Chapter 819

Chapter 819

When the balance of power is skewed, a pact rarely holds. Is it even possible to negotiate fairly when a blade is pressed against one’s jugular? It is a basic truth, yet the race known as humans often ignores it when their vision is clouded by avarice.

A certain merchant from Rengadis—a man who once took great pride in the softness of his round cheeks—had discovered this reality before his twentieth year. Now, having crossed the threshold of fifty, he had let that lesson slip from his mind on his return journey. He had bartered his very spirit for the promise of eternal life, restored youth, and a vigorous frame. But that lopsided contract was beginning to splinter.

*Crack—*

Embers burst forth, and jagged fractures spidered across his frame. His flesh split like parched earth, and dark vapors rose from the gaps within.

“Disgusting.”

Dunbakel wrinkled her nose. To a beastwoman endowed with a supernatural sense of smell, the odor was unbearable. Rem’s features also tightened. A sense of impending doom, something that clawed at his basic survival instincts, was hemorrhaging from the merchant’s shifting form.

Rem didn’t merely stand by. He pulled a small stone from his pocket and snapped it forward. The movement of his shoulder was so explosive it left a lingering blur in the air; his arm functioned like a living whip, substituting for a sling. While it lacked the piercing whistle of a mechanical sling, the projectile was launched with the full physical power of a knight at point-blank range.

*Boom!*

In the split second Rem moved, the dark soot had already reinforced itself into three thick layers. The stone collided with the shroud like a clap of thunder. There was a heavy impact, but the pebble failed to penetrate the barrier.

“Well, look at this guy.”

A small smirk played on Rem’s lips as his competitive spirit flared. That spark of aggression turned into genuine curiosity as his hand moved toward his preferred tool—the axe.

Even witnessing this bizarre metamorphosis, Enkrid’s heart remained steady. If he were the type of vessel to capsize in such a gale, he would have been broken long ago. Tempests are a constant of the sea; survival simply means outlasting them until the water calms. To Enkrid, this required no grand internal struggle; it was simply the way he existed. He observed the scene with a chillingly practical gaze.

“Should we intervene?”

Kraiss had already backed away five paces before speaking. Nearby, Nurat stood ready, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his blade. Beside them, Esther was already weaving an incantation, her hand extended. She was the only one present who understood the gravity of what was happening.

*‘An Axiom spell.’*

The merchant’s frame grew bloated and ruptured, revealing sickly white skin beneath the surface. The obsidian soot was his very lifeblood and muscle being repurposed. It coalesced into a suit of armor, and as his skin tore away, a black, insect-like carapace began to take its place.

*‘Is it a threat?’*

No. Esther answered her own internal query as she pressed her palms together and traced a series of complex signs in the air.

“In the name of Phil de Frodo, I decree. As it is a law that light must cast a shadow, it is the law that what lurks before this radiance must be unmasked. In the face of this truth, you cannot hide your essence.”

The length of the chant indicated the depth of the power she was drawing. Enkrid, acting on pure intuition, raised Dawn Tempering and leveled it toward the source of the soot. The shifting mass ahead clouded the senses, but when faced with uncertainty, Enkrid’s natural response was to lead with a sharp edge. He did not lower his guard for a second.

As Esther spoke, something flickered in front of the dawn-hued blade—a shapeless, shifting mass. It looked like a ghost but carried a much more predatory intent. It had been waiting while the merchant’s body suffered its transformation, specifically hunting for a chance to latch onto Enkrid.

As the spell left her lips, Esther’s thoughts continued to race.

*‘Can one understand life without understanding people?’*

Can one grasp magic—the pursuit of ultimate truth—without understanding the nature of living? Can one truly become a star by remaining isolated in a forest, buried in books?

Through Enkrid, Esther had finally cast off the spiritual blight that had plagued her body. Using the clarity she gained from that ordeal, she had begun to rebuild her understanding of magic from the ground up, as if she were a child again. The man she observed—Enkrid—never squandered a single moment. He lived by placing one stone atop another, day after day. Seeing this, Esther had adopted that same steadfast posture.

