Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint - Chapter 556



To be old is to be worn

“I’ve been waiting…”

“Thunderblade.”

Rustle.

The reincarnator did not wait for the dark magician’s words. In an instant, with a body imbued with lightning, he severed the dark magician’s neck. In the blink of an eye, as the dark magician’s head fell, he did not cease his speech even as his head was detached.

“…Yes. The one who came from beyond the plains. You likely won’t answer, but I have just one question.”

“Thunderbird.”

Crackle. The lightning that flickered from the wound incinerated the dark magician’s body entirely. As the burns spread along the veins, the dark magician’s body crumbled like refuse.

However, instead of relaxing, the reincarnator sharpened his momentum even further. After all, this too would be a puppet.

“How did you know to come here? The people beyond the plains wouldn’t even take an interest in this place.”

“You were trying to resurrect the evil god.”

“Are you referring to Lord Ankhra? Indeed, he is a being that even those from beyond the plains would fear… but you shouldn’t need to worry about that, should you?”

The reincarnator sent a blade of wind toward the source of the voice. The mountain of bones collapsed under a single strike, and bone dust scattered like snow. Frowning at the shattered and crumbling heap of bones, the reincarnator narrowed his eyes.

‘Hiding within the bone altar. Tch, if I pierce a human with the eye of the beast, it would appear as a shape of bones. The dark magician may not have known, but it would be hard to see him with the seven-colored eye while hiding among the bones.’

“This place is a land of savagery where we kill and are killed. Even the dead are torn apart, and it is filled with curses and superstitions. Many of you have come, but in the end, you left with only a pittance in hand.”

The dark magician’s voice echoed through the bones. The countless bones in this altar were his mouth and hands. The reincarnator thought.

‘There’s even magical power dwelling in the altar. It won’t be easy to find and kill the dark magician unless I eliminate all these bones.’

“I pride myself on having great ambition, but I do not harbor the desire to conquer the lands beyond the plains. That is unrealistic, regardless of whether it is possible or not. The great plains are too vast, and what lies beyond is too far.”

The reincarnator extended his blade toward the direction of the voice, but only pierced through an empty pile of bones. The dark magician’s voice came from behind him, mocking the reincarnator.

“The opposite is also true. This land is too distant for you as well. Whatever happens here is none of your concern, is it?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s my concern or not. The very attempt to awaken the evil god is the problem.”

“A problem? You speak as if you are the king of this land.”

The dark magician’s presence remained hidden in the shadows, his voice alone conveyed.

“While you neglect the people of the jungle, trying to interfere with how they live, do you even know the humans who carry the souls of beasts? Do you know the horned sages? Do you know the witches who wield dark and powerful magic?”

“I do,”

“But it seems you have little interest in those who cannot survive without relying on that power?”

The dark magician uses humans as materials. Thus, he excels at utilizing the bodies and minds of humans more than anyone else. Realizing that the reincarnator did not act out of self-interest, the dark magician instead stirred his sense of justice.

—

“This ancient land. In a place where powerful beasts and great spirits breathe, humans are but mere insects. There are only two ways to survive here. Either live by relying on that power, or overcome it with the strength unique to humanity.”

“So, you use humans as sacrifices?”

“After all, a life destined to die like an insect. Instead of letting it wither away, we add it to the strength of humanity. One could call it a sacrifice, I suppose.”

“Oh, is that so?”

However, the one who returned was not a person to be swayed by trivial words. With a scoff, the returner replied.

“Then this time, you can be the sacrifice. Your life is no different from an insect’s to me, so I’ll take it instead.”

“…You’re all talk. You can’t even sense my presence.”

“Presence? It’s somewhere around here, isn’t it? That’s good enough.”

The returner raised the staff and struck the ground. Just that alone caused a small tremor in the jungle, covered in grass and soil. Mugul felt an unusual shudder and shouted.

“What are you doing?!”

“Earthquake, ground tremor.”

The returner pulled the staff as if extracting a stake deeply embedded in the earth.

Then the ground began to rise. All the soil and rocks around Magi seemed to cling to the staff, as if the very tributary was being pulled out, bubbling up like a volcano.

