Chapter 644 - Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint

Missionary Casas was glaring at me with a terrifying expression, as if he were looking at his lifelong enemy. What could I have possibly done to deserve this? "Well, your father imprisoned a priest and taught black magic to a child, didn't he...?" "That's not accurate. Hilde was the one who directly imprisoned him." "But it was under your father's orders! The mastermind is your father, so naturally, I can't help but dislike him!" "What is this? Weren't you bragging before about how you did the harder work? And now you're shifting all the blame onto me." This is ridiculous. Bathing should have been my only issue. "Glory to the Celsius Road!" With Casas Father's intervention, Temperus didn't just stand by. He swung his staff widely. Following his motion, an enormous hemispherical ice covering enveloped both the missionary and me. To create such an ice formation with just a quick chant? Within the confines of this house, Temperus is akin to using his family's unique magic. No, since he can't even steal that unique magic, dealing with him is more challenging for me. "Stop right there!" An ice prison rose. Sharp icicles, like teeth, began to engulf Father Casas. For a moment, light flickered as a temporal spell was enacted once more. The ice began melting from the touched parts. Magic and time clashed against each other. Water melted and froze repeatedly, an area struggle between ice and water like the glaciers of the North Sea. Ice crumbled, shattered, reformed, and scattered, glistening like starlight. "Save us from sin, save us from sin…." The situation was unfavorable for Missionary Casas. We were deep inside the Celsius family territory. If he were alone, he might have managed to protect himself, but safeguarding Richard and the twenty individuals from the outer zone was doing him in. Clutching his rosary tightly, he flipped through his Bible with one hand. "Saints, Holy Spirit! In the beginning, there was light. Guard the innocent!" Light erupted from the closed pages explosively. The brilliant light. Every cleric could use this luminescent magic, but the missionary's light was bright and hot enough to melt magical ice. The evaporated water mist slowly dispersed. Although Missionary Casas's entire body was frozen in blue, the Bible continued to emit its sacred glow. The essence of holy power is a force that negates abnormalities. A restoration power that returns the twisted to the natural order. In terms of defense, nothing surpasses holy power. Temperus grimaced. "From the moment he uses black magic, that child is a black mage! Will a servant of the Holy Ordo attack a mage to protect a black mage?" "The child is faultless. If there's guilt, perhaps it's in me for not preventing wicked things from reaching the child beforehand, or in this land that failed to stop them." Indeed. How could a child, unaware of the virtues or vices of black magic, be guilty? The blame lies not with the child, but with this world... "But, of course, the most detestable is that man!" "Huh. I acted out of pure goodwill." "If it was goodwill, it should naturally lead to good results! If this is goodwill, then devils must whisper into human ears out of goodwill too!" That's a valid point. Even if my intentions were good, explaining that won't absolve me if things go awry. It's just malice then. But you know... "So what should we do? Like you, should I stand back and let the child slowly wither away in the outer zone? Mercifully?" Holy power is a force that rejects ideals. It's an authority that compels resignation and conformity. Religion that preaches endurance of present suffering for happiness in the afterlife is suited to uphold the current system. "Push them to where predestined doom awaits, crushing their hopes of looking upward. Should we lock the child in a cold prison, whispering only of afterlife happiness? Would Richard be content with that life?" I already know the answer. It's no. There's no need to ask. "If that were the case, Richard wouldn't have sought me out. He wouldn't have struggled and attempted to rise, would he?" Looking up at Missionary Casas, I asked. He should understand what I mean. To Richard in the outer zone, the story of the remarkable mage from the floating city... that was brought up by Missionary Casas himself. For a brief moment, the light emanating from Missionary Casas wavered. But just for a moment. He soon shouted at me furiously. "Shameless, spreading such sins as black magic! Instead of serving such heresy, we should help in the right way!" "That's a fallacy. The result of accumulated 'right ways' is this structure. This is the outcome. Regardless of good or evil, 'rightness' crystallizes into order over time." It's simply how it has become. It's unfortunate. Those who first created this order likely envisioned a happy and hopeful future for all. But the world doesn't always align with intentions. Are we then to hold them accountable? That's an unreasonable endeavor. Does one live alone? Did one person create the world? An era is the creation of all who lived within it. "I'm not saying that order is evil. Nor am I pursuing righteousness. I don't concern myself with such matters. I won't pass the blame onto anyone. This is the conclusion of everyone's struggles." Humans are merely beasts. Foolish and base creatures. Even if one tries to assign sin and virtue to a few individuals, humans as a species lack the capacity to do so. Neither the ability to pass the blame nor to bear it. I took out a deck of cards and