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Chapter 379
The enemies were crumbling.
Watching the backs of terrified enemies fleeing is one of the few dopamine-inducing moments in medieval times.
"Waaaa-!"
Excited soldiers shouted battle cries.
The black wizards, who couldn't even maintain proper formations, abandoned even their minions as they fled.
Ē ṅ úmà
The mercenaries they'd brought with their filthy gold did the same.
The moment the black dragon Predius fell,
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the black wizards' morale completely broke.
There were many who could still fight, but none who wanted to anymore.
"Retreat!"
A black wizard with some rank shouted.
Е̇ nûm̄ а̇
"Retreat and hide! As time passes, our day will come-!"
This was common sense among black wizards.
They were wizards who avoided the light, hiding in the shadows.
They were people who practiced magic through cruel and horrific methods, seeking power they hadn't previously possessed.
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Cowering in the shadows was something they were confident about.
Even those belonging to the [Golden Rule Society] weren't much different.
W̆е ḃ ṅ оv̊ е̇ l Еnu̇ m̂_а̃
After all, the society mostly operated as a cell organization.
'...No, you fools.'
But this was clearly short-sighted thinking.
The black wizards thought that if they escaped now, another opportunity would come.
That's how it had always been before...
However.
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Despite numerous failures, the main reason the [Golden Rule Society] hadn't collapsed until now was the existence of [Regent] Antios.
All those processes of organizing, generating revenue, and creating monsters—
Antios and a few executives had handled them all.
Without exaggeration, the entire [Golden Rule Society] could be considered Antios's underlings.
'There is no tomorrow for you...!'
Antios knew.
Е̂ ṅ u̇mа̃. і̇ d
If he fell, the organization itself would collapse.
It was an organization cobbled together from assorted wizards.
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They had served their purpose in securing funds and producing minions...
But rebuilding the organization without Antios was nonsensical.
Antios considered:
Could he possibly escape alive from this battle?
Е̌_nu.m ā . і̇ d
Probably... impossible.
The moment Predius died, the society's strength was effectively halved.
Even if they escaped now, they would only be hunted down by the Pope's minions.
The noble mission of creating the [Golden Age of Magic] would fail...!
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"Regent!"
Through the chaos, a man appeared.
Ě ǹū m̀а . і d
Celestial Wizard Bertholdt.
Though Ian mocked him as a 'necromancy one-trick pony,' he was still treated as the second-in-command in the society.
"Tzitzimitl has fainted!"
"It's not fainting, it's being reverse-summoned."
"Isn't that even worse?!"
Dragon and demon.
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Antios's ambitious one-two punch.
With the dragon dead, if they lost the demon too, the society would literally 'collapse.'
"Damn it! Regent! Take cover!"
"...You want me to run away?"
"Larabel will be here soon!"
Space-time wizard Larabel.
Е̃ṅum̆ а̄ . і̃ d
A space-time wizard who held a grudge after being defeated by 'Gerard' and joined the society... or so they believed.
Until now, Larabel had helped the society greatly.
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Whether teleporting Antios during the attack on Araz,
Or lending spatial movement magic freely when Bertholdt and other executives needed to move.
...Thanks to this, Bertholdt seemed to think Larabel was a society member.
But Antios couldn't shake his doubts.
Eǹum а̊ . i d
Would Larabel really appear in this situation?
Was she 'truly' on the society's side?
Was she 'truly' hostile to the space-time wizard Gerard...?
'Stop thinking, Antios.'
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Antios warned himself.
When dealing with space-time wizards, extended thought is dangerous.
Ёnům̊ ӑ. і d̃
One must move with conviction, ready to control the flow of the world itself.
No matter how powerful a space-time wizard is, they cannot stop the great flow itself.
Antios sensed it.
A massive branching point lay before him.
Whoever won this battle...
Would grasp the true [future].
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"I... will not run away."
"Regent?!"
Bertholdt shouted in surprise.
