Chapter 96

When Hayden was purifying the village, he suddenly felt something and turned around.

 

Silri, who had been watching him, followed his gaze. Hayden spoke to her.

 

“Over there. Came back.”

 

At that, everyone—Caldeon and the spirits—turned their eyes toward Hayden.

 

“Over there?” Silri asked, puzzled.

 

Hayden stretched out his tiny finger toward the back and repeated, “Over there. Black mage.”

 

Even with his slightly clumsy pronunciation, they instantly understood whom he meant.

 

Their faces hardened at once. Staring at the spot he was pointing to, Hayden lifted his head and said to Caldeon: “Doing bad things again.”

 

“You mean that village we just purified?”

 

“Seems like it. Is he spreading the plague again?”

 

“Let’s go catch him.”

 

As Silri, Eva, and Windel each reacted to Hayden’s words, Caldeon immediately turned and asked him, “The village we just purified?”

 

“Yeah. Doing bad things again.”

 

“How do you know? Can you see it?”

 

“No. The black mana told me.”

 

When Hayden nodded, Caldeon’s eyes widened.

 

“You left black mana in the village?”

 

“Mm-hm. This much.”

 

Hayden stretched both arms wide, showing roughly the width of his small body.

 

He clicked his tongue softly, looking regretful in a way no child should.

 

“Should’ve just put up a barrier.”

 

Caldeon blinked, caught off guard.

 

Blizzan stared as well.

 

“Barrier? You can make barriers too?”

 

Hayden nodded as if it were obvious.

 

“Of course. Easy.”

 

“A genius.”

 

“Definitely a genius.”

 

“The gods have sent us a prodigy.”

 

The spirits watched him in awe, murmuring to one another.

 

Led by Hayden’s warning, the group rushed back to the previous village—only to see Pahomel vanish the moment they entered. A chorus of curses burst out.

 

“Damn it!”

 

“He ran!”

 

“How does he detect us so fast?”

 

Blizzan, Silri, and Eva frowned in irritation.

 

Caldeon, however, spoke calmly, as if he had expected this.

 

“Just like black mana detects black magic, black magic can detect black mana.”

 

“What do we do now?” Windel asked.

 

Before Caldeon could answer, Hayden raised his hands toward the village.

 

“Purify.”

 

Holy power burst from both of his hands, sweeping over the entire village.

 

As Caldeon erected a barrier around the perimeter, he found it strange—Hayden had used enormous amounts of holy power today, yet his energy hadn’t diminished at all.

 

Normally, holy power or mana required periods of rest to replenish.

 

Even black mages needed souls to maintain their power.

 

No one knew how large Hayden’s reserve was, but he should, at the very least, need rest.

 

‘But he hasn’t rested once while purifying six villages.’

 

Yet he was releasing the same vast power without the slightest sign of fatigue.

 

With such a small body, he wielded impossible strength—Caldeon couldn’t help but think Hayden truly might be a messenger the gods had sent to protect humankind.

 

If so, perhaps his black mana was infinite as well.

 

Caldeon smiled faintly. With Hayden around, even after Caldeon’s death, the Empire—and the world—would surely remain at peace.

 

 

***

 

 

Pahomel had fled the moment he sensed Caldeon’s group approaching with black magic.

 

When he arrived at his hideout, he found Panz already there—covered in wounds across his shoulders, abdomen, and legs.

 

“What happened…?”

 

“You’re here. Heal me first.”

 

Panz slumped against a chair, speaking as if ordering a subordinate.

 

Pahomel frowned in irritation, but Panz didn’t care.

 

“My attacks aren’t working at all. What did you do to my power?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You said you’d make my power even stronger, but are you siphoning it away?”

 

Pahomel scoffed.

 

“What would I gain from stealing your strength?”

 

“Then why aren’t my attacks working?”

 

Pahomel’s brows twitched.

 

‘His attacks didn’t work? Impossible… unless…’

 

Given the preparations for resurrecting the god of evil, one possibility crossed his mind.

 

If all of Panz’s power had already begun altering itself for the god’s revival…

 

‘Then this vessel is practically useless now.’

 

Pahomel looked at the injured, weakened Panz and wondered whether it was still safe to use him as the vessel.

 

‘With his body in such poor condition, a full resurrection would be impossible.’

 

And with soul collection disrupted by Enria and the saintesses, even a perfect vessel wouldn’t be enough.

 

He hesitated—should he restrain Panz’s consciousness now, or continue using his remaining power to gather souls?

 

But the conclusion was simple.

 

If Panz’s attacks were already ineffective, he was worthless against Enria’s group.

 

He didn’t need to be awake.

 

Using the souls required to maintain Panz’s abilities on corrupted beasts instead would be far more beneficial.

 

Having decided, Pahomel limped toward him.

 

“Your attacks failed because your body and mind are exhausted. Rest. While you sleep, I’ll restore your power.”

 

“That’s not enough. I need even more power.”

 

Panz gritted his teeth, recalling how helpless he had been against Enria’s party.

 

“No need to worry. By the time you wake, you’ll have far more power than before.”

 

Reassured, Panz leaned back, closing his eyes.

 

Pahomel connected black mana to his entire body.

 

Imagining the strength he would gain, Panz drifted into unconsciousness.

 

 

***

 

 

“Wait… something’s wrong.”

 

Blizzan halted and lifted his hands, staring at his palms.

 

The spirits who had returned to the Grand Castle with Enria’s group all turned toward him.

 

“What is it?” Graum asked.

 

Enria’s group arrived at the castle gate just then, skipping greetings as they watched Blizzan.

 

After staring at his palms for a long moment, Blizzan finally spoke with a grave expression.

 

“My fire attribute is violently unstable. I think the god of evil is trying to enter Panz’s body.”

 

Everyone’s eyes widened in shock.

 

Especially Rahar—his contracted fire spirit becoming the vessel of the god of evil was unthinkable.

 

Caldeon addressed him.

 

“Can you still communicate with your fire spirit?”

 

“…”

 

“Rahar.”

 

When Caldeon called again, Rahar blinked out of his daze and nodded.

 

“Yes, but only if Panz chooses to listen. Otherwise, it’s difficult…”

 

“Try anyway. He wouldn’t willingly become the god’s vessel.”

 

Rosian nodded.

 

“Right. Fire spirits desire power, but not that kind of power.”

 

“He’d never obediently offer his body to the god of evil,” Silri agreed.

 

Rahar looked determined and turned to Silri.

 

“Help me. Call him first.”

 

Silri nodded after a moment’s thought.

 

“I’ll try. He might ignore me too, though.”

 

At that moment, Blizzan, still staring at the unstable fire within his hands, said sharply: “Don’t call him. Just tell him what’s happening.”

 

Rahar and Silri looked at him.

 

Blizzan raised his head, eyes grave.

 

“Tell him the black mage is trying to awaken the god of evil with his body. Ask him if he’s too stupid to notice when his own fire attribute is thrashing like this.”

 

A ball of fire formed in his palm—the flames shook violently, as though whipped by a raging wind.