The Suddenly Revving Black Mage (3)
It was several years ago. At the time, the kingdom was in quite a turmoil due to a massive murder curse that had erupted in Al-Jasha, a distant nation in the central continent. Dozens, even hundreds, died or went missing from the curse every day, and villages wiped out by it were tainted with black magic power, turning into hellscapes that strangled any living thing that entered. The church dispatched an investigation team, but it was all for naught. The team that crossed the border was dead the next day. It goes without saying that Al-Jasha and the neighboring countries were thrown into utter chaos by a black magic that even holy power couldn't block.
Black magic itself wasn't illegal, but using it to harm others' lives or property was strictly forbidden by the common laws of the kingdom and the continent's nations. Of course, black mages who needed to eat turned to shady dealings under the law's radar—casting curses or rituals in secret for a fee. But that was always between individuals with personal grudges, making it hard to crack down on every case. Even the royal capital turned a blind eye to cutting off their livelihoods entirely. After all, it went against ethics to block even their underground economic activities when society couldn't take responsibility for those born as black mages without choice.
That said, it was only an unofficial stance of the capital. Officially, they acknowledged black mages but not black magic—a somewhat peculiar position. In this ambiguous situation, the Al-Jasha murder curse outbreak was enough to shift the capital's perception of black mages. What had been mere recommendations before—the black mage registration system—were now aggressively enforced, and crackdown squads roamed constantly to stamp out illegal black magic requests at the source. Some countries even treated black mages as potential criminals outright, rounding them up on sight.
Black mages, by nature, couldn't survive without illegal work. The tighter the controls, the deeper they burrowed into the shadows. Amid this chaotic atmosphere, the black mage Idwild wandered the dark back alleys of the capital late at night.
It was summer, so the air was still tepid even at night. Sweat beaded on Idwild's face, and the underside of her massive breasts was soaked dark. Her long, unkempt hair—never once trimmed in her life—was matted with sweat and grime, clumped filthily. Her clothes were covered in stains, of course from human blood, worn every time she went out "collecting." They'd been thoroughly steeped in it now. An indescribably foul stench emanated from them, but Idwild, accustomed to it, paid it no mind.
"So hot... sweat stinks..."
She wiped the sweat from her face and tugged at the underside of her breasts to fan them, but it did little against the summer heat. With every step, her shoes made a weird sound. The soles were half torn off, flapping like a tongue lolling out, exposing her toes. She knew she needed new shoes, but Idwild had no money for that. If she had even that much, she'd use it to pay rent on the basement room she rented. But even that was running out. She'd already fallen three months behind, and black mages couldn't stay in one place long anyway. She moved once a month on average, sometimes getting fleeced for her deposit by shady landlords. This place was a perfect basement with no windows, so the black magic backlash was milder, letting her stay longer.
As she walked, worrying about where to find a new room and how to scrape together cash, something caught Idwild's eye. Beneath a filthy wall scrawled with urine stains and graffiti lay a vagrant on a mat of straw. Confirming no one was watching, Idwild traced hand seals in the air with her fingers. Black spiderweb-like strands shot out, binding the vagrant's body.
Beldra's Curse Rope. A terrifying black magic that no one but the caster could sever, unbound by this world's laws.
The vagrant, restrained in an instant, tried to scream but couldn't—his jaw was bound tight. Idwild approached him slowly. Black shards like cursed glass fragments sprouted from below her wrist.
Just before dawn, Idwild stood before the door of her dark, damp basement. The windowless summer basement was unimaginably humid and filthy. But she had to go in. No matter the black mold creeping on the walls or the slimy fluid stuck to the floor—that was her only home.
She inhaled the outside air deeply, as if she'd never emerge again, then entered. The moment she did, a choking sensation made her hesitate. The humid heat laced with mold assaulted her body bit by bit. Already drenched in sweat, the air felt especially loathsome. She immediately shrugged off the sack on her back.
The sack, empty when she'd left, now thudded heavily to the floor, something weighty inside. "So hot... too hot..." Tears of sweat streaming, she stripped off all her clothes. The sweat-soaked rags flew to the rickety bed in the corner.
"Ugh... so stuffy..." Groaning miserably, she peeled the seaweed-like strands of hair clinging to her back. Her armpits and groin were slick with sweat, her hair refused to come loose easily, and a metallic blood scent rose from the sack on the floor.
"Worst..." She snapped her fingers, lighting the candlestick. The single flame illuminated the cramped basement—just enough to make out shapes. Her cheap candles, hardened from low-grade oil, weren't very bright.
Stark naked, Idwild picked up the sack and went to her workbench desk, cluttered with dissection tools. She pulled out a freshly severed human head and placed it on the table. Its half-lidded eyes seemed to stare at her, but she felt nothing. This wasn't murder—it was part of the work.
The task was making sansa, black magic amulets that shrank human heads to fist-size. She'd peel the scalp whole, boil and dry it, knead repeatedly—a tedious process that took a week to complete one. These sansa sold on the black market to smugglers specializing in such goods, netting Idwild half a gold coin each. Considering they fetched over thirty on the street, doing it all herself would be far more profitable, but she had no clue.
Since her parents died from her black magic power as a child, no one had taught her how to live in human society. Her grasp of basic economics was nonexistent; she'd grown into adulthood believing hard labor was the only way to earn money. Even so, after being scammed out of her deposit by the last landlord, she had only a few silver coins left.
She could just storm the landlord and torture the money out with black magic. But Idwild couldn't bring herself to do even that. A landlord owning property and living "normally" was from a world she couldn't touch. Called a parents' killer and hiding in shadows for over twenty years alone, her rock-bottom self-esteem shackled her, robbing even the will to defy those basking in the bright sun above.
"Guess all the brains I should've had went to my tits... hehe..." The black mage, starved of love and attention her whole life, blamed her own stupidity and picked up the dissection knife. A centipede with dozens of legs slithered across the workbench. Just as she was about to slice the scalp down the back—
The basement door burst open, cool air rushing in. Thinking it the landlord come for rent, Idwild froze. What do I say...?
"Ugh, the smell...!"
A woman's voice eased her tension instantly. The landlord was an old man with a gravelly tone. But curiosity dawned: why would a stranger visit this forsaken basement no one but him sought?
Turning, she saw two people at the door. One was a woman with neat brown bobbed hair, strikingly pretty and clean. Tight pants hugging her long, shapely legs and an expensive-looking shirt—she pinched her nose, face twisted in disgust. Though not close, her perfume stung sharply in the stale air.
Someone from a different world than me... Idwild defined the elegant woman thus and shrank immediately. What would she think of me naked in this filthy basement, soaked in sweat, grime, and blood, about to skin a human head? A beast, probably... Even a noble's pet dog would be cleaner...
The other was a tall man. Twin swords at his waist and sleek leather armor suggested an adventurer in dangerous work. Meeting the calm gaze of the black-haired man—similar to hers—left Idwild puzzled. He didn't grimace at the lowly woman holding a head naked in this beast-pen basement.
Am I... not dirty to him? Why...?
"Hey, Bertrand. Can't we find someone else? I can't travel with her..."
"No time. You think black mages are easy to find?"
They came looking for a black mage...? What for? Did they find out I killed the vagrant...? Better than the landlord dunning me for rent...
Realizing this, fresh sweat beaded on Idwild's already damp back. The man who'd been silently watching her spoke.
"Black mage. Work with us."