Chapter 84……………………………..
“Daniel isn’t the kind of man who could ever use sorcery.”
Edwin sneered, saying that fellow probably couldn’t even memorize the chants of black magic or the rituals of sorcery.
After all, such things were difficult, intricate, and immensely powerful.
“But then, what about the Holy Pontiff? Does that make sense?”
Logically speaking, it was even more absurd to suspect the Pontiff. He was practically the embodiment of divine power itself.
“At any rate, it seems Asterios’s internal wounds this time were caused by a trap imbued with sorcery.”
“Yeah.”
A young noble of the Baron’s house had paid with his life for that sorcery.
The healers and physicians of Dreat weren’t well-versed in forbidden sorcery and black magic, so they wouldn’t have noticed easily.
But Edwin and Mephisto, who had lived long as the masters of the Magic Tower and the Demon Realm respectively, knew better.
Unlike black magic—where sacrifices are burnt black to ash or twisted into forms resembling monsters—sorcery came in many forms, varied and profound.
“If the victim’s heart was ripped out whole, that means the sorcerer used the heart as a medium. Until the heart was slowly destroyed and torn away, the cursed one would have been forced to act like a puppet in pain, obeying every command.”
Edwin muttered grimly. It was an extremely cruel and merciless form of sorcery.
“Indeed. That noble was the victim of a very intricate and powerful ancient curse.”
Mephisto agreed in a low voice.
Whoever cast the spell, Edwin and Mephisto had confirmed together that Asterios had fallen into a trap inside the Secret Fog.
Knock, knock.
Just then, a visitor knocked at the door.
Edwin walked over and opened it.
“Ah, just in time.”
Seeing Asterios arrive, both Edwin and Mephisto’s eyes lit up.
“I’ve got a question for each of you.”
Closing the door behind him, Asterios got straight to the point.
“Edwin, are there any high-ranking mages in Dreat capable of casting magic that reflects attacks?”
“What?”
Edwin frowned deeply. But Asterios immediately turned to Mephisto with another question.
“Have you ever heard it said that extremely powerful divine energy can resonate the same as magical waves?”
“……”
The three men stared at one another, brows furrowed.
At the same time, Ijef lay down on his bed, exhausted. Whether from the sleepless night or the many ordeals he had endured, the day felt unusually long.
His mind was restless, and sleep wouldn’t come easily.
Murmuring prayers as he lay there, he felt his weary body loosen, slipping toward drowsiness. Just then—
[Pray.]
“Hah!”
Eyes flying open, Ijef sucked in a sharp breath and stared at the ceiling.
A voice resounded suddenly in his head, sending a shiver down his spine.
Again. Just like in the Secret Fog, he heard it again.
[And bring them to me.]
“Ugh—haaah…”
The suffocating voice pounded in his skull as though it would burst. Now he was certain—what he saw earlier had not been a hallucination.
‘Th-this… this is… Satan’s voice…?’
The voice said to lure angels into corruption.
It was the same voice that had dragged down the radiant champions of the heavens, according to secret teachings passed only among Graham’s priests.
A voice to be feared.
Unlike the divine voice of the gods, this one chilled the body, gnawed at the soul, and hurled it into torment.
And yet, strangely, the timbre of this voice felt warm, familiar—almost like that of the Pontiff himself.
‘…Should I go to His Holiness and ask for help?’
The Pontiff would surely extend a hand, even to someone who had laid down the priesthood.
For he was one who showed compassion, healing, and salvation to those in need.
But with the Sacred Tournament ongoing, Ijef hesitated.
‘I… I might only trouble him with my state…’
He couldn’t bring himself to bother or burden the one he so revered, especially so late at night.
Clutching his head in pain, he poured out the holy water he had prayed over earlier.
Holding the blessed water in his mouth, he knelt again on his bed and prayed.
‘Lead me not into temptation…’
But there was no blocking the voice that pressed on his mind.
[Bring them… to me.]
Bring who? What? Terror seized Ijef, and he began reciting the prayer out loud.
“I am your servant. Do not abandon me—have mercy, and deliver me from this suffering and folly. Lead my weak and fragile spirit according to your will…”
But the faster he prayed, the louder the voice roared in his skull.
