Chapter-12
“Graaah!”
While the ghouls formed a shield wall, we barely managed to reorganize our formation.
“Muscle Whip!”
“…Is that really the name of your skill?”
One by one, then two, we gradually began to cut down the Harpy Queens.
Thud!
Finally, when the third Harpy Queen fell—
“Uh.”
The earlier recoil faded, and the tide of battle suddenly shifted.
“Brix, hold them off for three seconds.”
“Huh? Uh, o-okay!”
I took a deep breath and detonated all the mana in my body.
“Deformation.”
A warped sword style buried in my memory—
its stopping power and cutting strength were far inferior,
but it had a very particular use.
“Acrobatic Slash.”
The slash, flung from my wildly twisted blade, drew a strange trajectory in the air.
Like a butterfly in flight, it twisted and turned between the Harpy Queen’s talons before striking her torso.
“Kaahk!”
A small wound, but it struck her solar plexus—a vital point.
Blood began to gush out like a fountain.
“What… what kind of strike was that?”
“You could call it… a wobbling slash.”
The Harpy Queen hit by the Acrobatic Slash couldn’t maintain flight and crashed to the ground.
That made things simple.
Clack.
While I intercepted the other charging Harpy Queen—
“Hraaah!”
Brix brought his sword down with full force on the fallen one.
Crunch.
Her body split clean in half, bone and all, before he immediately moved to cover me again.
Clang! Clash!
Now only one Harpy Queen remained against the two of us.
With numbers on our side, we pressed the advantage relentlessly.
“This way!”
“Her leg’s exposed!”
“Left wing!”
After dozens of wounds, the last Harpy Queen finally shrieked,
“Gyaaaah!”
and—
Thud! Crack!
—fell dead, her neck pierced through.
The two of us gasped for breath afterward.
“Haah, I almost died back there!”
“…Agreed.”
It was fortunate that Brix had been with me.
Most mercenaries would have lost their wits in a fight like that.
This cooperation was possible only because we were members of the Harter Mercenary Corps, with discipline to match our strength.
Now, only one problem remained.
“……”
The corpses stood stiff and upright as the necromancy ended.
Their disposal.
Brix spoke up carefully.
“These things… are they really ghouls? Ghouls should remain undead indefinitely once resurrected, right?”
“I’m not sure.”
They had indeed been revived through my blood.
But since the one who had cast the spell was a lich, I didn’t know the details.
“Probably not.”
Looking at the bodies, I came to that conclusion.
The ones the lich had revived were far too… human to be called ghouls.
Brix seemed to realize the same.
“So, not true ghouls—just freshly raised corpses under temporary control.”
He flipped one over with his boot.
“They haven’t been dead long. Hardly decomposed. And buried under this overgrown patch of weeds…”
“You mean someone hid them?”
“Yeah—and recently, too.”
“That makes sense, but over ten people dying at once?”
At that moment, a thought occurred to me.
“Human sacrifice?”
Just as I had used criminals to open the lich’s dungeon, it was possible someone had performed a human sacrifice to fuel black magic.
The odds were high.
In black magic, human sacrifice had always been a highly efficient method—
especially for someone inexperienced.
Which meant, in short,
it was the best way for an amateur warlock to achieve strong effects.
Step.
Just then, someone appeared behind us.
“So you’ve finally taken care of it. Good—no need to call for reinforcements.”
It was the Third Prince, Joonan.
He surveyed the area, then frowned when he saw the bodies lying about.
“I asked you to slay harpies, not to go grave robbing.”
At his disdainful words, Brix protested.
“Grave robbing? They weren’t buried in a tomb—finding corpses out in the open is strange!”
“That’s your problem. From where I stand, it looks like grave robbery.”
“You can say that after seeing unrotted corpses like these? What, was this your doing?”
But Joonan denied it immediately, almost as if he had been waiting for the accusation.
“I don’t know anything about this.”
“Then what the hell were you doing here? Speak clearly!”
“I told you, I don’t know. The outer city’s affairs don’t concern us in the inner court.”
Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, he feigned realization.
“Ah, perhaps someone used these bodies to summon the harpies.”
Brix, enraged by his evasions, snapped.
“That someone is you! Summoning harpies with black magic—that’s why there were five Harpy Queens! What the hell were you doing!?”
“Well… I said it wasn’t me.”
Joonan snorted toward the corpses.
“Even if you asked them, the dead won’t answer, will they?”
That sickening excuse made me unwrap the scarf covering my face.
“That’s why prophets are useless.”
“What?”
“You never know the past, do you?”
My insolent words twisted Joonan’s face with fury.
“You dare speak like that in the house of prophecy?”
“I know exactly where I am.”
“…Then I’ll have you jailed for contempt.”
He signaled to his retainers in the distance.
I ignored him and cut open my palm, sprinkling blood onto the corpses piled on my pack.
“Prophet Prince, I may have stained my hands with blood…”
My blood pooled and seeped into the ground, and the corpses began to rise once more.
