Chapter 589 - The Master
Countless rising emotions and the reason struggling to maintain cold composure intertwined, and in the end, condensed into one knot in his chest.
The heartbeat, which should have been pounding more violently, instead grew sluggish.
Verden's life had been a continuation of deception.
To escape from being an unofficial test subject and survive, to gain the talent he was not born with, he had swallowed rage and hatred whole.
Under the alias Asher, he roamed the Eastern Continent, crossed the Central Continent, and returned to the Western Continent, at last experiencing the world.
The realm of transcendence.
A faction that shared his will.
Thus he had rigorously concealed and hidden the blade aimed at the throat of the Bohemirn Magic Tower.
This was the result.
Balrog Bessias did not know who was standing before him now, nor why the Bohemirn Magic Tower's filthy secret had been exposed.
"…You, why are you suddenly laughing?"
"Just remembering the past."
Verden, in the form of Dark Moon, lifted the corner of his mouth and laughed quietly.
He felt almost delighted.
Everything did.
It was as if the life of weakness he had endured was finally being rewarded.
"By the way, you asked how I felt being dragged here, didn't you?"
Verden exhaled deeply.
"Refreshing. And liberating. However this ends, it's certain that one of us will die without achieving our ideal."
"Pretending to be calm, are you."
Balrog revealed a fierce fighting spirit and spread his overwhelming presence.
All things looked up to him.
"To have detected the existence of Coercion, to have broken through it, and to have exploited the gaps in my Magic Tower's secrets—impressive. Quite the struggle. It was considerably irritating, I'll admit… though the moment you were caught here, it all became meaningless."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I will place every force that reigns over the continents under my dominion. Transcendents are no exception."
Balrog looked down with eyes full of arrogance and dogmatism.
Verden sneered.
"To think you could dominate transcendents. What, will you seize their minds with that compulsory magic circle again? Like you did with Sandir Paen?"
"Beyond that."
Balrog lifted his chin.
"Unofficial laboratories? Elders of Itium? Disciples? Irrelevant. Compared to the total might of the Black Hour that I am about to obtain, such losses are trifling. Well, unless you choose to end yourself out of fear of mental brainwashing—but that, of course, will not happen."
The Dahit Wethroel Balrog knew would sooner kill or be killed than ever acknowledge defeat or submission.
That was why he could so shamelessly expose his sinister intent. Even if he mocked Dahit by saying he would enslave him, there was nothing Dahit could do.
"The dream that spread across the continents several months ago, and the breakthrough in hierarchy it caused—I don't know what you sought to achieve with that, but if it was to prove your own greatness to the world and be remembered by all, then you've succeeded. Even I am impressed."
Balrog extended his left arm to the side.
"As a posthumous work, it couldn't be more fitting, could it?"
"You've been overconfident for a while now."
Verden activated his mana circuits. The air grew heavy, pressing down upon the land.
An oppressive presence surged toward the sky.
"You talk too much. If I die, it'll be only after forcing you to kneel and acknowledge me."
Balrog had shown ambition to seize Dahit's mind. It was, in essence, no different from declaring he would kill Dahit.
A person stripped of choice, whose memories are distorted, cannot exist as themselves. According to Dahit's theory of memory, that is death itself.
"..."
Though the magical duel had not yet begun, it was obvious that Dark Moon stood on the brink of death.
A mage is one who prepares.
A transcendent as well.
Between the prepared and the unprepared lies a gap that cannot easily be bridged. It is not something mere spirit can overcome.
And yet, despite that, the cold, gleaming hostility burning in his eyes, the calm defiance—it was indeed very much like Wethroel.
But at the same time, Balrog frowned slightly.
'That attitude, that voice, that presence—everything proves he is Dahit Wethroel. And yet… what is this?'
This feeling.
A sense of wrongness, perhaps.
An inexplicable unease slithered up from within, tickling his nerves. It was a subtle dissonance he could ignore if he wished.
So he dismissed it.
Whatever it was, the outcome would not change.
Kugugugugugu…!
Their presences and mana collided.
The earth quaked.
The land, already shattered by magic, began to tremble again in terror.
"Leave your last words, Wethroel."
"I told you, you talk too much."
Verden curled his fingers, power gathering in both hands.
"Half-blooded fool."
Balrog's scheme had been devised solely with Dark Moon in mind. Still oblivious to the truth, he could only be used.
What had the Tower Master of Bohemirn prepared that made him so confident?
As Dark Moon, Verden intended to find out.
'Only after that will I reveal my full power.'
He harbored no arrogance.
Nor was there any complacency.
Not when he had reconstructed his body through the Tower's power source, not even now when he had deceived the so-called omnipotent transcendent.
His mindset remained the same.
At the insult "half-blood", Balrog's eyes flared wide, and he ground his teeth.
"…Let's see if you can still prattle like that at the end, usurper."
Mado
Kuung!
Unleashing his true power, he struck the ground once with a massive staff.
It was one of the seven collections possessed by the Tower Master of Bohemirn— the artificial artifact [Endless Phenomena].
Piiing.
The moment the staff reacted to his mana, three rings around the red crystal at its head spun furiously.
At the same time, the clouds far above split apart.
From a concealed magic circle, a formulaic bolt of lightning flashed. It immediately passed through three magic circles manifested in the air.
In an instant, its power and range multiplied severalfold.
A violent explosion of light painted the dark world in white.
───!
The impact surpassed even the 7th-tier lightning spell
When the light faded, Verden hovered calmly in the air, his body wreathed in pitch-black flames.
Mado
Verden pressed his palms together.
Both knew, to some extent, each other's power as Dark Moon and as the so-called Omnipotent One.
'Petty mind games are meaningless.'
