Revenge of the Iron-blooded Sword Hound

Chapter 222

Chapter 222 That Day’s Story (3)

Snake Morg, a member of the Morg family and a licensed Black Mage enlisted in the Imperial Army,

He bore the military number 12-73062191, signifying his controlled existence within the Empire’s surveillance.

But he, too, had a hidden location.

The Dark Faction’s headquarters’ basement. A vast underground space spanning over 600 floors.

-The Crypt’s Level 666.

It was a place beyond the Empire’s reach, beyond the Morg’s gaze, and known only to the elites of Dark Faction.

Snake spoke to Camus as she followed her down the spiral staircase that seemed to have no end in sight.

“Young Lady.”

“Yes, Master,” Camus replied.

“Are you acquainted with the origins of the ‘Morg’?” Snake asked Camus, his tone still distant.

Camus shook her head in response.

With his lantern shining brightly, Snake started to reveal the origins of the Morg Clan. The Morgs began as a mortuary and specialized in handling unidentified corpses, which was passed down through generations. Their primary responsibility was to collect and identify mutilated bodies, reuniting them with their families in exchange for compensation. Individuals with the ability to communicate with the dead began to emerge within the Morg bloodline over time.

Snake continued, revealing that the Morg’s connection to black magic spanned generations, from its origins as a mortuary to its later status as the Pinnacle of Magic.

The ability to communicate with the dead persisted through the ages, attracting those seeking the uncanny power.

Camus deduced, “So we’ve been in touch with black magic since birth.”

“Exactly,” Snake affirmed, lifting the lantern to reveal the silent, gloomy room.

As Snake spoke, the atmosphere resembled a deep tomb’s stone chamber, and the air felt chilling against their skin. Despite the surroundings, Snake’s mumbled revelations continued, emphasizing the limited truth a person could glean in a lifetime.

“The Black Mages of Morg understand that the truth a man can seek and comprehend in a lifetime is nothing more than a handful of sand from the shore,” he explained.

“The majority of truth is hidden behind death, beyond the gates.” Crossing those gates grants you freedom and the chance to discover infinite truths.

“Magical geniuses, surpassing human limits, eventually turn to black magic,” Snake explained.

“The more intelligent and accomplished they are, the more susceptible they become to temptation.”

Camus pondered, “I suppose I need to familiarize myself with death.”

“No,” Snake corrected. “Before that, you must be wary of death.”

Perplexed, Camus asked, “Why is that, Master?”

“A black mage has the least regard for death,” Snake emphasized. “One must first understand and familiarize oneself with life before comprehending death.”

Turning serious, Snake continued, “Life, feelings for others, love, friendship, trust, an organic relationship with the world – understand these first, and only then can you truly grasp death, for everything is two-sided.”

Camus inquired, “Can’t we get acquainted with death first?”

Snake warned, “That would be like a bunch of drunken fools imitating a black mage. It’s hard, very hard.”

Contrary to misconceptions, a true black mage must possess a deep love and understanding of the living, surpassing all others. It involves loving all living things and empathizing with all dying things, akin to an archmage or saint.

Camus, recognizing the polarity, found herself increasingly intrigued by black magic, not as a means to an end, but as a pure end in itself.

A considerable span of time elapsed.

Under Snake’s tutelage, Camus rapidly acquired knowledge at an astonishing pace, and soon her skills reached a point of unrecognizable mastery.

…Pow!

Undercurrents slowly surged, and from their midst emerged a woman comprised only of bones and skin.

Rosie Morg, Camus’s third cousin, kidnapped by barbarians.

Using Rosie’s discovered remains from the red and black mountains, Camus had transformed her into an undead soldier.

“Rosie!”

Camus and Rosie embraced,

But due to her resurrection through high-level black magic, Rosie possessed only a minimal level of intelligence,

Nonetheless, she surpassed her previous magical abilities due to it.

Observing from the side, Snake was overwhelmed with admiration.

“To think you’ve already created an undead soldier, quite an accomplishment.”

Since Camus had delved into the realm of the Black Mage, it could be asserted that she had mastered nearly every facet of human-discovered Black Magic.

The rest seemed conquerable with time.

‘Perhaps this child will witness the culmination of human-discovered black magic,’ Snake pondered.

Yet, Camus sought more than just enforcing magical laws.

“It’s not sufficient,” she said, looking sadly at Rosie before turning to Snake.

“I seek a method for the complete revival of the dead.”

“… That’s beyond the domain of humans, the realm of gods.”

“The distinction between human and god becomes meaningless in front of love.”

Simultaneously, Camus unfolded a detailed drawing before Snake— Magic Circle of Full Revival, a result of her personal research.

Snake’s eyes widened in awe.

“What is this?”

“The Magic Circle of Full Revival. My own research.”

Camus’s calm words sent a shiver down Snake’s spine. The intricate circle surpassed the one that had just resurrected Rosie moments ago.

Snake turned to the young genius, his emotions a blend of pride, jealousy, fear, affection, and sadness.

