Chapter 542 – Dark Scheme
Humans are full of weaknesses.
Above all, the most conspicuous flaw is that, among all the races, humans possess the shortest lifespan. Especially the period in which they can act most vigorously.
Relentless aging robs them of their prime in the blink of an eye.
When compared with the innate strengths of other races, their inferiority becomes even more pronounced.
Elves, through the World Tree, share collective thought and trust.
Beastmen, on an individual level, understand and willingly accept the natural law of survival of the fittest as the very foundation of their governing order.
Dwarves, selfish and stubborn in nature, have poured such traits into their craftsmanship, achieving unique technological growth.
By contrast, humans, who are numerous and whose ideologies are countless, tend to fragment and scatter whenever they form a collective, rendering them infinitely pitiful.
Even so, the reason humanity became the continent's predominant race was solely because of their potential.
Singularity.
In the long flow of time, through the birth of countless individuals, at an exceedingly rare probability there emerge irregular humans.
That great minority has saved the fragile, pitiful lives of mankind. This, above all else, is the founding principle and core of the organization known as the Ark.
However… no matter how noble the Ark may have been, it was ultimately a gathering of humans, and thus could not escape inevitable division.
Disputes in opinion, persisting over time, led to schism and fragmentation, and even betrayal—still remembered as the worst of incidents—occurred.
The factions that split from the Ark failed to sustain themselves across centuries and vanished into extinction, yet there was one exception—the traitors.
Gluttony.
They adopted as their ideology the transformation of human nature through what one consumes, pursuing the shedding of the old humanity and the advent of a new one.
They judged that repeatedly striving to "save" the feeble old humanity was meaningless, and so sought to eliminate humanity's chronic limitations.
Their means were unspeakably inhumane and cruel—experiments in the Kingdom of Estiria alone cost tens of thousands of lives.
Yet, their passion was pure.
Because they sincerely believed.
Believed that, in their own way, they could bring forth a new humanity.
And now, for the first time since its founding, doubt arose in the mind of Gluttony's leader.
He sensed it in that very instant when the tier-breakthrough phenomenon began.
The disappearance of that single mana circuit thread, flowing from the heart, through the body, and into the brain.
A concept whose existence not even countless human experiments had ever uncovered…
How did Dahit Wethroel make it possible for every mage to break through their tier?
Was it by granting some kind of concept that enabled transcendence of tiers?
Not at all.
Though classified under the same race, nearly all humans are individually, completely independent entities. Parents and children, siblings, it makes no difference.
Therefore, for the same concept to be applied to every mage across the continent, yielding the same result, was—without question—impossible.
'But the reverse is possible.'
If a mysterious concept shared by all humanity were erased, then the same outcome could indeed be derived across the board.
For concepts exist everywhere, and if one vanishes, all vanish.
In other words, Dahit Wethroel conceptually erased that single thread of the mana circuit that constituted the foundation of tiers.
The concept tied to tiers—the one that suppressed them.
"This… impossible…!"
The eyes of Gluttony's apex, the First Fang, bloodshot with fury. It was not worry or fear, but rather bewilderment and wrath.
It was only natural.
For such concepts do not occur naturally, but instead originate from the power wielded by so-called transcendent beings.
In short, it implied that humans were the artificial creation of some Transcendent.
'That cannot be.'
He clenched his teeth hard. The molars cracked, only to mend themselves instantly under his overflowing regenerative power.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed strength once more into the sharp blade in his grasp.
Chiiik. Tuduk.
He sliced apart the corpse of a mage laid neatly upon the operating table. Frenziedly he tore through it, dissecting not only the mana circuits but also the brain, the heart—everything.
Though he risked finding nothing, the act was little more than venting his fury.
Drip… drip…
Days passed, until all that remained on the surgical bed was a pool of blood and a few scraps of flesh. He had poured all experience and knowledge into a meticulous examination of every part.
Yet reality did not change. He found nothing. At last, he was forced to face an unwanted truth.
"Could it be that humanity… had interference imposed upon it?"
