The flowers were still flowers, the trees were still trees, and the world's dazzling array of colors remained unchanged.
What was different was Rogue.
When Rogue first awoke, it was as if he were a fish in a pond looking out; the entire world seemed to ripple and sway as if viewed through disturbed water. These flowers, these trees, these colors, had become like a painting—a flat image. He felt something lay behind this painting, and Rogue strained to see past it, even feeling an involuntary urge to leap through. But, like a fish in a glass bowl, he was bounced back every time he confronted this canvas. Summer passed into autumn before Rogue truly recovered, or more precisely, before he reverted to all his former vices and stopped checking his hands each morning to see if they had turned to bone.
Rogue could clearly sense the presence of the Divine Origin. Those silver eyes, the sharply defined features, the subtle undulations beneath the white robe—they flashed through his mind like fragments of a dream. And each time, it ignited a fire within him.
The Lich's instinctive revulsion for angels did little to dampen Rogue's lecherous heart; instead, the latter gradually overwhelmed the former. The obstinacy common to many nobles was particularly pronounced in Rogue. However, while most nobles expressed this by believing themselves inherently superior to commoners in every way, Rogue's thoughts were much simpler: to use the Divine Origin to recreate a Light Angel as his own Familiar. Never before had Rogue craved power so intensely. If a mere Light Angel could be so unforgettable, what must the divine realm in the heavens be like? Possessing a Familiar was a feat only achievable by a Seventh-Level Mage. Relying on Rogue's psychic power and the knowledge of magic arrays the Lich had specifically chosen to retain during the fusion, along with the purity of the Divine Origin, he might barely be able to summon his own Familiar once his magical power reached the level of a Third-Level Mage.
Fess was a Ninth-Level Mage. His magic laboratory was a rather secluded two-story building deep within the academy. Normally, Fess's strength wouldn't warrant such treatment even if he were two levels higher, but he was also an accomplished Alchemist, which was far more important than his magical prowess. After all, high-grade magical items were everyone's favorite.
Of course, Rogue's appearance was hardly endearing. The reasons Fess chose him as an apprentice were, on one hand, his exceptionally skillful flattery, and on the other, Rogue's ability to resist the temptation of Fess's many valuable gems. Rogue was no gentleman who wouldn't pocket a lost item; he simply understood the principle of "forgoing small, immediate gains for greater long-term benefits." There was also a reason buried deep in Fess's subconscious: his commoner background made him absolutely relish being served by a noble. After several joint excursions to brothels, the bond between Fess and Rogue rapidly deepened, and they found much common ground. Regardless, seeing Rogue suddenly bury himself fanatically in studying magic arrays and painstakingly cultivating his magical power made Fess quite pleased.
"Teacher, what are all these crooked, squiggly symbols in the magic array for?" "They serve the same purpose as the incantations you learn; these symbols are drawn to gather the corresponding magical energy from space. The function of the symbols varies depending on the magical materials used to draw them. And the function of the entire magic array is determined by the amount, type, and sequence of the energies gathered."
"So, the number of possible combinations for magic arrays must be enormous?" "Of course. There are hundreds of recorded magical materials, dozens of types of pure-attribute magical energies—including various divine powers—and when you add in the symbols that control the energy's magnitude, flow direction, and timing, the number of combinations is virtually endless. All existing magic arrays are summaries left by predecessors based on countless failures."
"What happens if a magic array is drawn incorrectly and then activated?" No sooner had he asked than Rogue mentally cursed himself for being an idiot. Didn't the occasional explosions in Fess's lab already answer that? But Rogue's luck was quite good. As an Alchemist, Fess's spellcasting ability was mediocre, but his knowledge of magic arrays was truly masterful.
