The Evil God's Gift (3)
The Thunder Staff. A gift bestowed by the Evil God. A weapon that used a metallic catalyst to fire piercing thunder. It possessed none of the flaws typical of magic tools. As long as one had enough catalysts, there was no need to show an aptitude for magic, nor any need to expend mana. It did not even require casting time. Capable of slaying an enemy with a single flick of a finger, it was a divine creation forged solely for slaughter. Though she had only ever used it against beasts and monsters... Seraphina had, at some point, come to believe. She believed that no one in this world could ever stop this weapon.
"Ah... shit. That hurts like hell."
That belief had just been shattered.
"This is impossible...!"
Seraphina froze at the unbelievable sight. To block the thunder and remain completely unharmed. It hadn't even missed, yet he stood there without a scratch.
How on earth is he still alive? All the other Iron Masks fell! Why? Is this one special? Or... is even this part of the Evil God's plan? Questions swirled chaotically in the young girl's mind.
A momentary freeze followed. The Iron Mask did not miss that opening. Crash, smash! He charged forward, violently smashing through the chairs on the dais.
Seraphina reacted instantly. She forced down the raging questions for now, focusing entirely on survival. Dodging backward, she racked her brain for a way to overcome this situation.
The Evil God's gift isn't working. There's nothing I can do on my own. But... Fortunately, there was another person here. A veteran mage from a prestigious magical lineage.
"Merlin! Fire magic!" Seraphina shouted.
The cry pierced his ears. Merlin, who had been standing dazed until then, finally snapped out of it.
"O-O Pantara!"
A blue magic circle bloomed at the old beastman's fingertips. The magic circle expanded in an instant, swelling to cover half the dais as flames erupted from it. The rising red fire was immediate and widespread. The surging, flickering flames swallowed the charging Iron Mask whole.
It was a destructive spell, so powerful it was hard to believe it had been cast instantly without any preparation in this foreign world. Yet, despite this, Merlin's expression as he channeled the magic was completely stiff. The old man shouted in a trembling voice.
"We must run! Sh-show me the way!" He scrambled backward, flustered.
Though bewildered, Seraphina acted immediately. She grabbed the old man and ran, following the silver gaze. Since the Iron Mask was near the entrance, they headed in the opposite direction, toward the dormitory area.
As they sprinted across the dais, Seraphina asked, "What's wrong? With flames of that scale, even an Iron Mask shouldn't be able to withstand—"
"N-no. That's... that's not it." Merlin cut her off unnaturally and fell silent. His voice held a thick mixture of anxiety and shame. Why? The reason was revealed immediately.
"Motherfucker, that scared the shit out of me. What the hell was that?"
The Iron Mask, who had been engulfed in flames, stood back up. He brushed through the fire as if it were mere smoke, looking around to find traces of the two.
Seraphina was horrified. Did even fire fail to work against a body that could deflect thunder? The girl was momentarily bewildered, but she soon realized something was off. It started with a subtle sense of incongruity. His clothes, torn from the direct hit of the thunder, were fluttering in tatters. It wasn't as if they were holy vestments woven from celestial silk.
His clothes didn't even catch fire? It wasn't just a matter of being flame-resistant. Not a single spark had transferred to them.
Come to think of it... Another discrepancy caught her eye. She had been so distracted by the spectacular flames that she had temporarily forgotten. It's not hot. The heat is far too weak for a fire of this scale.
Clear doubt and suspicion rose on Seraphina's face. The flickering flames illuminated her expression perfectly. Running beside her, the old mage noticed the change. Only then did Merlin confess. The calm, seasoned demeanor he had shown until now was nowhere to be found. He muttered in a barely audible whisper.
"...That magic was nothing but a paltry illusion. I... I cannot use fire magic."
Having temporarily distracted the Iron Mask with illusion magic, the two hastily hid in the dormitory area. It was a maze-like bedroom lined with countless bunk beds. They lay flat on their stomachs in one of them, holding their breath.
"You fucking bastards, you're dead meat when I catch you. The blonde bitch looks decent enough to sell to a brothel, and the old man... looks like he had some weird awakening with those ears. I'll sell him off to the Haninhae."
The muffled, grumbling voice of the Iron Mask echoed from afar. The non-stop muttering gradually faded into the distance. For now, he seemed unable to find them, but it wouldn't take long.
