Kine yearned for power.
Ever since the massacre of the Bacchus Cult’s family and being semi-coerced into Ortes’s care, the proposition had always been clear—hadn’t Ortes himself tempted Kine with the question, “Do you desire power?” For Kine, power was the answer to all problems.
The pursuit by Blasphemia, the annihilation of the Bacchus Cult, and the salvation of relatives trapped in comas—all these issues could have been resolved if only they possessed power.
Thus, Kine studied Ortes. The man who had betrayed the Bacchus Cult, manipulated Argeyirion from behind the scenes, and plotted to dismantle the Ten Towers became the embodiment of what Kine aspired to be.
The more Kine studied Ortes, the more enigmatic he became—not quite human, but rather like a complex puzzle to solve.
If survival proved strength, then Ortes was undoubtedly powerful. Yet his manifestation of this strength was peculiar.
Ortes’s greatest weapon wasn’t his body or a blade but his tongue.
Hadn’t the current state of the magical society stemmed from Ortes’s wordplay? From what Kine had learned while receiving private tutoring from Carisia, even the fall of one of the Ten Towers’ elders attributed to Argeyirion’s doing was actually orchestrated by Ortes.
Ortes could overthrow the elder of a Magic Tower with his own abilities, but it was his rhetoric that threatened the entire world. Truly astonishing eloquence—it had been evident ever since Ortes deceived Demos in Elysion. Most of the chaos plaguing the world could be traced back to Ortes’s machinations.
Kine honed their abilities to possess such a lethal weapon.
Now, as Panoptes agents and other participants hurled stones at an unknown adversary, the effectiveness of this approach was proven.
Cnemon, watching the scene unfold nearby, thought:
“Ortes is destroying the world.”
I was unexpectedly grateful for reinforcements.
“So, it pays to take good care of them!”
At a glance, the allies infected by the psychic parasite were struggling to adapt to the sudden changes. My task was simple.
Prevent the parasitic assimilation, rescue Carisia, and defeat the individual likely affiliated with Argeyirion.
I solidified plans to utilize the magic conduits. The psychic parasite was currently drawing power from the Magic Core.
If I could sever the connection between the conduits and the core, Carisia and the Blasphemia agents would naturally gain the upper hand.
But this was a novice’s strategy. It was uncertain how long it would take to destroy the conduits, and if our magic depleted before completing the task, we’d be in trouble.
Most importantly, it would damage property belonging to… not our company, but Cnemon’s assets.
While creating value through combat might be the way of the master strategist, unfortunately, I wasn’t an investment genius. So, I chose the intermediate method:
Preserve as much value as possible. Maintain the facility while destroying only the psychic parasite.
And I had a way to do just that. Although fully analyzing the parasite’s assimilation would strain my eyes significantly, it wasn’t entirely necessary now. Instead of mastering the spell, my goal was to disrupt it—to troll their carefully prepared banquet by spilling water on it.
It didn’t need to be precise; chaotic interference would suffice. High-level magic like this often becomes uncontrollable once errors are introduced.
As Carisia’s beams were blocked by the psychic parasite, craters formed around the Amimone Magic Tower, revealing glimpses of the magic conduits beneath the ground.
I pulled out the magic imprint drive intended for overwriting.
Click.
Click.
“Is it malfunctioning?”
This was the first time after countless uses that the imprint drive failed. Was the device defective?
No, the basic mana stored within the drive was depleted.
It had been fine just moments ago. As I tested another drive, I watched its mana get sucked away along the conduits.
Damn.
The psychic parasite’s mana absorption was too strong. In the brief moment needed to activate the drive, the parasite siphoned off the mana required to complete the spell.
I hadn’t anticipated this obstacle.
Looking up at the shattered remains of the Amimone Magic Tower, I realized there was no choice.
I’d have to become a poor investor after all.
And deal with the fake news that gave me incorrect information.
Despite the chaos, Nastiorn managed to maintain control over his body. Though the assault began with rocks and escalated into a storm of offensive magic, it remained ineffective without targeting Nastiorn’s true essence.
“What exactly did you do?”
That crude insult seemed to serve as a magical incantation. However, Nastiorn couldn’t deduce the structure of the magic.
All he could discern was that some form of curse weakened mental resistance. The part that swayed and mesmerized the will eluded analysis.
“Did you foresee this far…?”
This was undoubtedly Ortes’s doing. The moment Nastiorn attacked Ortes’s ally, Ortes reversed the situation, inciting retaliation against himself.
The scale of Ortes’s plan was immense, extending beyond anything Nastiorn could fathom.
“Blasphemia! Change the target! Not the tower itself, but the Magic Core connected to it! Otherwise, this will only lead to endless attrition!”
Finally, the most effective strategy was communicated. Nastiorn wondered why Ortes had waited until now to suggest this method if he had foreseen everything.
“To avoid suspicion?”
For centuries, the false deity and psychic parasites had been enemies of the Theistic Order, yet they had never directly clashed with the magical community. If they had immediately presented an effective countermeasure upon appearing, it would have raised significant doubts later.
So, they initially attempted to halt the assimilation through attacks, then started the real offensive after an appropriate delay. A truly formidable opponent.
It wasn’t just about crafting strategies; Ortes had the skill to manipulate every participant in the battle according to his schemes. Even Nastiorn, who prided himself on wisdom, found that his desperate countermeasures were rendered useless by Ortes’s greater stratagems.
Nastiorn saw Ortes running toward him after issuing the attack order. Danger.
That man could perceive Nastiorn’s true nature. A random mage’s grand spell would be less lethal than a single slash from Ortes’s blade.
With the false deity bound and unable to restrain Ortes, Nastiorn had no remaining options for retaliation.
Ortes sprinted up the wall, launching himself at the peak of acceleration just as two spells collided, creating an explosion of smoke.
His vision cleverly obscured, Ortes’s attack came from behind.
Had Nastiorn not possessed sensory organs throughout his entire body, he wouldn’t have detected this strike.
Nastiorn abandoned his hovering form and fled into the shadows of the wall.
Cheers of “Evil has been vanquished!” echoed among the gathered mages. Moving from the shadow of the wall to the rubble, then into the shadow of a building, Nastiorn observed Ortes landing on the ground.
Their eyes met.
Though Nastiorn lacked physical “eyes,” he felt it instinctively.
Even with perfect stealth and timing, Ortes had instantly pinpointed his location upon entering the shadows.
A single thought arose in Nastiorn’s mind—a word unfamiliar since obtaining a shadow-based body centuries ago.
Survival.
“Can I survive against this demigod who turned an entire city into his stage?”
In the shadows of walls, lampposts, and sometimes birds, Nastiorn thought furiously, deliberately ignoring the fact that Ortes was getting closer.
Extreme situations often yield extraordinary solutions.
One reason spatial magic is strictly controlled is due to the risk of summoning extraterrestrial entities.
Yet Argeyirion had no reason to fear such beings.
And hadn’t the vast mana source required for spatial magic already been prepared?
Action must be taken before all connections to the false deity’s mana conduits are severed.
The desperate actor decided to blow up the stage to escape the director’s control.
