Chapter 09
“—Contractor. You were born a black magician. Even if your training has grown rusty, the demonic energy flowing through your body has been with you since childhood, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The way that energy is controlled and manifested differs from one black magician to another. Some, like you, can raise the dead. Others might rummage through people’s minds. Some even turn parts of their own bodies into demonic beasts.”
Lev narrowed his eyes, scanning me up and down as if measuring something.
“Ideally, you’d make summoning demons your specialty. But for now, it would be better to learn how to properly command your familiars.”
“I just want to make them sturdier than they are now. How do I do that?”
“There’s a reason your brothers look like shambling scarecrows. Corpses cannot heal themselves. You woke them with your blood when their bodies were already broken, didn’t you? Naturally, they’ll be fragile.”
Lev added that all I had really done was oil their stiff, death-rigid joints with my blood.
“Isn’t there a better way to fix Isaac’s wrist? That was just a temporary patch.”
“It’s possible if you use a large amount of blood, or refine pure demonic energy out of it.”
“How… do you extract only pure energy from blood?”
“Weren’t you looking for a method you could use right now? Drawing out pure energy easily requires training from childhood.”
Lev licked his front paw, looking for all the world like an ordinary cat.
“Then what about another way? Something to make them permanently stronger.”
“You’re always looking for shortcuts.”
He gave me a long look and clicked his tongue with exaggerated disdain—something I wasn’t even sure a cat’s mouth could manage.
“Corpses rot. It’s natural that they only grow weaker over time. There’s only one way to prevent that.”
“What is it?”
I swallowed hard.
“Offer a sacrifice.”
“…What?”
“If you have them absorb other corpses, the problem will resolve quickly. The best, of course, would be a freshly dead human body.”
He said it so casually, as if commenting on the weather.
“…Just explain the extraction method in more detail.”
It seemed far more feasible than procuring nameless corpses in the heart of the capital.
Clatter.
The carriage jolted, pulling me from shallow sleep. I blinked awake in alarm, glancing around.
“We haven’t arrived yet. You may rest a little longer,” said the man across from me with a hearty laugh. His brown eyes curved warmly. Ah—right. I quickly recalled the situation.
“Apologies. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Ah, a restless dream, perhaps?”
“Yes.”
“Well, after hearing what you did yesterday, it’s only natural to feel unsettled.”
Werner patted my shoulder with sympathy. Beside him, Crown Prince Tristan shot me a brief glance before turning to the window.
Of course, the truth was I hadn’t lost sleep over talk of black magicians returning—I’d been busy practicing black magic.
That glutton Lev… he devoured demonic energy like a beast.
Last night, I finally succeeded in extracting refined energy. Or rather, I kept trying until I succeeded. After more than twenty attempts, I had no strength left to even move a finger. Yet Lev still scolded me for not producing enough and demanded more.
“Devil incarnate…” I muttered.
“I can understand why you’d shudder at black magicians, the traitors of mankind,” Werner replied immediately, misinterpreting my words.
I nodded quickly, flustered.
“We’ve arrived,” Tristan said just as the carriage halted.
Werner offered his hand and helped me down. I recognized the surroundings immediately: broken trees, scattered wagon debris, the earth darkened with dried blood.
Was it really this messy when I left?
I had tried to clean up, but there was only so much zombies could do—barely able to move, let alone tidy properly. All I’d really managed was to erase traces of our family crest and remove the ornate decorations, disguising the noble carriage as that of a wealthy merchant.
Beep, beep, beep!
A shrill noise came from Werner’s direction. He pulled a measuring device from his pocket.
“See? It’s glowing red.”
“Yes… I see it.”
So the device was genuine. Careless use of magic here would expose me instantly.
“Looks like a carriage accident. Did the local patrol report anything?”
“Not a word,” Tristan replied coolly.
“With a crash this bad, someone must have been hurt. Yet no clinic nearby received any serious patients.”
“Suspicious indeed,” Werner muttered.
