I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 633

Roar—

The whirlwind of fragments overhead spun faster and faster, perhaps due to the spreading waves around. Despite the transcendent sight, Ian didn't spare it a glance and stepped into the mansion.

Thump... Thump...

Just then, static flooded Ian's vision. The next moment, the ruined, ashen entrance hall regained its color. Amidst the flickering candlelight illuminating a clean hall, Ian turned to the side.

His vision returned to normal immediately after. However, he remained turned in the same direction as the vision. He was looking at a dark, old corridor leading from the left of the hall. Ian wasn't particularly surprised.

So, the memories in the blood are awakening.

He started down the corridor, calm and unhurried. It was proof enough that he had found the right place. After all, blood and soul were said to be the vessels that stored the most knowledge. By stepping into the mansion, he had triggered that very process of awakening.

Scuff—-Scuff—

Dust rose with every step. It was impossible to guess how long this place had been buried. The fact that it still held its shape was a miracle enough.

—Yes... looks like you feel it too. It’s in there.

Yog’s whisper followed. Even surrounded by the waves of chaos, it seemed to have pinpointed the source. Clearly, it hadn’t been able to glimpse the same vision Ian had.

—Right. This is it.

Ian stopped in front of the room at the end of the hall. In the corner of the half-buried room, a staircase led down into the ground.

Thump! Thump!

As the pounding of his heart grew so loud it nearly deafened him, Ian stepped onto the staircase. Darkness soon veiled his vision. It was absolute darkness that even he could not penetrate.

Seems much deeper than it looks.

Relying only on the sensation in his feet, Ian descended.

Of course, to escape the eyes of gods and dragons, a laboratory would have needed to be hidden far beneath the surface. Magical measures would have been necessary, too. To Ian, this unnatural darkness seemed to be the measure.

His vision brightened when he reached the bottom of the stairs. A wide underground stone chamber was revealed. Its light came from countless spell circuits carved into the ceiling and walls, glowing ominously between shades of red and violet.

As he stepped forward and lifted his head, Ian suddenly realized he could no longer move of his own will. Another vision had taken hold before he even noticed.

So now I’m seeing through the White Mage’s eyes.

While the thought crossed his mind, his body walked across the stone chamber. At the far end stood a raised platform and a stone altar, the point where all the magical circuits converged.

Swoosh—

And on the altar sat a large orb, impossible to tell if it was an essence bead or a magic stone. Either way, Ian had never seen one so large. An ominous light, shifting between red and purple, pulsed gently within it. As he stepped onto the dais, the light inside the orb brightened.

He stopped before the altar and opened the thick tome he carried in his left hand. The rough pages were covered with incomprehensible symbols and strange diagrams.

"-----."

A low murmur left his lips—more a chant than clear speech, like the recitation of a scripture.

Magic spread from his outstretched right hand toward the orb.

Casting a spell like this is... new. Primitive dark magic, perhaps.

As Ian observed, the orb on the altar shone brighter and brighter. Magic flowed endlessly from the outstretched hand, and the White Mage’s chanting voice grew louder.

Rumble, thud, thud...

The spell circuits in the chamber pulsed as if overheating, and the room shook like an earthquake. The light in the orb grew brighter, now swirling violently within. Even so, the White Mage’s chant continued unbroken.

A fitting suicide for a spellcaster.

As an observer, Ian let out a faint, hollow laugh inwardly. He already knew how this would end. The grand ritual would fail, taking the caster’s life and tearing open a rift that this world would never be able to mend.

Boom!

As expected, the light swirling inside the sphere grew increasingly unstable. Sparks burst from the spell circuits all around. The chamber shook more violently by the second, yet the White Mage neither stopped his chant nor withdrew his extended hand. He only spread his bony fingers wider, struggling to keep control over his magic.

Crack—

At last, a fracture ran across the heart of the sphere. For a fleeting instant, the light dimmed as though time itself had paused.

Boom—

A blinding explosion filled his vision. Static flickered through the light immediately after. The dust-covered ashen chamber came into focus. The gray, dust-covered chamber reappeared, the spell circuits still glowing faintly despite being shattered in many places. Even the cracked altar, veined with spiderweb fractures, bore an ominous gleam from strange ancient letters carved into its center.

—Hey, Friend. You’re seeing something again, aren’t you?

Yog's somewhat distant whisper echoed in his mind. However, Ian’s attention was elsewhere. He was staring at his right hand, stretched out in front of him—the same gesture as the White Mage in the vision.

Shaaaa...

His bare hand, exposed beneath the torn glove and wrist guard, began to shine. Veins of light rippled beneath his skin, shifting through hues of white and rainbow.

Crack—

With the sound of something shattering, his vision flipped again. Chaotic magic filled the air, and the surrounding space fractured as if reality itself were breaking apart. Violet light surged from the widening rifts.

Swoosh—

The thick magic was being drawn into the cracks. Amid the distortion, the White Mage’s outstretched right hand became visible again. Fractures now spread across his hand and limbs, both large and small.

Crackle!

At almost the same time, the White Mage’s hand clenched. The flow of chaos halted, and the light within the rift deepened in color. The White Mage’s entire body trembled, yet he refused to release his power.

Crack, crackle!

Moments later, the fractures spread like a spiderweb. An ominous light burst from them, and in the next instant, panoramic scenes flashed before his eyes. They passed in the blink of an eye, yet Ian perceived every single one clearly.

A vision inside a vision... that’s new.

Ian’s thought was cut short as the scenes captivated him. He realized that every single one was deeply significant.

This can’t be...

