The Black Mage of the Fog-Shrouded Forest
'Boring.'
Clink.
The crystal glass set on the rough wooden table trembled lightly.
The amber liquid inside was Golden Lion 30-Year-Old, a top-shelf whiskey utterly out of place in a backwater dump like Lux Village.
A single bottle cost dozens of gold coins—a rare delicacy.
And in front of him, some rather premium jerky to boot.
The sight of such fine booze and snacks on a dingy inn table created a bizarre dissonance.
Of course, this wasn't the kind of fare you'd expect in a place like this.
"Hoo."
Kang Jin-ho tossed back a sip and peered out the window.
This cheap inn's swill was nowhere near good enough for his palate.
That's why he always carried his own drinks and munchies.
'Murky view.'
Beyond the glass, everything was shrouded in gray.
365 days a year.
Not a single day without the relentless fog.
Lurking behind it was a dense, ominous forest.
The entrance to the Black Mist Forest.
'Already two years, huh.'
It had been two years since he'd inked that deal with Seraphina in southern Escar City and hit the road.
The world had changed a lot in that time.
The Lapis Merchant Group had ballooned at terrifying speed, fueled by Seraphina's ruthless drive and his own cash injections.
Word was, they'd expanded beyond the south into the empire's central regions.
Her occasional magical communiqués or letters revealed just how maniacally she was grinding.
Lord Kwonje! This quarter's net profit hit 300% of last year's! We're on track to snag imperial supply rights soon! Ah, and the steady pocket money (investment funds) you've been sending is growing safely, so no worries. Branches are expanding, so you'll be able to withdraw cash from way more spots anytime!
Just reading it, you could picture her eyes gleaming gold, stuffed with visions of ingots.
Thanks to her, Kang Jin-ho lived free of money woes, kicking back easy.
But the real issue lay elsewhere.
'Too damn boring.'
He propped his chin and sighed.
Money overflowed.
Fame pierced the heavens.
Anywhere on the continent, dropping the name Kwonje Jin made even royals scramble out barefoot.
But this world? It was a barren wasteland of entertainment.
Even after seven years, modern conveniences haunted his cravings.
'Maybe the mammoth prime steak rumor got blown out of proportion. The tales were weird too.'
Some rumors had warped into myths: him uprooting mountains to hurl them or cleaving seas to doom underwater cities.
Sure, he'd done mythic stuff like chucking a kraken missile.
Anyway, modern life called to him stronger than ever.
But no matter his power, he couldn't fix that.
So he wandered, traveling for kicks.
"Sir, need anything?"
The innkeeper shuffled over, back hunched, voice tentative.
His eyes darted, gauging Kang Jin-ho's mood.
Instinct screamed that this outsider chugging premium liquor radiated no ordinary aura.
"Nah. If you've got something decent, grab some jerky. Less tough stuff."
He knew local jerky wouldn't be great.
But right now, he just wanted something to chew.
"Y-yes, sir! I'll pick the tenderest cut!"
The innkeeper scurried to the kitchen.
Kang Jin-ho refilled his glass.
This western frontier spot, Lux Village, was his current travel stop.
Beyond the empire's admin reach—an untamed wilderness swarming with monsters and crooks.
Plus, he'd wanted to check out the Black Mist Forest.
'But this place is a letdown too.'
Day three here.
Just fog, creepy woods, and villagers scraping by with fear-twisted faces.
He drained his glass, musing.
'Gotta bounce tomorrow.'
Bang!
Then it happened.
The inn's rickety wooden door flew open like it might shatter.
Ominous fog wafted in, carrying the metallic tang of blood.
"Huff, huff! Village Chief! Chief, where are you!"
Two blood-soaked young men staggered inside.
Draped over their shoulders: limp something-or-others.
Livestock.
A calf and two sheep.
But their state was anything but normal.
"Wh-what happened!"
An old man drinking in the corner shot up.
The village chief.
The dozen or so villagers inside buzzed, crowding over.
"Look at this! We got hit again!"
The youths dumped the carcasses on the floor.
Thud. The revealed horrors made folks gasp and reel back.
"Eek!"
"G-god no…."
Kang Jin-ho's brow twitched.
Still seated, glass in hand paused, he stared at the corpses.
'Not a beast or monster attack.'
No typical predator work.
No napes torn, no bellies ripped.
Instead, the livestock were mummified—withered husks.
Muscle, fat, fluids, blood—all sucked dry, leaving skin and bone in gruesome ruin.
Even weirder: dark blue blotches blooming on the hides.
Mold-like patches, faintly smoking.
"Not… a drop of blood."
"Again! Fifth time already!"
Villagers' faces blanched in terror.
This wasn't mere livestock death.
A clear anomaly. A curse's harbinger.
"No doubt! That witch in the forest did it!"
Someone yelled.
The cry ignited the crowd's fear into rage, like a spark on dry tinder.
"Right! Cursed witch lives in those woods!"
"The black mage hiding in the Black Mist Forest! She sucked our livestock dry with her evil black magic!"
"Yeah. Next could be us. Livestock today, people tomorrow!"
"Exactly! Strike first before she gets us!"
The inn filled with shouts laced in fear and loathing.
One youth brandished a scythe—god knows how he'd hauled it—and bellowed.
"We march to the forest now and drag out that witch! Burn her, or our village is doomed!"
"Yeah! Kill her!"
"Devil spawn!"
Mad fervor gripped the room.
"C-calm down!"
The chief steadied his quaking staff, trying to soothe them.
But the mob, reason fled, heard nothing.
'Witch… no, black mage?'
Kang Jin-ho watched impassively.
Black mages.
In the worldview of the original novel The Regressed Saintess Only Walks the Flower Path, they were treated like dirt.
Worse—scorned and hunted.
Darkness always carried ill omens.
So wielders of dark mana got branded pre-criminals or demon thralls.
'Sure, some are legit psychos.'
The southern Karon Merchant Group's backers, Abyss cultists—different breed from black mages.
But plenty of black mages did worship Outer Gods.
Truth was, their villainous rep stemmed partly from those Outer God devotees' atrocities.
'Outer God-tainted black mages deserve death. But most are just innocent.'
Not all were guilty.
Some were born with dark affinity.
Others built up dark mana over time, becoming black mages unwittingly.
They had zero Outer God ties.
Just another magic branch, handling shadows.
'Problem is, "darkness" screams negative.'
Empire folk lumped them all together.
Dark magic? Witch. Demon.
So moderate black mages hid in deep woods or frontiers.
The original story portrayed their plight sympathetically.
'Classic witch hunt playbook.'
Kang Jin-ho clicked his tongue.
Dead livestock or plagues? Humans lash out at easy scapegoats—ugly instinct.
Was their "forest witch" a true evil black mage?
Or an innocent hermit framed?
No telling.
But the livestock's state screamed something was up.
'Smells fishy.'
He rose.
Silent, fluid motion.
Yet his presence pierced the din, catching the chief's eye.
Kang Jin-ho strolled to the corpses.
Folks flinched at the stranger, parting ways.
Before the desiccated beasts, chin in hand, he muttered.
'Hmm, this… reeks of Outer God traces, no doubt.'
Undeniable.
Mark of some lunatic borrowing Outer God power.
'Two possibilities, then.'
Their "black mage" might've gone Outer God.
'Or she's wrongly accused, and the real Outer God user is someone else.'