An area of annihilation devoured the surroundings, gradually erasing everything.
Meanwhile, the
The earth was dyed darker than night, and the sky filled with dozens of interlaced magic circles.
"Come to think of it, by now it should be just about over."
Balrog sneered.
"The Black Hour within the Grand Hall, which had devoted most of its power to external defense, could never withstand the bombardment of Saturation of Jinche for long. You knew that, didn't you?"
"..."
The Grand Hall.
Saturation of Jinche.
'So the sudden loss of contact with Isabella… it was because of the Bohemirn Magic Tower.'
That the Grand Hall's defenses had been breached was certainly unexpected.
But there was no reason to waver.
Verden declared firmly.
"Whether I knew or not is meaningless. Nothing changes. Not for the Grand Hall, nor anywhere else."
"You mean, you're willing to lose your entire faction. Cold as ever, just like the usurper who destroyed the masters who raised him—"
"We will win."
…We?
At that unfamiliar word, Balrog felt a strange stirring. The sense of wrongness he had shaken off earlier returned, clinging tighter than before.
A vague, unpleasant feeling brushed through his mind—the same kind of unease he'd felt when he'd lost contact with the Array of Spectrum Fleet. Like he was missing something again.
Twit.
Balrog's eyelid twitched.
Even though he held the upper hand, he felt as if he were somehow being led—an unpleasant sensation he tore away from himself with a flash of his eyes.
"Enough useless talk."
The magic circles linked together, synchronizing into one unique formula.
Destructive power, and lethal force.
He focused pure intent solely upon the origin and essence of elemental magic.
Each one's will took shape.
Their movements crossed.
Hwoooosh—KWAANG!
Five torrents of glacial cold and rising earth spiraled chaotically toward him, and soaring upward through their destruction, Verden invoked
The surface of Balrog's defensive magic circle, struck by the jet-black beam, began to erode. At the same time, a meteor of condensed lightning crashed down upon the area.
The master of the Bohemirn Magic Tower. The leader of Black Hour.
Upon the plains where the Cliff of Eternity had been leveled, another wave of catastrophe descended.
***
Thud!
The great doors of the Grand Hall fell from above, sealing the entrance.
The space became a closed chamber.
Though the path of retreat was blocked, Crodon did not seem to care. His murky crimson eyes, brimming with yearning, simply gazed forward.
Isabella Argyle.
Her hair and eyes had turned shades of dark green and gold, and a magic circle glimmered in her left eye— a far cry from her appearance of old.
Yet remnants of her former self still lingered unmistakably in her body.
She spoke.
"This will be your grave."
Gulp.
Crodon swallowed hard.
He could have wondered why Isabella, who should have been held captive by Black Hour, was moving freely—but he had no time for that.
That familiar voice from his memories stirred something deep within.
What should he say first?
There were so many things he'd wanted to say for so long that he didn't know where to start.
Soon, Crodon opened his mouth, his tone more mature with age.
"I'm sorry."
Isabella's face stiffened.
"…What?"
"It was a mistake. I just—thought you were breaking your promise, and I acted rashly. My fault. No matter what, I shouldn't have done that to you or your family, who treated me so kindly."
He murmured with a somber voice, as if truly remorseful.
"I admit, it's partly my fault that things went wrong between us. I'll take responsibility. So, let's start over. Just like back at the academy."
"..."
"I'll rebuild the mansion that burned down that day. Just like before. No, even bigger, if that's what you want. And your family… well, what's done is done, but we can build a church for the Church of Luas nearby, pray for their souls. They were good people, they must be in heaven already. But I thought leaving it be might upset you."
Crodon stepped forward carefully, wearing a heated smile.
"You remember, don't you? The promise we made—to help each other achieve our dreams. You broke it, but I never forgot. Even now. And I'm more than willing to forgive you for betraying it."
"..."
"The heirlooms of your family—the Eye of Replication and Nucleus of Multiplication—Master used them to craft the artificial artifact [Endless Phenomena], so they can't be restored. But your body still carries the Blood of Resurrection. We can still fulfill the promise."
"..."
"So let's forgive each other, and study your family's relics together. At our Bohemirn Magic Tower. That's what I wanted to tell you."
He extended his hand.
"Let's make peace."
"…Ha."
Isabella let out a hollow laugh.
Utterly deranged sophistry.
Just hearing it made her stomach turn with disgust.
Forgiveness? Reconciliation?
She doubted whether such words could even come from a human mind. The man who slaughtered her family now reached out his hand, saying he would forgive her.
Clench.
Her fist tightened until her nails pierced deep into her palm.
"Isabella, you're bleeding—"
"The names."
"…What?"
"The names of my family. Say them. Right now, in front of me."
Xenia, Kael, Carver, Marianne.
Names she could never forget. Names she longed for.
"Well, uh…"
Crodon scratched his cheek.
"I told you. I'm sorry."
Magic activated through her Brilliant Eyes.
His mana tumors should have ruptured, his blood flow reversed, his body exploded. But Crodon did not die.
Clack.
Only one of the four gemstones embedded in his bracelet fell away.
"So that's what felt off. You activated the spell remotely with that left eye. Refusing my offer again, huh?"
Crodon blinked.
"Wait—hold on. Isabella, your rank was definitely at the fifth tier. How is it that your level can't even be measured—"
"You killed my family before my eyes, made me live in agony for years, and now you talk about experimenting on me—and you think I'd take that hand? You think I'm your property?"
"What are you talking about? We're friends."
"But what can I do?"
Isabella placed a hand on her chest.
What could she say to cut deepest into his nerves?
The answer rose from her instinct.
"I already have someone."
Her voice echoed low through the chamber.
The faint smile frozen on Crodon's face shattered.
"…What?"