“…But unlike you, I’ve never murdered the innocent. You murderer.”
“What—what are you doing!?”
The retainers arrived, ready to seize me—but froze in place as the corpses opened their mouths.
“It’s him! He killed me!”
“The Third Prince killed us!”
“Him and my son—why!? We were happy together!”
“It hurts! Aaagh, it hurts!”
“It was him! He stabbed me with a sword!”
The blood-frothing dead screamed accusations.
All eyes turned toward the one they pointed at—Joonan.
“No… no! This is slander!”
And in that instant, the corruption of the prophetic house turned upon him.
The retainers, sensing opportunity, licked their lips like wolves circling prey.
“No… I said no…”
Joonan’s complexion turned ghostly pale.
***
Belmond Lasarc.
Head of the House of Prophets—my father.
I met him for a second private audience.
But this time, his expression was utterly different.
“So, the only thing you learned outside was witchcraft?”
“Not witchcraft—black magic.”
He looked bitterly disappointed.
He had thought his son would become a greater prophet than himself—
but instead, I had returned a warlock.
Perhaps he also blamed himself for letting it come to this.
“Black magic is witchcraft!”
“I disagree.”
“You fool…!”
He looked as if he might leap from his throne.
“What did you hope to gain from it?”
“The past.”
“The past?”
“Because the house keeps gazing only at fragments of the future, the present has rotted.”
He pressed his hand to his forehead.
“To think I’d hear such words from my own son…”
I ignored him and continued.
“The Third Prince’s trinity artifact is said to foresee magical calamity, yes?
He practiced sorcery to increase his share of influence within the house.
He sabotaged the protective wards, didn’t he?”
He went still—my words had struck true.
“…There’s nothing I can say to that.”
“Not that you can’t say it—you simply won’t.”
My persistence finally broke through his silence.
“…You’re right. The sins you’ve witnessed are part of what sustains our house now. But tell me—who among men is free from sin? Let it go.”
“What a madhouse.”
“Indeed.”
He reached out a hand toward me.
“I’ve been honest, so tell me—why? You knew you’d face trial for using black magic, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
Of course I knew.
The moment I saw the sacrificial corpses, I understood.
No matter what proof of the Demon Realm I brought back,
without power, I would be ignored—
and the more I wandered, the deeper my “sins” would grow.
‘If I just bide my time until the succession war, I’ll never be able to beat these lunatics.’
When I admitted I knew, Father’s curiosity flickered.
“You knew… then do you have an answer?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“To reach for a greater future.”
At that phrase, his face stiffened.
“You remember what I once told you.”
“Those who see too far into the future will find the petty seers swayed like reeds in the wind.”
That had been his parting advice before I left the house.
“Impressive. But will you tell me what you’re plotting?”
“I will—but…”
I took a breath.
“…it’ll have to be a prophecy trade.”
I smiled up at him.
“Between us prophets, fair is fair.”
***
The trial was held.
The Third Prince was already half-mad before it began and was exiled soon after—
the house’s investigation had exposed everything.
But that was only the official reason.
The real reason was political.
“With the third gone, the first prince reigns supreme!”
“Ha! You mean the second prince!”
“Those two again? Still, they did work together to oust the third.”
“Of course! Who’d waste such a perfect chance?”
“True enough—know when to fight, know when to join forces!”
The first and second princes’ factions had clearly allied.
The courtroom buzzed with excitement.
And then—
“Defendant, Allen, rise!”
The charge: use of black magic.
My trial.
I stood slowly as the elder judge began his questioning.
“Allen Lasarc, why did you go abroad to learn witchcraft?”
I gave the same answer I had given Father.
“It’s not witchcraft. It’s black magic.”
“Ridiculous! Black magic is evil!”
“Funny, coming from a house that meddles with causality itself.”
That made the courtiers explode.
“What insolence!”
“This is blasphemy!”
“Have you finished speaking!?”
I stared coldly at them.
“What if I haven’t?”
Looking into their faces brought back memories of my past life—
the final stand, the betrayal,
the same retainers fleeing for their lives while calling themselves seers.
“This brat is threatening us!”
The one who pointed at me was almost childish in his outrage.
I sighed.
“I said that because it seems the House of Prophets can’t even see the future.”
“Watch your tongue! You dare smear the great House of Prophets!?”
“The great House of Prophets?”
Crack.
I flared my mana and shattered the magical restraints binding me.
Step. Step. Step.
Guards drew their swords in alarm.
But I raised my hands—showing I meant no violence—
and simply walked toward the man who had shouted earlier.
“From now on, anyone who dares call this circus of fortune-tellers ‘great’ in my presence—I’ll tear them apart, limb by limb. Understood?”
It was open rebellion.
The sheer murderous weight of my words silenced the room.
Even the guards trembled.
The only calm face was Father’s—eyes closed, listening.
“My lord! This is treason!”
