They did not take any prisoners.
The notion of complete extermination might have struck some as undeniably severe, but not a single hint of hesitation crossed the minds of Ivatar, the Zoran Tribe’s chief, and the chiefs of the allied tribes.
Eugene, an outsider unfamiliar with the ways of the forest, refrained from interfering in their affairs, much like the rest of the group. The Kochilla Tribe had long embraced cannibalism and human sacrifices as customary to their existence.
As such, even from an outsider perspective, they were barbarians who could not be kept alive.
“You were a big help.”
Having completed the arduous task of tidying up the battlefield, the remnants of destruction were evident to all. Despite the formidable might of Kristina's divine magic, the allies had not emerged unscathed. The toll was substantial, with a considerable number of lives lost and numerous individuals left wounded and in pain.
Every last warrior of the Kochilla Tribe met their demise, leaving no survivors in their wake. It was an unequivocal triumph for the Zorans and their forces. Ivatar, overwhelmed with a sense of satisfaction, beamed a smile and offered a gracious bow of gratitude to Eugene's group. “If you had not helped, we would have never stood a chance in the war.”
Although the conflict within the sacred grounds of the Footprint of the God of the Land had come to an end, Ivatar's forces opted against an immediate return to Zoran. Instead, they chose to press forward, steadfast in their march toward the heart of Kochilla Tribe's capital. The elite troops of the Kochillas had been vanquished, leaving a path devoid of formidable opposition. Moreover, the pervasive influence of Edmund's sinister black magic within the capital ensured that the number of survivors would be scarce.
Ivatar planned to make use of the momentum to completely conquer the Kochilla Tribe. With such a landslide victory, the leaders of the allied tribes fully supported his decision.
A chuckle escaped Eugene's lips as he observed the chiefs gazing at Ivatar with a mixture of admiration and reverence. He found the situation rather amusing, considering that not too long ago, most of these same chiefs had suffered the loss of an arm at the hands of Ivatar.
“Eugene, my respected friend. Thank you. I am still wondering how I can repay what you did for us, but know this one thing. I will give you all the spoils obtained by conquering the Kochilla Tribe,” Ivatar said.
“Everything is too much. Half will be fine. You should be gaining something from the war as well,” responded Eugene.
“What about me?” Melkith wasted no time in interjecting. However, as she approached, a pungent, burning odor emanated from her, causing Eugene to instinctively recoil, a frown etched across his face.
“You sure are greedy. Thanks to this war, you succeeded in signing a contract with the Spirit King of Fire. What else do you want?” said Eugene.
“Technically speaking, I got the contract with Ifrit because I was great,” Melkith spoke, proudly holding out her chest, her hands clasped at her waist. However, she almost immediately shrank back with a servile expression. “Ah…. All right, all right. I won’t take anything else, so let’s keep the contract, hmm? Come on, you were inwardly happy after signing that contract with me….”
Her words weren’t addressed to Eugene. It seemed that Ifrit was rather displeased at how Melkith was being greedy. She continued to creep backward while begging Ifrit. “And the contract of a Spirit King isn’t something that can be withdrawn so easily, right…? I’ll… I’ll do better. What do you say? Right, what if I changed the name of my Signature? Instead of Infinity Force, I can do something that makes you pop out a little more. What about Ifrit Force…? I can even make a Signature just for you…. A-and I’ll give special treatments to the wizards of the White Tower who have contracts with fire spirits….”
Her words were truly lame and obsequious, causing Tempest to cough with disapproval. Eugene also turned away from Melkith.
“…Ehem. Anyways, Eugene, I owe you too much. First, as you said, I will give you half of the spoils, and how about we discuss the rest after the conquest is over?” asked Ivatar.
“Sure.”
Ivatar made no request for Eugene to accompany him, recognizing that Eugene's role in the war had reached its conclusion. Similarly, he refrained from seeking assistance from any of Eugene's comrades.
The corpses of the Kochilla Tribe’s warriors were stacked into a hill, then doused with oil before being lit on fire.
Ivatar and the other warriors did not mourn the many bodies, and they cared not whether the God of the Land would embrace their souls. However, they mourned for their dead allies.
With a solemn countenance, Kristina knelt down, her face marked with exhaustion, and offered prayers for the departed souls. Witnessing this sight, Ivatar was deeply moved and found himself compelled to join her on his knees. He was touched by the sight of a priest, who hailed from a land foreign to Samar and did not worship the God of the Land, earnestly praying for the fallen warriors.
Following Ivatar's lead, every warrior present, overcome by a profound sense of emotion, knelt down in unison. The impact of Kristina's actions had touched them all deeply, for she had not only offered prayers but had also been instrumental in saving many of their lives, pulling them back from the precipice of death.
Kristina was shocked when she opened her eyes after intently praying. It wasn’t surprising, given that she found thousands of rugged natives kneeling before her as if worshiping her.
