Chapter 594 – Truth (2)
The mages who had dreamed under Wethroel's power were granted permission to break through their hierarchy.
It wasn't merely a gradual shift through the finely divided stages of lower, middle, and upper rank. It was the ability to cast even higher-tier magic itself.
'But even so, that doesn't explain Number 77. That one's presence cannot be accounted for.'
According to Balrog's memories, Verden's innate aptitude had clearly been capped at the 1st Rank.
He had never bothered to compile statistics, but perhaps such a lack of talent was rarer than a 7th Rank prodigy — a bottomless pit of incompetence incapable of functioning as a mage.
And that hadn't changed.
Even after all the experiments and research conducted at the Bohemirn Magic Tower, not once had anyone succeeded in casting magic two ranks above their limit, even when their will was forcibly drawn out by Coercion.
Without exception, every single one of them had died, unable to endure the physical backlash.
For reference, among the high-class mages of the 5th Rank and above, when they dared to overreach by two levels — say, from lower to upper or middle to high — most suffered severe injuries, and a very few died instantly.
In short, the higher one's realm, the harder it became to manifest magic beyond one's current capability. The gap simply grew too wide.
And yet a 1st Rank vermin had succeeded in casting 7th Rank magic.
Whether or not he survived, that was far beyond the bounds of possibility.
'Above all, breaking through the hierarchy is temporary, one-time only, and it doesn't include any notion of permanently overcoming one's level.'
To have cast 7th Rank magic and to have awakened as a transcendent being were entirely separate matters.
No hypothesis could reconcile the two.
Crunch.
Phenomena that defied reason were distasteful in every way — especially to Balrog. His bewilderment refused to subside.
And yet, his unique insight picked up one more element that grated on his already tangled nerves.
'Even that mana…'
The infinitely pure, yet strangely familiar current flowing through Verden's mana circuits — the same Arcane that had belonged to the First Demon King.
Balrog fixed his gaze, forcibly calming his emotions. He narrowed the raging storm of his thoughts.
A cold voice trembled through the air.
"Answer me. Why do you possess mana so similar to that of the power source?"
Questions were to be resolved, one by one.
That was the rational way.
Verden willingly engaged in conversation.
"You still turn away from the truth. Do you truly think it's merely similar?"
"What?"
"Let's talk about the past."
Verden leisurely recited the memories.
"The day you obsessively claimed ownership of the Multi-dimensional Continuity Theory. The day I, by your decision, became an unofficial test subject, and my mind died."
"..."
"The research and experiments enforced by coercion… with my frail willpower at the time, they were unbearable. And soon enough, I vaguely realized my body would meet the same end."
In agony and helplessness, he'd repeatedly pondered the fundamental cause.
The conclusion had been simple.
It was because he was weak — without talent, without power — a mere prey.
"The moment I realized that, my head cleared. And I boiled with rage. I swore I wouldn't die until I'd forced all those who made me this way to kneel. But as you know, my body had no capacity to harbor power."
Verden clenched his fist.
"So, I decided to rewrite my worthless talent."
"Nonsense…"
The limits of talent determined by birth were an untouchable concept. Even the First Demon King of the 9th Rank was no exception.
If that were possible, the Magus Kingdom of Arkenad would long since have ruled the entire continent beyond the level of a mere superpower.
Yet, contrary to common sense, Balrog couldn't fully deny it. Before him stood one who had reached the realm of transcendence with a valueless body.
"The decisive reason I became a test subject of the Tower — my innate magical comprehension and the countless knowledge I acquired from those unofficial experiments — those became the foundation for my choice. From then on, I conducted personal research, quietly, in the unseen corners of the Tower. Until I was ready."
Verden closed his eyes once, then opened them.
Mana surged.
In the once-empty right eye appeared the magic circle of Defying the Heavens. An unknown formula, one even Balrog couldn't decipher.
"And in the end, I created a magic circle that reconstructed the body, and engraved it directly into myself. Of course, that alone wasn't enough. To apply to myself a magical phenomenon that had never been realized in all of history, I needed not only the tool but power worthy of it."
Power.
A dreadful possibility flashed through Balrog's mind. The preceding conversation had already pointed precisely to the nature of that power.
His cold voice rippled with agitation.
"You, don't tell me…!"
"As you suspect."
Verden revealed the truth.
"I was the one who caused the Bohemirn Magic Tower's power source to go berserk."
