Embracing Magic - E.M Chapter 184 (Part 2)

“Think about the people you’ve killed… you demon.”

“You think those pieces of trash are the same as my men?”

“My lord! Just kill me instead! You bastard!”

Kylas screamed, but Marquis Rotten didn’t even glance his way.

There had been many times on the journey here when Rotten had wanted to kill Kailas. When he’d smugly dangled secrets only he knew, Rotten had wanted to gouge out his eyes and cut out his tongue.

But he endured—for the legacy of the Kingdom of Bolas. If not for that, the man wouldn’t have lived this long.

The only reason Marquis Richmond wasn’t dead yet either, was because they still hadn’t located the Bolas legacy.

“Kylas. Tell me the marked location on the map.”

“If… if you spare the Marquis… I’ll tell you everything.”

“I don’t trust you. You’ve lied too much already. Tell me now—and if I find the legacy, I’ll spare your life.”

“You… damn it!”

Kylas endured in silence.
The moment he revealed the location, his value would vanish. Marquis Rotten would have no reason to let him live. But if he held out any longer, Marquis Richmond’s life would be in danger.

His own life and the life of Marquis Richmond.
Kylas could choose neither. All he could do was glare at Marquis Rotten in defiance, expressing himself through silence.

“You’re being troublesome. Did I mention that I can extract the soul of a dead man?”

“What?”

“I’m saying I could kill you, extract your soul, and get the information I want that way.”

Marquis Rotten’s words were true.
There indeed existed a type of necromancy that allowed one to extract a recently deceased soul and command it.

However, it wasn’t dark magic that could be used bare-handed. It required lengthy preparation and a means of supplementing magical energy.

“Hmph. If that were really possible, would you have kept me alive this long?”

“Hmm, how bothersome.”

Marquis Rotten turned his gaze from Kylas and looked at the dying Marquis Richmond. He tapped the marquis’s clothes lightly with the tip of his foot.

“Not here.”

“Urgh!”

“You said it exists in a pendant, right? Hmm, where could it be?”

“Looking for this, are you?”

At that moment, someone appeared from beyond the hill.
A man in his late forties, clad in a black robe.

Marquis Rotten, who hadn’t imagined anyone was watching, hastily began casting a spell.
But he faltered before he could release it.

Five more people appeared behind the black-robed man, all older than him.
Each of them gave off an unmistakably powerful presence.

“A black mage, hmm… How interesting.”

“Who are you?”

“The one who will become your master.”

“Hah? My master? You, a lowly thing, dare claim to be my master? What delusion.”

Marquis Rotten began chanting a spell on the spot.
He boldly displayed the casting of a 7th-circle spell.

But the opponent merely stood still, as if unaware that a spell was being cast.

Then, when the spell was about halfway complete, he lightly touched Rotten’s magical energy. It was magical interference.

Magical interference was a secret technique that only a mage with an exceptional sense for magic—or a 7th-circle mage—could perform.
Moreover, it didn’t work on mages of equal or higher level.

“Y-you…!”

Startled, Marquis Rotten’s spell incantation became tangled.
For a moment, the spell nearly dissipated, but he barely managed to regain control.

Still, the panic on his face was evident.
Because the opponent had interfered with his magical energy.

Magical interference wasn’t a skill that could outright cancel a spell.
Instead, it disrupted the structure of the magic and reduced the amount of magical energy being gathered.

Affected by the interference, Marquis Rotten took much longer than expected to finish his spell. It took nearly 30% more time than originally required.

Yet he couldn’t recklessly fire the spell.
He had confirmed that the opponent was someone on a higher tier than himself.

“What’s the matter? Go ahead and use it. I’d like to experience a 7th-circle black magic spell at least once.”

“Grr! Hell Flame!”

After a brief hesitation, Marquis Rotten unleashed his spell.
Flames tinged with black tore through the air.

Bzzzzzt!

The man in the black robe waved his hand briefly.
A transparent curtain of light appeared in front of him.

The black flame struck the barrier and deflected to the side.
The magic bent at nearly a 90-degree angle and hit the ground some distance away.

Boom!

“Whew, not bad. To shake an 8th-circle defensive spell to that extent. Elder Penile, I think he’s stronger than you.”

“Tower—Tower Master, well…”

The elderly man standing behind him blushed in discomfort.

To acknowledge it was a blow to his pride. But to deny the power he had just seen would be sheer folly.

“Wh-who are you?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I’ll be your master.
Ah, is that too vague? I’m the Tower Master of the Magic Tower of Ecroth. My true identity, however, is the master of Slavon.”

“Slavon? That Slavon from back-alley rumors? You’re saying that really exists?”

It had been eleven years since Aicosiel had taken over Marquis Rotten’s body.
It wasn’t a short time, so even he had heard the rumors from the underworld.

Those who chase the ancient. A group of unacknowledged masters.
Successors of the Magic Empire.

There were all kinds of rumors.
Marquis Rotten had dismissed them all as nonsense.
But to think the organization actually existed.

Hard to believe—but too convincing to deny.
There was no way a man clearly of 8th-circle caliber would lie.

“As you can see, we exist.
I am Bainus, master of Slavon.
These here are Elders. They’re at the same level as you… though none of them are black mages.”

“You—how old are you?”

“Does age matter between mages? Skill is what counts.”

“Hah…”

The way Bainus, the Tower Master in his late forties, spoke felt like an old man speaking to children.
It left Marquis Rotten speechless.

In both his previous and current lives, he was older than Bainus.

“I know what you want.
You probably wish to reveal black magic to the world and found a nation, am I right?”

“What of it?”

“You’ve revealed yourself to the world. Of course you’d want to run wild.
I’ll give you a year. Play to your heart’s content, then come to me.”

Tower Master Bainus threw a sheet of parchment.
It drifted slowly through the air, stopping just before Marquis Rotten’s nose.

Marquis Rotten checked the parchment and frowned.

“A map? What’s this?”

“We’re currently exploring a ruin there. I’d like to show you what’s inside.
A year is quite a generous offer.”

“And if I don’t come?”

“Then I’ll come to you.
And we won’t be having such a civil conversation.”

“Hm…”

“Originally, I meant to kill you.
I already gave the order to my subordinates.
But black magic is fascinating, so I’m sparing you.
Don’t waste this opportunity.”

Marquis Rotten glared fiercely at Bainus.

If it were up to his pride, he would’ve fought—even if it meant death.
But that wouldn’t be a wise move.

The opponent was an 8th-circle mage.
The “Elders” around him were undoubtedly 7th-circle.
There was nothing to gain from making enemies of such a group.

“What if I go into hiding? How will you find me then?”

“Hahahaha. Of course, if you were to hide away, it’d be hard for me to find you.
But you didn’t acquire that body just to live out your days in some countryside hovel, did you?”

Hyung_Otaku2

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