The Immortal Sinner, Duran
Duran the Immortal Sinner was originally human. A grand archmage from an era before Sylvia's time. The foremost authority on life-extension magic. Duran, who had made monumental contributions to the advancement of life magic, was once so renowned that the emperor himself bestowed upon him the title of Sage.
But this great mage feared death. He dreaded his lifetime of achievements crumbling to nothing. The unknown abyss beyond, that terrifying mystery called death. And so, he turned his hand to black magic.
The subjects of his experiments were elves, said to live long lives. Subjecting them to all manner of torments, he ultimately succeeded in transplanting his own soul into an elf body of his own creation. But what he gained wasn't just that. By fusing black magic into the immortal elf body, he reached a realm long thought impossible.
Of course, the body he forged was anything but ordinary. Unlike the pure forest kin of elves, his skin was dyed black, tainted with nothing but impure, murky energies. While elf skin is pure white, his was pitch-black for that very reason. The elves refused to acknowledge him as one of their own. Thus, the Immortal Sinner Duran came to be called a dark elf.
"Was eternal life worth being called that?"
Sylvia asked in a voice laced with contempt. From her perspective, she couldn't comprehend Duran's actions at all. It was unavoidable. Elves were a long-lived race. Over the span of their lives, desires faded, and lingering attachments to life vanished. So Sylvia was certain she wouldn't stoop to Duran's level even if she knew she'd die tomorrow. That's why she couldn't understand his path.
What obsession with life could drive someone to such horrors? Was immortality so desirable that he'd choose a lifetime of suffering?
To her keen elven eyes, Duran's body trembled visibly. Muscles contracting wildly across his frame, his heart squeezing erratically, breath choking off in his throat—it was a pitiable sight. Yet the reason he didn't die was simple: the curse of immortality. A curse that inflicted pain akin to death eternally, yet barred him from the release of true death.
"Heh... those blessed with... eternal life... can't understand... this pain. You lot... with your great achievements... don't know how short... a human life is... for building true greatness."
His voice, forcing out words on ragged breaths, conveyed the agony he endured all too vividly. At this point, death would be a mercy, Sylvia muttered softly, gazing at him.
"Disgusting creature."
Sylvia's face, always smiling in Olivia's presence, hardened coldly. But she couldn't abandon the interrogation just because he repulsed her. Dark elf Duran was the only one among the four sealed sinners who showed any goodwill toward her.
"Heh... pity. I thought of you... as a junior... fellow long-lived archmage."
"Then how about sharing some info on that 'return of the Demon King'?"
"Guh... with just words?"
Sylvia rummaged in her pocket and tossed him a test tube wrapped in a hard casing. It landed at the feet of Duran, bound thoroughly in chains. The faintly glowing blue liquid inside was a stabilizer—the drug he'd invented to escape his endless torment. It was also the only bargaining chip she had with the undying mage Duran. For a man who feared not death but pain, it was perfect leverage.
Sylvia activated her recording spell and said, "One week's worth of stabilizer. If your story checks out, I'll give you more."
"Hmm... really?"
"Why would I lie? I need the intel too."
"Reasonable. As expected... of my junior."
A grotesque smile twisted across Duran's face—warped by centuries of accumulated suffering. Sylvia grimaced in disgust but poured the drug into his mouth herself. Moments later, color began to return to his pallid features.
"Gack... hack...!"
As if something lodged deep in his throat had burst free, harsh coughs erupted from him. He spat out a black clump and drew a deep breath.
"Hoo... now I can breathe."
"The Immortal Sinner saying that... it's kinda funny, isn't it?"
"Pfft, fair point. Should've researched a bit more, in hindsight."
Coughing a few more times, he flashed a wry grin and looked straight up at Sylvia.
"That one was always thorough. Overwhelming power paired with the talents of a brilliant strategist."
"...I'll give you that."
