Damn Reincarnation Chapter 285: Balzac Ludbeth (5)

Chapter 285: Balzac Ludbeth (5)

The mana Eugene gathered to activate Prominence dispersed. Eugene glared at the sky for a moment, then cleared his expression and regained his composure before turning around.

He noticed Kristina wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and asked, “Are you okay?” The barrier she formed using divine power had not been weak by any means, but it had been no match for the sheer power of Edmund’s attack. Kristina had endured the brunt of the destruction, her barrier shattered by the force of the onslaught.

“I am… fine,” Kristina said while catching her breath and calling on the Light. The throbbing pain she felt was washed away by her divine power. But even though she was relieved of the physical pain, she could not find peace. “I apologize, Sir Eugene. I was lacking….”

“Don’t say that.” Eugene interrupted her with a nonchalant expression. He didn’t want to betray his true emotions to Kristina, especially when she had such clear blood stains around her face. However, his answer only caused Kristina more distress.

Kristina lowered her head while chewing on her lips. Eugene clicked his tongue at the sight and pulled out a handkerchief before approaching her. “He’s called the current generation’s Staff of Incarceration. In addition, he was drawing power from all sorts of sources. Even if you are the Saint, you couldn’t possibly maintain the barrier under those conditions.”

“…Right.”

[Hamel is correct, Kristina. Even for me, it was impossible to suppress the Staff of Incarceration by myself three hundred years ago.]

It felt as if the curses and hatred they felt from the Death Knight were haunting them. However, Anise could pull herself together, knowing that the Death Knight wasn’t really Hamel.

[How dare they,] spat Anise.

But it did not mean she had dispelled her anger. On the contrary, her anger simmered beneath the surface, sharpening into a fine edge. Anise could not bring herself to forgive the Death Knight and the black wizard who had created it. The mere thought of their actions made her blood boil. They had taken Hamel’s body and turned it into a twisted puppet, a mockery of the man he had once been. But that was not enough for them. They had gone a step further, imbuing the Death Knight with false memories and forcing him to pretend to be Hamel. The insult was unbearable, not only to Anise but to everyone who had known Hamel three centuries ago.

“Hmm….” Lovellian raised his head, revealing his pale expression. The Red Tower was known to be specialized in summoning magic, and as the Master of the Red Tower, he could claim to be the greatest summoner of the era.

And yet, he had failed. Lovellian had attempted to cancel the Death Knight’s reverse summoning, but he had failed to interfere with the enormous power Edmund utilized.

“Please take a look at this.” However, it wasn’t as if he had failed to produce any results. Although Lovellian had been lacking in mana to directly interfere with the summoning, he had succeeded in tracking the flow of the mana in the brief moment.

Lovellian raised his staff, causing the fabric of space to distort and ripple around him. Then, with a wave of his hand, he projected a scene before him. It was not a powerful familiar he had summoned but an “eye” that would allow him to observe Edmund’s actions from afar. Though the distance made it impossible to conjure a more powerful entity, observation was possible.

All eyes were drawn to the projection as it flickered to life before them. The image displayed the capital city of the Kochilla Tribe, a place that lay far beyond their current location. Despite the distance, the view was clear, offering a panoramic vista of the city from high above. The sight that greeted them was brutal and cruel.

Before them stood a massive pyramid-shaped altar, its size looming over the countless prisoners that climbed its sides. At the pinnacle of the altar, a group of sorcerers stood, their masks and clothing made from human skin. In their hands were long, winding knives, which they plunged mercilessly into the chests of those who reached the summit. It was a brutal ceremony, one that involved the live extraction of the prisoners’ beating hearts.

The prisoners stumbled and rolled down the pyramid after being robbed of their hearts into a large pit located below. Within the pit were piles of bodies easily numbering in the thousands.

Even after the hearts were removed from the bodies of the prisoners, they continued beating. Nearby, warriors stood at the ready, adjacent to the sorcerers, poised to receive the still-beating hearts. They carefully carried the organs to the back of the pyramid, where a large cauldron waited. The cauldron was woven from the bones of the dead and contained a boiling, sticky, crimson liquid. When the beating hearts were thrown into the pot, they instantly dissolved, the crimson liquid turning even darker as it mixed with the organs.

