Chapter 152
Chapter 152
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 152
Chapter Title: The First Contract
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The first option. An eternal farewell between head and body.
Of course, humans die when their head separates from their body. They might retain consciousness for a few seconds, but the result is always death. Even mages couldn't defy the laws of life.
Did that mean the second option was any better? Not at all.
What mattered to a mage wasn't the flesh, but the vastness of the self, including the soul. A mage with a small sense of self could never grow strong. To reach higher realms, one needed a certain degree of arrogance.
This wasn't about reckless bravado. True completion as a mage required both arrogance and self-awareness. Mariang was already a master mage, fully realized years ago. Her undefeated record wasn't luck from a poker game.
She carefully chose battles she could win decisively and avoided clashes with those she couldn't. Through survival, she devoured the defeated, then challenged those she'd normally have to look up to, claiming victory once more. That was Mariang's way.
This time was no different. It might look like she'd charged in headfirst recklessly, but beneath it lay meticulous calculation.
A massive summoned beast. Physically powerful, sure, but nothing more. The moment she judged she could win by ignoring it and targeting the mage, she acted without hesitation.
And this was the result.
She'd lost, and the man controlling the summoned beast had won. The beast's strength exceeded expectations, Ian's calculations were superior, and his adaptability was excellent. In simple terms, her judgment was flawed.
But excuses were pointless now. The fight was over.
In a situation where defeat was clear, all she could do was beg for her life. With her limbs already severed, what else was there?
Mages treated others' lives like ants, yet cherished their own above all. Mariang was no exception. She reveled in devouring defeated foes, but trembled at the brink of her own death.
So, she had only one choice.
"......I."
Mariang mumbled, blood trickling from her mouth.
"......choose the latter."
"Fainting followed by personality adjustment."
Ian's emotionless voice pierced her ears.
Even hearing it again, the words were brutally chilling. But to survive, she had no other option.
She'd killed countless people without a second thought, yet she desperately wanted to avoid her own death. Even if the price was a change in personality, Mariang didn't want to die.
"......Do whatever. Just don't kill me. Let me live."
"Saying it like that makes me sound like the bad guy. When really, it's the opposite."
Ian stood, looking down coldly at Mariang, her limbs gone.
In truth, he'd struck first, and he'd beaten her one-sidedly. But none of that mattered.
She was a mage from a criminal group. No one would blame him even if he'd smashed her head in. They'd probably applaud.
Anyway.
Ian placed his foot on her wriggling back like a bug and flicked the grimoire. Mariang groaned in pain, but he ignored it.
"Deep Sea Chronicles. Like at the hospital last time, can you knock her out without killing? You cracked Cecilia's skull then."
[Whirr!]
The Deep Sea Chronicles vibrated briefly, as if to say yes. Ian nodded and gripped the grimoire upside down firmly.
A perfect stance for smashing with the corner. Mariang, not expecting a physical knockout, flailed her mouth open.
"W-wait. Even so, hitting with a grimoire will crack my skull—"
"You'll regenerate anyway. Your severed limbs are bubbling and healing. A shattered skull won't kill you."
Ian cut her off and chuckled.
"So focus on regenerating."
"......Ah."
"Farewell, first-generation Mariang. Next time I see you, it'll be the second. Good work surviving this long."
Without waiting for a reply, Ian swung the grimoire like a hammer, smashing her head.
Crack!
A loud sound echoed as her head hit the floor. Blood poured from the crushed skull, but he checked her pulse without care.
"Good, still alive."
He'd worried she might die outright, but her heart beat steadily. Ian nodded and turned to the Circulator.
"Load her on your back. Can you do it?"
[Grr.]
The Circulator growled affirmatively and hooked one claw into her clothes like a hanger, then tossed her onto its back. Blood splattered from the force, but the drugs meant no worry about bleeding out. With its help, Ian climbed aboard and swapped grimoires.
[Blue Shackles and the Book of Contracts]
The vivid blue cover and silver chains gleamed in the sunlight. He settled comfortably, securing Mariang's body with the Circulator's veins, and began reading.