In this desperate moment where they could neither run nor resist, Seraphina seized the brief lull to question Merlin. "...What do you mean you can't use fire magic?!" To her, his words defied all common sense.
The Solbyrne family, a prestigious magical lineage. Despite being a beastman clan, they had shown a generational talent for fire magic. A few generations ago, their patriarch had even ascended to a Constellation due to his achievements in flame magic. Since a mage from such a family had survived to this old age, she had assumed he must have a hidden trump card.
"Weren't you highly skilled in illusion magic?" Merlin's exceptional proficiency in illusion magic had supported her assumption. Most mages treated it as a mere auxiliary magic for general education, yet he wielded it with masterclass skill. She had naturally assumed his primary specialty, fire magic, would be even greater. But...
"...Hahaha. Yes. It is absurd. A Solbyrne who cannot use fire magic... I have no right to bear that name." Merlin laughed hollowly, agreeing with Seraphina's disbelief.
"...Is there some kind of condition? Or is it because we are beyond the Gate?"
"No. It is not such a complex issue. I simply had no talent. My affinity for fire mana was abysmal. Far from being worthy of the Solbyrne lineage, I was worse than a commoner." Merlin's words were thick with emotion. Decades of stagnant, festering resentment bled through his voice.
"...!" Hearing the deep sorrow in Merlin's voice, Seraphina realized something and fell silent. To Merlin, her silence felt like a familiar insult. He let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. To receive such pity at the end of his long life. Feeling a sudden emptiness in his chest, the old mage yielded to his elderly instincts and began to ramble.
"...I know it is laughable. Even at this age, I blustered and put on airs because I wanted to look impressive, but in truth, I was nothing but an incompetent clown. What a pathetic life." It was a confession made by an old man before a priestess. It was a quiet review of his own life, a panorama of his past as he prepared for the end.
The old man briefly laid bare his life. It was not a particularly grand tale. A child who could not spark a flame no matter what he tried, who turned to illusion magic just to fake it, only to be stripped of his position as successor. Even after becoming a royal mage on the strength of his family name, he had merely served as the king's jester with his illusions to avoid conscription. He simply muttered a trivial history of a life riddled with failure and disgrace.
"I tried to at least act grand in my final years, but even that was denied to me. Oh, damn you, Pantara." A hollow life. He had built a village just to leave something behind. He had sought to satisfy the desire for legacy—which others fulfilled through children and grandchildren—through a pioneer village. The sacrifice he had attempted when he first met the girl was born of the same desire.
"I thought... it would be a rather splendid end. Giving my life to save others. I believed it was better than a meaningless death." Of course, the old man had failed again. An outsider had intruded. Led by a mysterious hand, he had missed his chance to die. Merlin's life would leave no meaning, not even in death.
"Hehehe... So, how does our Priestess feel? Do you resent me for being unable to use fire magic?" Sensing his end, the mage no longer bothered with formalities.
"Hah, I shouldn't have revealed the name Solbyrne. Well, I suppose this is my karma for failing to rid myself of the habit of leaning on my family even at this ripe old age." Death was already at their doorstep. The fear of the power that summoned thunder, and the self-justification of protecting the village, no longer held any meaning.
"However, I hope you know that I resent you quite a bit as well. I stepped into this other world hoping to use you somehow, and yet here I am, about to die miserably not even a few hours after arriving." The old man spat out the thoughts swirling in his head without restraint.
"The priestess of an otherworldly god isn't all that impressive either. It seems that terrifying weapon of yours is nothing special in this world." As he uttered his final words, Merlin braced for a counterattack. Priests were those devoted to their Constellations, taking insults to their gods far more seriously than insults to their own parents. Having spat such blasphemy at a mad fanatic who believed her god ruled the monsters of this world, he thought she might turn that divine gift on him. He didn't even care if she did.
A hollow life from beginning to end. Merlin lamented inwardly, preparing for her wrath. However, the girl's reaction to the insult against her god was entirely different from what he had expected.
"Ah... So that was it. That is exactly why you were chosen."
The Priestess of the Evil God was smiling. As if she finally understood. As if her lingering doubts had been resolved. Her ruby eyes gazed at Merlin with a clear sense of kinship.
"I also understand why the God sent the Iron Mask now. And why He sent an entity that the Thunder Staff cannot affect. All of it... I understand now." A sense of fulfillment washed over her face. A smile filled with benevolence, as if she were assimilating with a grand will. It was an expression utterly unfitting for someone standing on the precipice of a miserable demise.