The returner stood on the rising ground and pulled the staff, as the earth was uprooted. A manifestation of mystery that completely ignored action and reaction.

As the earth’s labor pains ended, a stone mountain rose to a height of 50 meters in the dim jungle. The newly born mountain trembled like a child and cried out.

“Grrr…! What is this! Why such immense power…!”

Mugul finally felt the difference in magnitude. Hidden somewhere in the bone altar, he belatedly drew upon his magical power and cast a spell through the bones.

“O restless souls, soothe your spirits with the blood of the living!”

At that, the pile of bones rose all at once. Human hand bones leapt up on their own, flying toward the returner. Tens of thousands of lost souls reached out, yearning for the life they had lost.

At that moment, the mountain turned over.

A massive wave of earth and stone swept over the bone altar. Even a wave brought by water would be a disaster, but this wave greedily consumed the world with soil and rock. At the points of contact, the bones crumbled. They broke apart, shattering into fragments, becoming part of the earth and sand.

The bones of beasts born from the earth returned once more to the ground. The altar of sin, built over thousands of years with human corpses, was buried in an instant beneath the soil.

The returner, who buried the traces of sin along with the dark sorcerer, brushed off the dust mixed with bone powder and said.

“Now then. If you don’t want to die, why not come out?”

“Cough! Cough, cough!”

Mugul, hidden among the pile of bones, headed for a secret passage before being swept away by the wave of earth.

‘I can’t go up! I’ll die immediately. I have to dig down!’

The secret passage was collapsing and twisting due to the power of the staff, but Mugul was also a renowned dark sorcerer. As he chanted a spell toward the nearby spine and ribs, the spine slithered into the passage like a snake. The ribs literally became the framework of the passage, and Mugul slid down through the gaps between them.

“That…! A ritual for the mountain sacrifice is needed. Unless I directly serve Lord Ankra, I won’t be able to resist!”

Mugul, who had been walking desperately while talking to himself, suddenly stopped in his tracks at a thought that arose.

—

—

“Can… Lord Ankra really defeat that monster…?”

In truth, Mugul does not know who Ankra is or what powers he possesses. He only knows the tales of a long-ago evil deity who ruled over this land before the arrival of Muhu, governing over a hundred tribes and devouring thousands of people.

Though ancient humans may not be weak… can he truly win against that which cuts through the wind and shakes the earth?

“No, he must win. Otherwise, everything I have done until now will be meaningless. I cannot be defeated by just one person from beyond the plains! How can I reach the pinnacle of dark magic like this?!”

Steeling himself, he reached the underground prison and flung open the iron door, shouting.

“Offerings, heed me! Sacrifice your deaths to me! With your fleeting lives, summon forth the evil deity!”

“I may not have gathered a thousand yet! Numbers hold only a mystical significance; five hundred will be more than enough! If I expend all the remaining lives of the offerings…!”

Mugul, who intended to perform the final ritual using the freshly dead, encountered me amidst the blood-soaked prison. I waved at him with a weary face.

“Oh, come quickly.”

“So you were here.”

“Yes. This is where it ends for you.”

“Hmph. The end is for you. Do you think I would cast the spell of Radiance without any preparation?”

Mugul glanced wickedly at the sprawled offerings.

“I intend to borrow the hands of others to kill the offerings and transfer the grudge to you. These corpses will become the flesh of the evil deity! Thank you for killing them in my stead. In return, I shall send you off without pain!”

He spread his palm and thrust it into the ground. The tattoo on his arm writhed and connected with the floor, and blood began to surge toward his hand. The blood of the offerings swirled around Mugul, forming a magic circle that enveloped the prison.

“This is the prison of the offerings and the altar! In the boundary between life and death, I call forth the scattered remains of the god in this jungle! Ankra, descend upon this death…!”

A low hum. Strange magical energy flowed through the fallen offerings and spilled forth. As if trying to weave the corpses together, the blood emanating from Mugul sought to seep into the offerings.

However, unfortunately, his magic did not reach.

“You’re not dead.”

Because all the offerings were still alive.