The stones she had piled now reached the heavens. The old laws she once knew merged with the new truths she had grasped, and the world of mana finally surrendered its gates to her. For a heartbeat, the wall between the internal world of the spell and the physical world of reality crumbled. She could no longer tell the difference between the dream and the truth.

One who steps into the world of magic is an Onlooker. When they describe what they see, they become a Speaker. When they manifest that world as their own, they are a Possessor. At that stage, one is considered a true mage, which is why the title *Immoderantia* is used. Beyond that are the realms of *Tacitus* and *Mugin*.

Esther knew the rankings of mages. But to her, being trapped in that system was simply setting a ceiling for oneself. If you follow a pre-drawn line, you stop when the line ends. Esther refused to stop. She was forging a new path, building the road beneath her feet as she walked.

Among the masters of the arcane, there is a legendary term for the moment the boundary between illusion and reality fails: *‘Phantasia.’*

It marks the moment a mage transcends their current tier. To a knight, it feels like a sudden wave of total power. Rather than a sense of capability, it was the feeling of floating within a dream world that washed over Esther. Simultaneously, her vision pierced through to the demon’s true shape—a creature that exists in the cracks between the real and the imagined.

*‘Split Ideation.’*

That formless lump was the work of the entity known as the Companion of Heat. Knowledge and intuition collided in her mind, providing the answer instantly.

*‘A parasitic demon.’*

What is the true nature of the Companion of Heat? Its core existence is to live by feeding on others. It had hidden within the body of the greatsword user, feigned its departure, and was now attempting to infect Enkrid. Even if it failed to seize his body—

*‘It would mark him.’*

To be branded by a demon is to become a permanent magnet for ghosts, monsters, and feral beasts. Enkrid wouldn’t be defeated by such things, but there was no reason for him to suffer the headache.

Still immersed in that dream-like state, Esther raised her left hand and channeled her mana into the shattered boundary. She disregarded *Tacitus* and *Mugin*. Those were mere performance. Why bother with trigger words or elaborate casting rituals? Such struggles to appear as though one has mastered the natural order are only for those who care about an audience.

“Wing-tus, Compes, Nexum.”

A full chant wasn’t necessary when an abbreviation was more efficient. This wasn’t about style; it was about utility. From the world of her imagination, chains, nets, and iron shackles manifested—forming a binding contract that seized the enemy’s soul. The magic circle on the floor had been drawn by her own hand, every line attuned to her specific mana. In this space, her laws reigned supreme.

The first spell unmasks; the second spell imprisons.

*Kiiiiiii!*

The formless mass emitted a piercing wail. It was a final, desperate act of resistance—a sound designed to burst eardrums and shatter the mind. For a human relying on the physical senses, it was a potent weapon. Here, however, it fell flat.

“Opillatio, extinguish.”

Though she was still half-lost in the phantasm, she acted without a shred of doubt. Perhaps the intoxication of the dream made her more decisive. Those who command spells create their own universes, and within those universes, they are supreme. She had simply dragged a fragment of her universe into the light.

*Creak—*

The parasitic entity, the Companion of Heat, was erased from existence. A portion of it seemed to have escaped earlier, but she saw no point in pursuit.

All of this occurred in the time it took Rem to grip his axe, Dunbakel to ready her strikes, and Enkrid to steady his sword. Where the round merchant once stood, there was now a stiff-backed creature covered in a black exoskeleton, staring blankly at the group. Dark steam rolled off its shell—the heat left behind by the violent restructuring of its flesh.

Esther recognized the magic. It was a variation of an Axiom spell.

*‘Black-Soul Swordbearer.’*

It functioned similarly to a death knight, though the underlying mechanics were distinct. It used the host’s soul as fuel, transforming the owner into a puppet with the physical prowess of a knight. Only a demon could orchestrate such a gruesome trade. The transformation had taken no more than twenty seconds.

If unleashed upon a normal battalion, such a creature would be a disaster—as devastating as a boulder falling from the clouds, yet far easier to summon.