“How terrible…,” Melkith muttered with horror at the sight. Cyan chewed on his lips to stop himself from throwing up. He wasn’t too accustomed to seeing so many dead bodies.

But there wasn’t just one altar in which such a ritual was taking place. In fact, there were five such altars in the capital of the Kochilla Tribe, and the shape they formed was clearly visible looking down from a great height above the capital. It was an inverted pentagram, a symbol favored in black magic since ancient times.

“Don’t you think it’s rude to peek?” A voice came from the scene. Lovellian moved his magical eye with a stiff expression. A man was flying towards them, dressed in a fedora and a short cloak that seemed entirely out of place in the hellish landscape below. Edmund Codreth smiled while caressing his beard.

“It’s not Balzac’s Dark Power. The Head Wizard of the Red Tower… Lovellian Sophis? It must be. I saw the Head of the White Tower, Melkith El-Hayah, as well, but she’s not proficient in this kind of magic,” continued Edmund.

“And what do you know about me?” Melkith grumbled, but it was true. Melkith was proficient in many different types of magic as an Archwizard, but as Edmund said, she wasn’t a master of summoning magic, which required one to be both spontaneous and delicate.

“First of all, as someone who walks the same path of magic… I would like to offer you my compliment. It’s amazing that you managed to detect the flow of magic in that short moment and even summon a familiar despite the difference in our powers,” said Edmund.

“I don’t want to hear your compliments,” retorted Lovellian.

“Is it because I am a black wizard? I know your childhood was ruined by a black wizard, but… Well, let’s stop talking about this. You all will never see eye to eye with me anyways.” Edmund paused, then turned his gaze away from Lovellian. “However, I think we are more than capable of understanding each other. What do you think, Balzac Ludbeth?”

Naturally, Edmund’s gaze was directed at Balzac. Although the two locations were separated by a great distance, the cold anger contained in Edmund’s eyes was thick enough to protrude through the projecting images.

“I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I always thought of us as friends. We’ve known each other for a long time, and we’ve talked about many things,” said Edmund.

“Think it over, Edmund. We’ve certainly talked a lot, but… wasn’t it mostly useless chatter? I think most of it was perfunctory,” retorted Balzac.

“That’s upsetting to hear. So, are you betraying me since most of our exchanges were useless?” asked Edmund.

“I think you have the wrong choice of words. It’s not betrayal since I was never on your side, to begin with. Just as you move only for your own benefit, I also move for my own benefit,” Balzac responded softly. His nonchalance caused Edmund’s eyebrows to wriggle with discontent.

“Are you planning to rob me of my ritual?” asked Edmund.

“Perhaps,” answered Balzac.

“I know you well, Balzac Ludbeth. You don’t have the capacity,” retorted Edmund.

“Do you really think so?” Balzac asked, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Edmund did not respond. He couldn’t find anything to say. In truth, he barely knew Balzac at all. Edmund couldn’t describe the type of wizard Balzac was. He was confident in describing Amelia Merwin, but he couldn’t say the same for Balzac.

Before signing a contract with the Demon King of Incarceration, Balzac had been an excellent wizard, hailed as a possible successor to the position of the Blue Tower Master. Then one day, he suddenly left the Blue Tower and headed to Helmuth.

Countless wizards had attempted to gain an audience with the Demon King of Incarceration, but few had succeeded in even entering the imposing tower of Babel, let alone laying eyes on the Demon King himself. However, Balzac was different. His reputation as a talented and respected wizard had preceded him, and it was this that had granted him access to the Demon King’s inner sanctum.

However, it would have been difficult for him to obtain a contract with the Demon King with nothing more than his abilities as a wizard. Rather, it would have been impossible if only his capabilities had been taken into consideration. At that time, the Demon King of Incarceration already had Amelia Merwin and Edmund Codreth.

Even so, Balzac succeeded in signing a contract with the Demon King. What he desired through the contract had caught the interest of the Demon King of Incarceration, but Edmund did not know what it was.

That’s how the Three Mages of Incarceration came to be. There were… exchanges. However, their interactions had been limited to surface-level talks, with little insight into each other’s thoughts and intentions. Balzac’s magical abilities appeared unremarkable on the surface, but it was clear that he had hidden depths. To truly understand each other, they would have to engage in magical competition. However, they had never taken this step.