It sounded like someone who had given up everything?!
But that was Bertholdt's misunderstanding.
Antios hadn't given up.
Еn̆ ûm̌а́
Quite the opposite.
He had steeled his resolve.
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"Space-time wizards bend the stream of [time] to manipulate the flow of [future]."
"...?"
"They can divert small brooks, but cannot control great rivers."
"Regent...?"
Е nu m̃ ä.i̇ d̂
Antios looked at Bertholdt.
In that moment.
Bertholdt felt a fear as if his entire body was freezing.
He was a necromancer who dealt with death power.
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Very intensely.
When fated death approached, he could hear voices like future predictions.
Е́ňǔm а
[Now it's your turn... Bertholdt...]
"N-no...!"
Bertholdt fell to his knees.
He had dedicated much to the society.
He had manufactured countless undead and reinforced the black wizard army.
Despite some failures... he was still a wizard recognized by everyone!
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"Regent! I'll clear a path, so escape right away..."
"Bertholdt."
A cold touch caressed Bertholdt's neck.
He knew who owned that touch.
'Demon, Tzitzimitl...!'
Having lost its body, Tzitzimitl should return to hell.
Ẁеb n о̊ v̊е̄ l̊ Е n̆ ŭm̄ а
But Antios forcibly held onto the departing Tzitzimitl.
It was the achievement of a great summoner.
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"You must do it."
"Regent...! Regent!"
"With your hands, you must usher in the golden age of magic."
The demon extended its hand.
Е̂ n̆ u m̆а̊. і.d
As if passing through a narrow cave, the demon slit Bertholdt's throat and slowly began to crawl inside through the gap.
No blood sprayed.
What the demon was tearing was... Bertholdt's soul.
"No... please...! Regent...! I! I still have use...!"
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"If we lose here, it's all meaningless."
"..."
Ẁе̊ b n̊о́ v́ е̊ l̀ Е́ n̂ ü m̃а
"If you still had the [Human King] with you, perhaps. But you failed your mission and even lost your undead monster."
"Ah... aaaagh!"
"I'll remember your name, Bertholdt. You are the first cornerstone of the [Golden Rule Society]."
"Antiooooos-!"
Bertholdt screamed from his soul.
But it was an empty echo.
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The demon, indifferent to human suffering, calmly stole the body.
Bertholdt's soul perished.
Instead, the demon's soul took its place in the body.
...Tzitzimitl was reborn.
"Victory or death."
Antios stretched out his hand.
Е̊ n̈ üm̈ӑ. і̀d̀
As if trying to grasp wizard Ian.
Or perhaps the space-time wizards beyond him.
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"I will fight until my soul shatters."
Antios clenched his fist.
***
Ian judged that the battle was over.
Еň ü ḿ а
The dragon had been killed by Belenka stabbing its eye.
The demon called Tzitzimitl or whatever had been taken down after one hit from Ian and another from the wizard Avengers(?).
The remaining black wizards were just cannon fodder.
Sir Reshach could handle them.
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Ian smirked as he watched the motionless Antios.
That guy Antios. Calling himself Regent.
Е̊n ū m̌.a . і́d̃
With all his summons and subordinates lost, it was now just a laughable nickname.
"...?"
But something was strange.
The mystery of death was thrashing violently.
Even considering this was a battlefield, the movement was abnormal.
Could it be... that Bertholdt guy?
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Bertholdt knew how to fire a death-beam using the mystery of death.
The only problem was that it required an enormous amount of death power.
If he prepared the spell in advance, or in places like this where people were dying in droves, he could probably fire one death-beam.
"Ian!"
A welcome voice was heard.
The voice of wizard Herta.
Е̄ n̊ um ǎ .і̌ d
He would have liked to exchange greetings, but the battle wasn't over yet.
"I hear an angry voice! Ian must know what it is!"
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"It's the mystery of death!"
For it to be audible even to non-necromancers, it was an enormous death power.