Once dead, they could not resist the magic. Conversely, if they were alive, they would resist, at least for a time. Enduring all manner of interference and attacks from the outside to protect oneself is the essence of life. The dark sorcerer’s power was formidable, but to dominate the bodies of the offerings, he first needed to kill them.

And I had not killed them.

“What?!”

Mugul belatedly grasped the state of the offerings. They were nearly unconscious or groaning in pain. They were soaked in poison and drugs, cursed by Radiance, suffering severe damage to both body and mind. It would not be strange if they died at any moment.

“Ugh….”

“I feel like my head is going to split….”

“Help, please! aaah!”

Yet they were not dead. Mugul was horrified to realize the faint vitality still lingering.

“How, how is this possible? How are they still alive?”

“They’re alive because they haven’t died.”

—

—

“The curse of the radiant is a curse that attacks everything around it and drives one mad until death! It steals the mind with poison and medicine, turning one into a half-corpse, consumed by dark magic! They should not be alive!”

“Is dark magic only your domain?”

“What?!”

“I’ve used it too. Through my blood, I infused magical power, controlling the bodies of these people… making them act according to their own will.”

It didn’t require much magical power. The Mughal had already handled it with magic. I merely altered its purpose slightly.

To survive desperately, to move as they wished, instead of becoming a sacrifice.

“Impossible!”

“What is?”

“Dark magic suppresses and controls human will! I’ve already broken and twisted their will once. There’s no turning back from that!”

“Why not? If it suppresses and controls, can’t it also suppress and control them to ‘regain their own will’?”

“That’s a contradiction! Even if you reattach a branch that has been broken once, it’s just a branch you’ve attached; it’s nothing like the original! The moment your will intervenes, their will is as good as gone. Regaining their own will is impossible!”

Is a dark magician also a sorcerer? Even in this crisis, it seems more important to satisfy curiosity. Explaining isn’t difficult, but I wonder if they can accept it.

“It’s possible. For me.”

This is something only I, as the king of humans, can do.

I am not another. I am the king of humans and the great prophet of the species, able to read their will and desires through telepathy.

Thus, I can return to them the reason they have lost.

“Their desires are my desires. The dark magic I wield produces effects exactly opposite to that of typical dark magic. It compels humans to act according to their own wishes… You could say it’s the normalization of the abnormal.”

“That’s absurd…!”

“There’s nothing more meaningless than discussing possibilities for something that has already happened. More importantly, are you alright?”

A hazy shadow appeared around Mughal. In the blink of an eye, a spearhead made of bone pierced Mughal’s body. Mughal coughed up blood from the sudden attack.

“Cough…!”

“It’s revenge, sorcerer!”

Taking advantage of the moment Mughal’s mind was sold to me, the barbarian tribesmen, who had been captured as sacrifices, fulfilled their desires. The barbarian warriors, with bloodshot eyes, tore into Mughal’s body and shouted.

“You said if we became sacrifices, you’d spare my family!”

“To move my body at will and desecrate the spirits…! I curse you! May you become the dung of a leopard!”

“Cackling! It’s revenge for being turned into a puppet!”

Deep resentment shredded Mughal’s body. Not as a puppet, but as his true self, Mughal collapsed onto the cold floor, gravely wounded.

As I stepped over the gradually flowing blood, I approached Mughal and said,

“It’s now your turn to fulfill your desire, Mughal.”

I don’t recall ever hearing an introduction, yet I called his name as if it were the most natural thing. Mughal, trembling in his dying body, looked up at me.

—

—

“Meager body, insignificant strength. You, who were far weaker than others, longed for power and sought to become a demon, didn’t you? But even if you summon it with a sacrifice, it won’t truly belong to you.”

The sacrifice is merely a coward’s notion, conjured up to shift the burden of dark magic onto someone else. There can be no great return in a gamble that carries no risk.

“The essence of dark magic is using your own body. Creating miracles at the cost of oneself is true dark magic. Now, the conditions are set. The altar, the sacrifice, and death.”

This is the altar I had prepared in advance.

The sacrifice is Mughal himself.

