Necromancer Of The Black Bible (3)

Mikel von Raiernov.

A high priest of the Kallios Theocracy, he finally awoke.

It was because his dream had been too violent.

‘What was that?’

In his dream, Mikel saw a man.

At first, he thought the man was an angel. Holy light radiated from his entire body, and great white wings spread wide behind him.

Overjoyed, Mikel grasped his hem, and the man turned around.

And the moment their eyes met, Mikel froze.

For his blazing crimson eyes were not those of a human.

They emanated rage and killing intent strong enough to incinerate even a soul in an instant.

And that was not all.

The holy light turned into ominous darkness, and the white wings behind him shed every feather, leaving only bare bones.

The man, now transformed, spoke.

[You are my sacrifice.]

“Ugh…”

Just recalling it made his skin crawl.

Mikel crossed himself several times and rose from his bed.

“I had better take a walk outside.”

If he prayed while strolling, he could shake off the dream.

Just then, he saw bright moonlight streaming through the window.

‘Come to think of it, tonight is a full moon.’

Thinking he could enjoy moon-gazing for the first time in a while, Mikel donned his robe, took his staff, and went outside.

Outside, it was even better than he expected.

Breathing deeply of the fresh forest air, the nightmare seemed to vanish entirely.

And there was the full moon, hanging in the western sky.

Tonight, the moon looked unusually large, glowing so brightly it almost felt warm.

Mikel took his rosary and offered a prayer.

After a while, he finished and opened his eyes—only then did he notice a child.

A frail child leaning on crutches.

He was a full head shorter than Andre.

Yet an indescribable power emanated from him.

Perhaps because of the moonlight, his body seemed to glow.

The boy was slowly walking, scattering a mysterious silver powder on the ground.

‘What is he doing?’

Curious, Mikel walked toward him.

The boy stopped and shook the remaining silver powder from his bag onto the ground.

Seeing this, Mikel called to him.

“Child.”

“Ah, Father.”

The boy greeted him with a cheerful smile.

“What brings you out so late at night?”

Such a neat, composed way of speaking for a child.

Mikel’s gaze deepened as he looked at him.

‘An unfamiliar boy. If I had seen him earlier, I would have marked him for selection.’

Just a few words were exchanged, yet Mikel’s heart was stirred.

He was a mysterious child.

“What are you doing alone at this late hour?”

“Well…”

A smile tugged at the boy’s lips.

After a moment’s hesitation, the boy looked at Mikel and spoke.

“I was drawing a picture with powder.”

“A picture?”

“Yes. Something I desired came to mind.”

Mikel looked down at the pile of silver powder on the ground.

The powder stretched far to either side. Though the undergrowth obscured much, it seemed the boy had drawn on the ground in this way.

“Fortunately the wind isn’t blowing.”

“I counted the days and thought the wind would not blow tonight.”

“Hmm? You mean you chose a day when the wind would not blow?”

At Mikel’s question, the boy only smiled.

Looking at that smile, Mikel grew curious again and asked.

“How long have you been here? I visit once a year, but I think this is my first time seeing you.”

“About two and a half years. I was in the infirmary most of the time, so you wouldn’t have seen me.”

“Hm. I see. Then where were you this afternoon?”

“In the forest.”

“In the forest? Why?”

At Mikel’s question, the boy answered calmly.

“There are many things in the forest. Squirrels, rabbits, spiders. Small stones that glimmer with light. And if you step off the path a little, you find a stream flowing.”

“Hmm.”

Mikel nodded.

This child was not ordinary. Most children cannot describe what they’ve seen so calmly.

Most generalize, exaggerate, or speak vaguely.

‘A rarely bright child.’

If raised within the Theocracy, such a child could become anything.

‘But…’

Mikel looked at the crutch the boy leaned on and asked.

“Is your leg injured?”

The boy nodded and replied.

“My left knee was broken. The doctor said I would never use my left leg again.”

“Oh dear…”

Mikel clicked his tongue.

It was pitiable, but a crippled child could not be adopted, much less taken to the Theocracy—for such were deemed unworthy of God’s blessing.

“What a shame that is.”

Mikel stepped forward to pat the boy’s shoulder, but the boy raised a hand to stop him.

“Please don’t come closer.”

“Hmm?”

Looking down, he saw he nearly stepped on the powder the boy had laid out.

Mikel laughed awkwardly and stepped back.

“Sorry. I nearly ruined the work you spent so long on.”

“You don’t need to pity me. I already know the Theocracy doesn’t accept the crippled.”

“I see.”

Mikel was inwardly relieved.

He had worried about hurting him, but the boy seemed already aware of his fate.

‘Still, what a waste of a child.’

Since he would be leaving tomorrow, Mikel wanted to talk with the boy a little longer.

So he asked one more thing.

“You said you drew a picture of what you wanted. What exactly did you draw?”

The boy smiled briefly and spoke.

“A picture through which I can obtain what I desire.”

“Can you tell me what that is?”

If it was something small, Mikel thought he might grant it.

Mikel gave a kindly smile, and the boy looked at him and spoke.