The First Fang covered his bloodstained mouth with his right hand. As the anger faded, his pupils began to tremble finely.
New Humanity.
Gluttony.
Fragments of crimson, imbued with life.
Through the revival of Gluttony, they had sought to annihilate the current humanity and establish a new race at the summit, free of reliance on a precious few.
For the sake of mankind.
Twisted as it was, it was little different from the Ark's ultimate purpose. From the beginning until now, Gluttony's roots had always been the Ark.
'But if humanity was truly under the control of another's will, then the premise of all ideology collapses.'
No matter how they struggled, they could never gain freedom. Their salvation could be undone at any moment by an unknown intent.
Inevitably, even a New Humanity built upon the foundation of such humans would also…
The purpose must be reset.
Immediately, the First Fang summoned the leadership. With only one option and his judgment already decided, there was no reason for delay.
A chilling voice filled the air.
"From this moment forth, Gluttony will revise its fundamental ideology."
"…? Revise its ideology? Wh-what is the meaning of this, so suddenly?"
At the forefront, the Third Fang, Beldoran—who maintained cooperative ties with the magic tower of Bohemirn—stammered in shock.
The others reacted much the same, but the proclamation continued.
"The plan to modify old humanity into the vessel for new humanity is to be abandoned entirely. All matters relating to old humanity in connection with the New Humanity are likewise to be discarded."
"…Even what the Doctor left behind?"
"Yes, everything."
The First Fang declared, without hesitation.
"From now on, we will completely redesign mankind."
The only way to escape the hidden intent woven into old humanity—was to rewrite the very concept of humanity itself.
***
From the ceiling, darkness. From the floor, the glow of mana-stone lamps. Within the largest and most secret of clandestine laboratories, in the midst of its stillness, quiet footsteps echoed.
Balrog Bessias.
Alone, without attendants, the master of Bohemirn Magic Tower advanced deeper into the laboratory. Each step resounded through the dustless corridor.
At last, he entered a chamber, and the first sight that greeted him was the rows of enormous test tubes arranged along either side.
Half stood empty, while the other half contained occupants—humans submerged in transparent liquid, slumbering silently.
Each and every one of them bore forcibly inscribed magic circles of Coercion within their bodies.
They were the mighty figures of the continent, collected by Balrog over decades.
Yet the most important specimen was preserved separately.
Whooong—
He manipulated the hidden, unique magic circle to make the center of the wall protrude. With its peculiar light flickering, a passage to an opened space appeared.
Passing simply through the wall, his vision fell upon the wrinkled old man, bound thoroughly at the center of a sealed chamber.
"Oh, how fortunate, I was just bored. You've come at the right time, Balrog Bessias."
Sensing the presence, the old man slowly raised his head and greeted him.
…A dreadful sight.
One eye had been gouged out, his left arm severed from the upper arm, and of his right hand only the index and ring fingers remained.
His legs, too, were half cut away.
Even aside from the scars hidden beneath magic circles and restraints across his torso, this much was evident.
Jinryeon, Sandir Paen.
The previous Transcendent who had ruled and roamed the continent up until about 80 years ago.
"So, what kind of experiment will it be today? You intend to toy with my mind using that forced magic circle again, I suppose? The stimulus wasn't all that strong last time, but I do hope you've made some improvement since then."
It was no bluff.
Even if his remaining eye were stabbed and gouged with a blade, he would not so much as scream.
Rather, he would laugh.
A Transcendent who had lost his ideals, with death from the body's decline looming before him, had come to treat even dreadful pain as amusement.
Balrog spoke.
"Experiment subject number 36. Today, I came to make you an offer."
"An offer? How intriguing. To receive an offer after 21 years of waiting for death in seclusion, only to become an experimental subject."
Sandir sneered, but Balrog paid it no mind. He was certain the other could not refuse.
"Sandir Paen, do you not wish to regain your lost prime?"
"…!"
Sandir furrowed his brow. It was impossible to dismiss such words lightly, though their precise meaning was hard to grasp.
Balrog stepped closer.
