Baerund's Slums: Black Magic Stirs
A black mage, huh. It had been nearly two hundred years since I'd heard anything about them—guys who'd holed up in some forgotten corner without so much as showing their faces.
If they were really starting to stir up trouble again, it was about time for some pest control.
Still, to investigate, we'd pushed deep into the slums. Kunrot had mentioned black mages might be involved, but we wouldn't know for sure until we saw it with our own eyes.
The outskirts had been a bit shabby, kinda gloomy. But the deeper we went, the more it devolved from rundown to outright ruins.
Walls smeared with all sorts of filth, houses missing roofs or with half-collapsed walls—and people living in them here and there.
Men leaning against walls, too drunk on cheap booze even in broad daylight to stand straight. Beggars giggling to themselves for no reason, clutching bowls as big as their faces while staring into empty space. And huge rats scurrying between them all.
I didn't feel like sticking around to sightsee. Better wrap this up quick and head back.
"Master, what's a black mage?"
Black mages. They use foul methods to tamper with souls—distorting them or exploiting their power.
"What did I say souls are?"
"Uh... the source of a person's mind and will... or something like that?"
"Black mages twist those souls with their cursed arts."
And twisting a soul means twisting the mind.
In other words, black magic specializes in manipulation—stirring up crowds, or mass hypnosis, brainwashing, that sort of thing.
So, to sum it up...
"They're perverts."
The kind who get off on toying with other people's minds however they please.
Of course, no mortal's technique is all-powerful. Most are small fry who can only nudge thoughts a bit or make someone a tad more gullible...
Kunrot said kids were going missing. And kids usually lack the strong sense of self or will to resist black magic.
Plus, their souls haven't accumulated much baggage, so they're generally pure—easy prey. Even a low-level black mage could work powerful effects on them.
I recalled the first black mage I'd ever encountered.
A scum who'd brainwashed hundreds with his black magic, treating them like tools for his own desires.
He'd toyed with so many souls that he'd nearly reached transcendent levels.
Of course, not even a corpse was left of him—no records of his existence survived. But it was the spark that made me think I'd wipe them out someday.
Cockroaches like them have insane vitality. No matter how many you smash, more keep crawling out, so I'd half-given up.
They say if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back. Not all who learn black magic start out insane, but by the time they master it, they sure as hell are.
Lost in those thoughts as we cut through the slums toward the coast, I sensed a faint presence behind us. It had been tailing us for a bit but hadn't shown itself.
"Master, behind us..."
"I know."
Judging by the footsteps, it was probably that pickpocket kid from the market earlier—the one who'd failed.
A slum rat like that would know more about what goes down here than Kunrot. We could get some info out of her.
I deliberately pulled out my coin pouch and jingled it. Nearby beggars perked up at the sound, eyeing us, but the presence behind moved faster.
Small footsteps pattering on the dirt, drawing closer...
"Gotcha."
I nabbed the kid by the scruff of her neck. Even smaller than I'd thought. Her hair was chopped unevenly at shoulder length, caked in grime and dirt so thick you couldn't tell the color.
Hoisted up high, she wriggled like a kitten dangling from its mother's jaws—kinda pitiful.
"Gimme that. Money... gotta take the money."
She didn't even care about being caught—reached straight for the jingling pouch instead of trying to flee.
Hmm. Yeah, definitely not right in the head.
"If I don't take the money, big trouble."
"What kinda trouble?"
"Dunno. But gotta take the money."
Cognitive decline, clear as day. Symptoms of hypnosis—you're half-dreaming.
I focused a bit, shifting my vision to peer into her soul. There it was: stark traces of black magic embedded deep.
Visually, like pitch-black, scorching tar plastered over a pristine snowball of fresh snow, melting it from the surface in.
Long story short: this kid was definitely under some evil black mage's thumb—soul pawned, hypnotized and brainwashed.
"I suspected, but damn—a real black mage."
"That's black magic? It, uh, doesn't look like I imagined."
"Nah, it's exactly what you pictured. Imagine it happening to you."
"Eek, yeah... that's scary thinking about it."
No reason to leave her under the influence. I channeled a smidge of mana into my fingertip and flicked her forehead hard.
A crisp thwack rang out, and the shoddy black magic tore free from her soul without a trace.
"Ow!"
"You with it now?"
"Ah, money! Gotta take the... huh? Why did I need to? Where am I...?"
I set her down, and she patted the ground in confusion, looking around all disoriented.
"Got a few questions."
"Eep!!"
She flinched like a scared cat, hunching and eyeing me warily.
I wiggled my fingers, telekinetically pulling a glond from my bag—the one I'd bought earlier—and held it out. Nothing melts a kid's guard like sweets.
She snatched the floating glond with both tiny hands, head bobbing up and down in awe, then peeked at me cautiously.
"S-sis... you're a mage...?"
"Yeah, that's right."
She fidgeted, swallowed hard, then mumbled:
"S-strong...?"
"Strong."
Stronger than anyone else in this city, at least.
She squirmed like she couldn't spit it out, eyes welling up with tears.
"Um... that is..."
Soon sniffling with snot and a teary face, she forced out word by word:
"H-help... Sis and bro... and my friend..."
"Yeah, we're here to catch the bad guys."
"R-really?"
"Yep."
I knelt and wiped the tears trickling from her eyes with my finger. They kept coming, but she calmed surprisingly fast.
Then, a commotion from the side. One of the bearded beggars who'd been staring stood up and lumbered over.
Rusty knife in hand—clear threat. Nearby and rear beggars shifted too, and the kid shrank back in fear.
"Quit yer yappin'! Done talkin'? Hand over that pouch from earlier and scram, or die, guk!"
As the beggar took three steps forward, Kasian—mana surging through his body for a burst of speed—slammed his elbow into the guy's jaw.
The beggar dropped his knife, four teeth flying free as he crumpled. The onlookers sat right back down.
"Nothin' to it."
"Good job. See that?"
"...Yeah."
The kid's eyes went wide in shock, nodding slowly.
"So, where do we go?"
She wiped her tears with her sleeve and pointed toward the coast, taking the lead.
"This way..."
Following the kid led to what looked like an abandoned warehouse district. Buildings too crumbled for habitation, but human presence was unmistakable.
Hiding and peeking: a wide clearing with a bunch of kids and a few adults. Kids handed over cash to the adults; those with too little got beaten mercilessly.
Common thread: vacant stares, all of them. Peering at their souls confirmed black magic traces—victims, every one.
"Over there, if you don't bring money, they beat you. Keep failing... they take you that way."
She pointed to a large warehouse. Door shut tight—no peeking inside, but kids were probably locked in there.
Explains Kunrot's missing kids.
They were thugs beating kids, but innocent victims—human ones at that—so we waited for the crowd to disperse.
No fuss allowed. We hunkered in nearby thick grass, muffling sound with magic for stealth.
Handed the kid another glond to kill boredom, watching hypnotized folks come and go. Twilight crept in before we knew it.
Long wait despite arriving late afternoon—no gains. Thinking of pulling back before full dark and trying tomorrow...
Then, from the farthest small warehouse: a man in a black robe over his shoulders, glancing around before shutting the door tight behind him.
Bingo.
"Kasian, watch the kid."
"You goin' alone, Master?"
"Be right back."
"Hurry. I hate the dark."
I chuckled and stepped out of the grass.
But my sleeve tugged—I turned to see the kid gazing up anxiously.
"Sis..."
A quick head pat, and she let go.
I approached the warehouse door the man had entered, palm flat on the wooden surface.
Alright then.
Lord, the day's late, but a few more are heading up.