“How utterly unpleasant,” spat Edmund, all traces of a smile disappearing from his face. “Since you’re saying so, let me make it absolutely clear for you, Balzac. The ritual I preside over is perfect and not pathetic enough to be taken away by the likes of you.”

Balzac did not give an answer but shrugged instead. Edmund’s glistening eyes headed to Eugene. “It will not break, and I will not fail. Eugene Lionheart, I know that you are the Hero and have caught the attention of His Majesty the Demon King of Incarceration. However, if you think I won’t kill you just because of that, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“And you think you can kill me?” asked Eugene as his lips curled into a twisted smile. “The blade you sent was dull and old. Do you really think you can kill me with such a weapon?”

“Your anger and disgust are blatant. Is it because you’re not just a Lionheart but also Stupid Hamel’s successor? Let me correct you first. It does not matter to me whether the sword is blunt or sharp. I am not so weak as a black wizard to be desperate for a blade,” retorted Edmund. Should he induce them to march all the way to the capital of the Kochilla Tribe? Edmund could not be defeated if he set this place as the battlefield. The large and cruel city had long been Edmund’s territory, and it currently contained a great concentration of power as the epicenter of the ritual.

But his opponent would surely be aware of this fact as well. Edmund wasn’t in a position to relax since he was ignorant of Balzac’s true purpose.

Edmund would have plenty of time to make preparations while he waited for his enemies to march. Likewise, his opponents would also have time to prepare. He didn’t know what kinds of tricks Balzac had hidden up his sleeves, and the two Tower Masters bothered him as well. To make matters worse, the two in question were wizards who specialized in war among the Archwizards of Aroth. The Red Tower Master could fight a war of numbers with his summons, while the White Tower Master could make use of numerous spirits with her contracts to two spirit kings.

‘Even if I make this the battlefield…. If the Wise Sienna also joins the fray….’

However, what worried Edmund the most was the possible resurrection of Sienna. Although he never had the chance to compare himself to Sienna as a wizard, Sienna Merdein was an Archwizard who even threatened the Demon Kings. He was confident in beating her in a one-on-one battle of magic on an advantageous battlefield, but if the Wise Sienna joined the group of his powerful enemies… he judged that his odds were slim.

“…So I will kill you all with my own hands.” Finally, he came to a decision. He would leave the capital and march, raising a decisive battle to supplement the remaining offering required for the ritual.

He did not know how much time the opponents would need, but one major war would be enough to satisfy the requirements for the ritual.

“I will march the barbarians to the Footprint of the God of the Land right away. If you want to run away, feel free to do so. I’m willing to show that much mercy,” said Edmund.

The group had pinpointed the location of the Footprint of the God of the Land by studying the map the previous day. The valley was situated between the Kochilla Tribe and Zoran Tribe and was the only place in the dense forest that lacked trees. According to the beliefs of the native Samar people, the hollow valley was a footprint left by the God of the Land and was considered a site for the great tribes to engage in large-scale battles. In fact, it had been the site of a fierce battle a few months ago when the Kochillas and Zorans first clashed.

Edmund’s words were a blatant inducement. A pagoda of bones had also been erected in the Footprint of the Earth God, and the Earth Veins were also twisted. Even so, facing him in the Footprint of the God of the Land was still better than marching all the way to the Kochilla Tribe’s capital to face him there.

Crack.

The images became blurred, a consequence of the magical eye being destroyed. Lovellian clicked his tongue while shaking his head. “…It’s as you said, Black Tower Master. Edmund’s hurrying to finish his ritual.”

He had declared his intention to march even though there was no need. Edmund’s eagerness to provoke his enemies into marching to the Footprint of the God of the Land was a clear indication of his desperation to complete the ritual at any cost. He seemed unwilling to tolerate any hindrances or unforeseen circumstances, and the group sensed this from his bold declaration to march toward them.

Balzac observed Eugene’s expression closely while muttering to himself, “He’s trying to hurry it more than I expected, but I can guess why. He’s wary of Sir Eugene’s existence… as well as Lady Sienna’s resurrection.” Although Balzac had not heard directly about Sienna’s resurrection, he could deduce from their current situation that it was related to her whereabouts.

‘If Lady Sienna is free, there is no reason for her not to have joined us… It seems that other conditions need to be met for her resurrection.’

Balzac turned his attention to Raimira. Although he was never told her identity, it was blatantly clear that the little girl was a hatchling.

