Chapter 525 – The End
Dahit Wethroel's
So that it can never be forgotten.
Naturally, since it is magic directly tied to memory, the burden placed on both caster and recipient is beyond words.
And since the effects of the two magics differ, so too do their prices.
By contrast,
In other words, it is somewhat akin to the decline of memory that comes with age, yet distinct in that faculties such as reasoning and cognition remain intact.
At a glance, compared to
But Dahit was the exception.
For one who prized memory above all, whose obsession bordered on madness, to gradually lose his memories meant…
'From the beginning, was Dahit's ideal destined to be completed in death?'
Though he had long prepared his third Superlative Magic, as well as Ignacia's, he did not act at once.
The reason was simple.
Arbitrarily causing upheaval in the magic world itself could not be seen as mere strife between Transcendents, but as reckless devastation, like the Bohemirn Magic Tower's runaway power source incident.
Others of his kind would surely enforce discipline.
Of course Dahit would never yield, and that would have led to death, as it must when facing many Transcendents at once.
'True, even that would have carved his name deep into the history of magic… but Dahit was not content with so little.'
He sought to surpass the great figures who proved their existence only through records.
Thus, before executing his true plan, he created
In short.
Dahit intended first to convulse the magic world with a feat none had ever accomplished, then, through the concept of Ignacia, to engrave himself upon countless others, leaving his name in eternity, and before the discipline of the Transcendents could strike him down, to pass every uncorrupted memory to his chosen heir, seizing immortality beyond death and beyond the annals of history.
'And for that successor, he chose me.'
Verden lowered the hand that had been pressed to his forehead, wiping away the blood and sweat at his chin. The pounding in his head, though fierce until moments ago, eased somewhat.
As time passed, he was adapting to the brain-strain caused by
'…Dahit's lifetime of memories have settled within me.'
It felt as if a vast, alien library had arisen inside his consciousness.
Had he not been a mage of extraordinary computational power, he would have been shattered—mind in ruins, or brain bursting.
Verden turned his eyes to Dahit, whose body now lay dead. The Transcendent who had achieved his ideal looked at peace.
Dahit Wethroel.
Never one with whom he could truly share ideals.
For the sake of his ultimate purpose he had slain his own teachers without hesitation, and carried out human experiments Verden loathed and could never condone.
And yet, as a Transcendent, Verden could not deny him.
He had been truly strong.
The sublime fervor of his pursuit, his madness—it was immense.
The strange sense of being overwhelmed by sheer presence etched itself into Verden's mind as vividly as the memories delivered by
He could declare with certainty that until the day his life ended, he would remember Dahit Wethroel, the Transcendent.
"…Amwol."
Verden lifted his gaze to the night sky, arrived at last after hours of magical combat.
Snow was falling.
The light of the dark full moon, veiled by clouds, reflected in his blue eyes.
Lingering for a moment in silent aftertaste, Verden then activated [Raindia].
From the opened subspace he drew out a potion of deep green hue and downed it in one breath.
Far richer in Lysandro fruit than the one he had drunk in the northern reaches after escaping the Great Hall.
It was a special of specials, a potion painstakingly brewed by Isabella, who, while certain he would triumph in battle against another Transcendent, was equally certain he would suffer grave wounds.
The bleeding stopped entirely.
Some sensation returned.
With breathing eased at last, thought came more freely.
'Even so…'
Two questions arose in his mind.
First, Dahit's left eye, which had changed after he himself had discarded half his own mana circuits and rank limits, absorbing the pure mana of nature.
Blue eyes.
It looked strikingly similar to the change Verden had discovered after achieving Defying the Heavens and escaping the Bohemirn Magic Tower.
Originally, Dahit's eyes had not been blue, but black.
Verden idly fingered the tips of his tangled hair.
'This ashen hair and these blue eyes must be related to the Tower's power source.'
What cause lay hidden behind Dahit's blue eyes?
And second, separately—
'How will the magic world change now?'
Through Dahit, the concept limiting the rank of mana circuits had been destroyed. In other words, one could now wield spells beyond their tier.
But a fatal snare lurked here.
'The structure of tier magic has not changed.'
Innate talent remained the same, and the maximum tier determined by it still stood.
Unlike Verden, Dahit had not reforged his body to rewrite his talent.
The limit tier was always the ultimate height a mage could someday reach—the utmost capacity granted by the heavens.
So what if a 2nd-tier mage attempted a 3rd-tier spell?
What happens when one pours into a vessel more than it can hold?
'Perhaps it might endure for a time, but cracks must come.'
And the higher the spell tier, the greater the strain.
At last the vessel would shatter, beyond repair.
By abolishing the circuit rank limit, Dahit Wethroel had granted modern mages a kind of freedom, but at the same time, he had removed the safety clasp that shielded them.
Given the desires inherent in mages, countless would dare to reach beyond their destined tier, risking ruin.
'The entire continent will be in uproar.'
