When the Bitter Runs Out, the Sweet Arrives (2)
He wondered for a moment if he was imagining it, but no — he was certain.
This is mana.
But why in the world would there be mana inside a temple?
Worse, the direction it was coming from was…
The kitchen?
The Skeleton King turned to look at the building where food was being busily prepared. Then the smell of cooking wafted over him, and he staggered like a zombie.
Feeling hunger for the first time in centuries had been so blissful it nearly brought him to tears — but now he'd reached his limit!
These damned holy knights.
Convinced he would starve to death if he kept waiting on these bastards, he rolled and tumbled his way out on hands and knees. Rather than trust these sons of bitches to deliver, he might as well raid the pantry himself.
No idea why the food hall would be radiating mana, but.
This was no time to be picky about hot or cold.
Food first!
It didn't even have to be meat — as long as he could eat something!
Just then, the shrieks of holy knights spotting the Skeleton King rang out.
"Good heavens, my lord! Don't tell me you came all this way because you were hungry? Hey! Bring it out, now!"
"Do not worry, my lord. We have prepared the finest cuisine!"
Oooh!
These bastards. Dragging him to the temple was unforgivable, but if they prepared the best — he supposed he could forgive them.
"The imperial family has personally prepared rare delicacies for you!"
Oooh! What sweet little things!
Imperial cuisine, no less!
Whatever they served, he'd eat every bite with relish!
It had been hundreds of long years since the Skeleton King had possessed a human body.
All he had wanted before he died — just once, even a single time — was a bowl of ramyeon. And not just any bowl: one with a broth so wickedly spicy it made your eyes water. The kind he used to boil up for late-night snacks and hangover cures, piping hot and fiery. Honestly, forget ramyeon specifically — he would have given anything just to eat anything at all.
Simply to be able to perform the act of eating, of swallowing food down his throat — that alone would have let him laugh for a hundred years.
And now, after centuries of waiting, the moment had finally arrived.
He could eat real, human food.
Whatever came out, he would savor it…
Savor it…
Yet there, before the food, the Skeleton King's face was a portrait of dissatisfaction.
And he had every right to be.
Look. I said, whatever comes out, I'd, eat it, deliciously… but this is NOT what I wanted to eat…….
The Skeleton King's face rotted as he suckled on a baby bottle. The fingers gripping it went white with strain.
Fine… fine, I get it. I'm a baby, so formula it is…….
No teeth yet, after all. He'd work hard on this stuff, grow this body up, and raise his magic tier faster. That was the plan.
But if they were going to feed him, the least they could do was bring actual milk.
What the hell is tree root?! Root water, goddammit!
The Skeleton King glared at the table. On it sat golden tableware piled high with beans and assorted grasses.
Worse — he'd only chosen the bean water after flatly refusing the holy knights' offer to juice some bizarre plants for a fresh green concoction. Anything beat mystery green sludge. Soy milk was the lesser evil!
And so the Skeleton King could only be shattered.
You're telling me THAT is what the imperial family sent?
At this point he was seriously questioning whether he should defect to the elves as a Saint.
Don't tell me the Holy Empire is a vegetarian nation?
Vegetables were fine. Great, even. But for the imperial family's finest cuisine to amount to this…
Boiled beans in plain water? Really?
Are these bastards elves or what?
But soon the Skeleton King shook his head. No. No, this wasn't right.
It had taken hundreds of years just to get a body that could chew and swallow. If bean water and grass water was what these people lived on, then for now he should accept it with a grateful, patient heart…
"But will he really be all right? Giving the young lord food that even we don't eat?"
"His is a body that will become a holy vessel — a representative of God himself. Only the purest and most abstinent fare has been prepared."
"His Holiness the Pope has decreed that all Saint candidates be fed exclusively on those crops."
"Yes. It's a trial, after all."
That son of a bitch Pope — I could chew him up and still feel shortchanged!
He'd never liked those clowns, not since the old days.
Before he settled accounts with the gods, he'd start by ripping off the Pope's head.
When the Skeleton King's gaze swung toward the holy knights, they smiled as if deeply moved.
"Are you… worried about us, my lord? Please, there's no need!"
"Indeed! Our knight order stuffed ourselves with hearty meat rations just so we could protect you!"
