Chapter 100

Enria’s group, staying at the Grand Duke’s castle to help Tearen and Belona recover, grew grim rather than relieved at Panz’s words that not many souls had been gathered yet, so the summoning of the Evil God wouldn’t be possible for the time being.

 

“So they’ll spread another plague or cause another disaster to collect souls.”

 

“They will. But not right away. They used a lot of black magic to turn Panz into the vessel of the Evil God. A black mage will need at least a little time to recover.”

 

At Rahar’s worry, Silri shook her head. Rahar acknowledged with a nod.

 

“Since Lord Tearen and Lady Belona are still recovering, we should focus on helping them until they’re fully stable.”

 

At Roseanne’s comment, Caldeon looked toward Enria.

 

“Are you treating both of them with your healing magic?”

 

“Yes. Lord Tearen only needs basic treatment now, so he’s discharged from the infirmary. But Belona keeps collapsing and losing consciousness. So I cast healing magic every hour.”

 

“She keeps losing consciousness?”

 

Rahar cut in, startled.

 

When they arrived, Belona only seemed tired—nothing like this.

 

“Oh, I don’t think it’s anything severe. She’s just incredibly weakened.”

 

Enria reassured him.

 

“She lost half her soul. There’s no way she’d be fine. But what about that illness she had—mistaking Caldeon for someone else? Is she over that?”

 

Eva, arms crossed on the sofa, asked in a flat voice.

 

Enria nodded.

 

“She realized a while ago that Caldeon wasn’t Groen.”

 

“That’s good. She clung to Caldeon and refused to let go, so I thought maybe Caldeon would end up—”

 

“Eva.”

 

Caldeon cut her off sharply, then steered the topic away.

 

“In any case, we can handle the backlog of work for the time being. Lady Kaznaren must have plenty piled up too.”

 

It was obvious he didn’t want Enria reminded of Belona mistaking him for Groen. Roseanne noticed and backed him up.

 

“Right. Because of the black mage issue, Sir Arsen has been working overtime for weeks.”

 

Caldeon nodded.

 

“Then let’s give Arsen a break from night shifts. Enria, you’ll continue taking care of the light-attribute mage?”

 

“Yes. Until she fully recovers, that’s my priority.”

 

Satisfied, Caldeon turned to Graum.

 

“You should return to the Spirit Village and prepare. Once the black mage recovers, he’ll start gathering souls again.”

 

“Of course. We need the Spirit Village’s energy as well.”

 

“What about you?”

 

As soon as Graum answered, Silri looked at Panz.

 

Everyone’s gaze shifted to him.

 

Panz, rattled, looked out the window.

 

“What do you mean, ‘what about me’…?”

 

“You don’t have much time, Panz. You’re standing at a crossroads—complete erasure or being devoured by the Evil God. Before the black mage moves again, decide.”

 

“…”

 

“Don’t choose foolishly.”

 

“Panz, erasure is the only way you can atone for your crimes.”

 

“Whatever you choose, you disappear. I know it’s hard. But you know very well which choice is wiser.”

 

With each spirit speaking in turn, Panz’s expression darkened.

 

He stared out the window in heavy silence before sighing.

 

“Give me more time to think.”

 

Caldeon stood.

 

“Fine. Stay here and think. The rest of you—focus on reorganizing.”

 

 

***

 

 

Arsen wondered if he was hallucinating from exhaustion and pressed his fingers hard against his eyes.

 

Caldeon had returned to the office for the first time in a while, saw Arsen’s swollen, bloodshot eyes, and ordered him to take a two-hour nap.

 

But even after resting, Arsen still saw something.

 

“Your Excellency, I think I’m seeing things.”

 

Caldeon lifted his head from his paperwork.

 

“What?”

 

“There… on your left shoulder. A shadow—”

 

A shadow would have been normal.

 

Where there’s light, there’s shadow.

 

But this shadow had eyes, nose, and mouth.

 

A perfect likeness of Enria.

 

That was not normal.

 

“Oh, that. Looks just like Enria, doesn’t it?”

 

Caldeon smirked faintly, then proudly explained that he’d created it with black magic—and that it was far more accurate than the one Hayden made.

 

Arsen blinked rapidly.

 

He could not fathom why such precious black magic was wasted on this.

 

At that moment, Fyoren entered with his overdue report—and froze when he saw the shadow.

 

“Isn’t that Lady Ribenus?”

 

Fyoren, who still believed the false memory that Tearen had implanted with illusion magic, asked Caldeon.

 

His tone implied, Why would you do something so ridiculous with such valuable magic?

 

Caldeon answered shamelessly.

 

“So I can see her whenever I want.”

 

Both Arsen’s and Fyoren’s eyebrows twitched in the exact same way.

 

“So you’re saying—you made that with black magic so you can see Lady Ribenus whenever you want?”

 

Caldeon nodded.

 

“Hayden created the first one. See, Fyoren? You can’t deny my son’s a genius.”

 

“I’ve never denied it. I’m one of the people who voted in favor of calling him a genius.”

 

“You took a vote on whether his son is a genius?”

 

Arsen asked stiffly.

 

Fyoren stared at him, baffled.

 

“What? You bet on whether my son is a genius?”

 

Caldeon looked incredulous.

 

Fyoren blinked between them, sighed, and shook his head.

 

“Of course not. I’m not insane. How could I ever gamble on Your Grace’s son?”

 

“You said you voted.”

 

“It was a figure of speech.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Fyoren looked at Arsen as if he couldn’t believe this man took metaphors literally.

 

“In any case, it’s useful. I can see her whenever.”

 

“It’s not useful. You have to keep generating black magic and maintain it.”

 

“It’s not that troublesome.”

 

“That’s not the point. Maintaining that shape means you’ll be spending most of your attention on it. That will hurt your focus, and you’ll start approving things you shouldn’t.”

 

Fyoren offered a more practical solution.

 

“Why not commission a portrait instead? If you want to see her anytime, a well-drawn portrait is far more effective.”

 

Caldeon’s eyes lit up.

 

Arsen glanced at Fyoren, already sensing doom.

 

“Arsen. Find the fastest, most skilled painter in the Empire.”

 

As expected.

 

Arsen exhaled.

 

He agreed, though his heart sank.

 

Picking a random painter wouldn’t satisfy Caldeon.

 

He’d need to gather information on countless artists and shortlist only the best.

 

His temples throbbed.

 

Maybe he could still escape somewhere.

 

Fyoren watched him, guilt creeping in at the sight of Arsen’s worsening dark circles, then spoke.

 

“I’ll bring the painter.”

 

Both men looked at him.

 

“The black mage is quiet for now, and Sir Arsen is already buried in other work. I’ll find a fast and skilled artist and bring them myself.”

 

“If you do, Arsen won’t lose even more sleep.”

 

Caldeon sounded relieved.

 

Arsen’s eyes narrowed.

 

His superior was perfectly aware he would lose sleep—yet still ordered the search.

 

Still, Fyoren cleaning up the mess he’d caused made it slightly better.

 

The mountain of work crushing Arsen didn’t shrink, but at least he wasn’t alone under it.