“…That Death Knight from before. Was it really Sir Hamel?” Cyan asked while massaging his pale face with his hands. “I don’t understand why he would have said any of those things. He wants to wipe out the Lionheart clan? Why would Sir Hamel say such—”

“No.” Eugene spat out. “That Death Knight…. The body belonged to… Sir Hamel, but the person wasn’t Sir Hamel.”

“And how would you know that?” asked Cyan.

I would because I’m Hamel, you punk. Eugene barely stopped himself from retorting. Well, now that he had come this far, it wouldn’t be problematic for him to reveal his true identity. However, on a separate note, Eugene thought he might kill himself out of shame. He had always spoken of “Sir” Hamel’s greatness to Cyan, but if Cyan ever found out that Eugene was Hamel….

“Well…. Spirits can see the souls of humans. Tempest told me that the Death Knight wasn’t Sir Hamel,” Eugene hurriedly explained.

“Are you sure? He kept saying that he was Sir Hamel,” said Cyan.

“Why would I lie to you about this? And I’m sure you wouldn’t know, but Sir Hamel’s not an idiot like that Death Knight. And, like you said, why would Sir Hamel want to massacre the Lionheart clan? What reason would he have to curse Sir… Molon, Lady Sienna, and Lady Anise?” continued Eugene.

“Maybe he got angry after discovering the contents of the fairy tale?” Melkith whispered under her breath while listening to their conversation. Kristina’s shoulders suddenly trembled — a result of Anise suddenly clearing her throat.

“That’s a valid argument.” Even Eugene had to acknowledge it. Sienna and Anise were co-authors of the fairy tale, and they had never imagined that Hamel would reincarnate when they wrote the story. In fact, when Eugene first read the fairy tale after reincarnating, he had ground his teeth.

However, he would never curse Sienna and Anise over a fairy tale. How could he? Now that he had the opportunity to mull over it, with the luxury of hindsight, he had to admit that his death in the Castle of the Demon King of Incarnation had been… a selfish suicide. He had chosen his own death after realizing his body was broken, and he could no longer fight. In truth, it was a way to preserve his pride while going out on his own terms. He had hoped that his comrades would become furious at his death and topple the Demon King of Incarceration.

Despite whatever excuses he could come up with, in the end, his death had been ugly and selfish, and Eugene had to admit it as a fact. What Sienna and Anise did with the fairy tale could be considered trivial compared to what he had done to them.

‘…Though I wish they had seasoned it a bit less with their own self-interest.’

Eugene shook his head, recalling the way in which the fairy tale ended.

“…Hmm, Sir Hamel isn’t so shallow as to curse his comrades for the contents of a fairy tale,” said Eugene.

“How would you know?” asked Melkith.

“How would I know? I-I just know it. After all, I am the heir of Sir Hamel, successor of Lady Sienna, and uh, I met Sir Molon as well… Uh… I heard from them exactly how heroic Sir Hamel was,” explained Eugene.

[Kristina. How can Hamel say such embarrassing things with his own mouth?]

‘I.. think that Sir Eugene is… great at self-objectification.’

[My goodness…! Kristina, you’re clearly blinded by something here!] Anise screamed, causing Kristina to blush slightly.

“Honestly, that Death Knight isn’t worth worrying about. I can handle it just fine on my own. Rather, I find it more annoying that Amelia Merwin, the master of the Death Knight, is colluding with Edmund…,” Eugene said.

“Edmund only borrowed the Death Knight. Amelia will not be coming to the forest,” replied Balzac.

“How can you be sure?” asked Eugene.

“Just as Edmund is wary of me, he will also be wary of Amelia. In the first place, Edmund is using the warriors and sorcerers of the Kochilla Tribe as a tool without receiving any help from other black wizards or demons. Pulling off such a large ritual without receiving any help is a great feat, but he’s not doing so to show off his abilities, but rather… to eliminate all possible variables,” Balzak said with a bitter smile. “If Amelia had cooperated with Edmund, this ritual would have been completed already. If Edmund is a well-balanced black wizard, Amelia is a necromancer who stands at the pinnacle. An army of undead would not have needed any supplies or rest.”

“I hate black wizards, but I hate necromancers the most among them.” Eugene spat out, recalling the face of the Death Knight.

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