shuffled them lightly. "But if order inevitably arises, wouldn't attempts to overcome that order also inevitably emerge?" If magic was discovered to conquer harsh environments... Overcoming the order that magic has created is also a task for humanity. "Stop right there!" A guard held a spear menacingly towards me. I flashed him a sharp smile. I drew a card. Spades, and then clubs. Cards imbued with demonic and magical power were in both my hands. The clover card I previously used was a type of magical grenade, compressing magic into a single-use magical bomb. Being a mage with paltry power, I couldn't wield powerful spells, so I designed a magic circle, extracting magic through alchemy to create this one-time-use bomb. Easy to use, but not particularly powerful and a disposable item—a fatal flaw. The remaining clover cards I had were mostly empty shells, their magic exhausted. The damaged magic circles were patched up, turning them into misfires. But then… "Set." I infused them with energy. White magic? Black magic? Honestly, the type doesn't really matter. Magic energy is scattered across all things in the world. White magic opts for crystals as catalysts because their energy is stable. Black magic uses the body as a catalyst simply because it's easier to wield one's own body. These choices are based on convenience, but ultimately, any type of magical energy can suffice. "I said stop!" A guard thrust his spear at me. A mage's bodyguard acts as the vanguard, a wall that creates distance between the mage and their assailants while the mage prepares a spell. The bifurcated spearhead aimed straight at me. Instead of dodging, I raised my hand as if to catch it. Of course, this was a pointless gesture. Even if my strength had somewhat increased, grabbing a blade with bare hands remains reckless. If the blade had energy embedded within it, doing so would be not just reckless, but foolish. My hand was severely cut, and blood spurted out. The blood that sprayed like a fountain whipped through the air momentarily before returning to my right hand. To be precise, it returned to the clover card held in my right hand. "Heh." Vampires wield blood magic. They move their blood energy using hemomancy, completing a spell by weaving in life force. Such a high cost is unthinkable for humans, but for vampires with regenerative abilities, it's merely a reasonable cost. Essentially, thanks to the demon's gift, I too possess regenerative abilities, allowing me to use blood magic. Life force moves. It's magic woven from human blood. This blood magic specializes in life, flow, and control. It's inadequate for employing white magic, requiring purification beforehand. "Lightning Thread." Inside the human body lies a magic circle. A magic circle of small lightning bolts inscribed into the body, allowing it to move according to one's will. Weaving the lightning threads, I sketched a layered magic circle. T1NrUTkreFYvQUZ1VEE0bGdJSWROM0VCTGlqVW5YbUVGS1kvTk5IcHczVTY4L1A5YmpDTnZjVVowVmRnSnl5OQ Intense, dizzying pain surged through my right hand. The purest form of agony that grinds the nerves themselves. It wasn't enough that I used my body as a tool; modifying it for magical purposes triggered a horrific rejection. Pain and foreignness flooded my right arm. Even then, the demon within Tyre continuously tried to restore me. Regeneration and destruction occurred simultaneously, prolonging this nightmarish pain indefinitely. If it would either heal completely or break entirely, the pain would cease. Magic is born from the collapse of structure. The magic within my arm, experiencing consecutive regeneration and destruction, was fuller than ever. I overlaid two clover cards, one marked with a 5 and the other with a 6. Wind, condensation. Solidifying the air, and pushing space with wind. "...! This is!" The air solidified, and the bodyguard trapped within appeared akin to an insect encased in amber. The guard quickly realized what had happened. This extensive physical magic was one frequently used by Temperus. "Farewell." With a light farewell, I struck the air forcefully. The impact reverberated through the solidified space, causing a creaking sound and bringing about a fissure. The bodyguard, pushed through space, was hurled far away. Temperus widened his eyes. Being a mage himself, he couldn't possibly be ignorant of what I'd done. "Black magic…?" Temperus was in shock and outrage. His instinctual disgust rose unmistakably as he pointed his staff at me. The reason wasn't necessarily because I had used black magic within the white-magic-consuming Magisterium, nor because the black magic had proven to be more potent than anticipated. "Did you copy my magic...?! Using mere black magic?! This can't be!" It was because I had used tacky, unsophisticated black magic to mimic white magic. My right arm had already healed. As I shuffled the cards with my intact right hand, I addressed Temperus. "So. Earlier, you posed a problem for everyone, didn't you? Let’s see if you can do the same." I used black sorcery and ritualistic magic; the very power the Magisterium rejects. Yet the result I achieved was identical to Temperus's magic. "As you know, deciphering a magic spell is far simpler than inventing one. Like how critiquing is easier than creating. So, try and guess. What kind of magic did I use?" Within the Magisterium, a rule exists. If someone cannot prove which magic affected them, they cannot place blame on others. This rule arose long ago, to refute the atrocious witch hunts. "If you fail, it means you're partaking in a 'witch hunt.'"