Imperial banners rippled in the wind. Armies of dragons clashed, their roars shaking the heavens as they tore into one another. A city of heretics burned beneath crimson flames. Demonic tribes wailed in despair. And from the earth, the Black Wall rose skyward.

Is he seeing the future?

They were scenes that could only be interpreted that way. All of them were events that had not happened in the White Mage’s time. Disjointed and fleeting as they were, the White Mage had glimpsed the future in his final moments.

And that one...

Ian realized that wasn't all when he saw the image of a massive black dragon soaring. It had shackles on its neck and tail and was wreathed in flames. It was unmistakably the Heaven Defier, freed from its seal. An image of the Imperial Capital, bathed in brilliant light, flashed, alternating with a view of it in ruins, burning in the darkness.

So he saw every possible branch of an unwritten future.

Ian tried to memorize the sights. Among them was a scene of Hyked charging with Black Knights and another of the Order's paladins fighting back the darkness. They were all clues, fragments of events that might one day come to pass.

Crack—

However, the prophecy did not last forever. In truth, it was only a moment. As the vision scattered, the outstretched right hand gradually came into focus.

Crack, crack, crack—

The White Mage’s hand and forearm were covered in countless fissures, like a shattered porcelain doll. The same must have been true for the rest of his body. Dust flaked from his fingertips as they crumbled away.

"------!"

Still, the White Mage refused to give up. His chant rose to a scream, echoing wildly through the chamber. Then, white light boiled out from every fracture across him.

Boom!

The White Mage exploded in a blinding light, and Ian’s vision went white. The thunderous roar that filled his ears vanished, replaced by a deafening silence.

"I engraved the memory on the surface, scattering the soul."

The quiet voice entered his mind then. It was the voice of an old man, speaking in the common tongue. Through the light filling his vision, the figure of a man in a white hood slowly came into focus.

"It was dangerous, but it was the only way to escape the rift."

Only the bearded chin and lips were visible under the hood, but Ian instantly knew this was the White Mage.

"Of course, even so, most of the soul fragments were likely sucked beyond the rift. Scattered into the void, they would drift for eons and disperse to other universes."

Ian was still unable to move or speak. The White Mage, however, continued in a gentle tone, as if he didn't care.

"But some succeeded in escaping, embedding themselves in the blood of my descendants. They remained dormant, sustaining their existence, waiting for the day the heir seen in prophecy would awaken them once more."

The White Mage reached out and gently grasped both of Ian's forearms. The mouth between the white beard curled up.

"And now, that moment has come. Descendant of prophecy... You will inherit my memories..."

An ominous glint, a mix of red and purple, shone from within the hood. The same sinister energy crept across the hands clutching Ian’s arms.

"Your body and soul shall become my new vessel...."

This son of a bitch.

Had he been able to, Ian would’ve laughed. The memories carved into the bloodline weren’t meant for the descendants’ sake at all. It had been a contingency plan for the White Mage’s own resurrection.

It was also a very tempting trap. Anyone who learned they were the White Mage's descendant and could inherit his knowledge would become obsessed with finding it.

This bastard was just a spellcaster, after all.

Even as he felt the White Mage’s consciousness pressing into his mind, Ian calmly finished his thoughts. It wasn’t merely because resistance was impossible that he remained composed.

He had come this far by accepting a quest that once existed only in the game. And based on every experience he’d had so far, he trusted that completing it wouldn’t lead to his death.

Thump... Thump...

As if rewarding that faith, a familiar resonance spread from deep within him. The White Mage's smile twitched.

"Chaos... How can there be... so much chaos within you?" The White Mage’s voice trembled in shock. He must have felt the bead of chaos essence devouring his magic.

I guess this is how it plays out if you choose the corruption path.

Even as the thought passed, Ian felt another energy rise within him—thick, heavy, and equally familiar.

Swoosh—

This, too, was a familiar sensation. Sensing the magic, the White Mage’s glowing eyes wavered.

"Dragon’s magic as well? How can this be?"

It was likely the Mantra circuit carved into Ian's body, or the Source of the Dragon he absorbed, reacting. Either way, this was probably what happened when one didn’t choose corruption.

So if I hadn’t drunk the Source of the Dragon, I’d just die here, huh?

Unlike Ian, who was essentially doing this for the second time, a player taking on the White Mage’s quest would have needed to complete countless missions and gather every skill point possible. Without Archeas’s help, it would’ve been impossible for Ian as well.

Thump... Thump...

In any case, the situation was spiraling out of control. The bead of chaos essence relentlessly devoured the tainted magic, while the dragon's magic, conversely, neutralized it and absorbed it into Ian’s consciousness.

"No... This is... impossible!"

Both forces clearly struck a fatal blow to the White Mage. The White Mage’s face withered rapidly, his voice breaking with disbelief. He was even uncurling his fingers from Ian’s arms, one by one, as if trying to escape.

Just as his grip on Ian’s forearms was about to loosen completely, Ian shot his hand out and grabbed the mage's neck.

Thwack!

The weakening of the White Mage’s consciousness had given him back control.

"You should have considered that it was only a fragmented prophecy," said Ian, his eyes fixed on the mage’s flickering gaze.

He held back the thought that the mage probably didn't have the luxury of considering that.

Thump! Thump!

Ian sucked the White Mage's magic and consciousness through the hand gripping the neck. The White Mage's limbs trembled, his face shriveling like a mummy as white cracks spread across it. The ominous glint in his eyes also turned pure white.

Bathed in that fading light, the emaciated White Mage barely moved his jaw.

"My, waiting..."

Before he could even finish his last word, the White Mage exploded.