Episode 35
The fear and dread people felt towards the House of Saxon were not exaggerated in the slightest.
Even though the Black Tower under the Black Duke’s regime had adopted a more conciliatory approach, the darkness their lineage had built over the ages was not something that could vanish overnight.
The “Book of the Black Goat” was the very embodiment of that darkness—a sinister artifact of their family.
“Only the young master should enter the Library of Hell.”
As Dale walked through the underground passage of the Apostolic Palace, he recalled his agreement with Cardinal Nikolai. The stairs, shrouded in deep darkness, seemed to stretch on endlessly.
“Furthermore, the church will not be held accountable for anything that transpires in hell…”
He was allowed to take only one grimoire out. In return, Dale and the House of Saxon had to swear eternal silence about the church’s secrets.
This was the essence of the contract sealed by the White Tower’s famed magic, the “Geas.”
A divine oath, binding Dale and Nikolai’s hearts as collateral.
As long as the Geas was in effect, the confidentiality and trust were beyond question. The moment either party consciously broke the contract, the curse of the Geas would activate, causing their hearts to explode.
“Not that the information would be of much value to anyone else.”
Even if he were to reveal the truth known only to the heroes and ruin a few high-ranking cardinals, nothing would change. However, by becoming allies through the Geas, the church would inevitably become an ally of the House of Saxon.
Winning the church’s favor was akin to winning the favor of the goddess.
What Dale had gained in the Sistine Papal States was a harvest beyond words.
That is, if he could make it out of there safely.
At the end of the dimly lit underground passage, where a crimson lamp flickered, stood the entrance to hell. A stone gate inscribed with ominous words blocked Dale’s path.
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
And as he read those words—
A high-pitched screech echoed.
In a place where not even a whisper of wind blew, the artifact disguised as a black surcoat, the “Shadow Cloak,” began to stir. Suppressing the shadows that danced at his feet, Dale raised his head.
It was the resonance of darkness.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he stepped forward.
Beyond the gates of hell.
The place wasn’t called “hell” without reason.
A massive dungeon masquerading as a library.
And the forbidden tomes imprisoned there were not banned for trivial reasons like impure thoughts.
These were grimoires with immense power, wielding that power solely for malevolent purposes. They were uncontrollable artifacts that could destroy the owner’s mind and bring about calamity.
Yet, just as a renowned knight is inseparable from his sword, a grimoire is to a mage what a sword is to a knight.
Who could blame a knight for desiring a magnificent sword, even if it were a bloodthirsty demon blade stained with the blood of countless victims?
Mages were no different. In fact, their yearning for grimoires far surpassed that of knights for their swords.
“A mage’s sword…”
For instance, Dale’s father, the Black Duke, possessed the “Scales of the Heart,” and the Blood Duke boasted the “Book of Blood.”
In the suffocating darkness, Dale reached out. He sought a grimoire that would truly become “his sword.”
”…!”
It was then that a blade of pitch-black shadow rose from beneath his feet, orbiting around him. He sensed a sinister presence from beyond the darkness.
“Groooan…”
It wasn’t hard to discern its identity. The guardian of the Library of Hell. A puppet that had sworn to protect the church even in death.
A Mummy Knight.
Clad in white armor and wielding a sword forged with the holy power of white mages, its body was preserved meticulously, devoid of the grotesque decay typical of corpses.
A white revenant resurrected by the sanctity and blessings of white mages and priests.
Yet, as a puppet animated by magic, how was it any different from the “Death Knights” of the Black Tower?
“Truly…”
In ancient times, there was a “Black-and-White Tower” that delved into the mysteries of life and death. Within it, two perspectives on life and death split into factions, leading to a great battle.
Historians later named it the “Great Battle of Black-and-White.”
The defeated Black faction, along with their leader, the Undying Duke Frederick, was exiled to the northern wilderness.
As the price of defeat, the “Book of the Black Goat” was confiscated by the church and the White Tower. In return, they swore to protect the empire and the continent against the northern demon realm for generations.
Thus, Frederick became the first master of the Black Tower, the progenitor of the House of Saxon.
This was the origin of the House of Saxon and the Black Tower, the deep-rooted darkness passed down to Dale’s generation.
The Black Tower, pursuing the truth in darkness, as opposed to the White Tower’s pursuit of the light of wisdom—
“Not a single thing is different.”
It was as he said.
The confrontation with the Mummy Knight was brief.
Thud!
The Mummy Knight charged, swinging its holy sword.
Not moved by the dark magic of the Black Tower, but by the light magic of the white mages.
Sensing Dale’s water and dark magic, it deemed him an enemy to be eliminated.