"Your notoriety about a century ago is said to have been remarkable. Without a faction, all alone, no matter how many stood against you, you claimed the guise of a duel, and again and again you committed murder—no, massacre. The number of corpses you left behind is recorded even in history books."
"..."
"And your end as well."
Sandir had summoned the continent's strongest into one place, and alone had waged war upon them. The dead by his hand could have formed a mountain.
Though the number he killed was excessive, he had not violated the Transcendents' code, and thus the existing Transcendents did not intervene.
But the view of a newly risen young Transcendent, later called Master, differed.
───Judging by your deeds, it seems you pursue ideals utterly worthless, not even worth the effort of understanding… thus, I shall put an end to you here.
The duel was one-on-one.
In the agreed-upon space, Sandir lunged with his spear like lightning, while the young Transcendent surged forth, wielding countless weapons with ferocity.
The result was Sandir's crushing defeat.
His body shredded, left a cripple, yet not killed. The young Transcendent abandoned him on the spot.
It was not mercy, but mockery.
Thereafter, with his ruined spear serving as little more than a cane, Sandir staggered away and vanished from the world.
It was the only choice left.
With only two fingers, he could not wield his spear, and with crippled legs, he could not even turn properly.
Decades later, when Balrog tracked him down, Sandir could offer not even feeble resistance before being subdued.
Recalling the moment he had lost his ideals, Sandir chuckled faintly and spoke.
"To cure this crippled body, and return me to my prime. Not a lie, surely, but certainly not from goodwill either. What method, and what conditions?"
"The method is body transplantation. A technique obtained recently from new partners."
To illustrate, Balrog drew from his spatial bag an arm, strong and bearing sword scars.
"Hmm, and you would attach that to me? Difficult to imagine."
"The trials are already complete. And this is the arm of a swordmaster who once taught the Four Great Swordsmen of the Central Continent. It should be more than enough to harmonize with your body. Not only other body parts, but your aging as well."
"You've acquired impressive techniques indeed. So, what's the condition?"
"Accept the forced magic circle."
Of course.
Sandir shrugged.
To be given youth in exchange for a leash—it was easily guessed.
Thus, he answered at once.
"To give me another chance at fulfilling my ideals, in return for becoming a slave. Not bad. A condition I can accept."
Sandir voiced his assent.
"But before I accept, one question. Balrog Bessias, what is your ideal? What is it you intend to do with me under your command?"
"I shall add turmoil to the already chaotic state of the continent."
Balrog lifted his head slightly.
With eyes brimming with arrogance, he looked down upon Sandir, a fellow Transcendent.
"And by that, I shall stand above all."
***
Dozens of days passed.
Black Hour, to effectively annihilate the main force of the Bohemirn magic tower, repeated research and training.
The Society, from a great distance, continued surveillance of the factors they had tracked thus far, recording and reporting their movements by the hour.
Adrian and Isabella, too, prepared for the hunt from their respective positions, while Alpha and Beta collaborated in the golem research lab.
The new year had already come, yet even the simplest celebration had been postponed. The tempered blades were already aimed at a single point.
At that time, there remained about 83 days before the five-month deadline mentioned during Black Hour's succession ceremony expired.
Preparations were nearly complete.
Then Ignacia sent word from the land without a master. Verden broke open the sealed letter, bound by illusion.
On the wall, the words reflected.
"…In exactly 23 days, Transcendents of the magic world are to gather for a conference in the Magocracy. Naturally, Balrog Bessias, the master of the Bohemirn magic tower, will also attend."
The plan was at hand.
While Balrog's attention slackened, they would deliver a devastating blow, one that would leave him unable to restrain even his emotions.
Therefore, they would not act all together.
For it would be extremely inefficient.
They would split into three groups, each moving to the proper place.
"First, Adrian."
"Yes, my lord."
"Five days from now, lead the First Group to the magic city, Virente."
Verden's gaze, fixed upon the map of the western continent, shifted to the upper left.
"There, capture Lucard Maniacs."
Adrian's mission was the abduction of the Bohemirn magic tower master's third disciple.