The Game of a Legendary Genius Dark Mage-Chapter 381

“Master.”

“...?”

When Nocturne spoke, Seong turned. Bowing his head, Nocturne addressed him.

“Please, above all, beware the Lord of the Abyss.”

He first wondered if this was the usual fussing of Overpalace NPCs.

But something in Nocturne carried a solemn weight, and Seong found himself thinking despite himself.

The one sealed at the deepest level was the Lord of Despair.

Since that was set to be the next form of Helena’s strongest sword art, he had thought the Lord of Despair would be the strongest. Yet Nocturne was warning him about the Lord of the Abyss.

Mulling over the warning, Seong nodded as if he had realized something.

“Thanks for the tip.”

“I am only happy if it helps you.”

Leaving the delighted Nocturne behind, Seong exited the castle.

The moment their true master—Seong—departed, Nocturne’s aura changed at once.

The lord of Nocturne remaining in the castle exuded a disquieting power of nightmare. At his side, Nina—the successor of the Galaxy Sword Dance—shuddered and bowed her head.

As Nocturne’s closest attendant, she knew well.

He was furious to the very roots of his hair.

Nightmare energy heaved around him. Face taut with anger, Nocturne said to Nina,

“I will inform Overpalace that the presumptuous Rieskan Kingdom has laid hands upon our Master. Nina, monitor the Rieskan Kingdom without fail.”

“I obey.”

At her loyal reply, Nina vanished on the spot. Nocturne did not even look where she’d stood; instead he inscribed his intent upon a black sheet of paper, folded it into the shape of a bird, and sent it toward Overpalace.

The insolent Rieskan Kingdom sought yet again to foul matters.

He would inform Overpalace and give his anger its voice.

With preparations complete and the message sent, Nocturne went to his chamber to quell his rage, shutting his eyes tight.

Nightmare power still surged.

But he must endure.

If he erupted now, there might be less wrath left to unleash for Seong’s sake.

'All for the Master.'

It was a faith bordering on fanaticism; even with eyes closed, a baleful light leaked from them as Nocturne wrestled his nightmare power and forced his fury down.

He awaited the day when this volcano of anger could finally erupt.

2.

There was no peace in the capital of the Rieskan Kingdom; court councils were convened by the day.

High offices, mighty nobles, and, in place of the royal family, the Sword Saint presiding—one might say the agenda of such councils was predictable.

The war from two days prior.

Or was it war? It had been a one-sided ravaging of the Silverrain Territory.

Yet none could open their mouths.

Dukes and margraves—the most powerful of great nobles—were gathered, but the oppressive aura from the Sword Saint seated at the center of the round table stifled every word.

At length, the cause of that silence spoke.

“Why is no one speaking?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

What could they say?

One of the proud kingdom’s fiefs—a vast county—had been stripped from them cleanly.

There was no defense to be made.

At the Sword Saint’s order, Ricardo Silverrain had declared war on the Rapid Guild. That order had been conveyed through this very council, acting as the Sword Saint’s proxy.

The aim had been to avoid Overpalace’s gaze: to strike the Overlord while shielding themselves with deniability. Instead of striking the Overlord, they were struck, and the Silverrain Territory itself was sacked.

It had been the Sword Saint who first sent Riindel, and then this very council that tried to salvage the matter—only to burn down the whole house.

What argument could there be?

None, as was only natural.

Watching their mewling impotence, the Sword Saint’s face flushed red, and he roared.

“That damned Overpalace! O-ver-lord—!!!”

Zzzzz—OOOOOM!!!

At his bellow, space itself shuddered. The knights in the chamber, strong as they were, withstood a little. The mere courtiers foamed at the mouth and collapsed.

Advisers and others were carried out, but the Sword Saint paid it no heed—if anything, he treated it as punishment—pouring out his fury as he glared at those who remained.

They needed countermeasures, but committing more troops now would be a strain.

Worse still—

“A—a letter has arrived from Overpalace.”

“What?”

The Sword Saint’s face twisted as he glared at the courier.

The courier squealed and collapsed foaming where he stood.

Just the pressure of that glare had knocked him out.

With a flex of will, the Sword Saint drew the black paper to his hand. When he unfolded it—

A mysterious miniature figure of the Black Star revealed itself.

Perhaps ten centimeters tall?

Yet with that paltry size alone, his presence filled not only the chamber but the entire capital.

He could be sensed from all sides—and from nowhere.

An inscrutable, paradoxical image of the Black Star, like a hologram—neither fully revealed nor fully hidden—manifested upon a mere sheet of paper.