“The church takes no responsibility for what happens in hell.”
Even if he were to meet an untimely end here, it would be solely Dale’s fault.
The White Tower’s “Geas” was akin to a 21st-century insurance policy, always leaving a loophole to slip through.
“I won’t let things go their way.”
Clang!
A blade of shadow rose from beneath Dale’s feet, blocking the Mummy Knight’s sword. He pushed off the ground, creating distance. In the impenetrable darkness, where most would be overwhelmed by confusion and fear, Dale remained unshaken.
In fact, he felt a sense of liberation.
He didn’t need to be a mere third-circle mage, nor did he need to present himself as the empire’s greatest genius or the prodigy of a ducal house.
Without worrying about others’ perceptions, he could simply be his true self.
With the “Shadow Cloak” billowing wildly behind him, Dale spoke.
“Shadow Bullet.”
It wasn’t the icy crystals he had shown before.
Bullets formed from the malevolent shadows of the cloak, writhing at his feet.
And it wasn’t just a single shot. He meticulously crafted the shadow blades into bullets, flicking his fingers. Like pulling the trigger of a machine gun, a barrage of shadow bullets rained down.
The armor, tempered by the priests’ holy magic, was shattered and torn to pieces. The pallid body, preserved like a specimen in formalin, was no exception. The black bullets burrowed into the Mummy Knight’s body, gnawing away like worms.
Becoming “living bullets of darkness.”
A spell filled with malice unlike anything before.
Leaving the fallen Mummy Knight behind, Dale continued his journey. In this labyrinthine hell, he sought the true treasure he desired.
Books labeled as having “dangerous ideologies” don’t harm or consume people directly.
But “grimoires” are different.
Magic is the power to turn ideology into reality, and just as a book contains the author’s thoughts, a grimoire contains the mage’s ideology.
“Forbidden grimoires” are those filled with “extremely malevolent and dangerous ideologies.”
This was why the place was called the Library of Hell.
A realm twisted by powerful malice and corrupt ideologies.
“Finding a proper path in such a place is nearly impossible.”
Yet, what he needed to do was crystal clear.
Concentrating his icy magic, he crystallized a blade of ice and drew it across his palm.
Drip.
Blood dripped from the wound.
“I, Dale of Saxon.”
The blood of the lineage that inherited the darkness of the House of Saxon.
“As the rightful heir of the Undying Duke’s bloodline, I call upon you from this place.”
Drip, drip.
”…O Black Goat of the Forest with a Thousand Young.”
Drip, drip, drip.
“I command you to fulfill the contract made with the clan of darkness and reveal yourself before me.”
And as a pool of blood began to form at Dale’s feet—
“Blood, blood! Such powerful blood!”
“Fresh mage’s blood!”
“He seeks a contract with us!”
“Child, come to me! I will grant you power!”
From all around, whispers like hallucinations began to echo.
In this place where the line between reality and thought blurs, the sinister allure of the grimoires had drawn Dale in, much like a school of piranhas scenting blood in the water.
It was then that a voice rang out.
“Step aside! That child is my contractor!”
The whispering of the books ceased, replaced by a chilling wave of malevolence.
“I can feel it, the hatred and the intent to kill! It’s the stench of slaughter!”
The surroundings shifted dramatically.
The ‘world of thought’ contained within the grimoire unfolded before Dale.
A world within a book.
Corpses strewn everywhere, severed limbs, scattered entrails. A landscape of endless massacre stretched beyond the horizon. From the pile of bodies, the avatar of the grimoire emerged.
─ I will slaughter all your enemies.
An executioner wielding a blood-red axe.
─ We will celebrate with a sea of corpses and blood of those who stand in your way.
There was only one grimoire that could conjure such a scene.
‘The Book of Massacre.’
The infamous blood mage Duchamp, his mental world and dangerous ideologies encapsulated in this bloody tome. The essence of mass slaughter, the secrets of heinous blood magic. Its power and value were beyond words.
‘Only one grimoire can be taken.’
Yet, Dale shook his head quietly.
“You are not what I’m looking for.”
He addressed the Book of Massacre.
“Stand down.”
─ You dare reject me?
Dale nodded again, and the avatar of the grimoire brandished its blood-red axe menacingly. Dale’s refusal could mean only one thing.
─ Do you think you can leave this place alive?
The executioner’s axe gleamed with a chilling edge.
“I don’t see why not.”
Unfazed, Dale nodded. He turned his back on the endless massacre, merging the biting cold with the refined power of darkness.
The blood-soaked world within the Book of Massacre. Yet, to Dale, it was a trivial realm, incapable of stirring even the slightest emotion.
Not when compared to the memory of that white, dark winter night.