Episode 83
“Aurelia was accused of impersonating the ‘Holy Maiden’ and branded a witch,” Dale announced.
“In the frozen lands of Saxon, she was reduced to ashes after being burned at the stake.”
This was the official end of ‘Holy Maiden Aurelia.’
“So, I’m considered dead now,” Aurelia remarked with a bitter smile.
“A fitting end for one who claimed to be a puppet of the heavens,” Dale replied.
Aurelia’s smile was tinged with irony. No longer was she a puppet of the heavens. Kneeling, she drove her sword into the ground.
“Guide my blade to where it must strike from the shadows,” she whispered.
This was not the noble sword of a proud knight. She no longer denied her dark desires and shadows.
For her revenge, and the ecstasy of slaughter, she wielded the assassin’s blade, hidden in darkness, at the behest of the ‘Black Prince.’
The Black Maiden.
In the shadows of Saxon, an unnamed assassin smiled coldly.
Explaining the events on the island of Britannia, and the existence of Holy Maiden Aurelia, was no easy task, especially in front of the Duke of Saxon.
Thus, Dale decided to reveal the entire truth.
From acquiring the ‘Book of the Black Goat’ after the victory of the black-and-white battle in the Sistine Papal States, to defeating Cardinal Nicolai in the Library of Hell and inscribing the Geass of Absolute Obedience on his heart.
The Duke of Saxon was no longer someone to deceive.
Beyond the bond of father and son, they were partners sharing a common goal. Just as the Black Duke had spoken of the ‘World of Truth,’ Dale too needed to share his own truth.
“The ‘Book of the Black Goat,’ you say?” The Duke’s expression froze upon hearing the words.
“I never intended to deceive you, Father,” Dale replied cautiously.
“I was merely concerned about the weight of this grimoire’s name and your potential worries.”
Ironically, he had hidden behind the shield of a twelve-year-old child.
“I was afraid to be honest,” he admitted, like a child confessing a mistake to a parent.
The Black Duke remained silent, aware of the significance of the legacy of Saxon’s founder, the Immortal Duke Frederick, which gripped Dale’s heart with its dark tendrils.
“Is ‘it’ still with you?” the Duke asked.
“Yes,” Dale confirmed.
“Now it all makes sense,” the Duke said, a curious smile spreading across his face.
“Your exploits are finally explained.”
As a descendant of Saxon, and considering Dale’s extraordinary talents, it was not surprising that he had formed a contract with the ‘Book of the Black Goat.’
Reprimanding Dale’s recklessness could wait. In fact, that very recklessness was undeniable proof of his Saxon heritage.
The clan of darkness, willing to plunge into the abyss to grasp the truth.
“Perhaps blood cannot be denied,” the Duke mused.
When Dale reached the part of his story about the island of Britannia and Holy Maiden Aurelia, he continued, “Regardless of whether her abilities truly stem from a ‘goddess’s revelation,’ her prowess as a knight at the avatar level is invaluable.”
“You’ve taken quite a dangerous gamble,” the Duke remarked with a wry smile. Yet, faced with Dale’s audacity, he found himself unable to scold him.
Instead, the Duke felt a sense of awe.
On the island of Britannia, Dale had demonstrated the ability to manipulate the battlefield as if it were in the palm of his hand. The exploits of the ‘Black Prince’ echoed throughout the Empire, extending beyond the Saxon family.
A war hero of the Empire.
“Let’s test her abilities with the ‘Grave Guards’ of the ducal castle and gradually decide her fate,” the Duke suggested.
“Please do,” Dale replied.
“Do you sympathize with her situation?” the Duke asked.
After a moment of silence, Dale nodded.
“She was merely a puppet of the heavens,” he said.
A puppet unaware of its own actions.
“That’s why I showed her the path she could choose with her own will,” Dale explained.
“With the help of ‘it’?” the Duke inquired.
“I showed her the shadow within herself,” Dale replied.
“She met her own shadow and dark desires, and it was Aurelia who made the decision.”
“Indeed,” the Duke acknowledged with a nod.
“You’ve seen ‘it,’ so the story is quicker to tell.”
Recalling the promise between Dale and the Duke, the Duke continued.
When the Empire once again sought to reach the World of Truth, to prevent repeating the same sins, the Duke had promised to teach Dale the power he had gained from the World of Truth.
At that moment, the world shifted.
Suddenly, they were no longer in a room of the Saxon ducal castle but in the ‘World of Thought’ created by the continent’s greatest dark magician.
Flap!
Several crows took flight from behind the Duke.
They stood on a land bathed in the twilight of dusk.