***
Balrog's 5th Collection, [Second Circuit].
Unopened grimoire.
Breath of Element.
Mana Crystal.
Ring of Rune – Exceed.
Having cracked through Balrog's security magic circle and looted the Tower's vault, Verden used the power source as planned to activate Defying the Heavens.
As you can see, the reconstruction of his body succeeded, and then he stepped onto a pre-inscribed spatial teleportation circle and moved to the eastern continent — leaving not a trace behind.
"It was my first time activating a teleportation array, so I couldn't be sure I'd arrive safely. Had I hesitated any longer, you'd have caught me."
Caught him?
Balrog recalled the magic circle that had been fading amid the debris.
"That day… the one who escaped from the Tower by teleportation, that was you?"
"Yes, by a hair's breadth. I didn't expect you to detect my faint mana signature from that distance and pursue me. In my ignorance, I underestimated a transcendent's abilities."
A tremor flickered in Balrog's eyes.
"Then, the Black Hour…"
"Coincidence."
Verden shrugged.
"I assure you, the spy Black Hour planted wasn't part of my design. The fact that you discovered the spy and then accused Black Hour of causing the power source's rampage — all of that was outside my calculations. Though, the result couldn't have been better for me."
"...!"
The truth was staggering.
The treasures thought to have been obliterated by the power source's dense mana had in fact been stolen.
And the true culprit behind the power source incident had been someone else entirely…
───I already told you, I wasn't the one.
───You still deny it, even with evidence of your spy?
───If I had a way to collapse a tower's power source through a spy, I'd have already destroyed the others myself. That alone disproves your claim.
Balrog recalled his conversation with Wethroel at the Cliff of Eternity.
That outrageous claim had turned out to be true.
'Then the three years of war…'
A meaningless waste of power.
Crack.
Veins bulged on Balrog's temple. The losses Bohemirn Tower had suffered boiled his rage to the very top.
But Verden continued, unconcerned.
While honing his realm and building his power in the eastern continent, he had encountered Number 89, Adrian Chambers, in the Midros Autonomous Territory. He released the Coercion-induced brainwashing and made him an ally.
Then, in Ownerless Land, he began to build his own base of power.
...!
At the mention of Adrian's survival, Balrog was struck speechless, then narrowed his eyes.
Ownerless Land of the eastern continent — he had heard reports of a certain mage active there. Add to that a distinctive physical trait, and—
"Asher…?"
"When you're working in secret, an alias is standard."
Verden smiled faintly.
"And using the information Adrian brought me — that Rayshen Tailroad had come to the Central Continent searching for someone — I devised a plan to lure him in. Dragon bones. I judged that this would be enough to draw your attention, and I was right."
Through Archbishop Joseph, he created a fake merchant group, Licentia , to act as a proxy seller of dragon materials and deliberately spread the rumor —
That they would go to Gargant and put a dragon's spine up for sale on Ignacia's Scale.
No way the masters of the magic towers would sit idly by after hearing that.
Balrog was no exception.
He had sent Rovellin's party to Rayshen, who was searching for Isabella, with orders to secure the dragon bones by any means necessary.
"Thanks to that, while dealing with Rayshen, I was able to rescue Isabella as well. After separating the Coercion and transplanting it into a magical beast to sustain her life signs, I sent Rovellin the remaining dragon materials, completely erasing any trace of suspicion."
"So that means the Outside the System were in on it, too?"
"No, Ignacia doesn't know the details of this affair. She simply found it amusing and decided to do me a favor. And the fact that I can use the mana control method of the First Demon King has nothing to do with the Magus Kingdom of Arkenad."
Anyway.
The story continued.
Cooperation with the Society.
The full establishment of his power after transcending.
The decision to use Black Hour's justification in order to destroy the Bohemirn Magic Tower without being branded an enemy of the world.
The subjugation of Black Hour.
The assault on the Bohemirn Magic Tower.
Infiltrating Balrog's private research lab.
All-out war.
And finally, facing Balrog through Rovellin's [Final Flame].
"..."
Balrog didn't show it outwardly, but a chilling shiver ran down his spine.
Never in his life had anyone approached and plotted so meticulously, solely for the purpose of killing him.
He asked.
"How did Wethroel die?"
"He completed his ideal, pierced through the heart, and fell in battle. He proved his greatness to the mages of the world, and made sure I could never forget the name Dahit Wethroel."
