TYSBMF02

Episode 2

To escape this situation, I had to get out of the catacomb and return to the Great Hall before the demonstration began.

Of course, now that I had suddenly disappeared, Dad and the servants were probably looking for me.

But who would ever imagine a child had wandered into the catacomb?

Even if they did eventually figure it out, it would probably be after the demonstration was already over.

‘No way those jerks would tell anyone where I am, either.’

Which meant—I had to get out of here on my own.

And the catch?

‘You can only open the exit with dark magic.’

The exit of the catacomb was sealed with a special magical lock that only responded to dark magic.

I fiddled with the pendant on my chest.

The pendant could command the undead of our household, but unfortunately, it was useless when it came to opening the catacomb’s exit.

Only someone who could directly use dark magic could get out.

That’s exactly why those brats pushed me in here.

They knew I couldn’t use magic, so even if I managed to survive, I’d be trapped and miss the demonstration, turning me into a laughingstock.

‘You think I’m just going to give up?’

Sure, I was a saint.

My body was overflowing with holy power—the polar opposite of dark magic—so how could I possibly cast it?

But…

‘I remember my teacher—and I remember a way.’

Do you remember the title of the novel this world is based on?

“The Holy Knight Who Used Dark Magic.”

That meant the holy knight—someone with divine power like me—did find a way to use dark magic.

So what if I was about to steal a future protagonist’s trick before they even got the chance to use it?

It’s not like they’re going to show up and sue me.Because I remembered the novel so clearly, I knew exactly what I needed to do.

It must’ve been because I really liked the story back then—I read it so thoroughly, I could still recall the details vividly.

‘It’s not like I wanted to reincarnate into this world, though.’

Still, being able to use the novel’s knowledge to survive this miserable world was a blessing in disguise.

If you know anything about fantasy tropes, you’d already guess that the holy temples in this world were completely rotten to the core.

“The real saint is imprisoned and tortured to extract holy power, while a fake saint rises in her place…”

The novel’s protagonist, once a devout holy knight, eventually uncovers the temple’s corruption and defects to the dark side—setting up the temple as the final enemy.

In the original story, I was nothing more than a background extra—a plot device who revealed the temple’s corruption before getting killed off.

“There’s no way I’m dying like that.”

I muttered grimly, kneeling down on the cold stone floor.

I wasn’t lacking in dark magic theory—ever since I was a child, I had studied with nosebleed-inducing passion, dreaming of the day I would awaken my powers.

At the very least, I’d never once lost first place in the written exams.

Of course, theory and practice were two very different beasts.

I couldn’t be sure this would work.

‘But I’m all out of options.’

Steeling myself, I stretched out my fingers.

The technique the protagonist used to cast dark magic?

Blood Magic.

A forbidden art that summoned dark power by offering blood.

—

After 5 PM, the Great Hall was starting to get restless.

The family patriarch, who was supposed to make a grand appearance for the demonstration, still hadn’t shown up. The only message that had come through was for everyone to wait.

A sharp-eyed boy with a sly, fox-like face tapped his leg impatiently.

“Tch. This is all because of that good-for-nothing who can’t even use dark magic, isn’t it?”

There had already been a brief commotion earlier about Kalmia going missing.

Of course, Verpure wasn’t affected by it in the slightest.

He was the child of a high-ranking family among the side branches—one with strong influence.

Even here, in The Tower of the Dead, Hamrlohren’s official training facility, he was always given special treatment.

Some servants had probably noticed Verpure’s gang dragging Kalmia away…

But would anyone care?

‘Even if they did, what can they do? It’s not like I personally laid a hand on her and broke any rules.’

Hamrlohren wasn’t the kind of family where a weakling who couldn’t even open the catacomb exit would survive anyway.

Even if the truth came out, no one would stand up for a failure who was about to be cast out of the family.

If you didn’t have power, you didn’t even deserve sympathy.

Someone who couldn’t solve even that level of misfortune on their own had no business being part of the Hamrlohren family.

He had been annoyed for a long time just seeing that worthless girl cling desperately to the family like a leech.

Despite being unable to use dark magic, she kept placing first in the theory exams.

Every time he saw her succeed where he failed, he burned with humiliation.

Even worse, he had to listen to his parents constantly compare him to her.

So, as a final farewell gift, he had decided to send her off to the catacomb.

Better that than watching her get humiliated at the demonstration.

At least he was being considerate.

“Verpure!”

One of his gang members approached just as he was lost in smug thoughts.

He had gone to figure out the reason for the delay.

“Well?”

“That garbage’s father—you know, the shut-in madman who only does research…”

Sylvan Hamrlohren.

Infamous for many reasons.

He was the most gifted of Baytenze’s children—an unrivaled genius in dark magic.

But instead of aiming for succession, he buried himself in research and willingly stepped away from the competition.

Unlike a proper Hamrlohren, he had zero interest in power or politics.

He didn’t even hold a formal position in the family.

Even his daughter, Kalmia, turned out like… well, that.

Whatever glory he once had was long gone. These days, people saw him as nothing more than a washed-up relic.

“Apparently he went into the Golden Demon’s Chamber after talking to the Patriarch… and he’s still in there.”

“What, is he mad that his trash daughter disappeared?”

“Like the Patriarch would even entertain such nonsense.”

“True.”

Just then, a loud clang echoed through the Great Hall as the opposite door slammed open.

A powerful presence entered, with eyes so fierce they made your knees weak just by meeting them.

It was Baytenze Hamrlohren, the family patriarch—just as they’d been gossiping about him.

Behind him followed an entourage of high-ranking demons and advanced undead—familiars so powerful that most dark mages wouldn’t even dream of controlling them in their lifetime.

But this time, it wasn’t Baytenze or his terrifying familiars who drew everyone’s attention.It was the youth being dragged in behind them—more like hauled in, actually.

His body was limp, drenched in a bluish poison that stained him from head to toe.

Anyone could see at a glance—it was Sylvan Hamrlohren.

Baytenze clicked his tongue and gave a short order.

“Toss him.”

Sylvan was unceremoniously thrown to the floor with a thud.

He didn’t even flinch. He looked so lifeless, people began to wonder if he might actually be dead.

Verpure glanced at him and smirked in relief.

It looked like Sylvan had tried to confront the Patriarch about his daughter—what an idiot.

Of course Baytenze wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior.

And now, here was the result.

Meanwhile, 10 minutes had already passed since the demonstration was supposed to begin.

Kalmia Hamrlohren, who still hadn’t shown up, had already lost her chance.