Chapter 111: Le Mythe des Quatre
After a day spent emptying his mind of every negative thought and feeling, Leomaris sat on his bed; the hymn, Le Mythe des Quatre, lay out before him, just as it had been the first time he consumed it.
The hymn bore Leomaris’s unique magic circle in red, imprinted on its surface. Only a palm’s width away from the beginning of the process of consumption.
The first time he consumed the myth of the burning eye — False Entity: Heliara, the Watching Flame — the hymns and forbidden knowledge had broken him completely, leaving him nothing but a meat sack. Even after the false entity healed him, it took four days before consciousness found its way back to him.
It was different now.
As a Magician, he’d lacked any real understanding of his abilities, and worse still, each of them had been classed as mere skills. He’d had no real idea what he was doing.
However, now, as a Sorcerer, he understood exactly what to do.
Mystery was an entity of truth, lies, and knowledge. Without knowing something, it had no means of shrouding it. Wherever there was mystery, there was a lie or a truth. And there was knowledge.
But as a mere human, acting as nothing but a vessel for a being beyond his comprehension, his mind couldn’t handle the sheer weight of its memories, mysteries, and secrets.
"That’s why my contractual cost is memory loss. I sacrifice memories to make room for the knowledge gained through my ability. More importantly, it brings me closer to becoming one with Mystery. Every lost memory is another thread binding me to humanity being cut away."
It was plain enough that if he let this power consume him, he’d eventually end up with the memories he’d lost, not all of them perhaps, but enough.
Only it wouldn’t feel the same. The emotions, the nostalgia, and the convictions behind each memory would be reduced to nothing more than dry knowledge written on a sheet.
That wasn’t a luxury he could afford. He was meant to live, not end up an empty shell, or something worse entirely that he hadn’t yet the means to understand.
But as it stood, letting go of many of his memories was the price he had to pay to consume the three remaining entities within the hymn.
As a Magician, he would have gone at it in one go, one memory for an entire myth. But that would cost him more than he could spare, and take more time than he had on his hands.
It came down to freeing up space, making room in his mind for hymns and forbidden knowledge that had no business being inside a Sorcerer brain.
"To avoid injury and speed up the process, I’ll have to activate my ability countless times and consume them piece by piece."
He let out a deep sigh.
"The longer a single consumption lasts, the longer the memory. If I am fortunate, consuming an entire myth will require only one complete memory. In the worst case, it may require two or three."
He braced himself and placed his hand on the hymn’s shell. Specifically, on the magic circle. His body flinched out of habit, the last time he’d done this, it had recoiled. But this time he relaxed.
Now, his approach was different, and it showed. He eased every muscle in his body, treating the consumption as though the words were genuinely passing through his palm and into his mind.
Just as he’d predicted. He felt nothing. No burning, no overwhelming force bearing down on the room. No trace of a false entity’s sinister presence leaking through.
He kept a clock in his other hand, paying careful attention to each tick. Ten minutes on, he stopped, rested for twenty, then carried on again.
The procedure went on for over two hours until he was dead certain he’d consumed the next myth in full, hymns, forbidden knowledge, and all.
It was the myth of the golden bride: False Entity: Solenne, the Eternal Bride.
He had no real way of knowing which memories he’d lost or how much they amounted to, so his mind didn’t dwell on it. Instead, his eyes settled on the exaggerated centipede tattoo on his chest.
The tattoo had grown. It had only reached his waist before, now it was up to his stomach. It didn’t need spelling out. The Firstlight Goddess’s curse for consuming her myths without meeting the requirements was spreading.
But Leomaris couldn’t be bothered. His relationship with the Goddess was done for the moment he consumed the first myth. It was only natural he’d consume the rest and make certain she loathed him completely.
After eight hours and more activations of Solve than he cared to count, Leomaris finally consumed the remaining two myths concerning the Firstlight Goddess.
The myth of the ashen fallen: False Entity: Cindrath, the Fallen Ember Queen. And finally, the myth of the thousand masks: False Entity: Myrasol, the Many-Faced Radiance.
These were the four myths that had circulated about the Firstlight Goddess’s existence and identity ever since humanity first felt her presence.
Not that any of it touched the Goddess’s existence or prowess in the slightest, there were countless other myths to draw from, but these false entities had been born from myths about her specifically and from hymns her servants had spent an age reciting in her honour.
For someone with neither the standing of a Philosopher nor any compatibility with the Goddess to wield them was more than enough to warrant a curse in her eyes.
Leomaris was absolutely knackered. His stomach rumbled, and the fatigue from hours of consuming such overwhelming information sat heavily on him. But he gave himself a moment to take a proper look at the curse’s mark before sorting himself out with food.
The centipede tattoo coiled from his spine up toward his chest in a serpentine wave. Its sinister head, two jagged antennae with equally horrific forcipules splayed beneath it, rested only a few inches from the middle of his chest.
He took the hymn book and chucked it somewhere across the room. Done with it. Practically useless now that his ability had tripled the complexity of the forbidden knowledge and hymns.
"At least this will prepare me for the Crimson Order and, most likely, Instructor Moon."
—
After a moment in his room, Leomaris finally made his way downstairs to sort out his stomach. Almost on cue, right there in the living room, he came across a familiar face that had no business being there at that hour, and their appearance told a worrying story.
"How have you been, Young Master?"
