The black-robed mage controlled the tendril, retrieved his severed arm, and let a viscous black substance stretch from the stump, reattaching it back onto his body.
That structure—enough to make one doubt if he was still human.
Thwip!
An arrow flew and struck his skull. The mage scratched his head in puzzlement, pulled the arrow out as if it were nothing, then turned to look behind him.
Clytia, clutching the hand crossbow, trembled as she tried to reload, but her hands and feet failed her. Only when she saw the mage walking toward her did she realize she couldn’t succeed.
“Children shouldn’t play with such dangerous things.”
The mage spoke flatly, snatching away the girl’s only weapon. Flames ignited in his palm, burning the wooden crossbow to ash.
Then, a light flared in his hand—black, abyssal radiance. At once, I felt it deep in the chest, at the seat of the heart, a dreadful sensation like being devoured, resonating with the glow in the mage’s hand.
I understood. That was the Seed of the Evil God. Though it had been forced in through the mouth, somehow it had found its way to Clytia’s heart and lodged there.
Clytia lost consciousness. From beneath his robe, the mage drew out a small black cloak, cast it at the ground, and arrogantly commanded:
“Put this on. Cover your face.”
What? What is he doing? I blinked in confusion—only to realize the body was once again under my control.
“Strange… you should already be obeying me without question…”
The mage muttered. I caught on at once. To keep him from noticing, I imitated a blank, puppetlike response, picked up the cloak, and draped it over myself.
“…Fine. A bit slow, but follow me.” The black-robed man gave his order and turned off the road into the wilds.
I followed without showing emotion, mind racing for a way to escape—The Nanny was dead, but nearby should still be Clytia’s elder brothers, and their instructor, said to be a high-ranking warrior. If only I could find a chance to reach them—
Then I smelled blood. Ahead lay a massive brown bear, collapsed in a pool of red. Around its corpse was drawn a vast circular ritual array in blood.
The mage peeled open the bear’s split belly, and the stench of gore struck straight to the crown of the head.
“Get in,” he ordered.
Get in? What kind of sick joke—? Staring at that bloody cavity, dread twisted through me. Yet to avoid suspicion, I clenched my jaw—
Yes, clenched my jaw. That tiny slip exposed me. The mage’s hand shot out and clamped my throat. As I gasped, his cold smile bent over me.
“I underestimated you, Lady Erandel. To think you could resist the Seed’s control… You truly are special. My effort wasn’t wasted.”
“You—Ross—the painting teacher—” I forced the words out through my strangled windpipe.
“Oh, so you’ve recognized me,” Ross chuckled in delight. Yes. Who else could it be but the Cult of the Night’s sorcerer who had posed as Clytia’s tutor?
I hadn’t expected it—just last night I’d dropped a faint hint, and this very morning he struck without hesitation.
“Lady Erandel, remember this well—this is your fault. Because you betrayed our secret, I was dismissed. You forced me to this, and your loyal maid paid with her life.”
“Go to hell—” The last of my air burst out in a curse.
Ross hurled me to the ground. From his sleeve spilled something thorned, like brambles yet alive, like the feelers of some mollusk. They coiled around me, stabbing barbs into my flesh. At once my body went numb, unable to move.
“An intruder!” I heard the roar echoing from the other side of the ridge—surely the martial instructor of the Erandel brothers.
Ross clicked his tongue, seized me, and stuffed me into the bear’s belly. A dark-red haze swallowed my sight. Sticky, fetid liquid smeared my face and hair.
He chanted. The array beneath blazed crimson. The blood flowed backward into the bear’s carcass. The gash sealed over, like time itself reversing, enclosing the small girl within.
This was black magic beyond doubt.
The bear rose as if alive, shook its thick coat, and bounded off into the wilderness.
The abduction of the Erandel heiress spread no whisper beyond the walls.
But that did not mean nothing happened. Across the duchy’s six counties, in towns and noble fiefs alike, the Duke’s martial law fell swift. Merchants dealing in furs and monster parts were interrogated without mercy. Cavalry patrols with spears and crossbows roamed the roads.
Rumors festered. Some swore demons from the north had begun their raids again. Others muttered of palace intrigues reaching even here. A few insisted the Duke himself had been cursed, for so many priests were being summoned into his halls—it could only mean exorcism.
“There is no doubt—it was a black sorcerer.” Recalling that day, the Magister said so firmly.
Sella Brun, graduate of the Royal Academy’s magic faculty, was the Duke’s hired instructor for the second daughter, Claire. At the time of the attack, she had been dozing in her guest room within the castle.
The instant she sensed the evil aura, she leapt from bed without even donning her robe and ran toward the training hills of the eldest children and the heiress. But a tide of familiars blocked her path. By the time she broke through, the heiress was already gone.
Now, unease gnawed her as she faced the man before her—
The present Duke of Erandel, silver-haired, weathered by campaigns, a soldier to the core. He had just returned from patrol to his keep.
He pulled back the shroud, staring silently at the long-serving Nanny, her death mask still twisted in defiance.
“I was close enough to sense it first. I blocked the bastard—but he was strange. My blade cleaved his head, yet it was as if nothing had happened.”
Caron Dagia, a retired warrior who had lost an arm and an eye, now trained the Duke’s two sons.
“That is a mark of black sorcerers,” Sella interjected. “To contain the power of an evil god, they must remake their bodies into—”
“Enough. So you mean the one who infiltrated my castle was the painting tutor I brought from the capital at great cost?”
The Duke lowered the shroud again and looked expressionlessly at the murmuring circle.
“The Nanny served dismissal to him that morning, citing misconduct toward the young lady. But since he had been appointed by you, it was handled quietly as termination only—this dismissal letter was found in his room.”
The new steward presented the document. The Duke glanced once, waved it away, and said:
“From now on, all who enter or leave this castle will undergo routine holy examinations.”
“And the heiress? What will become of her?” Sella pressed, recalling how the second daughter had wept to her, begging for news.
“Discreet search,” the Duke said curtly. “This scandal must not spread.”
“Scandal? Do you mean that a black sorcerer infiltrated your keep, or that your daughter was taken—?” Sella protested as she saw him preparing to close the matter.
“Both.” The Duke’s final words fell cold. “Tighten the hunt for black sorcerers. That is all.”
Then the man in armor turned and strode out with his retinue.
So painful—
I can’t breathe.
Darkness everywhere—
Can’t move—
I want to escape.
Someone… help me…
Clytia had not awakened. I curled in the bear’s belly like a child in the womb.
At my heart—the Seed of the Evil God. That dread had not ceased since Ross used it to bind Clytia with black sorcery.
But perhaps because of me, even though her will was shackled, her body had not fallen under Ross’s command. Instead, control lay in my hands.
Inside the carcass, I felt the bear running ceaselessly. A living beast could not sprint forever, but this was no longer a living bear. Enchanted, it had become an undead husk, freed from the limits of life—until the magic faded or it reached Ross’s destination, it would run without rest.
And then—I would fall into Ross’s grasp again.
I could move this body—yet trapped, unable to act. What now?
Clytia, you’re impossible. Always leaving me with these impossible problems!
Does the body affect the mind? I couldn’t help the thought—almost like a little girl’s whine. No. I was an adult. I had to think my way out.
“The Seed of the Evil God… Yes, the Seed.”
In the suffocating dark stench of the belly, I nearly hallucinated. Only the throb at the heart remained real.
And in that half-dead haze, memories of my past life grew clearer—The stench seemed to fade.
In its place came the smell of antiseptic.