“Strip him of his title and execute him!”
“You must act now! Bloodline is nothing compared to the house itself!”
The elders urged him on, but Father said nothing.
I spoke again.
“This whole farce is laughable. If prophecy truly exists, shouldn’t it lead to everyone’s happiness?
Instead, each of you scrambles for the future you desire.
You call this trial justice because I used black magic—because I let the dead speak truth?”
An elder finally burst out, breaking protocol.
“Enough! Black magic is a tower built from human bones! You should be ashamed!”
I laughed.
Since the dawn of mankind, has there ever been an age without towers of bones?
This civilization itself was built upon them.
“What a joke. The House of Prophets should be ashamed,
for it owes its very survival to the black magic it so despises.”
“Silence, criminal! I, Elder Tesejian Lasarc, command you!”
“You’re not the head of house. You have no authority to silence me.”
“You insolent cur! You think you know our laws?”
Heh.
I snorted and turned away.
Not worth my breath.
“You fools. The very fact this happened proves your limits.”
I looked up at the man on the dais—my father.
“Isn’t that right, Lord of the House? You didn’t see this coming, did you?”
“……”
He spoke with visible effort.
“I admit my failure to foresee this. But it’s my failing, not the house’s.”
“The head himself clings to excuses.”
I surveyed the hall.
So many faces, all showing the same thing—
Arrogance.
The belief that the house must remain as it is.
That a little corruption could be excused if it meant keeping power.
Conceit, greed, malice—all bound into one collective pride.
I thought to myself:
So, I was right.
The current House of Prophets couldn’t be saved.
The plan must change.
Its roots had to be torn out completely.
“Listen well!”
I spread my arms wide and shouted.
“From this moment forth—the House of Lasarc is no longer the Empire’s sole prophetic house!”
Gasps filled the chamber.
“What?!”
“You mean there’s another house with prophecy!?”
“That’s impossible—someone would have claimed it long ago!”
Emotions surged like a storm through the courtroom.
They could feel it—
everything was changing.
“I, Allen Lasarc—no, Allen Valhar—will found a new prophetic house!”
An elder roared,
“Nonsense! Seize him!!!”
But even as guards rushed forward, I only smiled up at Father.
“Tomorrow, I’ll declare war on your house.
You lot—mere fortune-tellers—have no right to hoard the Hero’s relics.
Isn’t that right, Belmond Lasarc, you bandit lord?”
Father finally rose from his throne.
“Allen… seize him! Now!”
“There you go. That’s more like it.”
I bowed lightly.
“Then keep those relics safe, Father.”
From the crowd, a young man with a “4” on his shoulder patch shouted,
“You delusional fool! Think you can even prophesy with your eighth relic!?”
So he was the Fourth Prince.
He piqued my interest.
“Prophecy?”
“Yeah! You’ve never made a real one in your life! How can you claim to lead a new house!?”
“Ah, that’s true. A new prophet should at least make a new prophecy.”
I raised a finger toward the sky.
“Then here’s one: the heavens will soon be torn open.”
The courtiers laughed.
“What nonsense! You call that a prophecy?”
“Trying too hard to sound dramatic!”
I shrugged.
“Really? I’m just saying what I see.”
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the hall.
A gaping hole split the ceiling.
“What the—!?”
“This can’t be!”
“The ceiling—the sacred roof of the House!”
The witnesses gawked in shock.
And then they froze at the sight that followed.
“The Harter Mercenary Corps!!!”
“How did they get in!?”
“They broke through all our defenses!?”
The elders screamed orders.
“Seize him! I said seize him! What are you waiting for!?”
“You idiots! Grab him before—!”
Thwip.
A rope dropped from above.
I grasped the thick cord and rose into the open sky.
“See you around!”
The retainers pointed up, shouting.
“Get him!”
“Shoot! Shoot him down!”
“Elder! We’re firing, but his barrier—!”
“The Harter Corps is covering him!”
“At this rate, it’ll be all-out war!”
“Then let it be!”
“They’re that Harter Mercenary Corps! We can’t win—our forces will be annihilated!”
Amid the chaos, my father and I locked eyes one last time.
“I will build a new house of prophecy.”
That’s what I had told him earlier.
That was my path—
to become the new prophet of this continent before the Demon Realm’s gates opened.
“Madness,” he’d said during our prophecy trade.
But as part of that trade, he’d shared his own vision:
“Very well. In a month, the greatest mercenary corps in history will be wiped out by a dragon.
It will be the year’s greatest tragedy—they could have saved the world.”
“That’s all?”
“…That’s all!? You brat—!”
Now, as he watched me escape, his eyes were clouded with sorrow.
He must have thought that prophecy referred to me.
Sending his son to his death—
I couldn’t imagine how that felt.
But I smiled down at him.
Don’t worry, Father.
That part, at least, I meant sincerely.
“I’ll be back to visit, old man!”
Because I was about to change the very future he had seen.