"So please, eat as much as you— hup! My lord, your spit—"
"Wait, young lord, stop! Hupp-hupp!"
PTOO! PTOO!
These holy knight bastards — he was definitely going to enslave every last one of them and work them to the bone.
It's not as if eating garbage like this disqualifies you from sainthood… but.
For the Pope, of all people, to order this to be fed to him?
Damn it. I'm starving. Fine. I'll eat.
Unexpectedly, it reminded him of drinking the broth from naengmyeon in cold soybean soup — and it wasn't half bad.
The real problem was actually this body.
Damn it. I underestimated the Saint's body.
No wonder even 1st Tier magic was producing bizarrely monstrous results.
This body hoards power like a madman, doesn't it?
It was simple, really. Compared to the gods, humans were minuscule beings. So how did a tiny body hold as much power as possible?
Filter out the impurities. Compress it to the extreme.
Refine the power pure and pure again, then compress it without mercy — so that the strength of one could produce the strength of ten thousand.
And purely compressed power was indescribably strong.
Which means the same spell or holy power hits overwhelmingly harder.
But as things stood, he was in trouble.
Great power or not, at this compression rate, when am I supposed to ever fill up my mana tank?
One attack or ten thousand — even with devastating force, there was a world of difference.
Which was why increasing his mana capacity was non-negotiable.
Yes. Non-negotiable.
The problem was that this was the Holy Empire.
A place where magic cores are already next to impossible to find — and with this body hoarding everything on top of that, when will I ever gather any mana?
Aaah, if only a nursing infant could gather mana just by eating — eating being literally the only thing a baby does — how convenient would that be……
But then it happened.
The Skeleton King — sipping his bean water like soju with the face of a man who had lived a full life — suddenly made a strange expression.
Hm?
He stared at the baby bottle, puzzled. Then he tilted his head and took another sip.
Gulp.
…Hm?
The Skeleton King looked at the bottle as if it were a bug.
What is this?
Why did the mana seem to be building up the more bean water he drank?
Was it his imagination?
Something felt deeply off, so he gulped it down a few more times — and it was unmistakable.
Holy crap. The mana is actually accumulating!
The Skeleton King glared at the baby bottle, dumbfounded. He couldn't figure out why.
Only one thing was certain in this moment:
I can build mana just by eating!
Which meant he could cast magic!
Driven half-mad by the thought, the light in the Skeleton King's eyes transformed completely.
Just then—
"Oh my! The young lord!"
"Oooh!"
Gulp-gulp. Gulp-gulp.
The Skeleton King, who had been sipping his bean water daintily, began draining the bottle at a frenzied pace.
And the mana kept pouring in.
Yes! Yes! This is it!
Rank advancement, and even blowing up (though perhaps not) this godforsaken nation of priests — all within reach!
Having emptied the bottle in an instant, the Skeleton King thrust out his tiny hand in a demonstrative gesture for another.
"DAH! DAH-DAH-DAH!" ( Get me more, you trash, is it that hard? )
When he even started pounding the table with his baby bottle, the holy knights looked astonished.
"Goodness — we were so worried it would be too much for him to stomach, trial or no trial……!"
"The other Saint candidates had to be force-fed theirs, you know."
"Yes. And His Holiness did select only the prettiest specimens, but honestly, taste-wise it's the lowest-grade crop there is……"
"They call it clergy fare, but what noble house's child would eat what even farmers won't, and call it delicious? Even senior priests… well, truthfully, I've never seen a single one of them touch it……"
But regardless of their chatter, this time the Skeleton King's eyes blazed as he tackled the green juice.
There it is. Mana in the ingredients!
And this time it was a hefty amount!
All those centuries as a skeleton, he'd never once eaten food, so he'd had no way of knowing. Could you really absorb mana just by eating? He'd never even heard of such a thing.
Could this too be because of this body?
Either way, this was no ordinary matter.
It meant he could acquire mana through a routine, daily act of consumption.
His path diverged entirely from other mages, who scraped together mana through magic cores and grueling training.
The Skeleton King was almost tempted to feel grateful to the gods for screwing him over so thoroughly.
Though the amount of mana seems to vary by food.
Some gave him barely a mouse's tail's worth; others were worth a full month of accumulation.