Ivatar and the warriors were the first to leave the Footprint of the God of the Land. Eugene's group chose not to depart immediately, opting instead to linger a while longer and conduct a thorough magical inspection.
With Edmund's demise, the intricate network of Earth Veins would gradually regain its inherent rhythm, reverting back to the natural course it had long been denied. Yet, despite this shift, the cruel reality remained — rescuing the souls sacrificed during the ritual was an insurmountable task, as the majority had already vanished in the ritual.
[It cannot be helped. There is nothing we can do,] Anise spoke after feeling Kristina’s sorrow. [Did I not tell you, Kristina? Even if we are the Saint, saving everyone is impossible.]
Kristina lowered her head, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. Anise, keenly observant, recognized the weight etched upon Kristina's countenance. Anise, too, was no stranger to that familiar sorrow, having experienced it countless times in her distant past, three centuries ago.
[We could not save everyone, but we did save many people. I don’t know how you might take this, but… I have to say this right now.]
‘What, Sister?’
[You did a good job.]
A gentle glow emanated from the rosary suspended around Kristina's neck, its faint illumination ascending into the air. Anise was responsible for the radiance. Gradually, the ethereal light grew beyond the rosary and enveloped Kristina, enfolding her form in a warm embrace.
[You did your best in this cruel war, Kristina. You saved those who would have died, as well as many others. You protected those who you hold most dear.]
‘…It’s because you helped me, Sister.’
[Even so, despite having died centuries ago, I could only see Hamel’s back and shine my light on him because of you, Kristina.]
Anise's heart swelled with gratitude, for she realized that even in death, she could bring solace to Kristina's weary spirit. Reflecting upon her own tumultuous existence three centuries past, Anise recalled the profound absence of affirmation or solace bestowed upon her by the God of Light.
“Good work,” Eugene said.
Nevertheless, while the God of Light had never uttered such comforting words to Anise, she found solace in the fact that her comrades, her steadfast allies, had bestowed upon her such words.
Eugene approached Kristina and reached out with his hand.
[He’s only quick-witted at times like these.]
Anise muttered while feeling loved. Similarly, Kristina's cheeks flushed with a tender emotion, intertwining with Anise's sentiment. Yet, beneath the blossoming affection, she was struck with worry.
Eugene was a truly precious person to her.
Kristina’s eyes had always been glued to Eugene during the battle. Though Eugene proved his mettle and required little assistance, Kristina, attuned to his every move, guided the radiant light to his aid whenever he faced the perilous onslaught of black magic or other imminent dangers. It had been possible for her to help him in this battle. However, Kristina knew it would be an insurmountable task to shield Eugene from harm in the future.
Anise shared Kristina’s worries. Like Kristina, Anise truly treasured Eugene.
The identical sentiment resonated within Anise's heart when it came to Sienna. An overwhelming desire surged through her, yearning to rescue Sienna. She could envision the joyous reunion, the spirited conversations, and the shared libations they could once again indulge in.
Yet, Anise confronted the grim reality that venturing forth to save Sienna was beyond her reach. Her mortal existence had been extinguished three centuries prior, and Kristina could not accompany Eugene either.
[Faith,] Anise muttered after a long sigh.
Kristina nodded while tightening her grasp on the rosary.
“Dagger,” Eugene said, staring at Balzac, who stood with a crooked posture. The magic dagger was still poised at Balzac’s heart. If Eugene wanted to, he could rip Balzac’s heart in a heartbeat.
“Can I keep it in?” Eugene inquired, his gaze shifting between the dagger clenched in his hand and Balzac standing before him. Lovellian, the one who had been responsible for actually inserting the dagger, stood looking flustered by Eugene’s brazenness.
Lovellian was pragmatic and discerning and had indeed planned on extracting the dagger from its deadly position after the demise of Edmund. Logically speaking, there appeared to be no compelling reason to refrain from doing so. After all, Balzac had not exhibited any overtly suspicious behavior, nor had he incited any disruptions during the war. On the contrary, his efforts had played a significant role in the downfall of Edmund Codreth.
“If that is what you want, Sir Eugene, I will not object,” Balzac answered with a broad smile, even though what Eugene said was nothing short of violence. “That is, if you will continue to trust me because of this dagger, Sir Eugene.”
“I won’t take it out because I don’t trust you,” Eugene retorted.
“But while this dagger is in me, you will be less wary of me, won’t you?” said Balzac.
His words could not be refuted, but Eugene found it more suspicious that Balzac was saying such words. How could anyone be so nonchalant with a magical dagger pointed at their heart, threatening to end their life in the blink of an eye?
‘…No, maybe he’s trying to make me think this way.’
Undoubtedly, Balzac's expertise in psychological warfare shone through, skillfully subverting Edmund's plans.
