Chapter 77
Chapter 77
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 77
>Chapter Title: It Listens So Well?
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A vast sea of trees stretched endlessly, dark clouds hanging over the forest canopy as a flash of light pierced through.
Flash...!
It was an ominous gleam.
No, not ominous—unnatural.
And for good reason. This was a magic that corrupted everything, one that rightfully should be forbidden.
Drip...
The leaves touched by the light twisted grotesquely, melting away into filth.
What it carried was pure malice.
A swamp of vile emotions too wicked to express with mere murderous intent.
Yet, for some reason...
"......?"
One black mage fixed his gaze on the spell's origin.
The magic had undoubtedly succeeded.
Thirteen black mages.
Ascetics who had thrown away their lives to master forbidden arts, unleashing this heinous spell.
Even he himself felt suffocated by the aftermath, his vision spinning.
'...How?'
Flames flickered from the light's source.
A deeply blue, chilling blaze.
No, was it really a flame?
That was the moment the thought crossed his mind.
"......!"
A hand shooting out from the downpour like a trap!
"......Guh!"
It seized his throat, hoisting him high.
What that one black mage saw next was the dense underbrush and a glimpse of sky beyond.
Why?
Before the question could form, his chest tightened.
Only then did the black mage realize he had been slammed into the ground.
And that realization...
"......Kuh."
...was his final thought.
"Guaaaaaah—!"
Splash—
The agonized scream stretched long amid the relentless rain filling the Hamern Great Forest.
A horrific burning pain started from his captured nape, flooding his mind.
Indeed, that one black mage was engulfed in flames.
It was truly a bizarre sight.
Fierce flames roaring in the midst of torrential rain!
Splash...
The pounding rain.
The blazing fire.
In this discordant harmony, the black mages moved as one to prepare the next step, without needing a word.
Forerunners.
Those who would gladly offer their lives to the one they must obey, yet naturally dreaded death itself.
The first spell had embodied that longing.
Life.
And resentment.
Toward the forerunner, the exalted one who drew his attention. Envy and jealousy. And a venomous hatred, pure malice.
Such spells, no fewer than...
Thirteen.
Sss...
When the second spell activated, the entire world was swallowed in black mist.
If the previous one rotted flesh, this one crushed the mind—a vicious mental assault.
But.
"......Kuh, ugh."
Another black mage closed his eyes.
Whoosh.
Flames surged, but no tearing scream followed this time.
Just a hunk of lifeless meat burning away.
The third spell activated.
Another black mage closed his eyes. No, he couldn't close them.
They remained wide open.
"......Uh."
His upper body burst apart from some unknown magic, ending him.
'A red... bead.'
Too small to be sure, but it felt like he'd glimpsed something like that.
Another spell manifested. Another. And another...
That one black mage didn't even realize he was dying.
He simply—
'...Blue.'
—took in the blue light filling his retinas.
One black mage prepared for death. Instead, he honed his malice to a razor's edge.
That malice was so sharp that...
Curse of the Spirit
It burned his very soul to leave a curse behind.
As one fallen soul crumbled away, a vicious curse latched onto its target.
But.
Another black mage closed his eyes.
His death was quite varied.
Thirteen black mages. Nameless, known only as "one black mage," yet each death unique.
Crack.
Neck snapped.
"Kuh, ugh."
Heart burst.
Some deaths were peaceful, others agonizing.
Each time one of the thirteen spells from the thirteen black mages activated, another black mage fell to the earth.
Amid it all, a couple of soul-burning curses.
And several forbidden spells laced with venomous malice.
And in the darkness.
"......"
Stood one golden black mage.
He had mastered forbidden magic, shedding a layer of human limits—a transcendent one, revered by all black mages as the foremost enlightened.
A pure evil harboring malice greater than the combined hatred of the previous thirteen, something utterly horrific.
Yet.
'......'
The smile revealed beneath his robe was utterly benevolent.
And sinister.
Without that gloomy robe, his appearance could tempt anyone—yet how could he wear such a hideous grin?
In any case.
He could sense the message sent to him by one as sinister as himself.
'Come here yourself.'
A kind of provocation.
The thirteen varied deaths, each a bothersome finale, served as a summons.
A taunt.
"Heh, heh... heh."
The one golden black mage suppressed his laughter.
For a moment, only the pouring rain moved in the space.
Once he fully quelled his laugh, his prepared scheme unfolded.
Grind, griiiind—
It began with the corpses left by the thirteen black mages.
Kiyaaaaah—
Through grand ritual, dozens of souls dwelling within the thirteen poured out in screams.
......
The wails silenced even the raindrops.
Sin of the Thirteen
A magic of utter profanity, enacted through thirteen lives as medium.
A curse unearthed from ancient ruins, taboo even in antiquity.
'He who slays the thirteen sinners shall bear all their sins.'
Less a magic driven by theory than a ritual wielding abstract concepts.
Thus, beyond the realm of magic.