Which one is it? Which one's the month's worth?
No — did that even matter right now?
Eat it ALL before those priests come back!
As the Skeleton King devoured everything in sight, the holy knights were, for some reason, absolutely delighted.
"There's no doubt now — of all the Saint candidates, this is the true Saint!"
"To enjoy so heartily the clergy fare that only the ancient saints ever ate!"
At their words, the Skeleton King narrowed his brow.
Other Saint candidates?
Come to think of it, he'd been hearing that ever since the fake wet nurse.
There are more Saint candidates.
A Saint would surely wield enormous power. That's why they were pouring such care into the selection.
And this filthily disgusting garbage — ahem, this "pure and abstinent" fare — must be one of the discernment tests.
So that part, he understood.
But this — this he could not understand at all.
Why is there poison inside the crops?
And no ordinary poison, either.
This is divine poison.
Not "poison that is holy" — poison that destroys holy power.
It wasn't instantly lethal. But poison was poison; accumulate enough of it and you died. And above all, it was the most lethal poison imaginable for clergy, whose very existence depended on wielding holy power.
A Saint without holy power — well, that's a death sentence, isn't it.
Of course, for the Skeleton King it was completely harmless.
Because this poison is made from magic cores.
Mana and holy power were polar opposites. To kill holy power, you naturally killed it with mana.
And poison made from magic cores?
Hand that to a demon and it simply meant: here, suck the mana right out of it — bon appétit!
Sure, the toxic compounds would remain — but that didn't matter either. Even if the deadliest venom came in, breaking poison down and converting it into mana for a full, unrestrained absorption was child's play for a Demon King–class entity like the Skeleton King.
Absorbing the poison in an instant, the Skeleton King narrowed his brow as if experiencing an exquisite thrill.
Holy — that's THREE MONTHS of mana!
This is amazing!
Whoever brewed this, the cost-performance is insane!
Just how viciously did they have to make this to get three months' worth?
He didn't know why there'd be poison in Saint fare, but at least it wasn't meant as a discernment test. If it were, they'd have used something other than poison that cripples priests, and they'd have used something fast-acting.
Don't tell me they're targeting me?
Take the simple view, and this was the work of rival factions trying to eliminate Saint candidates……
Ah, hell yes — that one's FIVE months of mana!
The Skeleton King shuddered deliciously.
Faction wars, schmaction wars — is there anything with a stronger toxin in this batch?
Bring on the deadliest venom you've got.
"Did you just say Saint?"
Papal Court, main chancery.
The immaculate brow of a man who had just received the report lifted sharply.
The man wore a black uniform — and in the Holy Empire, only one class of people was permitted to wear black: the Cardinals.
As the man — who looked as though he wouldn't tolerate so much as a speck of dust on his clothing — raised his eyes in displeasure, his attendant trembled.
"My apologies, Your Eminence. The Imperial Knight Order reports that they rescued Isaac Eshua from his kidnappers. He has been moved to a nearby temple."
"I am aware."
The attendant swallowed hard.
The entire continent was already in an uproar over a Saint — something that had never existed in all of history. More than that, a Saint was a being who could decide the fate of the Empire itself. The one who would claim the Holy Empire.
Consequently, not only the Five Great Ducal Houses but every two-bit noble family under the sun was shrieking that their own child was the true Saint.
And now, of all things, yet another candidate had emerged from one of the Five Great Houses.
Cardinal Verith — head of the Five Great Families, sworn enemy of House Eshua — frowned.
"Isaac Eshua. The child even House Eshua itself did not know existed, was it?"
"Yes. Aside from the young lord, every other Saint candidate must be dealt with. Shall we dispose of that one as well? Being an Eshua child, the fallout would be enormous if we did……"
"Enough. I have already dispatched a proxy. There is no need to concern yourself with a fly that will die soon enough."
After all, the Saint's crop destined for that child had already been laced with divine poison.
A nursing infant of House Eshua, one of the Five Great Ducal Houses? A mere sip, and the babe wouldn't last half a day. He wouldn't even need to lay eyes on the brat's face.
But even as those orders settled into place—
More! MORE! Bring me something MORE toxic!
— the Skeleton King was already draining his tenth cup of poisoned green juice.