Nevertheless, an alternative perspective began to take shape in Eugene's mind. What if the magical dagger held little sway over Balzac, serving as a mere façade to lull Eugene into a false sense of security? The unsettling notion arose that perhaps Balzac aimed to lower Eugene's guard through the dagger, setting the stage for a treacherous betrayal at a later point.
Eugene couldn't shake the grim realization that being betrayed after fostering even a modicum of trust would prove far deadlier than facing an overt threat from the outset.
“Let’s take it out,” Eugene spat with a scowl.
He grappled with the enigma before him, unsure of the true answer. While the simplest solution would be to employ the dagger to mercilessly extract Balzac's heart, even Eugene, for all his resolve, hesitated to commit such a brazen act.
For one, it was true that Balzac had not betrayed them in any way in this matter, and it was also true that he had always acted friendly towards Eugene, helping him.
It was unclear where he would stand in the future, but so far, Balzac was never Eugene’s enemy.
It was still undeniable that Balzac was a black wizard contracted to the Demon King of Incarceration, Eugene’s nemesis. Someday, Balzac could well become Eugene’s enemy. But that wasn’t the case for now, and not yet. Therefore, Eugene decided not to take Balzac as the enemy.
“Hmm. I understand.” Lovellian immediately reached for Balzac’s chest. He, for one, had thought it a natural course of action.
Fwoosh!
The magical dagger escaped from his chest. When the dagger dissipated into light, Balzac smiled while caressing his chest.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Balzac said.
“I took it out because I don’t trust you,” Eugene retorted.
“Well, I guess you could kill me any time you wanted, Sir Eugene,” Balzac said with a shrug. Eugene had pondered the possibility of Balzac attacking or fleeing immediately after having the dagger withdrawn, but to his disappointment, Balzac did nothing.
“Now that Edmund is dead, it’s no longer fit to be called the Three Mages of Incarceration, right? Or will someone else be replacing Edmund’s seat?” Eugene asked.
“Well, if there’s a black wizard that His Majesty’s been eyeing, he may sign a new contract. However…. I know nothing about such a black wizard,” answered Balzac.
“But the title of the Staff of Incarceration can’t be unoccupied, right? Vladmir was retrieved as well.” Eugene said, then glared at Balzac. “…Don’t tell me you were chosen as the next Staff of Incarceration?”
“Do you think I cooperated in killing Edmund for that title?” asked Balzac.
“It’s not out of the question,” responded Eugene.
“Haha…. It seems difficult for me to prove my innocence from your suspicions….” Balzac briefly fell into thought while rubbing his glasses. “If I can talk a bit about myself, I have no interest in the name of the Staff of Incarceration. Vladmir is definitely an attractive staff, and the authority I’ll gain from possessing it will be great, but… rather than the Staff of Incarceration, I am obsessed with being the Head of the Black Tower. No, rather, I am obsessed with the name of Balzac Ludbeth.”
“Are you saying you’re not interested in status?” asked Eugene.
“I’m saying that the fame I seek is different from becoming the Staff of Incarceration. The Staff of Incarceration is a title that represents the most brilliant black wizard of the time. In other words, the moment you become the Staff of Incarceration, you no longer have a name to pursue.” Balzac explained.
Eugene could not immediately understand his words.
Balzac continued while staring into Eugene’s eyes. “Think about Edmund. Even though he was a human, Edmund was dissatisfied with his existence as a human. He attempted to become a Demon King because he was convinced he had nothing more to pursue as a human and black wizard. But that is not true for me. What I pursue isn’t to become something not human, nor is it to stand at the pinnacle of black wizards. So I do not want to become a Demon King, and I do not want to become the Staff of Incarceration either.”
“So what is it that you chase then?” Eugene asked.
“Hmm.” Balzac grinned. “Come to think of it, I promised to tell you after achieving our purpose. My goal is…. Haha, it’s a little embarrassing to say it in person. It’s to become a legend,” Balzac answered.
“A legend?”
“It’s absurd, but to be a little more specific…. Right, it’s to become a wizard like the Wise Sienna. I want to become a wizard whose name will be engraved in magical history for hundreds of years,” Balzac continued.
It was an unexpected answer, and it wasn’t only Eugene who was caught off guard by Balzac’s answer. Both Lovellia and Melkith stared at Balzac with astonished expressions.
“Are you serious?” asked Melkith. “You want to become a legend? The greatest wizard… in the world? Balzac, how old are you to be saying such a thing?”
“It definitely is a childhood dream for every wizard…,” Lovellian muttered with an awkward expression.
A subtle chuckle escaped Balzac’s lips as he nodded, resonating with a low tone. “Yes, that’s right. In particular, any wizard who studied in Aroth would have dreamed of becoming a wizard like Lady Sienna. It’s the same for me.”
“Then why did you become a black wizard when you took her as your wish?” asked Melkith.
