Chapter 477

Chapter 477: A Spirit Summoner

A Spirit Summoner is an individual capable of calling upon spectral entities and wielding the residual might they possessed during their mortal existence.

To the uninitiated, these spirits are frequently conflated with actual souls. However, they do not represent the soul in its purest form.

A spirit is essentially a memory etched directly into mana. Every breathing creature holds mana within themselves. This internal energy is cultivated over time, and depending on the unique qualities of the individual’s vessel, it manifests as either aura, magical power, or spirit power.

When life leaves a body, its accumulated mana disperses back into the natural world, eventually finding a home in new living beings. Yet, when someone of immense, overwhelming power passes away, the mana they held retains a persistent imprint of their lifetime essence.

Spirit summoning is the precise methodology of reading that lingering essence’s memory and giving it form through spirit power.

This foundational concept mirrors the core principles of necromancy. Necromancy taps into the lingering thoughts within a corpse to reanimate it as an undead thrall. A physical body is favored because it serves as a concentrated reservoir of the deceased’s living thoughts.

Even so, the Necromancer King possessed the terrifying ability to resurrect the departed using nothing more than the dirt from their final resting place, rendering the absence of an actual corpse irrelevant.

It was through this exact method that Tiara, the Iron-Blooded Mage, had been brought back to the mortal plane.

Leo shifted his gaze toward Tiara. The visions of a bygone era granted by Lysinus’s spirit power, combined with the echoing voice of Lysinus he had perceived moments prior, pointed to a singular truth.

This was the awakening of spirit summoning. He could deduce no other explanation than the awakening of Lysinus’s latent influence, a prize claimed after conquering the Hero’s World.

Right now, that very power was urging him to salvage the elf standing across from him.

“In the past or the present, it’s always the same.”

Leo offered a dry, breathless chuckle as he stepped toward Tiara. The elven mage before him possessed a devastating strength that completely eclipsed the champions of the Justice Guild. To make matters worse, she had been warped into an undead creature fueled by absolute hatred for existence itself.

Subduing her physical form and returning her to the earth would be no small feat.

Leo gripped the hilt of his weapon and drew it. The directive was clear: overpower her and redeem her spirit.

A master of spirit summoning holds the capacity to cleanse the malice festering within the undead, transforming them into pure spirits. The catch, however, lay in the sheer absurdity of the difficulty.

“That miserable lizard never fails to hand me the most excruciating tasks,” Leo muttered to himself, a wry grin cutting through his complaints.

“Alright then.”

Thud. Thud.

“What kind of sorrow drives you to harbor such agonizing malice? Care to share it with me?”

Kwagagagagagak!

The moment Leo advanced, the terrain surrounding Tiara instantly transmuted into solid, unyielding iron.

Leo channeled massive force into his blade.

Skk!

With a clean stroke, he sheared through the colossal iron blade hurtling toward him. Yet, Tiara’s onslaught did not slacken.

Wooong!

A myriad of crimson arcane circles manifested in the atmosphere, unleashing a torrential downpour of dark red liquid.

Leo’s vision sharpened as he caught the scent. It was the unmistakable stench of blood.

The spell Tiara conjured resembled a localized storm of gore. This grisly spectacle was precisely why she had earned the title of the Iron-Blooded Mage. Her spellcraft fundamentally relied on utilizing blood and iron as primary conduits.

Because of this specific affinity, her destructive potential reached its zenith on an active battlefield. She required no external preparation or imported materials; a war zone naturally provided an inexhaustible supply of her preferred catalysts. She could detonate adversaries using the fluid draining from their casualties and lacerate them using the metallic elements forged into their armaments.

It was, in the most literal sense, a specialized magic of mass slaughter engineered to thrive amidst chaos.

Hwaruru-ruk!

Vibrant aura flames ignited along the edge of Leo’s blade.

“Fiora.”

Treeeeea!

Fiora’s inherent flames synthesized with his aura, generating a blinding, hyper-intense inferno.

Kwagagagagang!

A grid of fiery slashes painted the sky, thoroughly obliterating the falling crimson rain. The resulting concussion tore through the atmosphere, sending violent tremors through the bedrock.

Yet, from Leo’s vantage point, the sheer destruction wasn’t the main concern.

This particular magic strayed completely from the fundamental philosophy of star magic. Star magic was an art Luna had developed for the gentle purpose of fostering floral life. While it sounded simplistic, Luna’s flower-blooming attribute actually touched upon the profound domain of life creation—a boundary reserved for divinity.

Remembering his old companion who had crossed into the realm of gods simply because she wished to gaze upon beautiful blossoms, Leo dropped into a low stance.

