Chapter 471: 471 "Master of the Dead"

From the territories of the Borvat dynasty, the smoke continued for some time.

It was a sign that the village had been burned. A sign of reverence for the demonic.

Old men and children who could not fight or run were the first to die. Women were killed by ferocious soldiers who roughed them up, and finally the men who fought died.

In my opinion, if this was the result of war, it was still a relief. The act had a purpose, and there was a new era beyond death. Compared to this, it is still a meaningful death.

"No, no, no, no--!

"No, no, no, no, no! It was not a war, it was a slaughter. Unarmed and untrained, the villagers were no match for the sorcerers and their soldiers.

A woman's scream rings out and the sound of someone's skull being crushed echoes. And the corpse was burned and scattered in the dead snow as black dust.

This happened many times a day. Green smoke billowed from every corner of Borvat territory, making its presence known. It flew through the air like a raven's repellent.

The smoke was truly a pledge of allegiance to the demonic. A voice that burned its own fellow human beings to death and told it that it was on its side. A sorcerer who could not do so would be executed as a traitor.

We no longer know what's true and what's false. The sorcerer's state is changing its shape. More twisted, more demonic.

Lovell said as he watched the pillar of smoke rise to the sky. The same emotionless expression still clung to his face.

"Junerva. Why are you using such a person so much? If you're going to use him, you should use someone with talent--he has no talent. Give me an answer immediately.

Laboure sits down on the sofa with his well-made doll-like appearance. In the palace of Borvat, this noble room was set up for her, and it was decorated with a strange opulence.

Junerva, the witch, closed her beak lightly in response to Lovell's question, then thought about it for a minute before finally opening it as if she had just thought of something.

I'm not sure what to say. If you're going to have a subordinate, it's better to have someone you can use. But that's not my man.

Junerva blinked her beak as she placed the expensive magic flower she had brought for Lovell in the room. Her voice was flat, and she didn't seem to be feeling much emotion.

"And that's a talent, isn't it? He can easily kill his own kind just to please us. It's not easy to find a demon. There are plenty of hexenbiests who surrender and show their bellies, but how many of them would put their fangs through the neck of one of their own just to stay alive?

Lovell's eyes widened in wonder at the words coming from his beak. He did not understand what Junerva was talking about.

The person talking to Keel had said that he shared Junerva's beliefs. Isn't that why he is going around killing people himself?

When I asked that, Junerva laughed in a funny way. It wasn't a smile meant to mock Lovell, but a kind smile. I'm sure that only Lovell has seen this kind of expression on Junerva's face before.

Junerva has no idea that the man sympathizes with her ideas.

The man is just drunk. Drunk. Junerva gave the man status and authority to the point of making a burnt corpse. That should have been enough to keep him safe, but he keeps making them.

No, it wasn't just that guy. Everyone kills for their own good when they know it's the path to demonic power. And they do it over and over again.

Ah, I knew it, said Junerva, stroking her beak. Humans never change. So weak and petty, with souls that can easily sell out their own people.

After all, even Althea was killed by her own people in the end. How foolish.

Humans are imperfect creatures after all. It's a miracle that such a being was even temporarily the champion of the continent. Only the miracle of Althea kept them alive.

--But miracles don't last forever, that's why we call them miracles.

But miracles don't last forever, that's why we call them miracles," Junerva said with a cunning smile on her bird's head.

"Lovell. How's your heart? It wouldn't look good if our king stayed asleep forever. Who knows when Zebraeliris will wake up?

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Their king is now lowering himself on Mount Bephimus overlooking the capital city of Borvat, waking up every few days and sleeping again.

The great demon Vriligant, the giant beast of the castle, has collapsed the city several times, and now it won't even stretch out its wings to rest its huge body.

The reason for this is already known. The heart of Vriligant, once stolen by Althea. Now that the core, which had been there to store and create so much magic, had been taken, Vriliganth would only be able to move for a short while.

Well, if that's not the case. There was no need to take a country like this.

Just blow away the human settlements like a broom. Junerva knows his king is powerful enough to do that.

Even compared to Laboure and Junerva, there is a power difference that separates them.

It was a shame for Junerva that she had to stand still in the presence of such a king. On the other hand, Lovell said in a very calm manner.

"Rest assured, immediate. The dark-haired sorceress is more than worthy of the heart's core. It will take a while to transform it.

Junerva nodded grudgingly at Laboure's words.

If Laboure could do it, then it really could be done. She can't lie. She just tells the truth. That's why Junelva believed and loved Laboure. Lovell was the only person he could trust.

And...

Junerva opened her bird's eye at the words that followed. She could see that Laboure was using the original text.

Gears, Laboure. A majesty that could easily upset the wheels of another's destiny. Laboure said with an unusually thin smile on his cheeks.

One more. There was one more. The other one was more demonic. He'll be here sooner or later. So rest assured.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

Kiel-Bazarov came from a family of sorcerers, but he was not blessed with talent.

I'm not sure what to say, but I'm not sure what to do. They could not discover magic on their own or use it at will like the sorcerers of the great families.

And in this dynasty of Borvat, only one's talent in magic determines one's status, one's significance, one's value.

Those who are not sorcerers are not taken seriously, but those who are sorcerers but lack talent may be more miserable.

They have an inflated self-esteem that they are sorcerers, and yet they are looked down upon by sorcerers who are far superior to them.

These are the sorcerers of the great families, who pour insanity into their blood and reshape the very structure of their bodies in order to master the essence of magic. La Volgograd, Rei-Rakiador, and Luza-Calinomias. These three families, among others, continue to be the supreme figures of the Bolvard dynasty.

As sorcerers, we know that the difference can never be reversed. The mediocre ones are not able to accomplish much as sorcerers, and live a life not much different from the non-magicians. Some of them even become vagabonds.

The sorcerers of the great families don't even pay attention to such people. They probably don't even recognize them as sorcerers like themselves. Kiel remembers well the many times he was looked at with contempt for his very existence.

That's why Kiel was now in a state of ecstasy. He was now sitting at a round table where only high ranking sorcerers were allowed to sit. And the woman spitting out blood in front of him is the one who used to sit at this table.

"...... You traitor!

"I hope you're right. You're no match for the demon anyway. Then you'd be wise to bow out early.

Kiel grabbed a handful of the woman's hair and peered at the parchment she was holding. He was more interested in the name inscribed on it than in its content. Kiel's face twisted into a smile.

The name written on it was Mastighios-La-Borgograd, the Magician General. Kiel crumpled the parchment as he slammed the woman to the floor once more.

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