He already knew how to contract intelligent beings. Maintain bleeding, near-death, and unconscious states, keep the offering nearby, touch the body—done. Simple, though more complex than with the other two outer gods or mages.
Well, it was a young grimoire. Some leeway was fair.
The offering for the contract: ten intact corpses of the same species as the target. Human corpses, in other words.
In a normal society, unthinkable. Even if Ian were a psychopath or mage who devalued life, it wouldn't matter much, but he wasn't antisocial. Kidnapping passersby for sacrifice was impossible.
He had no desire to abandon humanity. Probably never would. Touching civilians would shatter something essential to being human. Unless tied to anomalies, he wouldn't kill or harm.
But apocalyptic cult fanatics were exceptions.
Couldn't call people who executed non-believers civilians, right?
Besides, this wasn't reality—it was an anomaly-created virtual space. A simulation, essentially.
No real-world ties meant no hesitation. He'd planned to hit the reptilians first, but circumstances called for the cult instead.
Decision made, Ian patted the Circulator's back.
"Head to the most crowded spot nearby. And the strongest blood scent. Got it?"
[Grr!]
The Circulator nodded vigorously, sniffed with its small nostrils, and bolted left.
The cult's base, as revealed by the head-crushed fanatic.
"Now, let us all pray."
In the first floor of a collapsed high-rise—everything above the third gone, but the base intact—a elderly man in a pure white robe spoke. His voice echoed through the narrow chamber via Bluetooth speaker.
"In the name of our Father Lord and our spiritual pillar, Buddha. We shall not yield to the lizards' tyranny and will save this world."
The windowless room, slathered in white paint, had walls adorned with crosses, goat heads, prayer beads, wooden fish, Buddha statues—like decor.
A absurd blend of Christianity and Buddhism, yet no one found it strange.
The gathered followers bowed heads, hands clasped in prayer. Some wept.
The leading elder, tears streaming, clutched beads and recited the Lord's Prayer.
"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."
Ssshh.
As he prayed, the back door creaked open. Two burly men in priest garb emerged slowly, each carrying a sack. Blood seeped from the bottoms, staining the floor dark.
What was there to hide?
Live humans inside—eyes, ears, mouths sealed, fingers all severed. Former faithful priests, now discarded sacrifices.
"Mmph! Mmmph!"
"Guhk, kuhp. Mmph."
The sacks twitched, faint groans escaping.
But no one paid mind. All focused on prayer.
The priests dragged the sacks before the elder, flanking him protectively. Masked monks approached with sharp knives, heating blades over prayer candle flames.
"The sacred flame touches the wheel's blade."
The elder intoned.
"Once more, we place our brothers and sisters upon the wheel of reincarnation. Father. Buddha. Free them from hell, deliver them from evil. Amen. Namu Amida Butsu."
"Amen. Namu Amida Butsu."
"Amen. Namu Amida Butsu."
Followers echoed. Priests and monks chanted hymns and sutras together. The knife-wielding monk stabbed into a writhing sack's center.
"Mmmphhh!!"
"Uuuughhh!!"
The victims convulsed from searing, sharp pain. Sacks turned red slowly. Monks stomped knife hilts, striking wooden fish. The elder grabbed the mic again.
"Behold. Our brothers and sisters return to the other shore. We celebrate their reincarnation and swear to quench our thirst with their flesh and blood. Thus, we too yearn to achieve enlightenment upon the wheel."
Convulsions faded. Blood soaked the white floor. The elder gazed at bowed followers, lips trembling in godlike ecstasy—dopamine surging.
Thirty years as cult leader. This first apocalypse wasn't doom, but opportunity. Money now worthless paper, but followers offered much more.
Men: blood, flesh, labor.
Women: bodies, milk.
The madness of faith tasted sweeter than wine.
'I hope the apocalypse lasts forever. At least until I die.'
As he smirked inwardly—
Boom!!
The outer wall exploded, a massive gray maw bursting in. It gaped wide, crunching praying followers and rubble alike. Blood mist sprayed; survivors gaped blankly at the sudden 'something'.
"Liza— It's a mage."
And behind it.
A black-haired man atop the huge head waved a blue book with a bright smile.