Three-quarters of the students at the Lyon Magic Academy were nobles. Even lower nobles like Rogue often suffered disdainful looks. Most noble students were less diligent than their commoner counterparts, but when both were low-level mages, the disparity in magical equipment was enough to allow the nobles to hold their own in a fight. Commoner students, hampered by their financial disadvantage, had no choice but to rely on arduous cultivation to increase their power. The original Rogue had neither the wealth to buy good equipment nor the willingness to cultivate as diligently as a commoner, so his abilities were mediocre at best. Even his occasional bullying was typically directed at common folk outside the academy.
The days passed, and the weather gradually turned cooler. Those who had known Rogue were almost all astonished by his transformation. That short, stocky, shameless fellow now spent his days either buried in ancient tomes in the library or shut in his room in meditation. As his magical power slowly increased, the day finally came when snowflakes began to fall: Rogue's power reached the standard of a Third-Level Mage.
During this time, Rogue made an unexpected discovery. After his body's thorough remodeling, it possessed explosive strength and agility rivaling that of a wild beast. "You're less of a human and more of a magical beast," the Lich had concluded. In the early stages of the soul fusion, Rogue could still hold conversations with the Lich within his consciousness. By now, however, their souls had completely merged into one; it was impossible to tell who was who anymore. But clearly, this particular observation could only have originated from the Lich, with his profound understanding of both human and monstrous anatomy.
Another surprise was his psychic power. One afternoon, as Rogue was struggling with "The Principles of Wind-Element Magic Arrays," those silver eyes once again seared his nerves. "I really need a drink," Rogue thought, remembering the wine glass on the table by the window. His yearning for those eyes made him prepare to dive back into the sea of magic arrays, only to find the wine glass hovering motionless right in front of his face. His astonishment broke his concentration, and the glass fell heavily onto his head, spilling cheap wine all over him. After that incident, Rogue discovered his psychic power could move objects. After several months of ignorant and fearless practice, he finally managed to hurl a cat that had sneaked in to steal food right out of the room. This ability was both cumbersome and useless compared to magic, but the sliver of understanding about the world's fundamental nature left by the Lich gave Rogue a vague sense that this power could be extremely useful. It was only many years later that Rogue realized he had misjudged the Lich; his present foresight actually stemmed from a cunning villain's innate sense for intrigue.
Regardless, the great day finally arrived. Rogue looked upon the multi-colored array he had drawn on the floor with near ecstatic joy. This Familiar Summoning Array had been significantly altered to accommodate the Divine Origin. A typical mage's Familiar was usually a minor demon, a crow, a black cat, or some other small magical creature, used mostly for reconnaissance. The summoned Familiar shared the most direct and fundamental connection with the mage's soul; the death of a Familiar would generally severely injure the mage. On this point, Fess had once declared that Rogue's Familiar would be either a wild boar or a mole rat. Familiars held little significance in combat, even large ones like a Black Tiger. Using a Familiar to fight was far less effective than summoning a creature, which offered more power and safety.
Rogue finished chanting the incantation. Magical power began to trickle into the array. From the outside in, the symbols of the array began to light up, their various hues intertwining. When the entire array was ablaze with light, the roars of demons and the hymns of heaven interwove as they echoed from within the array. Rogue, sweating profusely and veins bulging on his forehead, strained to support the array's seemingly endless demand for his mana. A mass of black mist slowly appeared at the array's center, from which droplets of a mercury-like liquid continuously fell. This silvery liquid grew and grew. When it reached the volume of a human head, the mist dissipated, leaving only this mercury-like substance churning and morphing incessantly in the air. Rogue began another chant, placing his hand above the mass. Slowly, a single golden droplet seeped from Rogue's fingertip and fell into the substance.
The substance suddenly began to writhe madly. Jets of black mist erupted from it, filling the entire array.
Exhausted, Rogue sat down on the floor, gazing full of hope at the array. Those silver eyes flashed before his mind's eye once more. Rogue knew the creature this time would be one that had never before existed in this world. Whatever it was, he hoped—he hoped this Familiar would have a pair of silver eyes.
The mist cleared. Rogue stared, speechless, at his new Familiar.
A single, dilapidated skeleton.