Though Tiara had been cast out by elven society due to her unorthodox and unsettling magic, she was simultaneously revered as a savior by humanity. Her intervention had rescued countless humans from the clutches of Tartaros. Paradoxically, this adulation from humanity only deepened the disdain her fellow elves felt for the Iron-Blooded Mage.

During that era, a bitter conflict divided humans and elves. Furthermore, even within human magical institutions, Iron-Blooded Magic was treated with extreme apprehension. Utilizing such spells against a fellow mortal was deemed a punishable offense due to its inherently sadistic nature. Consequently, its deployment was strictly restricted to encounters with demons.

It was entirely understandable why the elves viewed her craft as an unspeakable heresy. To Leo, her magic felt like an outright rejection of everything Luna stood for. Star magic was fundamentally a reflection of Luna’s gentle, nurturing soul.

Gooooooh—Chwarurururuk!

Tiara invoked her power once more, weaving massive chains of solid iron saturated with a malevolent crimson energy.

Kwaaaaaaaaaa!

The red arcane energy spun violently along the links, pulverizing everything within its trajectory.

Such magic could only be conceptualized by a mind entirely preoccupied with maximizing an opponent’s physical agony. Leo narrowed his eyes, sensing a lethal undercurrent and a sadistic drive so potent it closely resembled the vilest black magic.

Hwaak!

Utilizing an accelerated aura step, Leo closed the distance to Tiara.

Kwagagagak!

The immediate surroundings collapsed into ruin as Leo nimbly threaded through the clusters of chains that snapped at him like iron vipers.

This wasn’t mere physical manipulation of metal; the chains were layered with a parasitic curse. Decoupling the mechanics of the spell as he moved, Leo lunged closer to the elven mage.

It was then that he caught her quiet, fragmented delusions.

“It can’t be! They are not supposed to be as hideous as I am!” Her voice fractured with profound misery. “Forgive me, venerable Ancestor of the Nebula. Please, do not grant me absolution.”

She forced the words out, directing a desperate plea toward Luna.

“But I couldn’t let it go! I despise them entirely!”

Observing Tiara as she gripped her head, drowning in her own deep-seated malice, Leo wondered how Luna would have perceived this distorted sorcery.

She would likely have been horrified. She would have questioned how such an atrocious art could even come to exist.

Tak.

Leo stepped directly into her personal space, entering the absolute epicenter of the Iron-Blooded Magic.

Wooong!

An intricate arcane seal instantaneously materialized over Leo’s form. In a fraction of a second, Leo systematically picked apart the spell’s core architecture.

Chaenggeurang!

The structural integrity of the Iron-Blooded Mage’s seal shattered, causing the magic to dissolve into nothingness. Being an undead puppet, Tiara showed no panic; she immediately began cycling mana for her next incantation.

Before she could complete it, Leo’s hand clamped firmly around her throat.

Deopseok!

Leo unleashed the pure essence of Star Magic, forcefully clamping down on her internal mana reserves.

Kugagagagagang!

The earth groaned and ruptured beneath their feet as two titanic forces of magic collided in a violent struggle for dominance. The sheer backlash of the conflicting energies inflicted excruciating pain upon her.

Regardless, Leo maintained his grip and channeled his spirit power directly into her.

No matter the proficiency of a spirit summoner, establishing direct physical contact with an undead entity remains an incredibly perilous gamble. A single lapse in concentration can leave one’s consciousness entirely exposed to the corrupting thoughts of the corpse. Given that his opponent was a historical hero, absorbing the raw, unfiltered malice of such a powerful entity could easily shatter a regular mind.

“Aaaaaaaah!”

Tiara gripped her skull, shrieking from the psychological torment. Leo looked down at her and offered a calm, steady look.

“I won’t dismiss the agonizing trauma you experienced, but I’ve walked a bloody path myself. I’m not easily broken by the ghosts of another person’s past.”

Peok!

Pulling her in with unyielding force, Leo leaned forward and slammed his forehead directly against hers.

“Pardon the intrusion, but I need to see what drove you to this.”

Hwaak!

A blinding radiance flared at the point of contact, and a torrent of Tiara’s memories flooded into Leo’s mind, revealing the genesis of her absolute hatred.

He saw a youthful Tiara dressed in a crisp Seirune academy uniform. Her world was utterly demolished when Tartaros slaughtered her family, her companions, and her closest friends. Blinded by a desire for retribution, she forged the path of Iron-Blooded Magic, an act that earned her swift banishment from the elven realms.

