Chapter 80

Enria, who had arrived at the Spirit Village with the unconscious Silri, slowly looked around Silri’s home—a place she hadn’t visited in a long time.

 

As long-forgotten memories resurfaced, a strange sense of longing tightened her chest.

 

“Hayden, do you remember this place? This is where mommy gave birth to you.”

 

Enria pressed a feather-light kiss to Hayden’s cheek as she spoke.

 

“Silri said she was so nervous she could hardly breathe until she finally heard your first cry.”

 

It had been a pleasant memory until she said it out loud.

 

But once she did, Silri—joyfully holding Hayden and giving him his name—rose vividly in her mind, leaving her unexpectedly melancholy.

 

‘She needs to wake up soon.’

 

Thinking of Silri lying in the recovery room, Enria wished desperately for her to awaken.

 

After witnessing Panz devour spirits’ and humans’ souls through black magic, her worry had only grown.

 

She couldn’t stop imagining—‘what if Silri never wakes again?’

 

The pain of having one’s soul ripped out while still alive was something unimaginable unless experienced firsthand. A part of her even wondered if Silri might not want to wake at all.

 

If she did, she would remember every moment of that agony.

 

Hoping that the recovery magic she and Hayden had cast would at least ease Silri’s suffering, Enria walked through Silri’s room with Hayden in her arms.

 

She told her son what Silri used to do here, what happened over there—reminiscing about her friend with every step.

 

Hayden, with dark eyes identical to Caldeon’s, listened intently.

 

Every now and then, as if he remembered pieces of it too, he reached out with tiny fingers and babbled something.

 

***

 

 

After being brutally beaten by Hayden and forced to flee, Panz limped into Pahomel’s hideout.

 

The moment he saw Pahomel, he begged for power.

 

Now that it was clear Hayden was the true owner of the oracle—and after being torn apart by him—Panz felt he needed even greater strength to survive.

 

Pahomel, instead of answering, walked toward the desk where the black magic tome lay.

 

Pahomel had already concluded that Panz, who had lost to Caldeon’s group, had no future.

 

‘He consumed so many human and spirit souls, yet he couldn’t even kill three humans?’

 

He regretted not choosing a stronger spirit from the beginning.

 

Flipping through the pages of the black magic tome, Pahomel contemplated what to do next.

 

Panz limped toward him.

 

His left leg—cut off by Caldeon—matched Pahomel’s own twisted left leg, also ruined by Caldeon.

 

Seeing Panz hobbling like a distorted reflection of himself irritated Pahomel.

 

At this point, he decided to use Panz as a vessel for the god of evil’s resurrection.

 

If the god revived, Pahomel’s grand dream of dominating the world with black magic would be delayed—but at least the hateful black power that nullified his magic would vanish from the world.

 

‘Fine. Let restoring black magic come later—my descendants can achieve that.’

 

He would rid this chaotic era of the two black-magic-nullifying powers and lay the groundwork for black magic to thrive again.

 

[I told you to give me power, human.]

 

Growing desperate at Pahomel’s silence, Panz stepped closer.

 

Pahomel shot him a glance.

 

“Wait. I’m looking for a way to grant you immense power.”

 

At those words, an eerie excitement rippled through Panz’s red eyes.

 

Perhaps, drunk on the power he already held, he could perceive nothing else.

 

Just hearing that he would gain “immense power” made him tremble like a man high on a drug.

 

Watching him shake with excitement, Pahomel even thought—‘If I couldn’t use him as a vessel for the evil god, he would have been a waste.

 

“Sit over there. I need to embed black magic into your body first. Only then can I give you even greater power.”

 

Panz obeyed, limping to the chair Pahomel indicated.

 

A satisfied sigh slipped from his lips—likely anticipation for the power he thought was coming.

 

Pahomel summoned a portion of his remaining black magic and began threading it into Panz’s body like smoky strings, stitching them in as though sewing a doll.

 

Panz, puzzled, asked:

 

[What is this?]

 

Those threads would serve as the channels connecting Panz to the sealed god of evil—routes through which the god would devour human souls and eventually flow into Panz’s body once the seal broke.

 

But Pahomel lied.

 

“To gain greater power, countless souls must flow through these threads. That’s why I’m sewing them densely into your body.”

 

Panz nodded, satisfied.

 

He imagined all the souls he would devour flowing through those threads and shuddered with excitement at how much stronger he would become.

 

He leaned back in the chair, exhaling in contentment, and closed his eyes.

 

A vessel for the god of evil was being created.

 

 

***

 

 

“The light-attribute mage has awakened.”

 

Arsen approached Caldeon, who had been shaping a secure living space for Enria and Hayden.

 

When Arsen said Belona had woken, Caldeon stopped channeling black power into the walls and turned.

 

“She woke up?”

 

“Yes. But there’s a problem.”

 

“A problem?”

 

Arsen looked troubled as Caldeon’s brow lifted.

 

“It seems she doesn’t remember anything.”

 

Caldeon’s eyes widened slightly.

 

“And her mental age… seems to have regressed.”

 

What now?

 

Caldeon’s irritation creased his brow.

 

Arsen explained his theory.

 

“I believe it’s because half her soul was taken. And since she woke, she’s been looking for you…”

 

“She’s looking for me?”

 

Caldeon cut him off.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Why would a light-attribute mage look for me?”

 

Light mages and bearers of black power were not enemies, but far from friendly.

 

Light could restrain black power—something they often claimed was the “perfect divine gift.”

 

Naturally, their relationship was strained.

 

“To be precise, she isn’t calling your name. She keeps asking for the person with the ‘black shadow power.’”

 

“…”

 

“I think it’s because you saved part of her soul when she was on the verge of losing it all.”

 

Many living beings instinctively cling to the first presence they see upon “birth”—the first being perceived as a safe haven.

 

With half her soul gone and memories erased, Belona may have imprinted on Caldeon as the only safe person in her world—because he had saved her at the brink of annihilation.

 

“Isn’t this a good thing, though? You always wanted to study light magic.”

 

Caldeon had indeed wanted to understand how light temporarily bound his black power.

 

But he had zero desire to suddenly become caretaker to a memory-less woman.

 

Sensing his annoyance, Arsen continued: “I believe this is a divine opportunity. Your only natural counterbalance now needs you.”

 

If Caldeon could unravel light magic, and find a countermeasure to its restraining effect, then black power would have no weaknesses left.

 

“It will benefit Lord Hayden as well, since he shares your magic.”

 

Caldeon’s eyes widened.

 

That argument struck home.

 

Hayden had inherited his black power.

 

If Caldeon died someday, it would be better if no force existed that could restrain Hayden’s magic.

 

Especially since black power came with a dangerous flaw—mana rampage.

 

So Caldeon rose to his feet.

 

Belona had awakened with no memories and an attachment to him.

 

He could keep her calm and study her magic at the same time.

 

“I’ll go see her.”

 

“Excellent decision, sir.”

 

“Shall I summon the magic researchers?”

 

“If they’re from the Tower, they’ll avoid researching rare powers like black or light magic.”

 

Tower scholars tended to preserve rare abilities rather than study them.

 

“There are researchers from Fyoren’s side.”

 

“Ah. Do that.”

 

Caldeon nodded and left the office.

 

He still had no idea—none—what it meant that Belona saw him as her only safe person.

 

Not even when he opened the door, and Belona leapt barefoot off the bed to wrap her arms around his waist, did he grasp the weight of it.