Chapter 555: Sacrifices and Assets
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 555: Sacrifices and Assets
In the lands of the Fallen Dominion, there stands a bone altar.
A horrific sin committed by savage humans in the distant past. Traces of routine, chronic slaughter that could hardly be dismissed as mere massacre. A terrible altar, built by stacking the bones left over after devouring human beings.
Most traces of this atrocity have been erased from the Fallen Dominion, but a few, too ghastly to remove, remain and are used as a sort of tomb. Mugul, a black mage and priest of an evil god, was at one such bone altar.
The beat of leather drums echoed as the sacrifices, stripped of their will, walked slowly forward. Mugul commanded his minions and puppets, preparing for the forbidden ritual.
Yet even as he prepared for the long-awaited ceremony, Mugul’s mind was not at ease. Leaning on a staff topped with a skull, he muttered in displeasure.
“…A ritual performed under duress is seldom successful.”
But he had no choice. Someone from beyond the plains was coming for him.
Civilized people fear the savages from beyond the plains, but the savages revere those who come from beyond the plains. Bearing unheard-of weapons and tools, shocking concepts and ideologies, the civilized people who arrive in this land change it in shocking ways. They reconstruct life in a manner so drastic, so irreversible, that it cannot be resisted.
The most powerful and shocking of them all was Muhu Agartha, the great heroine who united countless tribes that could never have been brought together, creating the nation of the Fallen Dominion.
Though her line was cut short by a certain incident, a strange reverence for her still lurked in the dark corners of the jungle.
Even Mugul, who held sway over the jungles of the Fallen Dominion, could not shake off that sense of unease.
“The omens were good. The crow circling the sky, the waning moon, the rising blood—all foretold the ritual's success. It would have been foolish not to proceed.”
Muttering to himself, Mugul raised his staff and steeled his resolve. If so, then this obstacle, too, must be a good omen. Overcoming this trial would surely bring the desired result.
“It had to be done eventually. The timing has just been moved up a bit.”
Mugul waved his staff. Something massive stirred on the bone altar.
“Come whenever you wish. I shall grant you a personal audience.”
However, by that time, the Regressor and I had already infiltrated the prison of the sacrifices.
We were on a path with the bone altar visible in the distance. Instead of attacking the black mage immediately, the Regressor had suggested we infiltrate, saying that the people he had captured must be somewhere here.
The easiest way to deal with a black mage is a surprise attack. This is true for all mages, but an unprepared black mage is especially weak.
The wisest way, however, is to free the sacrifices before attacking.
“This is why I hate black mages. It’s not like I came here specifically to save these people, but I end up having to save them anyway.”
The Regressor grumbled, lightly slicing through the iron bars with Chun-aeng.
Just as a rich man stocks his safe with cash, a black mage always keeps sacrifices on hand for immediate use. The black mage had hidden his sacrifices—his assets and his weaknesses—away, but they were revealed the moment the Regressor scanned the area with her Seven Colored Eyes.
Unless you’re callous enough not to care whether innocent people die, freeing the sacrifices has to be the priority. It wasn’t just a matter of justice.
“It’s a rational decision. A black mage’s power depends on the number of sacrifices. By rescuing them, we can chip away at his strength.”
“It’s being forced into this situation that I hate. The black mage has obviously prepared for this.”
The Regressor grumbled, then shouted to the people inside.
“Everyone, out. If you don’t want to die.”
But the people trapped in the prison hesitated for a long time. Such an unexpected rescue was too foreign to them.
“We’re saved!”
Still, there was one person who remained lucid. A slender tribal woman in tattered leather clothes approached us.
“We’re finally saved! Oh, Muhu! Great Spirit! Mother of all trees! You have sent an incarnation to deliver us from that wicked sorcerer!”
Approaching with a voice thick with emotion, she turned and shouted to the others.
“Everyone, come out! Otherwise, your blood and flesh will quench the sorcerer’s thirst!”
At her words, the listless figures began to stir and shuffle. As if she were their leader, the prospective sacrifices followed her out of the prison.
After cutting all the ropes and chains, the Regressor pointed behind her with a finger.
“Alright. For now, go outside or somewhere else and hide. If you stay here, you’ll get caught in the fight and die.”
“Where should we go?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“Understood. Everyone, find your strength. It’s hard, but you have to move…”
A woman leading sacrifices who had lost their will. She was truly brave and spirited.
Unbelievably so, for a sacrifice who had been awaiting her death.
‘Just as Master said. They came for the sacrifices first.’
The black mage Ramunu hid her inner thoughts as she moved the sacrifices.
To a black mage, sacrifices are both assets and risks. Unlike money, they have feet and can run away on their own. In severe cases, they might even take up arms and attack.
That’s why, when storing sacrifices, you break their will with terror and fear, and cloud their reason with drugs and incense. Only then will they offer their lives on the altar when the time comes.
Of course, if you break them too much, they lose their value as sacrifices, so they must be managed appropriately. But what a pain it is to cater to humans. Thus, a black mage would typically have their apprentice handle such chores under the guise of training.