“Is that man named Vikir that important to you?”

Camus remained silent, nodding slowly.

Snake echoed the nod.

“Very well, if that’s your desire.”

The two genius black mages sat together at the table.

“Since we lack the remains of the person we aim to save, what’s your plan?”

“We’ve enlisted the Baskervilles’ cooperation to gather blood, hair, and perhaps fragments of his soul mingled with the myriad spirits we summoned.”

“I see. If we have body fragments, there might be corresponding soul fragments we can discern.”

Not merely a reanimated corpse, but one with memories and personality.

Snake raised a point.

“Do you know the paradox of the ‘Ship of Theseus’? Even if he regains his body, memories, and personality, it’s a question that needs consideration.”

“It’s never too late to ponder such existential questions after success, Master.”

Camus and Snake then began to infuse mana into their drinks and ingredients.

The magical circle was activated.

Numerous complex shapes glowed.

The ingredients were placed at the centre.

35 liters water, 20 kilograms carbon, 4 liters ammonia, 1.5 kilograms lime, 800 grams phosphorus, 250 grams salt, 100 grams potassium nitrate, 80 grams sulfur, 7.5 grams fluorine, 5 grams iron, 3 grams silicon, 15 other trace elements, and memories of blood and flesh…… All of which started emitting a foul stench, heat, and smoke.

…Wait, stench?

Camus’s face stiffened for a moment.

It was supposed to smell like human flesh at this time, according to the theory.

But it now smelled like rotting flesh, a revolting stench.

‘Failure!’

Camus had a gut feeling. She had no idea what had gone wrong or how it had happened, but she knew the outcome.

But she couldn’t do anything about the circle that had already been activated.

Something strange began to rise from the circle’s center.

……! ……! ……! ……! ……!

It wasn’t clear what it was, but it wasn’t Vikir.

It must not be allowed to leave the circle.

Camus clenched her teeth and gathered her mana, attempting to reclaim the spilled water.

However, it was insufficient.

…Boom!

The magical circle shattered,

“Young lady!”

Snake’s yell rang out in my ears.

The price of failure is death.

Camus felt the strength of her entire body dissipate.

She notices a door ahead of her. The door is wide open.

Camus’s body was being drawn through it on its own. Beyond that, a vast abyss of stars and gas clouds awaits. Just like dust.

‘Is this the end?’

With a blank expression, Camus surrendered to the flowing water.

She had no idea why the spell had failed. Was it because the Vikir flesh fragments were too old? Or was his spirit not present in the red and black mountains?

Perhaps he has already abandoned this world and became a buddha?

She then felt sorry for herself, but a little relieved, maybe now she and Vikir can meet in the next life.

Right then and there.

Flutter!

Camus was obstructed by a figure.

A figure stood at the door, his black cloak flapping. Snake Morg.

He spoke to Camus without looking back.

“Go back.”

Camus raised his head.

Snake spoke once more.

“Your life is not over yet, so go back and live it beautifully.”

Snake took a bold step toward the other side of the door, which was beckoned by the dawn, dew, sunset, and clouds in the abyss.

‘I hope you grow into a black mage who can appreciate life.’

That was the end of it.

Both at the same time.

…bang!

The door closed as soon as Snake disappeared beyond it.

He entered and shut the door.

Poof!

Camus was no longer drawn into the abyss.

Boom!

Camus rolled across the floor with a loud explosion.

“Cough!”

Her mouth spewed blood.

Camus regained his senses.

“…Master!?”

Her head, however, did not turn. Her entire frame was as rigid as stone.

Then something caught her eye.

Snake Morg, was sitting on the ground, his eyes closed.

His skin, which had been so vibrant just moments before, had turned to dry parchment, much to her surprise.

His body was reduced to bone and flesh in an instant. His entire life force had been depleted.

“…”

Camus’ eyes welled up with tears.

She couldn’t see anything due to her cloudy, wet vision.

Snake had died.

To keep her alive, he had taken a majority of the rebound penalty for her mana explosion.

Camus sobbed slightly as she recalled the years spent learning magic from her master.

But she couldn’t feel half of her body.

Even Snake couldn’t take the full force of the blow.

That had killed half of her brain and half of her body.

She’d lost her sister, lover, and now teacher.

Was this the result of turning her back on her mother and uncle?

She lost all her loved ones around her. She went from the highest peak to the lowest hell. A doll who can do nothing but cry and regret the past.

An underground cave that was now deserted.

A tomb so deep and lonely that the only person left in it was a dead girl who hadn’t died yet, sobbing her heart out.

…Just then.

An unidentifiable voice called out.

[Why don’t you make a deal with me, little girl?]

It was a sweet temptation, like the first taste of honey.

She tried to move to see what it was, but her semi-immobile body refused to move.

[I can give you power].

Instead, it became a part of her consciousness.

A massive hand reached out to her.

[The power to reunite with your loved ones.]

Camus, who was drowning, had no choice but to accept this hand.