──The ‘World of Thought’ possessed by a high-ranking magician does not have a single form. It can change its shape and purpose as needed.
“Bring out the grimoire,” the Duke commanded.
“Understood,” Dale replied, nodding as he became aware of the tendrils gripping his heart.
“Shub.”
─ Yes.
A girl with the horns of a black goat appeared beside Dale.
Beneath the hem of her black dress, countless tendrils writhed.
──To the Duke, it was nothing more than a grotesque abomination from another realm. A creature composed of a mass of tendrils, writhing like thousands of worms.
Yet even this form was merely a fragment of what was projected into this world.
“Iä Shub-Niggurath,” the Duke intoned solemnly.
“Our ancient mother of darkness.”
He spoke as if he knew her.
─ Ah, the child of Saxon has come.
Shub responded, no longer the innocent, smiling girl she usually appeared to be.
”……!”
A mature and dignified woman stood there, her black hair framing the horns of a black goat. She smiled with the grace of a lady, her black dress billowing around her.
“Death,” the Duke addressed.
At that moment, the twilight vanished. It was not the darkness of night. It was an indescribably deep, ominous, and unknown darkness.
In the pitch-black void, the Duke’s grimoire, the ‘Scales of the Heart,’ revealed itself.
A man in formal attire appeared.
He resembled an English gentleman from the Victorian era, wearing a bowler hat and a black suit. In his hand, he held a cane adorned with a skull.
Yet his face was so indistinct that it was impossible to remember. No matter how much one looked, it could not be recalled.
Flap!
Once again, several crows took flight from behind him.
‘Death.’
─ You have called me too soon, child.
The man in the black suit spoke calmly.
“Please forgive my rudeness,” the Duke said, bowing his head.
“The great uninvited guest whom none desire, yet none can escape.”
He turned to Dale, and the abomination from another realm behind him.
“What do you think a grimoire is?” the Duke asked.
“A vessel reflecting a magician’s thoughts,” Dale replied.
“Then what do you think thoughts are?” the Duke continued.
“A systematic collection of consciousness built from our experiences,” Dale answered.
“Then these beings behind us,” the Duke pressed on.
“Are they merely products of our accumulated consciousness?”
”…….”
Dale looked at the man called ‘Death.’
Death.
Finally, a part of the Duke’s secret was revealed.
He turned to the being behind him. Shub, now the innocent, smiling girl she usually was, stood there.
Dale shook his head. Instinctively, he knew. These beings were not something that could be conjured by the thoughts of a mere magician.
The endpoint of thought that even a grimoire like the ‘Book of Massacre’ could not imitate.
“At the end of thought, human consciousness reaches a singular origin.”
The end of thought, the ultimate destination of consciousness.
The collective unconscious.
Deep within the unconscious, there are common images shared by all humanity.
Stories that are ‘similarly created’ in the form of myths or legends, transcending time and borders, even between worlds.
For example, gods, demons, mother goddesses, heroes, monsters, saviors, death…
Archetypes that have persisted since ancient times, before history began.
“And there were those who, in pursuit of the ultimate in magic, succeeded in drawing out those ancient images.”
And now, those ‘ancient images’ stood behind the two of them.
Once, the Immortal Duke Frederick had done so, and the Duke had reached the endpoint of thought.
Death, and the ancient mother of darkness.
“Then, where do you think this shared imagery of all humanity originates from?”
The Black Orb questioned, and Dale finally swallowed hard.
“The world of truth…”
The world of truth wasn’t something external. At last, he understood why this world had religions and philosophies similar to Earth’s and why its history seemed to repeat Earth’s patterns.
It was the collective unconscious shared by humans across worlds, and beyond that lay the world of truth.
The power that wizards drew upon came from that very world, and the beings that protected the two of them were from there as well.
“Are you prepared to handle these ancient beings?”
The Black Orb spoke again. Time and again, Dale’s father had issued the same warning. And each time, Dale’s response remained unchanged.
“A fragment of the fourth circle has formed in my heart.”
”…!”
“This seems like the perfect opportunity.”
For Dale, nothing was more certain than the path of a wizard.
“To draw out Shub’s power even more.”
Dale nodded.
“May I entrust my son’s education to you?”
The Black Orb addressed the man in a suit standing by his side.
— Quite bold and audacious, child.
The man, dressed like a Victorian English gentleman, smiled as if he found the notion of ‘death’ amusing.
— Yet, there’s something about this child that isn’t displeasing.
He seemed satisfied.
— Especially since my ‘old friend’ is here.
With a flutter!
At that moment, several crows took flight from behind Death.
— But be prepared, child.
Death spoke.
— For no one can stop death.