“If I tell you, will you grant it?”

“Well.”

Mikel stalled deliberately and continued.

“Let me hear it first. Who knows? My heart might be moved to grant it.”

Then the boy said,

“First, I wish my left leg would be restored.”

Mikel’s expression grew heavy.

In his heart, he wanted to grant it, but that went against Theocracy law.

Holy power could be used on the injured, but never on one already crippled.

The reason was that the soul of a cripple was considered incomplete and therefore unworthy of God’s blessing.

Mikel shook his head and said:

“I’m sorry. That is something I cannot do. Do you have another request?”

The boy thought for a moment, then spoke.

“I heard you will take Andre tomorrow. I wish for you not to take him.”

“What is the reason?”

“Because he is the one who ruined my knee.”

Mikel’s brow twitched.

Until now, the Andre he had seen was a big child with a pure smile. He had never thought him capable of such cruelty.

But he could not overturn the decision. Andre’s adoption had been decided last year, and unless there was a valid reason, the Theocracy never revoked such decisions.

Mikel shook his head again.

“That too is something I cannot grant.”

“I see.”

The boy answered without much sign of disappointment, but Mikel’s heart felt otherwise.

Out of guilt, he added:

“I promise you this. When I return to the Theocracy, I will see this matter investigated. Andre will be severely punished.”

He spoke firmly, yet the boy’s expression did not change—a strange look, unreadable as either a smile or anger.

Mikel asked again:

“Is there nothing else? I hope this time it’s something I can actually grant.”

“……”

The boy looked up at the sky, thought for a while, then looked back at Mikel and spoke.

“In truth, had you granted those first two wishes, I would have desired nothing more. But since you rejected both, I now find myself wishing for more.”

Mikel waited for the next words, and the boy continued.

“I want a complete body. Not that of a child, but a fully grown adult body. Along with that, I want my lost power restored—and after that, eternal life.”

Mikel’s eyes widened.

He wondered if he had heard wrong.

“What nonsense is this? Eternal life? Have you gone mad all of a sudden?”

“I merely voiced my wish.”

The boy’s expression grew cold.

It was utterly different from the boy he had seen until now.

“Just who are you?”

“Does that matter? I doubt we’ll ever see each other again.”

“You insolent brat! I gave you a chance, and you dare speak so!”

Mikel exploded in anger.

An ordinary child would have cowered, but not this one.

He shot back in a voice even colder than before.

“A chance? One cannot call something a chance if it cannot be seized. And in fact, I was the one who gave you a chance. You were the one who threw it away.”

Suddenly, the boy lifted his crutch and struck it to the ground.

At once, light surged up from the powder scattered on the ground.

The light instantly wrapped around the orphanage, dividing Mikel and the boy.

‘This is…’

The radiant light rising from the ground.

Even in over fifty years as a priest, Mikel had never seen such a light.

Mikel reached toward the boy beyond the light, but could not—it was as if a solid wall blocked him.

Sensing something ominous, Mikel shouted.

“Who the hell are you! What is your name!”

“Only now do you wonder about my name? Of course—you’ve only ever judged me by whether I was a useful tool.”

The boy’s smile was twisted.

Like an angel suddenly turning into a demon—just as in the dream.

‘That dream? Could it be…’

Mikel’s eyes flew wide, and the boy went on.

“The Kallios Theocracy is ever the same. It claims to spread mercy and love in this world, but there are always conditions. One is rejected for being crippled, another for being too young. Some sinners are unworthy, but others are deemed acceptable. Kallios is such a tiresome god, when receiving a single blessing is this difficult.”

“You wretch! How dare you blaspheme against God! Do you not fear divine punishment?”

Mikel thundered, but the boy only sneered.

Boiling with fury, Mikel gripped his staff and began chanting.

As his holy power concentrated into the gem at the staff’s tip, a golden brilliance shone.

Mikel thought this could break the wall.

But he was wrong.

The holy power pouring from his staff was absorbed into the wall of light, and at the same time, the wall’s color shifted—from bright silver to a sinister crimson.

Only then did Mikel realize what the boy had done.

‘This is a dark magic circle.’

Mikel’s eyes filled with fear.

A magic circle of dark crimson light.

He had read of them countless times in books, but this was his first time seeing one in reality.

‘That means…’

What kind of being could that boy be, to skillfully create such a circle?

But his identity was no longer the issue.

The wall of light that trapped him darkened deeper crimson, and Mikel shouted to the boy.

“Get me out! Please!”

But the boy did not answer.

“I’ll grant everything you asked for! All of it!”

Mikel cried out desperately, but the boy only laughed.

Watching him struggle, the boy stroked his crutch and spoke.

“It’s too late. He has already arrived.”

Mikel turned his gaze to where the boy was looking.

The sky above, where the crimson wall of light rose.

From there, a colossal being looked down.

Jet-black wings and crimson flesh.

Her prominent chest, barely concealed, was alluring, but the hard muscles of her lower torso radiated menace.

Her shoulders and abdomen were covered with thick black fur, and on her head, five twisted horns jutted arrogantly toward the sky.

She was the Demon King.