Tristan frowned faintly. “Bloodstains prove there were passengers. Yet there are no wounded, no corpses, and traces of black magic remain. Could it be innocent citizens were taken as raw materials for some dark ritual?”
Half-right. They had become raw material.
“Assuming true black magic was involved,” Werner added.
“See anything?” Tristan asked, leaning against a tree—the very tree that had pierced Julia’s heart. Its branch was still stained dark with dried blood.
“…Not sure,” I said carefully, forcing a neutral face.
If I claimed to see something, I’d be proving black magic was real. If I denied it, the Holy See might accuse the imperial family of blasphemy.
What am I supposed to say?!
I almost wanted to rip my hair out.
“The residue of black magic…” I began vaguely. Both men’s eyes fixed sharply on me, Tristan’s gaze especially piercing.
They waited, patient yet relentless.
“…Could I disclose it… sixty seconds later?”
“You’d best not test my patience further.”
“…Of course. You’re right.”
I forced a nervous laugh, about to commit to one side—when:
“Werner.”
“Yes.”
“You felt it too.”
Tristan’s gaze shifted past me, toward something behind.
I blinked in confusion as Werner strode forward with understanding.
“Unwelcome guests.”
Sensing danger, I started to back away—only for Tristan to seize my wrist firmly.
“Stay close.”
“Uh—yes, Your Highness.”
He drew the sword at his waist. Even without knowing swordsmanship, I’d heard enough to know he was a skilled knight.
“I’ll handle this,” Werner said. “Please return to the carriage.”
“Five of them. Can you manage?”
Werner nodded with confidence.
At that, Tristan sheathed his blade again and returned to the carriage. I followed awkwardly.
Inside, silence pressed down like a weight. Outside, the clash of steel roared—clang, crash, rumble.
The battlefield must be a mess now. Then again, all they need are traces of black magic, not an intact crime scene.
At least the chaos would further obscure the evidence of our carriage.
“There’s no need to worry,” Tristan murmured, gaze still fixed on the window. “Information leaks, and uninvited visitors are hardly unusual.”
“….”
“Sir Werner is an excellent knight. He won’t lose to a mere handful of assassins.”
His tone was calm, practiced. He’d clearly weathered this sort of ambush many times before.
“…Does this happen often?” I asked.
“Some cannot stomach the thought of a heretic’s son becoming emperor.”
The words were grave, though he delivered them lightly.
Tristan Belond. The sole heir of an empire spanning a quarter of the continent, the only son of the emperor. With no siblings, he had ascended to crown prince without contest—yet life was never without strife.
“My mother converted as soon as she came here,” he continued. “But her being born in the Tahil Kingdom, with its different faith, was enough for enemies to exploit.”
Though the Empress had been devout in the Helios faith ever since, rumors clung persistently.
“It seems things are settled.” Tristan rose with a weary look—rare humanity in his otherwise perfect façade. “Let’s go.”
Stepping outside, the copper tang of blood hit me hard. Just moments ago the air had smelled of fresh grass.
As I turned instinctively, an unfamiliar hand gently covered my eyes.
“This is not a sight for you, my lady,” Werner said, stepping close. I nodded mutely. He warned me not to look back and strode to Tristan’s side.
“Any prisoners?”
“They all took their own lives. Impossible.”
“It wouldn’t have changed much anyway. Leave it.”
While they conversed evenly, I stared at the ground. Blood seeped forward from behind, trailing to my shoes. I stepped aside, only for the crimson trickle to creep onward, staining the soil ahead.
It didn’t take much imagination to picture the carnage.
“What shall we do with the bodies?”
“Bury them quietly. Drawing attention serves no one.”
“There are five of them.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“…None at all.”
Werner fetched a shovel from the carriage and approached. I still stood stiffly in place.
“If you’re feeling unwell, you may rest inside,” he offered, wiping blood from his cheek. He seemed to think I was frozen from shock.
And he wasn’t entirely wrong. I was in shock.
But only because my first thought had been:
What a waste of good corpses!