That Bertholdt bastard. What kind of magic is he preparing to cause such—
That's when it happened.
W̃еbnо̌ṽ е̄l̃ E n u m̃ a
[Kyaaaaaaaa-!]
Ian was startled.
Bertholdt was howling like a beast!
What? Had he given up being human?!
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But Ian quickly realized.
"Oh... shit!"
Ê n u̇ma.. i d̃
Bertholdt wasn't crazy.
He had transformed into a [different being]...!
Into the demon Tzitzimitl!
"Herta! That's a demon!"
"What...?"
"The demon has resurrected!"
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The wizards quickly exchanged opinions.
"That demon seems to be summoned without a body."
"It might be physically weaker, but still a demon with powerful abilities."
"Possession summoning, is it."
Earth wizard Carl muttered.
"If it devoured a necromancer's body... this is troublesome."
Ĕ nu m̆а̄.іd̃
It wasn't just troublesome.
Regent Antios.
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That crazy summoner hadn't lost control over his summon, even with the situation this dire.
Unless Antios was neutralized, the demon wouldn't disappear.
He could just [possess] the demon into another suitable body!
As long as the possessor lived, it meant infinite resurrections!
Е̃ n̂ u mа. і̌ d
"Don't run away! If you run, you'll die like dogs!"
"Y-yes, Regent!"
"Gather around Tzitzimitl! Protecting the demon is your only chance to survive-!"
Antios was clearly cornered.
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But the desperate struggle of a cornered person was powerful.
[Come to hell with me! Help me destroy the prison of gods! Free my brothers!]
Ŵё ḃṅ о̌v̊ e l Ěǹǔm̈а
"U-uaaagh!"
"Heavens! Protect us!"
The demon Tzitzimitl wielded tremendous death powers.
Though it couldn't speak a word of Maronius language, the demon handled death power more skillfully than any necromancer.
Wizards called such beings [those born with magic].
[Brothers! Rise and assist me!]
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As Tzitzimitl gestured, corpses rose in droves.
Wizard Anton shouted impatiently:
"How can a demon bastard use necromancy...!"
Soon Sir Reshach bellowed:
"[Dead ones, return to heaven's embrace!]"
Holy magic.
W̊ ébn о̃_v̊е̂l̊ .Е̊ n̈ u.m̃а
The corpses who heard Sir Reshach's command remembered their proper place(?) and lay back down.
Oh! I was a corpse! Like that.
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Restoring the natural order was also one of holy magic's powers.
"Saint Marcus says...!"
"No, cleric! Your sermon isn't working at all!"
"You think preaching is easy?! Have you ever recited a single line from the gospel?!"
Еn̆ŭm̃ а ..і d̄
Takarion recited holy language... but it was useless (probably because he mixed in too many 'fan-made settings' he created himself).
Sir Reshach's holy magic alone had its limits.
Finally, the soldiers picked up their weapons again.
Time to start exorcism (physical)...!
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[Join me!]
"Aaaaagh!"
Е̂n̄ ù ma
Whenever Tzitzimitl wielded the death whip, humans died in heaps.
No joke, it was worse than a dragon's breath.
The demon's power was truly fantasy incarnate.
A monster that could sweep away dozens of people alone!
"S-save me...! Ack!"
"..."
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A soldier breathed his last right before Ian's eyes.
There was no time to hesitate.
He needed a definite spell to subdue that demon!
Ian decided on the magic to use.
...Yes. Let's use necromancy.
Just as fire magic could disperse a dragon's breath—
W̌ е̃ b̈_n̆ óv̈ӗ ľ Е nù m̊ à
He would neutralize the demon's whip with necromancy.
"[Death-]"
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Just as Ian was about to use necromancy magic.
"Ian!"
Maria came running, panting.
She hadn't even wiped the sweat flowing from her forehead.
Е ňumа̌ . і̇ d
"I'll... fight with you!"