Balrog knew Dahit's personality and ideology well. They had despised each other and fought to the death as rivals.
"...You inherited his memories, then. That's how you could imitate Wethroel. But the Magic of Deathflame…"
"My magic is the realization of his."
The magic that recreates another's magic.
A revelation absent from Balrog's knowledge.
Then, Verden spoke.
"This is where the story ends. Which means, now it's time to give you a gift."
A gift?
Fwaaaah.
Verden pulled out the sealing-type artifact [Arkeo] and activated it. The light of mana swept across the ground, and the being trapped within the cube was released.
The third disciple of the Bohemirn Tower Master — Lucard Maniacs.
"H-huh…? Uh, uh?"
Lucard, sprawled on the ground, scrambled up in a panic. His dazed eyes darted around, then he recoiled.
"V-Verden…!"
His fear-stained expression was pathetic, unworthy of a disciple of the omnipotent transcendent.
Of course, he wasn't truly an internal member — not considered a real disciple — but at least in name, he held the official title.
"I told you, your end would be decided personally by Balrog Bessias."
"...?"
"Get out."
At Verden's jerk of the chin, Lucard turned his head in that direction.
"Master…!!!"
His pale face brightened. Relief from the belief that he'd been saved.
Staggering at first, Lucard began walking toward Balrog, then suddenly broke into a desperate run.
"Keukeuk."
At that moment, Balrog's shoulders quivered.
"Kahahahahahahahahahaha!"
Wild laughter filled the air.
Something about it made one's skin crawl.
Lucard froze mid-run, his expression stiffening — and in that instant, Balrog rotated his palm thirty degrees. A formula of mana was constructed in midair.
In the blink of an eye, a magic circle pierced straight through his third disciple.
Puhhk.
Lucard was annihilated instantly.
No body remained.
Only blood spattered outward, staining the wasteland red.
"Seems you didn't like the gift. And you call yourself a master?"
"I never once considered Lucard Maniacs my disciple. I gave him that status only to elevate the Bohemirn Magic Tower's reputation by presenting him to the magical world as the author of your Multi-dimensional Continuity Theory. He was useful, nothing more. Even when given a chance, he failed to prove his worth. There's no reason to let him live."
No emotion.
Unlike the shock he had felt moments earlier at all the unpredictable variables, now Balrog was utterly cold.
"Number 77… no, Verden. I never imagined a lowly worm like you would not only defy me but actually threaten me. And to think you became a transcendent for the sake of revenge — how quaint your ideals are."
"Revenge isn't my ultimate ideal. It's merely one vital step I must pass through."
Verden raised his head.
The dawn after a long night.
The moonlight pouring through the gray clouds — scattered and reshaped by the aftermath of their magic battle — reflected in his blue eyes.
"If the Magic Festival had followed its three-year cycle, it would be underway right about now. Just like the time the power source went berserk."
"Don't worry. You'll never experience another Magic Festival. Not that you'll die, of course. With your magical comprehension, transcendence, and power — you clearly possess value greater than Wethroel's."
Balrog gathered immense mana into [Endless Phenomena]. Large and small magic circles rose and rotated around him.
"I'll make you mine again, Verden — for my Bohemirn Magic Tower."
"There's no need to cling to the Tower."
Verden grasped the ends of [Calamity of Manifestation] and pulled them down to his wrists.
He firmly fastened the gloves of dark moonlight, then summoned [Interis] from subspace.
"Balrog Bessias."
Seven years as a test subject.
Three years since leaving the Tower.
Ten years in total.
A long, cursed bond.
"Today, you die by my hand."
The Omnipotent Transcendent.
The Master of the Bohemirn Magic Tower.
The Transcendent of Destruction.
The Third Leader of Black Hour.
Only one victor would write history.
***
The battlefield upon the snowy mountains.
Amid the storm that had suddenly turned into a blizzard, sword auras, spear strikes, and spells clashed in chaos.
Their breathing was ragged.
Their energy and mana were heavily depleted.
No one knew when the battle would end.
But one thing was certain — none of them considered defeat an option.
"Haa… haa… thankfully…"
Osgar bared his teeth, blood running down his face from a deep wound that nearly split his skull open.
"Looks like my energy distribution wasn't too bad after all."
Drip, drop.
Blood flowed from Sandir Paen's right forearm — a mark left by Adrian's Light Sword.