“Urgh!”
A blinding headache struck.
At the same time, divine power surged wildly within him.
‘I—I never even thought of using power!’
A sudden blaze of holy light burst from his body, and at last the pain crushing his head ebbed away.
“Haaah… haah…”
Barely able to breathe, Ijef steadied himself. The pain had been so great his fists dripped with sweat.
It was divine power that saved him.
Muttering prayers again, he thanked the gods for granting him such grace.
‘Strange… when I was a priest, nothing like this happened. Why now, of all times, after I’ve stepped down…?’
If he were still a priest, he would have run straight to the Pontiff with a report. Perhaps he should be thankful that this occurred only now.
‘…Tomorrow morning, I must tell His Excellency.’
Exhausted, he collapsed back onto the bed, clutching his aching head and chest, praying desperately that this agony would not return.
“Daniel.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“It’s late now. You should go back and rest.”
“As you command.”
Finishing his service, Daniel clasped his hands in prayer and bowed his head to the Pontiff.
“May you rest well.”
“Yes.”
Just as Daniel was about to leave, the Pontiff quietly called him again.
“Daniel.”
“Yes, Your Holiness. Do you have a task for me?”
Turning naturally, Daniel listened. The Pontiff spoke briefly:
“Forgive Ijef.”
“…What?”
Daniel blinked in surprise, thinking he’d misheard.
“Whatever it may be, it is God’s will. Cover Ijef’s faults.”
“…Forgive me, but Your Holiness…”
This wasn’t something Daniel could just dismiss. He already suspected that Ijef had lost his letter before it reached the Pontiff. And even if not—how could he treat his former master as though their bond were nothing?
“Daniel.”
This time the Pontiff’s voice was firmer.
Daniel’s eyes wavered helplessly.
“…Yes. I understand, Your Holiness.”
For the Pontiff to call his name twice without further explanation—it was a command, not a suggestion. Daniel had no choice but to obey.
“Rest well.”
“Yes.”
Repeating the farewell, Daniel left the chamber, closing the door softly. Yet he stood holding the doorknob in silence for a long while.
Ijef, once his pupil, had been a priest Daniel cherished dearly. He knew well that although the Pontiff was generous and merciful to others, he was strict with sages and priests who served the gods.
Though Gregory always wore a gentle face and spoke kindly, priests of the Holy Nation instinctively revered—and feared—him.
‘But to say Ijef’s faults must be overlooked…’
Was it because Ijef had already stepped down, that the Pontiff now treated him as an ordinary man?
Even so, Daniel’s resentment toward Ijef didn’t vanish at once. Something felt off, though he couldn’t name it. Still, he was a loyal servant of the Pontiff.
‘I’d best get some sleep.’
With a clear head, he would sort his feelings tomorrow. For the great work of the Pontiff had to continue—
Helping Saintess Roziana become the Pontiff’s consort, and thus bringing peace and stability to the world. That was the prophecy he had received.
“Let me answer first. You know that defensive magic is quite advanced. Only a high-class mage—or someone of my caliber—can perform such spells and chants.”
Edwin immediately grasped Asterios’s intent and responded.
“As I thought.”
Asterios lowered his gaze.
“You’re asking because of what happened in the Secret Fog, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I tried to break free of the illusion with power, but it was reflected back at me.”
“…So you thought it was a reflection mage. Since you didn’t see who it was, you asked me.”
“The fog was thick and dark. I couldn’t sense a presence either.”
Mephisto, having listened to their exchange, finally spoke.
“They may already have been dead—the one who reflected your attack.”
“What?”
“If that’s possible, then it must be black magic?”
At this, both Asterios and Edwin turned their eyes to him.
Mephisto nodded.
“Exactly. Normally. As I told Edwin earlier, the victim this time was cursed with a form of high-level sorcery resembling black magic. Even as a corpse, the cursed one obeys.”
If no presence was felt, it could mean a dead body had been used.
“So they used a corpse to show me illusions and reflect my attack back?”
“Right. The body still existed as a medium.”
Hearing this, Edwin’s face darkened.
“That’s the kind of vile method more suited to you, Mephisto.”
It was a cruel, merciless, and ghastly sorcery.