And now, if Mughal cannot summon the demon, it will be the end. I may not know the end of the world, but to avoid Mughal’s demise, he has no choice but to call the demon into his own body.

“I’m curious about the demon too.”

I’m curious about its true identity.

Moved by my words, Mughal desperately clenched his fists. After capturing the blood flowing from his own body, he rubbed it long against the stone floor and chanted the incantation.

“De sula alhanan tam. Ankra, ankra. The sacred vessel is empty, so come into the empty vessel!”

The final stage of dark magic is to offer oneself as the sacrifice. It is far more powerful and profound than using another. Mughal called forth the shadow of the demon that spread throughout the jungle, using the blood and life flowing from him, and the death that touched him.

“Ugh?!”

“The ominous energy…!”

As the powerful magical energy surged forth, people recoiled, and I observed Mughal intently. I didn’t know what the demon was, but could resurrection truly be possible? Was it really a being akin to a god?

I read the changes occurring in Mughal and tilted my head in confusion.

“Khah, hahahaha!”

Life returned to the dying body of Mughal. The ritual of offering, known as a suicide attempt, typically has far more failures than successes. If true power were granted, dark magic would not remain a fringe practice.

Yet, for some reason, Mughal succeeded against all odds.

“It’s a success…! Thank you, whoever you are. It seems you were the answer! Great power cannot be obtained without forsaking oneself!”

Even though blood had already flowed, there was no issue with his body. It seemed to move by entirely different principles.

Mughal grasped the bone spear embedded in his body and crushed it. It was an incredible strength that seemed impossible from his emaciated arms. Feeling an overwhelming vitality, Mughal was filled with ecstasy and shouted.

“Thank you! You were my good omen! I have finally gained the power to become a god!”

“Are you satisfied now?”

“Of course! I am more than satisfied! With this power, I will slay that noble druid and the filthy beasts, and reign as a true god in this land…!”

How strange. Just having faith grants power? Is he truly a god-like being?

But to say that, there’s too little understanding of power. If such vague belief could grant strength, the world would have become a land of monsters.

Is there no other example? I feel I need to observe more.

“First, I will kill the humans beyond your plains!”

Mughal, boasting of his overflowing strength, broke the iron bars and approached me. The terrifying momentum made the sacrifices step back in fear. Mughal shouted, seemingly pleased with their reaction.

“Become the sacrifice of the demon…!”

—

“Ah, here it is.”

With that, the returner burst in, smashing through the ceiling. A stone fell onto Mughal’s head.

When two large stones crush a bug, the bug disappears without leaving a trace. As if it had fled somewhere.

A similar fate befell Mughal. Trapped between the stone floor and the falling stone, his body burst from the back and was mercilessly crushed. Even the power of the evil god was powerless against the earth’s solemn weight. Before he could boast of that immense strength, Mughal was reduced to a handful of blood.

It was a somewhat futile end. Well, if the evil god had been that powerful, he would have been strutting around instead of vanishing.

Blood splattered everywhere. Flesh scattered like dust. Even amidst such a horrific death, the returner approached, cleanly dressed, flicking blood off with a casual air.

“Who would have thought you’d flee underground in all that chaos? By the way, I sensed something strange. What happened?”

“Nothing particularly special.”

“Really? Then that’s good… Huh? What’s this? Everyone’s still alive? Wasn’t there a rampage?”

“I exerted a bit of power.”

“You can calm a rampaging human?”

“Dark magic is still a human skill, after all.”

“Even so, to control a rampaging human… Well, whatever. Good is good.”

The returner laughed heartily, took a broad look around, and tilted his head.

“Is this it?”

‘Is this the ancient evil? No matter how blessed I am, it’s too easy. I’ve never faced trials this simple before…’

Well, I’m not sure if this is the ancient evil the saint spoke of. But there are still things left to do.

“Ms. Shea. It’s not over yet.”

“Is that so? What’s left?”

I pointed to the barbarian still collapsed in various places throughout the underground prison.

“We need to send these people back.”

“Ah.”

Facing a cleanup larger than the task at hand, the returner sighed heavily.