Chapter 161

Chapter 161
Chapter 161
### Chapter 161: Whose disciple? (2)

“If it were feasible, I would love to deal with all of Derek’s pupils, but appearing unexpectedly would only cause awkward moments. I know my place, so I’ll just limit myself to enjoying the social gathering before leaving. I’m curious to see how much the elite society of Evelstain has transformed.”

“The work on Ravenclaw Academy is coming to an end. Do you have plans to go see it?”

“Undoubtedly. Isn’t it true that you already own land in the Duplein demesne? With some luck, I might even have the pleasure of meeting Lady Diela personally.”

“Well… regarding that…”

What kind of individual is Diela? It is said that in this plane, only Aiselin and Derek are capable of dealing with her. It is obvious that she wouldn’t show aggression toward Katia, but that feeling of unease does not fade.

“Speaking of Lady Diela… would it be possible to meet Lady Aiselin as well? Derek. In my capacity as mentor… more than your own students, I wish to meet Lady Aiselin above anyone else.”

“Are you referring to Miss Aiselin?”

<>

Having dealt with the darkest side of the aristocracy, Katia is not one to be dazzled by refined ladies. Having Freya—the most respected figure in eastern social circles—under her tutelage, she felt no real need to meet Aiselin. However, Katia’s gaze took on a special shine as she approached, observing Derek with an overwhelming fixity.

“We have touched upon the subject of your companion.” “…”

“Let’s speak frankly. If Lady Aiselin maintains the virtues of old, there is no more suitable life ally for you.”

Derek, if you still haven’t reached a determination, I feel compelled to insist. No one understands women better than another woman. Have faith in your teacher’s judgment.

“N-no… Mentor…”

“…It’s fine, there is no need to rush. First, I will draw my own conclusions… Let us go to the county of Duplein to inspect the progress of Ravenclaw Academy. Would you introduce her to me?”

Although Katia expressed herself with serenity, she projected a dominant magnetism. This woman radiated a sharp coldness; when she stood firm, even Derek was forced to yield. She would never allow Derek to join someone who wasn’t up to par. Her protective zeal evoked that of a strict parent… though for Freya, who didn’t miss a detail, the situation was somewhat violent.

Witnessing the usually distinguished Katia acting that way was unusual, which left Freya sunk in melancholic observation. Thus, Derek had no choice but to escort Katia toward the Duplein property. He could only hope that Raeg, Diela, and Aiselin wouldn’t be too perturbed by the visit.

“Excuse me. The young woman of the Renuel lineage has arrived unaccompanied…”

After being admonished by Countess Rodea and instructed to deliver a gift that would cleanse her reputation, Tricia arrives at the domain of Baron Ravenclaw. Despite her discouragement, she gathered her courage and, with haughtiness, demanded to pass through the main entrance…

“Baron Ravenclaw has left for the Duplein mansion in the company of Lady Katia.”

“…How long ago?”

“Not long ago…”

Tricia let out a sigh laden with drama while observing the firmament. Nothing seemed to go according to plan.

*

Sometimes, the little one prowls the graveyard. Walking among the countless graves makes the end of life feel very close. A fine rain descended while a breeze laden with humidity brushed her face. While wiping the water from the folds of her clothes, her hands were impregnated with a feeling of heaviness. Death feels, simultaneously, like something familiar and distant.

The marks that that eternal loop etched into her being showed no signs of fading. While looking at the gray clouds without any protection, reminiscences of a remote past arise before vanishing once more. Those days of purity before the discovery of the mystical arts. Something lost in those unreachable memories.

What was the original reason for surrendering to magic? To become the most prominent necromancer in this territory. A herald of the end. A living calamity whose mere name sowed panic in multitudes. Now, she found herself lacking goals or will. Nothing remained to guard: any new bond would end up worn down by the passing of the years. Existence has an intense glow, but no fire is eternal. After reducing to dust, only the vestiges of the fire remain.

Phee used to mock her own condition this way, surrounded by mausoleums. How much longer must she carry this linear and empty passage?

— Snap!

Finally, a spark of heat returned to Phee’s frigid spirit. The power of death flooded the underground workshop. Despite its spaciousness, the basement in Tigris’s dwelling felt oppressive upon harboring the very core of necromancy.

Advanced Corpse Resurrection: Phee’s supreme creation. Returning breath to the deceased is not a simple task, and even less so if the deceased possessed great mystical power. The complexity of the rite grows disproportionately. Even an expert in dark arts of the fifth level would end up exhausted just by attempting to raise a third-rate sorcerer.

Bringing back a sixth-level witch? Only Phee is capable of such a feat. Daring to execute such folly after decades of organization. The body of a fifth-level mage serving as a vessel, a top-ranking necromancer as the executor, and years of dedication merged to achieve this unreachable milestone.

On a testing platform stained crimson, dark energy swirled fiercely. Phee’s lavender hair fluttered violently while her vestments billowed. Despite having channeled a superhuman magnitude of power without faltering, Phee now sought air desperately. How much time had passed since she felt the depletion of her magical reserves?

Sweat soaked her forehead and her breath was irregular, but… her countenance reflected a smile of triumph. How many centuries had passed since her last feeling of jubilation? No elixir could compare to the surge of satisfaction coursing through her mind.

The end approaches. Kalimford has returned, the illustrious archmage and savior of the kingdom. A warrior of the War of the Dawn who perished while striking down Archdemon Noir, the entity that vowed to consume the lands of the north. Kalimford, the only one capable of granting Phee the final rest, finally… kept his word.

As the whirlwind of dark magic gained strength, a blinding radiance flooded the workshop.

