Chapter 35
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: Black Mage's Dungeon (3)
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‘...!’
Even in his utterly exhausted state, Blanc clearly heard the word "Assansio" spill from the black mage's lips.
The Assansio Family of the Anton Kingdom. The creators of White Lightning.
Yet they had vanished into the annals of history, to the point where even traces of them were now nearly impossible to find.
Did that mean the black mages had been involved in their extermination?
Despite his drained condition, Blanc raised his sword and pointed it at the black mage, who hurriedly conjured a defensive spell with his remaining hand, looking terrified.
Something's there!
It seemed the White Lightning dwelling within Blanc's body posed some kind of threat to the black mages.
But he had realized it too late.
Blanc's body had truly reached its limit now. No matter how thoroughly you searched him, not a single strand of aura remained.
Complete exhaustion.
Blanc felt the world tilting, but in truth, it was he himself who was falling.
Urgh!
He had pushed himself far too hard.
Even the insights he had gained by chance should have been carefully nurtured over days of rest, but he had gone even further, manifesting it one more time.
The party couldn't hide their panic as Blanc collapsed to the ground right there.
Just one more step, and he could have slain the black mage trembling ahead.
One swing of Blanc's blade would have done it.
But Blanc had no more chances left.
And the same went for the rest of the party.
"So it's White Lightning that hasn't fully bloomed yet!"
Watching Blanc collapse on his own, the black mage smirked in triumph.
"To think a survivor of that clan still lingered! This time, I'll cut off your line for good!"
Ignoring his burned left arm, the black mage raised his intact right one, gathering dark crimson energy.
At the end of his bloodshot gaze lay the fallen Blanc.
"Protect Blanc!"
"He's injured! Just push a little harder!"
In the tense standoff, Bauer and Obette shouted first and charged ahead.
The bloodied Sir Hansen and Noel stood guard in front of Blanc.
Rakshar lifted Blanc from the floor and cradled him protectively.
Blanc exerted superhuman willpower to the very end, desperately fighting to stay conscious.
In his hazy vision, dark crimson light flickered, and amid the fading sounds came the knights' screams.
All his senses were dulling, his body growing heavy. It felt like he was slowly being dragged into the earth.
Yet even as he slipped toward unconsciousness, a horrific sensation forcibly yanked him back.
"Gaaahhh!"
Snap back to awareness, and before Blanc's eyes loomed the black mage, his eyes blazing scarlet.
"Little one. Wake up."
"Th... ughhh!"
Blanc couldn't endure the surging agony.
The black mage had driven the red dagger—that had been lodged in him—straight into Blanc's shoulder.
It wasn't just any dagger. Blanc had survived dozens of sword wounds in his previous life.
A mere stab like this? He could laugh it off.
But the dagger now embedded in his shoulder pierced not only his flesh but his very soul.
"Through this dagger, I'll invade your inner world! There, I'll hunt down your soul and tear it to shreds!"
Blanc stared into the black mage's madness-filled, blood-red eyes, seeing his own reflection there.
"I'll take everything from you! Your body! Your soul! Even the whereabouts of the surviving Assansio clan!"
The black mage intended to discard the ruined body of Stefan and take Blanc's instead.
It was young and healthy, and it held the secrets of the Assansio bloodline—sworn enemies of the black mages.
The black mage leaned his full weight in once more, shoving the dagger even deeper into Blanc.
"Give me everything you have!"
By embedding the dagger infused with his essence, the black mage gained instant access to Blanc's inner world.
White Lightning was like poison to black mages—but that only applied when manifested in the physical realm.
Sure, aura might extend into the mental world too, but the black mage was confident he could evade it.
People of this era might not know, but back when he roamed in a physical body, he had been one of the symbols of terror.
And with Blanc's aura fully depleted and consciousness lost, this was child's play.
No matter that he's Assansio blood, devouring a fourteen-year-old brat should be simple enough.
Subjugating the owner of this current body, Stefan Tolome, had been incredibly difficult.
To dominate him, the black mage had spent a full week weaving spells within his inner world.
Yes. A young body would be ideal if possible. This one's left arm is crippled now, after all.
Before long, the black mage had burrowed into the deepest recesses of Blanc's inner world.
This kid's inner world is surprisingly well-defined.
It was a white mansion.
The three-story structure wasn't enormous, but it felt neat and tidy—above all, cozy.
He's probably inside.
The spiritual self of this boy Blanc must be within.
The black mage strode confidently into the mansion.
Third floor... there!
Using his spell—which worked even in the inner world—to pinpoint Blanc's location, he ascended the stairs without hesitation.
