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Please be advised that this chapter includes a depiction of cannibalism and violence which may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
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In a world where the practice of Macrētaiã, or Sorcery in English, is derived from divination through casting, some scholars argue that sorcery is a learned art while magic is intrinsic. Others suggest that sorcery, as practiced by modern sorcerers, is always intended to do harm, while magic can be used for both good and evil.
During the early New Warring Era, anyone was able to practice sorcery, but by the Grim Ages, only those who were believed to use spells to harm others were labeled as sorcerers. In popular culture, particularly in children's literature, sorcery is often depicted in a more positive light.
As the saying goes, 'power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.' And in a world where sorcery is a practiced art, those with immense talent for it are often tempted by the allure of evil.
Take, for instance, a young man in the Heather Kingdom, who walks through the town he heartlessly destroyed.
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The Heather Royal Kingdom.
The town of Epiriatusé in the northwest of the kingdom lies in ruins, engulfed in flames and choked by black smoke. It had been a regional center of culture, renowned for its talent in literature, music, and artistry. But now, it has been reduced to rubble.
A young man, dressed in seemingly feminine clothing, strides through the destruction with an oversized scepter in hand. He advances through the rubble, effortlessly mowing down anyone or anything that stands in his way. His powerful cane levels everything in his path as he makes his way towards the town hall.
Sorcerers and warriors, still alive, try to stop him with enchanted bolts and melee attacks. But he evades their charges with superhuman movements, as if he can see the trajectory of each one. His combat preparation measures have greatly enhanced his strength and reflexes, making it seem as if the bolts and spells are barely moving. He dodges them with ease, sending back a token of appreciation in return.
"Cocos, Frali, Arusha," the man called out to his dark flaming humanoid imps. "Are there any survivors nearby?"
The imps, burning with dark-purplish flames and with heads comprising about a third of their height, shared their vision with the man through a form of long-range telepathy.
"The sorcerer combatants are constructing ultra-scion barrier spells in front of the town hall, Rassieur," one reported. "No sign of enemies to the rear," said another. "Surroundings clear!" reported the third.
Only those with a certain aptitude could perceive the ominous imps, making them perfect for use as reconnaissance drones. Though they weren't particularly happy about it, they soon got over their grievances after the man gave them his blood.
Rassieur, the effeminate young man with a mature sharp countenance, advanced through the remains of the soldiers who had lost all ability to resist him. He moved ever closer to the town hall, feeling a hum of excitement as he watched his scepter blast apart broken wagons and makeshift sorcery-infused barricades without chanting.
The sorcerer count was waiting before the town hall. These soldiers had been dispatched into the ferocious of battles during those overseas invasions. Their military uniforms of indigo blue and white were somewhat irritated him.
"Hah... It can't be."
Rassieur chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"You speak as if you are afraid of me, Madamé. But fear is a wasted emotion. It will not help you defeat me. It will only hold you back. If you truly want to stop me, you must let go of your fear and embrace your power. Only then will you stand a chance."
Madamé narrowed her eyes, determination etched on her face.
"I am not afraid, Rassieur. I am determined to bring you to justice for the atrocities you have committed. And I will do whatever it takes to stop you."
Rassieur's smile faded, replaced by a cold, hard gaze.
"Then let us see who truly has the power to prevail. Let us engage in a battle of sorcery and see who emerges victorious."
As the two sorcerers faced off, ready to unleash their full magical abilities, the fate of the town and its people hung in the balance. Who would emerge victorious in this epic clash between good and evil?
"I must ask you, Al Mycóta Devil. Are you not still young? How can you kill so calmly? So many, with no hesitation? There were women and children in the buildings you destroyed, and those soldiers had families waiting for them. How can you stay so calm?"
The woman of the imperial guard was getting more and more agitated. She pushed back her hood to reveal a number of bright, glowing relics.
"I'll tell you how. There are certain emotional barriers that prevent us from killing people. The thing we call conscience is the main one, and it's connected to a number of other cores. But what if those emotions could be forcibly shut down?"