A distorted power defying nature's laws, principles, mana, and magical rules.
'Ten thousand diseases and ten thousand nightmares shall assail his body at once, proportional to the magnitude of the thirteen's sins.'
The most recent golden black mage to enact it recorded thus.
Per that account:
- Grulk, gruk.
An empire-certified Rank 3 mage aged to an old man in an instant and perished.
- ....
One grand mage wasn't consumed by the curse but secluded himself from its aftermath.
Thus, enacted only twice, yet its effects utterly satisfying.
Indeed—
"......"
In Belloc's sight appeared a staggering figure.
Looking down at his hands in panic, then clutching his left chest, stumbling.
Clear proof that the Sin of the Thirteen had activated.
But Belloc didn't stop there.
"Open your eyes, my faithful servant."
A low murmur toward the black bracelet.
Speaking aloud would let the masked mage pinpoint him, but it no longer mattered.
The foe could barely move under the Sin of the Thirteen.
In any case, after a moment.
Sss—
Black smoke leaked from the bracelet.
The smoke coalesced, pulsing larger and smaller, forming a distinct shape right then.
How much time passed?
Tsssz.
The black smoke ceased shifting.
Its final form: a knight clad head to toe in black armor.
Within the empty armor suit, black smoke rippled.
Inside the helm, a single will-o'-wisp glowed faintly.
Death Knight.
Knight of Death.
But this was leagues beyond the trash flesh-golems made by mediocre black mages.
Crafted from master knight material, melted down from one at the pinnacle.
And it held more than mere flesh.
A soul.
The masterpiece of the golden black mage Solion, who ascended to transcendence as a necromancer.
Though not at full pre-death power, the Death Knight knew no death.
No pain.
Fear, joy, sorrow, love, hate—all emotions erased.
The creator Solion himself judged that, stringently speaking, it rivaled or surpassed a master knight in some ways.
[Com... mand.]
A staccato voice echoed from the helm, resounding in Belloc's ears.
The one golden black mage raised a finger.
"Kill him. No—bring him back barely alive."
No reply.
Clank, clank.
A low metallic ring echoed through the great forest.
The rain had stopped before he knew it.
Drip, plop. Drip drip.
The ink-black clouds lingered, but falling drops merely clung to leaves.
"Kuh, heh heh. Heh heh heh. Hahaha! Hahahahaha!"
The one golden black mage threw back his head in utmost delight, laughing as if to shatter the world.
It might seem hollow at a glance.
But Belloc was utterly satisfied.
It meant his plan had worked perfectly.
Only one thing nagged...
'Feels a bit too hollow, doesn't it?'
Ruler of the Swamp.
He'd expected a mage who soloed an ancient dragon to withstand the Sin of the Thirteen to some degree.
A curse diverging from magic, yet realm-granted boons weren't solely magical might.
Like mental fortitude, for instance.
Yet this anticlimactic?
'...Well, whatever.'
Did it matter?
This moment was pure bliss.
Thus.
Boom—!
The Death Knight closing in kicked off the ground, slamming its sword downward.
And then.
Boom!
An unbelievable explosion from the sword, earth shards scattering.
"Th-that... tin can! I said don't kill him...!"
Belloc cut off his sky-shattering laughter, exploding in rage.
As expected, complex orders were too much for a dead undead?
"......Ngh!"
Belloc swallowed a pained groan.
'This rotten...'
He'd secretly learned and used the unsealing method, so he couldn't complain to Solion.
But this wasn't the time to stew in anger.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The Death Knight swung relentlessly, as if to erase every trace.
Obscured by dust clouds, but its swings packed no ordinary force.
"You bastard! Stop right now! Halt! Halt, you bastard!"
He hadn't even confirmed the face hidden beneath that mask yet.
Of course, even if the body stayed intact thanks to the Sin of the Thirteen, recognizing the face was doubtful...
Still, he could've savored that pain-twisted expression!
In his desperation, he yelled and lunged forward...
"Gotcha, you punk."
An abrupt voice rang out.
From the swirling dust, a silhouette burst through right then.
Startled, he tried to shout.
Chomp.
"Wha... guh!"
Belloc screamed at the brutish hand clamping his jaw.
No, he tried to.
"......!"
If not for the hand prying into his gaping mouth, gripping his tongue tight.
'N-No...'
Before the thought finished.
...!
Searing pain.
"U-U-Ugh, uwaaa...! Uwaaaaa!"
Belloc let out a tearing shriek.
And a pair of eyes looked down at him.
'H-How...?'
It was the masked mage, who should have been minced by the Death Knight.
The masked mage gazed at Belloc and whispered softly in his ear.
"Your Death Knight's badass. It listens so well?"
"......"
"If I hadn't said stop, I'd be pissed. Thanks to it, this'll be easy, punk."
A voice utterly casual, flippant even, mismatched to the scene...
Sss—
Yet meeting those eyes sent an inexplicable chill racing down Belloc's spine.