Sylvia hated to admit it, but she nodded. During the ten-year Demon King War, his actions had always followed meticulous calculations. Despite his crushing might, he rarely took the field himself—embodying the adage that a sword is most fearsome sheathed. In truth, battles where the Demon King personally appeared were few. But their outcomes were always catastrophic. Cities crumbled, traces of life erased. Wherever his hand touched, screams echoed day and night.
He weaponized that infamy, spreading rumors of his approach to amplify terror and shatter defenses. Over ten lines fell that way. Humanity, stretched thin guarding countless fronts, couldn't counter his tactics effectively.
"Think someone so calculating didn't plan for defeat?"
"..."
"Humans love fighting and violence—barbaric creatures. The continent's united now, but post-war? What do you suppose happens? That's the question he always posed us."
"So?"
"You know the answer better than I."
Colonial wars. Hegemonic rivalries. Struggles for the throne. Conflicts riddling the continent flashed through Sylvia's mind. Duran smirked at her hardening expression.
"So yes, I say the Demon King will return. And this time, he'll place the world beneath his feet."
"Really?"
"Dead serious. For three hundred years, I've never doubted it."
Sylvia captured every word, then ended the recording spell. The audio manifested as a green orb, absorbed into her wand. Duran watched with leisurely composure.
"Heh. Pointless effort, junior."
"...What?"
"Human nature doesn't change. Even if they believe the Demon King's revival is real, humans prefer stabbing the enemy in front of them first."
Suddenly, the secret summit from days ago replayed in Sylvia's mind. Empire and Eastern Union leaders had met to guard against the Demon King's return. It started cordially enough.
"Our Empire and the Eastern Union were once blood allies against the Demon King. We haven't forgotten your brave sacrifices."
"Our Union likewise admires the Empire's courage in opening the counteroffensive."
But as talks turned practical, cracks appeared—starting with lifting economic sanctions.
"You proposed this summit first, Empire. Step back, and we can proceed."
"What? The Demon King's return isn't confirmed, and you expect us to yield first? We'd lose face."
"How can we negotiate under all these sanctions?"
For great powers, prestige mattered as much as profit. A superpower bowing to the weak shook its hegemony. And the Empire's aging emperor had no intention of yielding it. Barbs flew without quarter.
"We see the Vermonth family's grain sales from the Union as aimed at ruining our agriculture! We'll impose extra tariffs!"
"Fine, then we'll bar Empire merchant ships from our key ports!"
The cooperation summit ended in fiasco. Black mages had already infiltrated deep into nations, and the post-war generation knew not the Demon King's terror. Decades of hegemonic strife blinded them. No real accord was possible.
That sight confirmed one truth: humanity had no hope.
"By the time you humans unite, it'll be far too late. No future for you."
That's why she could declare boldly, "Sorry, but you're wrong."
Duran the sinner's thinking was flawed.
"I'm not betting on humans."
Even in desperate straits, hope endured. Thankfully, one possibility remained for humanity: her sister, Olivia. In this era, with faction heirs gathering at Arcana Academy—and Olivia there—it was a stroke of fortune.
"So I won't believe your claim that the Demon King will rule the world."
Sylvia spun on her heel.
"My sister can handle it."
A grating sneer echoed behind her as she exited the prison.
"Keh, what an amusing junior mage. Thinking one person can stop him."
But Sylvia didn't look back. In her mind, her sister was far greater than any black mage's delusions.
"No, I'm not that great..."
Olivia replied awkwardly to the boy kneeling before her. It was deep evening after classes ended. While giving Lily private lessons, familiar face Gunter Nordenburk had arrived.
"Gunter Nordenburk, eldest son of the Nordenburk house. Shamelessly, I seek to learn from you."
Grand words, but boiled down: Please spar with me, just once! The banquet hall fight had clearly left an impression. Northerners and their battle lust...
Olivia pondered briefly, then accepted. To bend three factions to her will and draw them close, befriending Gunter Nordenburk was key. Showing Lily, unskilled in combat magic, a mage's duel would help too.
"Haa... fine."
Olivia nodded as if conceding defeat.
"Both of you, follow me to the training grounds."