Episode 168
A formidable figure stood among the ranks of the 98th floor of the Black Tower—a 7th-circle dark sorcerer, a master of black magic whose age was beyond reckoning. For Dale, who had recently ascended to the power of the 5th circle, this was a formidable opponent.
Having merged with the “Book of the Black Goat,” Dale’s body had transformed into a vessel of dark power. He accelerated the obsidian circle that coiled around his heart.
Simultaneously, a single stroke was added to the ink-wash world the old master had conjured.
The brush in the hand of the dark sorcerer before Dale was not the one painting this world. It was as if a divine brush from the heavens was moving, painting over the canvas of reality.
To Dale, it felt like this brush was trying to erase his very existence, wielded by an absolute power.
He could sense that the brush moved according to the will of the “old master” standing before him.
Realizing he was but a fleeting presence on this canvas, Dale quickly established his own domain of thought beneath his feet.
In a duel between high-level sorcerers, it was essential to project one’s thoughts and establish a territory.
“…!”
The landscape around Dale twisted, revealing a winter night and a dark fortress. Yet, this was not truly Dale’s world.
Like the old master’s, it was a landscape painted in ink, indistinguishable from the rest.
Nothing changed. The black ink continued to spread, threatening to drown Dale’s world in darkness.
“This world is like a canvas,” the old master said.
Dale, now a figure within the painting, leapt to avoid the ink brush that sought to cover him.
The strokes on the old master’s ink-wash painting were not random. A fine brush moved with precision, sketching creatures that defied definition, like monsters from an Eastern painting.
The brush stopped, and the painted creatures began to move.
“The canvas is one, but the number of artists who wish to paint upon it is countless,” the old master remarked.
Hearing this, the Shadow Lord halted.
At the same time, a stroke from the heavens descended to cover him, and the painted creatures charged like wild beasts.
“Thank you for the lesson,” Dale said, extending his arm against the oncoming ink.
The armor of darkness exploded outward, and tendrils of blackness spread in all directions.
Swoosh!
A tendril wrapped around the ink brush above, anchoring it firmly.
Simultaneously, Dale began to move the brush, now entwined in his tendrils, towards himself.
Crash!
Dale wielded the “brush of the absolute” against the charging painted creatures, covering them in ink.
A figure within the painting had seized the brush, beginning to paint over the canvas with his own will.
“Is this my brush?” Dale asked.
The old master chuckled.
“Go ahead, paint,” he encouraged.
“What do you mean?” Dale inquired.
“The picture you wish to paint on the canvas called the world,” the old master replied.
Dale smiled quietly at this.
“I can’t reveal my painting so easily,” he said.
Tendrils of darkness rose again from his transformed body, consuming the brush of the absolute and the entire ink-wash world.
Finally understanding the old master’s philosophy, Dale sought to overwhelm and dominate the enemy’s world as a sorcerer.
He possessed the overwhelming power to consume the world of thought created by a 7th-circle sorcerer.
“Oh, indeed…!” the old master gasped in awe.
The tendrils exploded, scattering black ink—Dale’s ink—over the old master’s world, consuming the painted realm.
A dark fortress rose from the shadows, and the winter night began to envelop the surroundings.
“I look forward to seeing the picture you will paint over this world,” the old master said with a smile, now standing within the winter landscape Dale had created.
”…”
The world the old master had shown was unlike anything Dale had encountered before, filled with strange concepts and philosophies.
Yet, it was not an insurmountable mystery.
If Dale could draw more power from Shub, the old master would not be an unbeatable opponent. But neither was the old master using his full strength.
The world he had shown was not meant for battle or destruction. It was a test, devoid of malice.
However, if this painted world were to be wielded as a weapon with true malice, it would be an entirely different story.
“At best, my chances are seven to three,” Dale calculated, absorbing the old master’s teachings and bowing his head.
“I look forward to seeing the picture you will paint over the Black Tower,” the old master smiled again.
As their worlds dissolved into magic, they found themselves back on the 98th floor of the Black Tower.
“Go on,” the old master urged, and Dale bowed once more before turning away.