“White Tower Master. Didn’t you sign contracts with three Spirit Kings?” asked Balzac.
“That’s because… I’m a master of Spirit Magic. My ambition wasn’t to become the greatest wizard but the greatest master of Spirit Magic, though you could say I’ve already achieved my wish.” Melkith snorted with a smug smile.
“Yes, and for that, I think very highly of you. Why did I sign a contract with the Demon King…? Hmm, since you aren’t black wizards, you may think otherwise, but I don’t see much difference between signing a contract with the Demon King and a spirit King,” Balzac said.
“You’re actually saying that in my face?” said Melkith.
“On the contrary, I think you can actively sympathize with my view. Isn’t it too self-righteous to say that forming a contract with an existence that can grant me the power I would never achieve and the possibility of changing my future is unconditionally wrong?” asked Balzac.
Balzac's words echoed in Eugene's memory, for he had indeed expressed a similar sentiment in the past. Balzac had conveyed his preference for a tangible existence, aligning himself with the Demon King rather than embracing the ephemeral and elusive nature of a deity. In Balzac's perspective, the act of forging a contract, even if it meant pledging his soul as collateral, appeared more worthwhile than relying on miracles fueled by faith, belief, and other intangible forces.
—Black wizards are utilitarians who seek extreme efficiency. As you know, Sir Eugene, magic is a harsh, mischievous, and absurd study. No matter how hard you try and crave it, becoming a wizard without talent is impossible.
—For such people, the idea of forming a contract with demons is bound to be very attractive. They can sell their souls in exchange for the magic they want…. They would be the only ones facing the burden of the contract. It doesn’t hurt others. The only reason they end up committing crimes is that they can’t be satisfied with themselves.
Edmund had proven him right, as well as Hector.
They had craved a power greater than what they received from their contracts. So they harmed others, made sacrifices, and committed sins.
Such was the case with most black wizards.
—If the benefits of betraying human principles were clear, they might pursue practical benefits by committing.
But it wasn’t just black wizards either. There were many wizards who committed similar crimes for their own goals.
“Are you saying you signed a contract with the Demon King to become a great wizard?” Eugene asked while recalling his conversation with Balzac in the past.
Balzac nodded with a smile. “I hoped for more than what I could naturally gain.”
It was the same answer as before.
“I am not Sienna the Wise. She was loved by magic. She was a wizard who could threaten the Demon Kings, and not a single such wizard was born after her. As you said, Sir Eugene… I signed a contract with the Demon King to become a great wizard. My strength alone was insufficient, so I paved a path that was originally impossible for me by signing a contract with the Demon King of Incarceration.” After saying so, Balzac shook his head as if he were embarrassed. “Well, in the end, I was caught up in my childish ambitions, so I tried my best to come up with an answer as I got older. But even so, I am pure and desperate for my wish. That is why I don’t want to become the Staff of Incarceration or an existence other than a human. What I want to become, the great wizard, must be thoroughly human.”
“Do you have to be human?”
“Because I’m human now. Also, I want to leave my name in the magic of humans. It will be meaningless if I become something else. Isn’t that so? Don't you agree? Suppose I were to transform into a long-lived elf, a dragon wielding magic effortlessly, or a demon or a Demon King wielding the power of black magic through Dark Power. Would I truly leave a lasting mark upon history as a great wizard?"
Eugene couldn’t help but think that he was a strange man.
Balzac Ludbeth was a human who was twisted and pure at the same time. Even so, there was no falsehood in the ideals he spoke of. Instead, Eugene could feel a strong passion and belief.
“His Majesty, the Demon King of Incarceration, knows what I seek, so he will not take me as the Staff of Incarceration. It’s likely that Vladmir will fall to Amelia Merwin,” Balzac said before stealing a glance at Eugene. “And…. Well… it’s likely that the Death Knight you killed is still alive, Sir Eugene.”
“What the fuck?” Eugene cursed.
“Even if the body was completely destroyed, the soul would have returned to Amelia. Strictly speaking, that wasn’t a proper Death Knight. The body was a moving corpse, and the soul was synthesized…. There may be a life vessel that resonated with the soul in Amelia’s possession,” Balzac continued.
“That’s fine.” Eugene felt a rush of anger, but he quickly calmed himself. “…At least I got the body.”
He felt sick and tired.
He had destroyed Hamel’s body. It was possible for the bastard to appear once again with a new body, but the body would no longer be Hamel’s.
Eugene could be satisfied with that for now.
‘…Maybe next time, I won’t have to dirty my hands.’
The image of Sienna, consumed by wrath, rampaging in a fury, flashed vividly through Eugene's mind. He couldn't fathom Sienna ever forgiving a parasite who had inhabited Hamel's body, masquerading as Hamel himself and uttering nonsensical words. The mere thought sent an involuntary shiver down Eugene's spine.