"...She has finally lost her mind completely," Merlin muttered to himself. What a ridiculous display. When they were hiding in the dark, unable to even run.
"Get a grip. We are both going to die. No, we'll be lucky if we die in one piece. Have you not heard the rumors of what happens to those dragged away by the Iron Masks?" The old man shouted in anger. His voice failed to reach the young girl at all. Seraphina's mind was already filled with a monumental realization. A deep satisfaction, as if countless puzzle pieces were falling into place of their own accord, enveloped her entire body.
The girl silently looked at the old man before her. The illusion she had held during their first meeting shattered. He was not a hero who had overcome adversity. He was not a wise, seasoned sage who had unlocked the secrets of life. He was merely a flawed human being. The heir of Solbyrne who could not spark a flame, harboring an unachievable desire. A man so twisted by an unquenchable thirst in his heart that he constantly reproached his own life. Ah, yes. How incredibly similar they were. Just like someone who had lost everything and sworn vengeance.
...I see. What the Evil God desires is not an ordinary believer. He is not satisfied with followers easily won. Seraphina's story and Merlin's story overlapped. Different people, but the exact same plot. She mapped the current situation onto her own memories. What came to mind was the moment she had been captured by hunters and dragged before Renatus. If so, wasn't what she had to do at this moment absolutely clear?
"Merlin. Pray."
"...Ha. Ridiculous."
"Pray. Offer everything you have. Swear that you will satisfy the Great God with everything you are capable of. Then, the God will grant your desire."
"Cut the nonsense. I tried everything possible back when I was with the Solbyrnes. I am loathed by fire mana."
"..."
"Fire hates me. Magic tools that spark flames, magic tools that nurture embers... they all rejected my mana. Everything on the Continent, the very mana dwelling within it, rejects my fire. A tiny ember to light the path before me is the absolute limit of this body..."
Seraphina did not bother responding to Merlin's self-deprecating words. Instead, she looked up at the silver gaze painting the air. The silver beams swept through the underground facility as if waiting for Merlin's answer. The countless silver eyes scanned the entire area, appearing almost impatient. Of course, the lofty Evil God could not possibly feel anxiety; He was undoubtedly rolling His eyes and laughing, anticipating His new follower. Thus, Seraphina took the initiative. Rather than making a futile attempt to persuade Merlin with words, she prayed to her God.
O Great One. Constellation of the Silver Gaze. Your Priestess dares to pray. She wished for Him to show her the answer, to bear witness to His grand design. And so, it was granted. The gaze, which had lingered inside the facility as if contemplating even after the girl's prayer, suddenly locked onto a single direction. A revelation had come. Seraphina did not hesitate. The moment she faced the Evil God's guidance, she bolted.
"Wh-what are you doing?! The Iron Mask's footsteps are getting closer!" Merlin whispered frantically as he scrambled after her. She did not listen. Proof would be shown through action. The silver gaze was pointing toward a private room, deeper inside than where she and Merlin had left their belongings. She threw herself into the uncharted room.
"There you are, you little rats!" The Iron Mask wandering nearby heard the footsteps and gave chase. It did not matter. Ignoring his growls, the girl searched the private room. It was a space that clearly showed signs of past habitation. Amidst the clutter of miscellaneous items and chemicals, she dug into the spot where the silver gaze rested. Her hand wrapped around a glass bottle filled with a transparent liquid.
"Merlin!" Holding the glass bottle, Seraphina dashed back out into the hallway. She hurled the bottle at the rapidly approaching Iron Mask. The Iron Mask failed to dodge. The darkness shrouding the hallway blocked his vision, and he couldn't deflect it with a small stick like his torch. With a sharp shatter, the liquid drenched the monster's entire body. At the same time, Seraphina screamed at the old man.
"Fire!"
"I-I told you it's useless! My fire cannot burn any kind of kindling!"
"Shut up and shoot! The God will handle the rest!" A bizarre, intense faith dwelled within the girl's red eyes. The ruby radiance bore down on him with an irresistible pressure. Left with no choice, the old man conjured a flame. An ember as pitiful as his own self-esteem flickered at his fingertip. The tiny spark, which could barely pierce the subterranean darkness, was flung toward the bewildered Iron Mask. Soon, Merlin's small flame caught the transparent liquid—
—and there was light. An overwhelming, blinding flash of fire.