This was the new era Dahit had proclaimed, born of Dahit himself.
'But not yet.'
Through Ignacia's Superlative Magic, Dahit's selected memories should have spread, and yet, those nearby—Melard among them—showed no reaction at all.
Their presence remained unchanged.
Had something occurred, the communication devices would already be shrieking with urgent contact.
Indeed, no matter how mighty, even Superlative Magic could scarcely affect an entire continent instantly.
Perhaps at the 8th or 9th tier, but not here.
Still, it would not be long.
In any case—
'For now, I must rest.'
Verden organized his thoughts as he gathered [Interis] and held the oval-shaped blue sapphire in his hand.
There was no reason to remain in the ruined capital any longer.
He had defeated Dahit Wethroel, the rest was for others to handle.
The promise he had made with Harkan, to stop Black Hour for the sake of the world.
The promise he had made with Melard, to restore the former Black Hour.
These were not burdens Verden was to carry out alone.
Fwoooosh.
As the sapphire was activated, spatial ripples wrapped around Verden and Dahit's corpse.
A flash of light followed, and they transferred to the First Demon King's golem laboratory.
[Scanning...]
Since the start of the magical battle, Alpha's main body had been standing in place, waiting for Verden's return, and now it examined the glow of mana.
[Scan complete. Muscle rupture. Organ damage. Eighty-three sites of injury, twenty-three severe, six critical. Danger. Forcing rest.]
The golems, standing in two neat rows, moved in orderly fashion to carry Verden away.
Though this place had no facility specialized in healing, it was stocked with various potions Isabella had prepared.
"I can walk on my own, no need to support me."
[Denied.]
Alpha was resolute.
Sensing he would not persuade it, Verden closed his mouth.
Then his gaze fell on Dahit lying beside him. He reached out and gently closed the man's still-open eyes.
Thus ended the Stage of Usurpation.
***
Watching only from the peak of a distant mountain, far removed from the ruined capital, lest they be caught up in the battle's aftermath… they felt it. One of the two Transcendents' presences had completely vanished.
Grief and joy mingled.
Dahit Wethroel had been defeated.
"Th-that's impossible…!!"
Carindin Lerhar shot up from his chair, unable to contain himself, his voice trembling with emotion unlike his usual composure.
"Amwol… Dahit, Dahit Wethroel is dead? Impossible…!! Such a thing could never…!!"
"Do not deny reality."
Melard steadied her breathing, loosening the clenched fist she had been holding tight.
She too had been crushed by tension, cold sweat soaking the tips of her hair.
The sheer scale of the magical battle, the overwhelming clash of Superlative Magics that crowned its finale, a sight unlike anything she had ever seen.
It was a memory seared forever into her being.
Suppressing the joy that threatened to break free at Verden's victory, Melard raised her voice.
"As you see, the succession ceremony, decided upon by the two heirs of Black Hour and agreed upon by all of us, has now ended. A new leader of Black Hour has been born. It is time to uphold the promise."
The victor takes all.
Carindin hesitated outwardly, while his mind raced swiftly.
'Now, I could kill that Transcendent.'
Surely, after expending everything against Dahit, he would be unable to lift even a finger. Ending his life would be easy.
'The problem is them.'
With Melard and her escorts stationed on this mountain peak, the odds of reaching and killing the Transcendent instantly were fifty-fifty at best.
What should he do?
Carindin discreetly began activating his mana circuits, gauging the moment.
He was on the verge of a decision when—
'Damn it…!'
Suddenly, a surge of spatial transference flared from afar. As expected, it was at the location of the Transcendent.
At that moment, Melard spoke.
"Do not attempt foolishness, not if you hold any sense of responsibility."
Like an arrow, the sharp rebuke made Carindin flinch. He shook his head at once, feigning ignorance.
"Foolishness…? Don't misunderstand me. Of course I had no such thought. Is this not the result of the succession we all agreed upon? Naturally I must accept it."
Soon the spatial ripples subsided.
"…Then I shall return to the Grand Hall, to prepare to welcome our new leader. My position can be determined then. Whatever it may be, I will pay the price willingly."
Carindin feigned sincerity in submission, slowly withdrawing from the place.
Once he and the Black Hour escorts were gone, silence lingered.
Step, step.
Heras, one of the mages in charge of security nearby, approached. Skillfully taking hold of the wheelchair's handles, he pushed gently, speaking his view to Melard.
"I doubt he will submit quietly."
"Indeed, most likely. If it were Maybel and Carindin of old, perhaps, but the two of them now care nothing for promises. They have changed too much…"
Melard let out a deep sigh.
"In contrast, the Holy One has fulfilled his duty and kept his word. I do not know where he has transferred to for rest, but during his absence, we too must complete what is ours to do. As planned."
"Of course."
The end was near.
The moment to reclaim Black Hour from the traitors who had slain their beloved ones.
The time of purging was at hand.