Chapter 366: Chapter 363: Tricky, Tricky
"You’re the Evil Mage! Your whole family are Evil Mages!" The Chief Mage’s hands didn’t move, but his eyebrows looked as if they were about to fly off his face. "To crudely label a Necromancer an Evil Mage is the stereotype of a talentless hack!"
"Only cowards who fear death would impose pointless moral judgments on Magic, using them to flee from the most profound and esoteric Domain."
’Don’t get so worked up...’ Joseph Rorschach was startled and took half a step back. Due to the inherent limitations of the Clone Technique and the limited capabilities of this body, Possessed Xia was unable to cast High Tier Magic. Otherwise, against this nearly-dead Great Mage who was being pinned down by the Gray-robed Bishop, he definitely could have landed a killing blow.
But there were no "what ifs." The Great Mage clenched his fist in the Void, and from the Well of Remains behind him, dark tentacles shot out and coiled around Rorschach.
However, the younger Joseph’s words snapped the elder Joseph to his senses. He realized the man before him was none other than the Empire Army’s Chief Military Mage and immediately activated the ancient Holy Emblem once more.
The flames engulfing the surrounding Airships instantly blazed white-hot. Rolling waves of heat, imbued with the attribute of Light, pierced through the Breath of Death.
The Priest of Song Rank had hesitated because of Soron’s bluff, having simply fallen into a mental blind spot. Rorschach, however, was able to point out the Great Mage’s weakness immediately because he himself was a clone, temporarily disconnected from his main body by a Magic Tsunami.
The only reason he could even maintain his existence was because the Descent Summoning Technique dared to split a Soul and place a fragment within the clone—a concept that was, strictly speaking, extremely primitive.
Consider the most common scenario: if the clone were to become corrupted, what should be done with the Soul fragment? Discard it, and the original Soul would be left incomplete and damaged. Reclaim it, and the main body would become corrupted in turn.
Only Ancient Elves skilled in Purification and healing, or a Natural Element Specialized Mage, would dare to attempt such a thing.
In any case, with Rorschach’s interference, the stalemate was broken. To Soron, however, this was a trivial matter. He could see at a glance that the younger Joseph’s Soul was extremely weak. Although his Endogenous Magic Power was abundant, Soron surmised he was incapable of High Tier Magic.
’Once I’m done with this charlatan, it’s your turn!’ The delay had been long enough. Soron raised his hand, Magic Power surging from a tattoo as he activated a prepared spell.
A flash of pure, bright light erupted against the tide. Unimpeded by the Priest’s Divine Art, it shot straight into the old man’s body. A horrifying scene followed. Veins bulged on the old man’s face and exposed skin, then his blood vessels continued to swell and grow, finally bursting through his skin and transforming into wild, flailing tendrils. They even pierced through the areas covered by his clothes.
Joseph immediately ceased his Divine Art. His body was wracked with excruciating pain as he was entangled and attacked by his own blood vessels.
The way sunlight dispels the night is absolute. Darkness is merely the absence of light, its "void." Therefore, in the face of the power of the Master of Light and Order, Negative Energy and the Breath of Death would simply evaporate and dissipate. If they weren’t on a battlefield teeming with death and injury, Soron would have long been at a disadvantage.
That was why the [Vascular Aberration] he cast didn’t rely on Negative Energy. Instead, it used an overwhelming, condensed amount of Vitality to warp the enemy’s superficial blood vessels, causing the body’s own tissues to mutate. It was an Eighth Ring Spell that combined attrition, damage, and control.
This Vitality was converted from the Breath of Death. Soron had noticed that an organism on the verge of death would erupt with its strongest survival instinct—both mind and body actively making one last desperate struggle.
Symbolically, he could do the same, compressing "death" into a desperate craving for life, extracting an extreme form of life energy from the Breath of Death. In past individuals, life had transformed into death, and now, in the hands of a masterful Great Mage, that process was reversed.
The school of Necromancy did not solely focus on "death" and "Negative Energy." Its practitioners also studied the very source of life in great depth. Compared to the Natural System, which retained a religious reverence for life, Mages of the Necromancy school were more rational, even scornful of ethics, viewing both reverence and ethics as impediments to their research.
Thus, while injecting pure Vitality into another could be a form of healing, in the hands of a Caster specializing in Necromancy, it could also become a Killing Technique far harder to identify and defend against.
The Lord of Order is merciful; His power does not easily reject life, nor would it burn it away. And so, Joseph was grievously wounded.
For maximum effect, you needed both black and white. A blast of pure life energy should be followed by an attack of pure Breath of Death. Soron’s breathing hitched almost imperceptibly. He was hesitating. Would it be better to gain a Divine Benefactor as a puppet, or to acquire an experimental subject who had been steeped in Divine Power for years?
The choice would depend on which Necromancy spell he used next.
Suddenly, however, a blue beam of light shot past Soron’s side and struck the old man, who was still bound by his own veins. The beam of Magic seemed almost solid, hitting Priest Joseph like a blast from a high-pressure water hose. It sent him flying, carrying him away from the Chief Mage’s shroud of Negative Energy.
Bathed in the sunlight, Priest Joseph gathered the Power of Light. The mutated blood vessels were seared away, and the residual blue light from the blast filled the wounds, causing them to slowly heal.
Having broken free from the fight, he was suffering from severe blood loss—a dangerous state for an old man. The pale-faced Gray-robed Bishop hovered in the air, glanced at the young man who had "attacked" him, then at the burning Airships and debris. He chose to retreat from the battlefield.
"That charlatan actually got scared and ran off!" Rorschach did his best to feign an expression of astonishment. He was still bound by the black tentacles, acting as if the beam of light hadn’t come from him at all.
The air fell silent, leaving only the crackle of flames and the groaning of twisting steel frames.
Richard and the Eight-character Moustache Mage exchanged a look. They had been spectating from the sidelines the entire time and now had no idea how to handle the young Mage who had just barged in.
When they had been afflicted by the Breath of Death, both had relied on Rorschach’s help. Because of this, neither of them made a move against the suspicious Mage, instead waiting in tacit agreement for their Chief’s orders.
Was Soron angry? No. He was re-evaluating the young man. His Soul was, at best, that of a Middle Level Mage, yet he faced a Great Mage like himself with complete indifference, looking utterly at ease.
It was true that his two attacks had been ineffective. The first was an infusion of deathly aura, to which the young man had no reaction. The second was contact with the Negative Energy tentacles; an ordinary person would have immediately been afflicted with negative status effects, not remained as vigorous as he was, even casting a spell with ease.
Soron hesitated.
He repeated his question, an extremely rare occurrence for someone with the Chief Mage’s disposition. "Who exactly are you?"
"I already told you. I’m Joseph." Rorschach paused to think, then suddenly came up with a useful cover story. "However, my true identity is a special agent of the Empire Military Department’s Special Powers Defense Agency. Codename... Frost Eagle!"
The Chief Mage laughed as if he’d heard a joke. "Heh. That agency has long been defunct. That slapdash outfit was completely absorbed by the Military Department’s intelligence bureau after its Mechanical Director, Sibins, died."
It wasn’t just Rorschach; Richard was also stunned. "Mr. Sibins is dead? Wait, he was the Leader of a secret agency?"
"A suspicious airship crash." Soron seemed to know more, but he didn’t elaborate.
’Boss!’ Rorschach felt a pang of grief. After all, the bald guy had treated him decently enough. He also couldn’t help but wonder, ’Do the Airships in this Empire have some kind of debuff? They seem to crash so easily.’
Soron waved a dismissive hand. "So stop the act. You... you must be a lackey for the Magic Guild!"