The young man seemed to enjoy bragging about this.
"You can't be serious. You're using dark magical arts to tamper with your brain cores? You've stopped these emotional barriers you're talking about? You've erased your conscience?"
"Exactly. Right now, I have no conscience, no pity, no compassion, no sympathy. I'm simply a walking killing machine designed to eliminate all foes. Of course, I do choose my orders based on the client's payment. In the face of an enemy, I can kill anyone without mercy for money, without being held back by those pesky moral laws. Even if bystanders get caught up in my attack, I'll feel no compassion for them."
Through his innate talent in the magical arts of self-control, he had been able to shape his brain cores to be perfectly suited for assassination..
"You truly are a devil. A human with no conscience is no more than a devil. Even veteran soldiers hesitate before they kill their enemies."
"And that is a weakness in those soldiers, Madamé. Soldiers don't need a conscience. All men should march without fear of death, and then they should fight until all enemies are defeated. That is what a true soldier is. Don't you agree?"
Rassieur pondered this.
This old woman must be the type who romanticizes old wars. The two of them couldn't be more different. Rassieur wants efficiency at every level. He can't stand the sight of ancient battlefields. There's nothing sadder than a soldier who hesitates to kill when killing is their very job.
"Do you not even have love for your own country?" the woman asked.
"Hmm. I guess not. My only concern right now is the complete destruction of my enemies. Although, I would prefer it if the people of my village welcomed that."
Love for my country? Why would anyone love a country that banishes a talented person for nothing more than his classmate bullies getting killed by him?
"It's about time our little talk ended. It would be a shame if such a splendid, beautiful town hall wasn't destroyed, so until I've reduced it to bare earth, I still have work to do. I did enjoy talking to you, but I can't let you get in the way of my work."
With that, Rassieur casually pointed his scepter at the imperial sorcerer count.
"Devil! You'll burn in the inferno, mark my words!"
"Why do you people always call me devil? Morals? Tsk. It's survival of the fittest. I'll decide who I'll let live."
Dark, ashy flames surged from his scepter without a chant just as the woman began to scream.
The impact of the flames created a conflagration that blew away the soldiers along with their barricade and the woman who had just been talking to him. She joined the ranks of silent corpses filling the streets.
And Rassieur fired continuously at the survivors, whether they be children or elderly.
"Cocos. Was that every enemy?"
He asked as he polished his shining, mystical, powerful scepter.
"There are no more, Rassieur," his imp Cocos replied.
"But are you sure about this? You didn't have to go this far..."
"It's necessary, Cocos. The enemy takes me too lightly. I have to make them all experience true fear. And that's what my client requested in the order."
He admitted that his real motivation for all this was the huge amount of money.
Then, Rassieur pointed his wand at the town hall.
"Whoops. I almost forgot to say: my name is Rassieur Al Mycóta Siuseta. I'm a tireless researcher of the thaumaturgical arts and also a professional assassin. I also happen to be the guildmaster's right-hand man. Nice to meet you, everyone. And farewell."
After that quick self-introduction, he smiled and set to the task of turning the town hall to rubble. Smashing a splendid stronghold into tiny little pieces was about the coolest thing he could think of.
When the thing you're destroying is beautiful, that's what makes it worthwhile. He was about to get his fill of destruction in its purest form. Opportunities like this didn't come often.
"Now then, what is the huge interference I felt beyond the east Coral ocean? Do you know anything, Cocos?"
The three imps stopped and seemed to reach a consensus.
"A nation-scale phenomecules disorder is happening in that area," replied Arusha as he sucked on a freshly-cooked piece of human flesh.
"That huge amount of interference is not normal and can be felt by everyone," Frali added, searching for something.
"This occurrence is way beyond our aise-chronological knowledge, Rassieur. And it is probably an anti-sorcery explosion if we are not mistaken," said Cocos, who was resting in the young man's ebony hair.
As Cocos whispered, Rassieur took an interest and a profound inkling rose within him.
"These are ancient powers' stuff, right Cocos?"
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