Seeing a mere letter carry a shard of will and show even a “clone,” the Sword Saint instantly flared his power, drew his sword, and moved to cleave the paper—and the image—at once.

His aura rose like the sun, poured into the blade, and a light hotter than heat itself fired with the strike.

He would not simply cut—he became a sun, and with a sword laden with light and fury, he would hew the Black Star’s shape.

But—

CHAE-ENG—!!!

KWHOOOOOOM—!!!

The sword’s tip was stopped, almost carelessly, by a single finger of the tiny avatar—less than ten centimeters tall.

Blocked, the sword’s backlash howled; shockwaves blasted outward as if a storm had erupted within the room, smashing everything to pieces.

Margraves and dukes alike coughed blood, flung into walls, left crumpled there. Only two remained standing where they were: the Sword Saint, and the Black Star’s avatar drifting lightly above the black paper.

Even so, the Sword Saint was not unscathed.

Black veins bled at his lips; his features contorted.

The soul-wound he’d suffered from Seong began to fester, twisting his innards.

It was not merely the sudden surge of power—when the avatar caught the blade, it had poured an unknown force into him.

'Damn it!!!'

Shuddering, unable even to voice his pain through the depth of his internal injuries, the Sword Saint trembled.

The Black Star’s tiny avatar relayed the message written on the paper—word for word.

“『How boldly you prance without knowing your place.

Thanks to you, there is something for me to take.』”

With that, the avatar moved—reaching a hand toward the Sword Saint.

Then—

The Sword Saint knew.

There was no way to avoid that tiny hand.

It came like an unavoidable death; he trembled, but there was nothing he could do.

He flailed in vain as the hand neared, like time itself flowing.

The avatar arrived before him and reached its tiny hand toward the Sword Saint’s eye.

KRACK—!

With the sound of something breaking, shattering—half his vision vanished.

“GRAAAAAAAAH—!!!”

Though his injuries had left him scarcely able to make a sound, the Sword Saint screamed, writhing in agony and vomiting blood.

It was not simply that his eye had ruptured.

He felt it purely.

It was not his right eye that had been destroyed, but the very capacity to see with the right eye.

The eye was gone; even if he grafted a new one, he would never see to the right again.

The place where the right eye belonged had been voided of all function; even the very concept of “seeing” there had been erased.

And he felt one thing more.

'Madness—Black Star is a madman...!'

By erasing the Sword Saint’s right eye, Black Star had sacrificed more than a little.

Transcendents could not move lightly.

Thus Black Star had gathered every shred of justification before reaching for the Sword Saint.

Had he not laid hands on the Sword Saint, Overpalace might have held full casus belli to wage open war on the Rieskan Kingdom.

Instead of that war, he had taken the Sword Saint’s eye.

The Sword Saint could not comprehend it.

'If they want war, couldn’t they just sweep us away? Why choose this...'

Unable to understand, he could only conclude that Black Star was insane.

Just to take a single eye?

The pain and emptiness of losing it welled up—but good.

The foolish Black Star had thrown away the advantage he could have had.

Now it was their turn.

“Khuhuhu...”

Thinking Black Star deranged, the Sword Saint felt only more certain.

Yet to any eye, he was the madman.

His hair was wild; blood dripped from his mouth and eyes; one socket lay hollow and dark.

A terrifying sight. The great nobles, peeling themselves off the walls, flinched as they came to.

Gazing at them, the Sword Saint shouted,

“The foolish Overpalace casts aside its chance! Then we prepare. Prepare to wipe them out...!!”

At his words, the nobles flinched at the Sword Saint’s mad visage.

It wasn’t normal—but madness is contagious, they say. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

When the Sword Saint—the sun of the Rieskan Kingdom—cried thus, a few great nobles began cackling like lunatics.

“Khuhuhu, for the Rieskan Kingdom!!!”

“We obey the Sword Saint!!!”

“Death to Overpalace!!!”

So they shouted—too blinded to notice.

The Sword Saint, demonic miasma leaking from him, staring at nothing with a broken expression, muttering,

“Do not forget the pact, Grand Duke.”

3.

Though it was a vast city enclosed by walls, stepping inside revealed something strange.

It was broader than most cities, yet dwellings clustered only around the outer ring, and there was no castle where the center should be.

Instead, the middle of the city yawned open—a hole larger than in most cities entire—its depths swallowed by darkness.

This was the City of Perdition, Belhadan.

A black-robed player who had just arrived cast back his hood and gazed at the gigantic pit in awe.

“Wow, so this is Perdition?”

It was Seong.