“You’re entertaining quite the audacious idea,” said Eris, the Black Emissary, on the 99th floor, her monocle gleaming as always.
“I don’t expect it to happen overnight,” Dale replied.
“It’s not my role to decide or judge,” Eris said, shaking her head as if to end the conversation.
“Go on. The Tower Master is waiting for you,” she added, and Dale saw no reason to hesitate.
At the pinnacle of the Black Tower, a man sat on the highest throne. Though he still bore the body of a young boy, his presence was undiminished.
“Father,” Dale addressed him.
The Lord of Darkness and Death, the Black Duke.
“You’ve done well,” the Black Duke said, his stern expression finally softening into a smile.
“When you first mentioned your idea, I thought it was nothing more than a fanciful dream,” he admitted.
But it wasn’t.
“Yet, you’ve managed to win the hearts of the elders for an unprecedented reform of the organization.”
“The old master helped,” Dale said.
“It was your persuasion that made it possible,” the Black Duke replied.
“I respect and agree with your vision,” he continued.
Dale bowed before the one who stood at the top of the Black Tower.
“But I worry whether your ideals will come to fruition,” the Black Duke confessed.
“I don’t believe I can achieve it alone,” Dale said, as the most trusted partner and rightful representative of the Duke of Saxon.
“However, I don’t think the combined strength of you, the elders, and the Saxon Duchy is lacking.”
To share the black wisdom with those who cannot wield magic, to embrace their philosophies and revive the spirit of the Black Tower.
To some, it might sound like an idealistic dream.
Yet Dale was certain.
Not of the success of his envisioned reform, but of the certainty that the Black Tower could not stand against the Red Tower as things were.
“With our current strength, maintaining the Black Tower’s status is not difficult,” Dale said.
“But in the future, we won’t be able to match the Red Tower in strength or scale unless we become the monsters of truth we once were.”
“We’ve sworn never to repeat the darkness of those days,” the Black Duke said.
“I deeply respect your resolve,” Dale replied, bowing his head.
“That’s why I seek change,” he continued.
”…”
“To stand against the spirit of the Red without becoming monsters, the black wisdom must be shared with all.”
“It won’t be easy,” the Black Duke said calmly.
“But it’s worth attempting,” he added, rising from his seat.
Dale looked at the Black Duke, still in the body of a young boy, and asked again.
“Have you not regained your true form?”
The Black Duke shook his head quietly.
“Then why…?” Dale asked, puzzled.
The Black Duke remained silent for a moment before speaking.
“Elena asked me to stay like this a little longer,” he said.
”…”
In a rare moment of embarrassment, the Black Duke blushed like a boy his age.
Some time later.
An unprecedented event occurred as the “Black Prince” of Saxon was appointed as an elder of the Black Tower, despite being only a 5th-circle sorcerer.
Dale, now officially the heir and elder of the Black Tower, had secured his position within its ranks. This marked the beginning of sweeping reforms that shook both the Black Tower and Necropolis to their core.
The first reform was to provide opportunities for those unable to wield magic to learn at the Black Tower. No matter how humble their origins, no one was excluded.
Several advanced schools were established as part of the Black Tower’s affiliated institutions, allowing even those without magical abilities to thrive. However, it would take some time before these efforts bore fruit.
Furthermore, the black mages who sought power within the Black Tower were separated and absorbed into an organization directly under Duke Saxon.
The Black Duke himself was one of the continent’s most formidable mages, renowned for his prowess in battle. The focus was on teaching magic designed for victory in combat and war, training individuals to become the Duke’s sword alongside the Night Raven Knights.
Additionally, the Saxon forces, composed of the Black Armor Company, Night Raven Knights, elite assassins from the Shadow Court, and black mages, began to expand rapidly, growing in strength and size with each passing day.
Meanwhile, the enterprises Dale was managing in the Demon King’s territory were progressing smoothly, transforming the northern frontier into a golden land that could no longer be ignored within the Empire.
It was around this time that news arrived of Dale’s former mentor, the wise elven mage.