*‘A demonic Axiom spell.’*

That was Esther’s conclusion. She didn’t know that this was a collaboration between the Father of the Dead and the worshiper of Gold. One was obsessed with spirits, the other with the mechanics of a bargain.

Esther’s eyes glowed with the intensity of blue stars.

Enkrid felt the intangible threat vanish, but he didn’t lower his weapon. His instincts told him that while the formless lump was gone, the malice in the creature before him remained. A blade made of the same black carapace as the creature’s skin began to grow from its hand with a sickening crunch.

The Border Guard had many warriors who could handle such a threat, but just as many who would fall to it. Enkrid decided it would be simplest to finish it before it could move. Dunbakel was already poised to strike, driven by the need to wipe out the foul smell. Rem felt the same, though he favored a more aggressive approach.

“I’ll break everything that’s tainted,” Rem muttered.

He invoked one of the West’s divine aspects. His axe began to glow with a faint, borrowed holy light. Simultaneously, he gripped a stone in his free hand, preparing to pin the transformed merchant in place.

In a heartbeat, all three were ready. Pell and Rophod, having finished with the greatsword user, also took up defensive positions.

In that silence, Esther’s voice cut through.

“Detain, confine, restrict, maintain, preserve.”

Her eyes remained brilliant, mana practically spilling from her gaze. A shimmering blue box, translucent and firm, slammed down around the soot-covered creature. It happened in the time it took to draw a single breath.

*Boom!*

The creature lashed out against the cage. The walls groaned and cracked, shedding blue fragments, but they did not shatter. Dark veins throbbed across the creature’s pale hand as it tried to strike again, but the enclosure was too small to allow a full swing. Even with an Axiom spell, a physical body requires leverage and space to exert force.

*‘Just as humans are limited by their bodies.’*

Once a being takes physical shape, it is subject to the laws of geometry. Esther had achieved this not through math, but through pure feeling. Mages are often seen as calculators, but without an innate sensitivity to the world, they can never truly see the mana.

The cage held for twenty seconds. Inside, the beast went berserk, ramming the walls with its head and slashing with its elbow-spikes. It was all for nothing. The walls dented and fractured, but they never gave way.

Eventually, the creature simply dissolved into black mist and cinders. The merchant was gone, replaced by a small pile of dark ash.

“Well, that was unexpected. Guess we can keep moving,” Rem said, letting the divine light fade from his weapon.

Enkrid lowered his sword and turned to Esther. She hadn’t blinked. Her pupils were wide, fixed on something far beyond the immediate room. A dark void seemed to be growing in the center of her blue eyes, pulling everything toward it.

“Esther.”

Enkrid’s voice acted as an anchor. Her pupils slowly returned to their normal size as the *Phantasia* faded, and she was pulled back into the cold light of day. As the dream vanished, a wave of vertigo took its place. Her body swayed from the sheer exhaustion of her mana reserves, but she was caught before she could hit the floor. She didn’t need to check who was holding her.

“One of those men seemed to know who we were,” Enkrid noted, recalling the words of the man in the black hat. He had waited until the threat was gone to bring it up.

“Some mages might come looking for us because of him,” Esther replied softly.

“I understand.”

As she spoke, Esther felt her words moving independently of her logic. She had never been the type to rely on another person, yet her instincts drove her to say something she barely understood herself.

“You’ll be behind me, right?”

It was a request for protection, plain and simple.

“Of course,” Enkrid answered. His response was as sharp and direct as a sword stroke. No hesitation, no doubt.

The weight of those words might have made Esther blush, but—

“Seriously, who is protecting whom at this point?” Rem chimed in, ruining the moment with perfect timing.

For a brief second, Esther wondered how a man like Rem had managed to find a wife and father a child, but the thought passed.

“I can’t walk,” she said instead.

Enkrid gathered her into his arms. Despite the massive power she had just unleashed, she felt incredibly light.

Far away, in the heart of the fairy city, word of these events reached the one resting by the Fountain of Life.