— Boom! Crash!
— Snap!

Reality seemed to stagger for an instant. A being that defies the laws of destiny and the end of life began to take shape. The remains of Grand Duke Beltus were transforming into a figure that evoked the young and powerful sorcerer. Bone structures repositioning, muscle fibers regenerating: a shocking process that would be unbearable for anyone uninitiated in these arts.

— Crack! Break! Erupt!

Shivering noises saturated the environment. Gradually, the violent magical flow calmed. Amidst cluttered implements and remnants of fluids… a body on the table regained vision under a tattered cloth.

— Twitch!

Suddenly… a limb of the body moved. His appearance was youthful, despite the irregularities on his skin. His thin constitution suggested that the process wasn’t perfect yet. However, a vital spark burned in those wide and bright eyes.

“Ghk! Cough…!”

The organism that had been recovered from nothingness let out a groan. After intense initial confusion, the man observed his surroundings with total stupefaction.

“This site… this place…”

Upon identifying the tone of voice, Phee showed a smile full of satisfaction. The complex return ritual she had perfected over decades had worked to bring Kalimford back.

*

“Ha… ha… I feel my skin… burning…”

“Welcome back to existence, Kalimford. You are a lucky one. If not for my ability to subjugate death, you would be lost forever in the void.”

“I… it’s true… I had died… isn’t that right?”

Kalimford, now aware of his state, trembled while observing his hands, which barely retained their structure. As implausible as it seemed, he was back. His last flash of memory was himself attacking the core of Noir. Concentrating until the last shred of his essence to annihilate the Archdemon of the north. From there on, there was only silence.

Only shreds of memories remained: the apologies to Feria’s wife and his comrades from Melberot before the final duel against Noir. And Sirine, his descendant who had not yet been born, whom he entrusted to the care of Melberot with a heartbreaking farewell. Sirine, who was just beginning to gestate in Feria’s womb. Upon evoking that, Kalimford managed to sit up.

“You… Layna… Layna?”

“Layna… what a distant name. I stopped using it long ago. Before I was an ordinary person, but I have evolved. Now they know me as Phee.”

“I understand… You… you have rescued me from the end. Layna… no, Phee… Phee, right?”

“That’s right. Do you not intend to show me some gratitude?”

A thank you? I haven’t brought you back without a purpose. Kalimford shuddered in disbelief before his eyes widened with urgency.

“Noir…! What happened with Archdemon Noir? Did my attack work? What became of my last effort? Such a devastating entity… how…?”

“Well, to give you the official report… that monstrous being fell before you. Tranquility returned to the north and you became a savior of the empire.”

“Is it real… has it really perished? Has the shadow of Noir finally ended…?”

“Yes. The tragedy that turned the north into a mass grave has concluded.”

The annals of history now record it as the “War of the Dawn”.

“Then… Noir has disappeared… what… what a great relief…”

Kalimford vibrated with emotion while holding onto the table, with tears running down his cheeks. He was still that man who faced the War of the Dawn. Who else remembered the firmament darkened by Noir’s evil? Therefore, confirming the fall of the enemy and the triumph of the empire moved him to tears.

“The lives of all those who fell protecting my path toward Noir… were not in vain… By all the heavens… what… what fortune… their departure had a purpose…”

Phee allowed Kalimford to vent in silence.

“It is a blessing… Peace reigns again in the Empire… The goal of my life… My debt is paid…”

“Yes, I congratulate you. Very well done.”

Phee released words of praise devoid of feeling. That was Kalimford. A model of virtue extracted from the chronicles: someone who gave everything for his fellows and for his nation. Phee knew it perfectly. That was why she waited calmly while the man continued crying. The impact of returning to life. The solace for the stability of the kingdom. She granted him a few moments to assimilate that internal whirlwind.

When Kalimford regained his composure, Phee returned to smiling coldly.

“Well, then… I suppose you haven’t forgotten our ‘pact’, right, Kalimford?”

“…Pact?”

“Exactly. Why else would I take the trouble of going through this ordeal to resurrect you? I am not interested in stories about imperial heroes. Whether you live or die is indifferent to me.”

Phee approached the man who was trembling covered in rags, with his gaze burning.

“You asserted that you could put an end to me. Kalimford, the sixth-level mystical warrior, the savior of the kingdom. Yes. You swore it: if I helped you decipher Noir’s sorcery, you would grant me eternal rest. I have endured this tedious existence only for that promise. Now… fulfill your part. Make the greatest desire of my life come true.”

Her voice vibrated with the intensity of the moment. Phee let out a laugh before sentencing in front of the hero:

“Now, Kalimford, execute your obligation.”

“Layna… no, Phee…”

Help me eradicate Noir’s magic and I will erase your Mark of the Cycle so you can finally rest. The savior of the empire, Kalimford, had sworn it with absolute determination. The epitome of righteousness, who always expresses himself with the truth, made that promise to Phee. It was the only light that kept her standing amidst endless agony. After centuries of weariness and sorrow, she finally saw the way out.

“That… is a falsehood.”

Something broke definitively in Phee’s psyche.

“…What?”

“I… do not have the power to eliminate your mark. My abilities are not enough. I regret it so much… truly…”

“…”

“Layna… no, Phee…”

Kalimford lowered his gaze as a sign of contrition. His final revelation after centuries of muteness.

“It was a necessity… If Noir remained, he would end up devouring the entire kingdom…”

The environment turned icy. It was as if a heavy chain surrounded her being, the shackles of existence dragging her back to the harsh reality. There was never an escape. Not from the beginning.