‘I acted the part of a diligent, devoted apprentice, head over heels for my wicked master, hiding my true intentions even from him. Deceiving these fools who’ve come to save the sacrifices is far easier.’
Oblivious to the fact that I was reading her mind, Ramunu was secretly gloating.
‘Master ordered me to report immediately… but there’s no need for that. With this many sacrifices, I can perform the ritual myself. While they fight my master, I’ll hijack the ritual. I will be the one to become the incarnation of Ankra!’
Her plan was grand, but there was just one unfortunate thing for Ramunu.
That I had mind-reading? Of course not.
It was that she had aroused the Regressor’s suspicion.
“Hmm. The people listen to you well…”
The Regressor’s eyes briefly shimmered with seven colors. Her piercing Jade Eyes saw through the grass and rock, spotting the steel key in Ramunu’s possession.
A prison key made of steel. Something a sacrifice should not have. If she had the key, she should have escaped long ago.
“Pardon?”
“First.”
“Kyaaaaaaah!”
Ramunu was cut down by the Regressor’s single strike, spilling blood. It would be unfair to say Ramunu was careless. How could she have known someone with the ability to see through things would spot the key?
“The air is thick with a nasty scent. Drugs? Anesthetics? Something like that. The effect isn’t very strong.”
“Yes. That’s probably why they aren’t responding well to us.”
“I’ll blow the scent away with the wind. You take the people and lead them somewhere. Without his sacrifices, the black mage is nothing.”
“Kukuku. Nothing, you say?”
Just then, Ramunu, who had collapsed and died in a pool of blood, slowly rose in the exact same posture she had fallen. Without pushing off the ground with her hands, without staunching the gushing blood. As if in reverse, Ramunu’s body rose, her face devoid of life as she spoke.
“You are in the palm of my hand. Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared for this?”
“What, is this puppetry?”
“Keke. Of course. This is a puppet that has swallowed my finger. There would be no point in taking an apprentice if not to use them as a puppet.”
A form of puppetry where one implants a part of their own body to seize control through a curse. An extra life, bought with the price of one sacrifice and a piece of one's own flesh.
The black mage Mugul had turned his apprentice into a puppet and had likely been watching us from the very beginning.
“So what.”
Even though her surprise attack had been exposed, the Regressor didn’t seem to care and simply dismembered the puppet. No matter how powerful the main body, a puppet is still a puppet. All you have to do is break it.
With its limbs torn off, Ramunu's body was quickly rendered useless. But the black mage far away didn’t seem to mind the damage to his puppet. To him, it was nothing more than a doll.
“So unhesitant… But what about this!”
The black mage scattered more of his blood and chanted a spell. The incantation, more a primal scream than a language, transformed the spilled blood into a red mist.
The red mist billowed toward us. The Regressor lightly cut the air with Chun-aeng, blocking the mist.
“Is this all you’ve got?”
“I wasn’t aiming for you!”
Simultaneously, the sacrifices’ eyes turned bloodshot as they began to scream. A berserker curse. The sacrifices, having lost their will and been steeped in drugs, now began to rampage, unable to distinguish friend from foe.
The Regressor clicked her tongue.
“Tch. Should I have just gone for the black mage directly? He’s quicker on the uptake than I thought.”
“It seems he knew we were coming and was prepared. What should we do? Kill them?”
“If we kill them, they’ll just become sacrifices for the black mage. I’m going to kill his main body now! You handle things here!”
“What? You’re leaving me alone with all these berserkers?”
“You can do it, can’t you? You don’t die.”
“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should!”
“No time!”
Dismissing my words, the Regressor immediately thrust Jizan upward. The sword’s energy split the ceiling in two, and starlight streamed into the dim underground prison.
“Do it!”
The Regressor shot upward, leaving me alone among the countless berserkers. As I stared blankly at the sky, the cursed sacrifices closed in.
“Haaaah. Why are all my opponents like this…”
Drool dripped from their mouths, their minds filled with nothing but the desire to rip me apart with their teeth and nails. No, it wasn’t thought, but a storm of hostility and instinct that raged within them.
“Dealing with them isn’t the problem.”
The problem was that I couldn’t kill these berserkers, but if I let them live, they would attack me. What was I to do?
“…Still, I have to, right?”
One of the berserkers lunged at me, baring its teeth. Clack, clack. The gnashing teeth tried to tear into my flesh. My body was covered in scratches and claw marks. The berserkers charged like mad dogs to drink my blood and take my flesh.
Instead of fighting them off, I let my body bleed.
Life, by its nature, resists external interference, but black magic blurs that boundary, meddling with the body and mind of another. In a broad sense, it's similar to vampirism. A sort of involuntary vampirism, you could say.
In any case, black magic is still a human art. I let the berserkers drink my blood. It was a luxury afforded to me by my regenerative abilities.
The blood I shed slowly flowed into the bodies of the berserkers.