Undeterred by her exile, she relentlessly traversed the continent, turning herself into a singular instrument of vengeance against Tartaros. It was the human kingdoms that eventually welcomed her into their ranks, providing a stage where she waged an unending war against the demonic forces.

However, decades of continuous bloodshed took a heavy toll on her spirit. In the twilight of her years, she sought refuge in the remote northeastern territories, hoping to live out her remaining days in obscurity. The legendary Iron-Blooded Mage could have quietly dissolved into history as a peaceful villager.

Yet, that peace was short-lived. The quiet village she called home was systematically erased in a single evening by the Monster Queen’s Legion.

The northeastern sector was well outside the typical operating theater of the Monster Queen’s Legion. It was revealed that the elves, who were embroiled in a bitter geopolitical conflict with humans at the time, had intentionally steered the demonic hordes to that location. Their objective was twofold: to destabilize the expanding human territories and to permanently neutralize a political liability by redirecting the Monster Queen’s Legion into the northeast.

She had sacrificed everything to Tartaros, survived solely on the embers of revenge, and faced rejection from her own bloodline. Ultimately, all she desired was a quiet grave. Yet, when the end came, it was her own kin who orchestrated her final tragedy.

Everything she sought to protect was reduced to cinders. Thus, Tiara’s final, consuming hatred was fixed entirely upon the elven race.

Even so, it appeared she ultimately lacked the heart to turning her blades upon her own people while alive. She perished with that unresolved malice burning in her soul. A millennium later, the Necromancer King dragged her back as an undead weapon, intending to exploit that latent desire for vengeance.

Deep within her corrupted vessel, Tiara’s soul was screaming to slaughter every living elf. Yet, even now, she was actively fighting herself. She was using her remaining free will to restrain the hatred, resisting the baseline instincts forced upon her by her resurrection.

This internal resistance was only possible because she genuinely loathed what she had become—a hero born purely out of malice. She had spent her entire existence regretting that she had twisted the beautiful magic inherited from Luna into an engine of cruelty.

Iron-Blooded Magic was undeniable proof of her desecration of Luna’s ideals. Had Luna witnessed it, she would have found the magic utterly repulsive.

And yet…

“Magic is simply the external manifestation of one’s deepest emotions, a reflection of the soul.” That was the core philosophy Luna lived by.

Had Luna actually stood before Tiara, she would have undoubtedly offered a different perspective: “You have endured far too much pain. There is absolutely no need to beg for my forgiveness.”

She would have offered genuine solace to the tormented mage. Even if her own magical lineage had been distorted, Luna would have understood. Because that horrific magic was the ultimate testament to the profound suffering Tiara had endured. Rather than condemnation, she would have offered an embrace.

That was simply the kind of person Luna was. She would have felt nothing but deep sorrow for the tragic existence this elf had been forced to endure.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“You’ve carried a heavy burden for a long time.”

As Leo spoke, his words laced with soothing spirit power, Tiara’s frantic thrashing ceased entirely. It wasn’t a platitude; it was an authentic acknowledgement that could only be delivered by someone who understood the weight of profound trauma.

“Do not torture yourself any longer. Luna would never hold resentment toward you.”

Tiara’s frame shuddered violently.

“Let go of the agony. You have suffered more than enough.”

Hwaak!

Lysinus’s spirit power amplified the weight of Leo’s reassurance, aggressively dismantling the unholy necromantic bindings anchoring her to the world.

Suddenly, Hwarurururuk!

Jet-black flames erupted across Tiara’s body, reacting violently against the salvation of her soul. The dark energy blazed with a fierce intent to incinerate her spirit before it could be liberated.

It was clear the Necromancer King had managed to harness the corrupted essence of the Erebus fragment. Leo’s expression turned cold.

“An admirable effort, but futile.”

Hwaak!

An ash-gray spirit power surged forth from Leo’s palm. This was his own sovereign energy—the definitive countermeasure to the Flame of Calamity. Pure Mana.

Hwaak!

The oppressive black flames instantly dissolved under his influence.

Swaaaa—

The corrupted physical vessel crumbled into fine dust, scattering into the breeze like an emptied chrysalis. In the space where the undead warrior had just stood, a solitary spirit remained, hovering in a dazed, introspective silence.

Observing the quiet soul, Leo brushed off his palms and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

“The Necromancer King never ceases to employ the most repulsive tactics.”

[Who… might you be?] Tiara inquired, her spectral voice wavering.

As the soul of a legendary hero, she could immediately sense the truth. The entity standing before her operated on a tier of power that completely dwarfed her own.

“Myself?”

Meeting the trembling gaze of the elven spirit, Leo provided a soft, definitive reply.

“Kyle, the Hero of Beginnings.”