of your soul."
The world ought to be beneath my feet. Relics, magic, and all of humanity. Only then would I avoid losing any more of those precious to me. Only then would I prevent myself from being lost once again.
Shifting my tone, I proceeded to the final stage of the baptism.
"So, cast aside your fears. There are already others in the Syndicate walking the path of magic beside you—"
A brief pause. Taking a deep breath, I poured every ounce of my magic into Delis's soul and calmly declared:
"—you are no longer alone."
"Ah..."
With a soft groan, her posture began to collapse. Quickly bracing herself against the floor, Delis looked up at me with eyes full of complex, sorrowful emotions, stammering, "You... You...!"
I curled my lips into a gentle smile.
"Welcome, Delis Bloomfeld. You are now a full-fledged member of our Northern Covenant Syndicate."
Since we couldn't afford to waste any more time, I helped Delis to her feet and immediately demonstrated the first spell.
"...!"
It was basic telekinesis. Since a mage is someone who can bend the external world to their will, this was the very first step on the path of magic.
"Now, why don't you try copying me? The new world I promised you, Delis, begins right here."
Though her expression showed she was still struggling to adapt, Delis mimicked my movements, her eyes filled with absolute trust. The result:
"Oh?"
The tiny specks of dust floating in the musty monastery basement began to gather under Delis's will. It was a faint, barely visible stream, not even amounting to a handful. Yet, for someone who had just stepped onto the path of magic, it was a brilliant achievement. If I recalled correctly, when I first baptized Pavel, his performance had been far below this.
Feeling inwardly satisfied, I gave Delis further instructions.
"You feel something, don't you? Now, try directing that toward his heart."
If telekinesis were driven directly into the heart, the proper contraction and relaxation of the muscle would be utterly impossible. While telekinesis targeted at the brain would cause almost instant loss of consciousness and death, the heart—a relatively sturdy organ—could resist an abrupt external shock to some degree. The pain, however, was a different story.
"Ghh...!"
Victor Malenkov immediately began to writhe in agony. His atria, ventricles, and valves screamed in unison, creating a horrific trio of torment.
"Alright, that's enough."
I halted the concerto, which had been playing for over three minutes. Malenkov, who was now literally coughing up blood, looked as though he might drop dead at any second.
"It would be a waste if your revenge ended in just three minutes. He's the man who ran over your father; shouldn't he suffer more?"
I forcibly shoved Malenkov's soul—which was flickering as if about to leave his body, at least to a mage's eyes—back into his flesh. Naturally, this in itself was a source of immense agony, and the communist agent hired by the Soviets began to thrash about in even greater pain than before. The legs of the iron chair scraped harshly against the stone floor.
Watching this, I saw a hint of sadism bloom in Delis's amber eyes. This sadism, evidenced by her ragged breathing, was a common emotion among newly awakened mages. It could be seen as a concrete manifestation of the elitist mindset—I am superior to others!—that arises upon opening one's eyes to a new world. But what was wrong with that? It was the objective truth, after all.
Having crossed the irreversible barrier into the path of magic, Delis would become a crucial piece in my grand scheme to rise above everyone else in the world. I even brought over my ThinkPad to handle Syndicate paperwork while guiding Delis in her telekinesis training. Whenever Malenkov teetered on the brink of death, I had Delis pause, and I would bind his escaping soul back to his body once more.
Since I had already extracted all the information I needed, this was technically a waste of time. Yet, if it meant securing a person's absolute devotion to me as the master of her soul, how could it possibly be called a waste?
Eight hours and thirty-four minutes. That was the length of time Delis spent squeezing Malenkov's heart.