What the Hell Does That Mean?
Yoahim just blinked at him, as if he'd heard something utterly incomprehensible.
Jeron had said there was real black magic and fake black magic. But that alone didn't make any sense. Maybe it was some kind of Zen koan.
The essence of black magic lies between truth and falsehood. You must seek the truth between black and white. He could picture some ancient grand mage saying cryptic shit like that with a solemn face.
But Jeron was a young dark elf, and he didn't seem like he was trying to play guru.
"No clue what you're talking about."
Yoahim let out a thoughtful hum, and Jeron raised a single finger again.
"What is black magic?"
It was the same question as before. Before Yoahim could answer, Jeron spoke up.
"Most people would answer like you, Apostle. Black magic is evil magic, right? So what the hell is evil magic?"
"Dunno. Stuff that harms others?"
"Magic has no will of its own."
Jeron's finger waggled in the air, as if drawing invisible shapes.
"No good or evil, either. Say a mage conjures flames that hurt someone. Then a black mage uses magic to snuff those flames out and saves the person. Who's the evil one? The black mage? Because black magic is inherently evil?"
His finger froze in place.
"Like I said, magic has no will or morality. Magic and black magic are the same damn thing. It can kill or save. Have you ever felt like you were wielding some evil power while using black magic, Apostle?"
Yoahim had just used Dark Flame, one of the black magics. But like Jeron said, it hadn't felt evil. Just the usual mana drain and spellcasting sensation, same as any other magic.
"Nope."
"Exactly. Because magic and black magic only differ in appearance—the substance is identical. You shape mana into spells. So why do people call black magic sorcery? Prejudice against Kakar's descendants."
"Prejudice?"
"Followers of Raello hate Kakar's faithful. Dark elves and demons, like us. Our magic looks different from human or fairy magic. Like how the same flame can have a different color."
A mage's flames were crimson, but Yoahim's were green. Same effect, though: burn enemies, steal lives.
"Kakar's followers must be evil. That prejudice turned our magic into 'black magic.' Even though it's no different from regular magic."
Jeron's finger balled into a fist.
"That's fake black magic. Not real black magic, just labeled that way by perception. So-called black mages are more like corrupted mages than true ones."
Yoahim nodded. Most of what we call black magic isn't. Just mysteries that evolved similarly in different environments.
So what was real black magic?
"But real black magic exists. Magic that exists to achieve evil ends through evil means."
Jeron's voice dropped low, putting Yoahim on edge. If he was right, Yoahim had never touched true black magic.
"You know magic runs on mana. Willpower molds pure mana into spells. But black magic adds one more element."
Jeron walked slowly to the desk and picked up a knife. Dagger-sized, razor-sharp, no guard—more ritual tool than weapon. The silver blade nicked his finger soundlessly. Crimson blood welled up and dripped.
But the drops hung in the air before hitting the floor, merging into a spinning orb like a tiny planet.
"That's life force. Magic is mystery fueled by mana. More mana, bigger miracles. What if you used life force instead?"
Life force was like mana but more primal, intense. Everyone had it—no mana didn't mean no life force. All living things possessed it: humans, demons, monsters.
Mana from nature needed refining to match your body. Life force didn't. Rooted in divine creation, it was universal across gods' descendants.
In other words, masters of life force could steal it from others to fuel spells.
"Infamous black mages in history all used life force as collateral. Sometimes their own, but mostly sacrifices from other beings."
Jeron clenched his fist. The blood orb ignited with a whoosh.
"That's true black magic. For evil ends through evil means."
Yoahim's mouth hung slightly open, staring at the flame. Not crimson or green—this was dark crimson, like hellfire devouring life force endlessly.
Even without knowledge, Yoahim knew: that's dangerous.
"We call it blood magic. Mana flows through veins like blood. Blood serves the same role. And in a way, it's closest to life force. Every creature lives by a beating heart pumping blood."
Blood magic. Sorcery through blood and sacrifice.
Yoahim had witnessed true black magic. Repulsive yet awe-inspiring. Burning lives for flame—it twisted the heart. Like reaching into a fire's beauty despite the burn.
He got why so many fell to it. Beautiful, intense, cruel. Only saints with iron wills resisted.
"Blood magic is powerful. Life force-based."
The flame hissed out. Yoahim looked up from the dark embers.
"And dangerous. Easy to cross lines in the heat of power. Naturally so—it's that alluring and strong."
Yoahim saw zeal in Jeron's eyes, like reminiscing lost glory.
"Just to be sure."
His voice was slow, low.
Yoahim eyed him.
"That about you?"
Pffft. A deflating laugh.
Jeron grinned wryly.
"No secrets to hide. Yeah, my story. Young, ambitious black mage. Surpassed my master before adulthood. Craved more power, came to the Withered Land."
The cut had healed, leaving crusted blood. He rubbed it off.
"Massacred countless lives here researching blood magic. Never kin or demons, but monsters? Too many to count. Even demons steered clear. Killed 'em, stole life force, refined blood magic... Built a following without realizing. Got arrogant, thought I'd claim the Withered Land. But..."
"Lost to Haellagos, huh."
"Yes. Defeated and awed by his power. He crushed me with pure magic—no blood magic. Made all my efforts feel foolish. Showed me my path was wrong. Now I serve him. To atone."
Yoahim listened silently. When he finished, Yoahim asked what had nagged him.
"Why teach me blood magic? Dangerous. Evil. Atoning, but passing it to me? Contradiction."
"Apostle, I don't believe in absolute evil. Good and evil shift—who's good to one is evil to another."
Jeron's voice rang with conviction, forged from study and reflection.
"Blood magic isn't inherently evil. I used it with evil intent, but you won't. Blood magic to protect? Never evil. Power to kill can save."
So, Apostle.
"Use power only for good. For what you believe right. Blood magic is a tool for purpose. Wield it as a tool—don't let it wield you. Then you'll never fall. I strayed once; you stay straight."
Sincere advice from one who'd fallen. Earnest confession from lessons hard-learned.
Yoahim sensed Jeron was deeper than he seemed. Thoughtful, responsible despite the flippant exterior. His words demanded respect.
Yoahim etched the advice in his heart. Jeron had the character and quals to teach.
"Achoo!"
"..."
Problem: the no-clothes thing.
Yoahim hoped he'd wear some next lesson. Pitiful and awkward.