Thus, he failed to notice.
The mansion's door quietly closing on its own behind him.
A smug expression on his face, the black mage reached a room on the third floor.
Heh heh. Among all the ones I've taken, this'll be the most promising.
Having witnessed Blanc's talent and potential firsthand, the black mage couldn't contain his joy at the thought of claiming the boy's boundless promise—and the Assansio secrets alongside it.
He who had achieved a form of immortality by swapping bodies knew better than anyone the value Blanc held.
Here it is.
The black mage stood before what he presumed was Blanc's room.
Now, he just needed to rip apart the boy inside and subjugate him—then Blanc's body would be his.
Cackling wildly, the black mage flung open the door and stormed in.
He had assumed the room in this cozy mansion would match the vibe—warm and inviting.
But...
What is this?
A pitch-black room, devoid of any light.
Only the inky blue moonlight from the window illuminated it.
And there, standing with hands clasped behind his back like a statue, gazing out the window, was a figure.
Even as the black mage burst in, the man didn't so much as turn his head—motionless, staring only outside.
"Who are you?"
This was the deepest core of young Blanc's inner world.
At this depth, the only thing that should exist was one's own self.
Yet the figure before the black mage wasn't a fourteen-year-old boy, but a man who looked at least in his forties.
"Who am I?"
Only now did the scarred middle-aged man slowly turn at the question.
"I am Blanc."
"Blanc Scar."
‘...!’
The black mage couldn't comprehend the situation.
He was a master of mental black magic among his kind.
Two centuries ago, when he was active, he had reigned as a symbol of terror.
Yet this nightmare of an era...
Was now gripped by fear of the scarred stranger before him.
What kind of eyes are those!
The eyes he met were voids of emptiness.
Even when he sold his soul to demons, he hadn't felt terror like this.
A fear on another level entirely.
Sensing something was wrong, the black mage tried to leave the room.
Click.
The door behind him had already locked.
This had never happened. In all the hundreds of bodies he'd hijacked, he swore it never had—not once.
Among his hosts had been heroes hailed as such, priests revered by the masses, scholars acknowledged by all.
Even they had knelt before him in the end.
But this fourteen-year-old boy—no, the one who called himself Blanc Scar—was different.
His mental fortitude had surpassed mere steadfastness or strength. It was more accurate to say his soul's very nature had transcended human limits.
Yet mortals couldn't possess souls that transcended like that.
He bore a twisted soul.
One that defied this world's rules.
Even to a black mage like him, it was grotesquely warped.
"Wh-who are you?"
The black mage, who had lived centuries, found himself using honorifics without realizing it.
The middle-aged man stared silently before fetching a chair from the corner and placing it by the window.
He gestured for the black mage to sit, as if it were the most natural thing.
‘...’
The black mage had no choice. No escape, and the figure already dominated his soul.
Swallowing hard, he sat as the scarred man indicated.
Naturally, his gaze drifted to the garden beyond the window.
At its center stood a colossal tree.
A massive tree stretching mercilessly toward the sky.
"What is..."
The tree was black.
Blacker than black.
Darker than darkness itself.
An ominous tree that seemed to devour all the world.
"Grr... aaahhh!"
The moment he saw it, the black mage couldn't bear the surging revulsion and terror.
Any being with a soul would scream at the sight. Even he, after centuries, couldn't withstand the instinctive cry.
"Wh-what is this!"
Blanc Cardmus. What in the world was this boy's true nature?
How could he contain something so horrific and malevolent within his soul and still maintain a human form?
Having glimpsed an entity beyond human comprehension, the black mage felt violent nausea. He clamped his mouth shut by instinct, fighting the urge to vomit.
If he retched here, it felt like he'd spew out everything within his soul.
"Look at it with me."
Blanc Scar approached the seated black mage.
"I've been watching alone all this time."
"Wh-who are you?"
"Those who watched beside me died off one by one or went hollow. Now it's just me."
"Please, please..."
"Looks like I'm the last. The only one left, staring at it, preparing to block it."
The black mage tried desperately to turn away, but Blanc's hand on his head forbade it.
If he couldn't turn, he'd close his eyes.
That way, he wouldn't have to see the horror.
My eyes... my eyes... why won't they close?
He tried lowering his lids, but for some reason, they wouldn't shut.
Shifting his gaze to the window's reflection instead of outside, the black mage saw himself.
"Ugh! Uwaaaah!"
In the reflection, his eyes were gone.
His sockets hollowed out, empty.
Nothing but futile voids.