As soon as the path to the black mage's lair opened, Enoch bolted out.
The moment they saw his retreating figure, Karen cried out in alarm.
"Young Lord?! Ah, no, Patriarch... you mad bastard!"
Her title slipped for a moment, but the words that burst out were far too crude for addressing her master.
Yet even the ever-loyal knight Hilda, and Calton, famous for his rigid propriety, said nothing to correct Karen.
Because they were thinking the exact same thing...!
No matter how much of a Zahav he was, no one would charge out so recklessly without a plan.
Especially Enoch—compared to the rest of the Zahav bloodline, he was surprisingly low on aggression.
He'd fight without hesitation if necessary, but he wouldn't waste energy on needless battles.
That signature lazy predator aura of his must stem from this innate nature.
So if Enoch was dashing off like this in such a hurry... there could only be one reason.
'He's worried about the soldiers.'
Clamors of battle echoed from within. That meant Philip's squad members were still alive.
The moment he realized that, he must have charged ahead first, fearing they might be too late.
Karen, Hilda, and Calton exchanged glances before falling in behind Enoch, forming up properly.
Hilda and Calton side by side up front, with Karen tucked behind like she was hiding—a formation ready for instant combat.
They passed the short corridor and arrived in the wide-open laboratory.
And that's when the three of them saw it.
Crack... shatter!
Enoch tearing apart a shield made of black magic with his bare hands, then smashing the black mage's head like a melon.
Not only had he taken down one black mage in that brief span—which was shocking enough—but the method defied all understanding.
'How...?'
It's commonly said that priests are essential when facing black mages.
The reason is simple. Black magic power isn't ordinary force.
Originally, black magic was just another facet of mana, like fire or ice.
If forced into an element, it felt closest to dark mana.
The user could abuse it, sure, but on its own, it was merely unusual mana...
Like most troubles, things changed after the God of Tragedy, Tragodea, perished.
More precisely, the way black mages coagulated their black magic power warped.
Black magic itself remained the same as ever. But black mages could now mix in the divine power left by the God of Tragedy.
Just as Tragodea allowed monsters to claim his authority, he permitted black mages to blend his divine power into their mana.
Thus, they could infuse black magic with tragic divinity without cost—no faith in the god, no elaborate rituals.
That's why other gods' priests... and holy power... became necessary to counter black magic.
Even without a price, a tier was a tier. Ordinary mana or aura got pitifully repelled by it.
Without a priest's aid, you'd need multiple heavy blows just to shatter a single layer of black magic shielding.
But Enoch was different. He'd gone beyond canceling it—he'd ripped it apart like tissue paper.
A bizarre pattern stretching from his heart down his arm glowed red under the dim light, catching Karen's eye.
"Ah."
As she'd seen in his spar with Calton before, Enoch was unconsciously using his ability to disperse an opponent's aura.
That let him face aura barehanded...
Now, he wielded the same power not by instinct or his body's mana, but by refined aura through sheer will.
So it wasn't strange if his aura could disperse black magic... even the divinity remnants of the God of Tragedy.
'No, it still feels off.'
His utterly unconventional ability must have thrown her sense of normalcy off-kilter for a moment.
Karen shook her head clear and slipped into the shadows to aid against the remaining black mages.
The familiar grip of dagger and wire in her hands. Not enough to shatter their shields outright, but plenty to create openings.
As Karen lay in wait for her chance, Enoch—having felled one black mage—turned to the rest with loaded words.
"Looks like you know exactly who I am."
"... "
"... "
The black mages silently raised their staves. Enoch responded with a feral grin.
"Right. I'm your death."
His words unleashed a ferocious killing intent that enveloped the area. Though not aimed at her, it rooted Karen's feet with its sticky malice.
Yet a faint smile played on her lips.
'Seems the new Patriarch really cherishes his people.'
Enoch, brimming only with intent to slaughter black mages, would have been baffled by that misconception.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
With one down, the remaining two black mages tensed and aimed their staves at me, faces fraught.
The moment one blinked in tension, I dropped low and lunged.
Whoosh.
Unlike when I downed the first, my steps were eerily silent.
Even if just mimicking the form, following an assassin's footwork paid off.
Slower, sure, but far stealthier in closing distance.
By the time he opened his eyes, I'd halved the gap.
"Sh-shit!"
Panicking, he sprayed his prepped spell forward.
Black flames—unnatural fire—rained down at just the right angle and direction.
This single cast told me he was a battle-hardened black mage.
But too rattled. Even knowing who I was, he resorted to fire magic again.
Probably his most familiar spell.
Yeah. As Karen said, complacency in a dungeon leads straight to death.
...So I'm their tragedy, huh?
Not bad.
I smirked and clenched my fist tight.
"Gern, you idiot...!"
"Damn it! It was a mistake!"
His remaining comrade gnashed his teeth and swung his staff.
A bone wall erupted from the floor, blocking my view. But it wasn't meant to stop me.
More like shielding him from the black flames. Too late, though. My outstretched fist grazed part of the blaze. And then—
Whoosh!
The flames leaped onto my arm, trying to burn my fist.
Or rather, they tried but failed to pierce my fire resistance and black magic immunity, merely dancing atop it.
The bizarre pattern on my arm flared brighter, seizing the black flames outright.
What followed was a plain straight punch. But the result was anything but.
Boom-crash!
My fist pulverized the bone wall, hurling the backlash-amplified black flames at Gern beyond.
The black magic, rebelling against my force, tore into its own master's neck.
A feat possible only against black fire magic—not mere flames—leveraging both fire immunity and black magic resistance.
"Gaaah!"
Diminished by shared black magic nature, still the blaze pierced multiple shields in an instant, torching his upper body.
Commendable he didn't drop his staff, but exposing himself in agony was a fatal blunder.
I leaped with my momentum, kneeing his face.
Crack!
One shield shattered; Gern crumpled, unable to withstand the impact. Panicking, he rolled desperately, chanting his next spell.
Black slime coalesced in the air, hurtling toward my face—
"Not on my watch!"
Karen burst from hiding, whipping dagger and wire in tandem.
The thrown dagger struck his shield, outlining it.
The wire followed, snaring him shield and all, toppling his balance.
Already rolling, his aim went wildly astray.
Sizzle!
The slime shot ceilingward, melting stone with a shrill hiss.
Unlike curses or fire spells of pure black magic, this had physical substance—more effective on me.
Seemed like acidic solution... but a miss meant nothing.
I punted his pale, terrified face.
Thud!
His body cannonballed through lab equipment amid an explosive sound.
Two shields left now.
No respite for him to rise—I stomped his face.
Crack!
One stomp, one shattered shield. Meanwhile, the other black mage unleashed a bone spear dwarfing the last.
Dodging or deflecting was easy; taking it head-on, risky.
Yet I ignored it, focusing on downed Gern.
As he reached for a scroll, trusting his ally, I raised my foot.
Crunch!
"Patriarch!"
"Too reckless, sir!"
"Reckless? I trusted you two could handle that much."
Calton deflected the spear's path with his sword; Hilda sliced it clean.
The bisected bone spear thudded harmlessly into the wall.
Gern stared blankly up at my foot and muttered.
"Patriarch...? You don't mean...!"
"Shh. That's enough."
No time for drawn-out last words. One foe left.
Splat!
My heel pierced his final shield, pulping his skull.
Gern twitched then stilled. The last black mage collapsed to his knees.
"Ah, aaa... Lord of the Depths, End of the Silent Ones. I fled here to escape you, yet this is my fate..."
"Cut the fancy talk. You're dead anyway."
Guess this guy's their leader.
Classic black mage trait: the higher the realm, the more bombastic the speech. Like bad theater.
Just some orphanage thug from Calypso who disbanded an assassins' guild... Sounds like a human disaster to outsiders.
Snorting, I yanked a bone shard from the wall and hurled it.
Crack!
One shield crumbled instantly. A few layers remained, but the leader-type gave up resisting, gazing up at me.
"Our hubris strangles us. But remember."
Crunch!
My fist crushed another shield.
"The shadows of the past spare no one. This karma binds you too."
Pop!
The final shield shattered, yet he glared on.
"This is my last curse. From this day, my siblings shall watch you."
"So you'll send more to die on their own? Sweet."
I shrugged, knifing my hand-edge into his chest.
Stab!
My hand plunged in; I gripped and ripped out the pulsing heart.
Splurt!
The final black mage fell, fountain of blood from his torn heart.
Ah, maybe I should've held back. Too close—I'm splattered.
Grumbling inwardly, I wiped my bloody half-face with my sleeve.
Then waved to Philip's dazed squadmates staring at me.
"Wh-what? Philip's crew, right? Here to rescue... nah."
Sounds too saintly for a lord.
I jutted my chin arrogantly.
"Insolent lot. Trying to steal my black mage kills? You're all writing apologies."
"""...Yes, sir!"""
For some reason, they all looked thrilled.
...Should've docked their pay too?