#58: Necromancer Of The Black Bible (58) — Necromancer of the Black Bible

Ceres seemed to realize what was troubling me through my eyes.

For countless years I have nurtured souls through repeated reincarnations. Dividing a soul is unacceptable. Death would be far better than that.

Of course, that was the right response.

Equinox said nothing more.

There was nothing more worth hearing anyway.

He had no real choice.

‘I’ll have to resolve this myself.’

Confirming Ceres’s resolve, I focused again and examined Natasha’s body.

Paying attention to the remark that her soul was too large, I began to see things differently than before.

I saw the soul clustered in her heart, with countless branches stretching out. These pierced through her skin, and the spots where they emerged became blisters, manifesting as gangrene.

Seeing this, I understood.

Equinox’s claim that dividing the soul was the only way to heal the body wasn’t entirely baseless.

‘But I can’t divide her soul.’

How can I cure this without touching the soul?

The hesitation didn’t last long.

After all, the answer was already clear.

‘If I can’t touch the soul, then I must touch the body.’

In a way that the disease can no longer progress.

But I wasn’t sure if this method would please Ceres.

I glanced at Ceres.

She was kneeling, facing this way.

I asked her:

[You came here knowing I have no healing power, didn’t you?]

Yes.

[And yet you kneel before me like this because you were sure I would cure this girl.]

That is correct.

Ceres slowly nodded and continued.

I believe you will save Natasha in your own way.

Eyes and expression filled with certainty.

And her voice.

Ceres knew exactly what her words meant.

Then I could be at ease.

I turned back to Natasha and spoke.

“Natasha.”

“Yes, High Priest.”

“To begin treatment, you must first set aside your dagger.”

“Ah, yes.”

Natasha fumbled out the scabbard and handed it to me.

I placed the scabbard on the floor and told Sanchez:

“You may leave now. This child’s condition is severe—it will take some time to treat her.”

“Yes, understood.”

Sanchez bowed and left.

After confirming he was gone, I spoke again to Natasha.

“Your disease cannot be cured by ordinary means.”

Natasha’s eyes dimmed.

Though wrapped in bandages, her expression clearly hardened.

She spoke in a calm tone.

“You are a special man, Father. Surely you also know a special way to heal me.”

A fitting answer for the descendant of Ceres.

I had no intention of curing this child.

I intended to revive her in my own way.

I would give her eternal life beyond death.

Whether they liked it or not didn’t matter.

Because this was my way.

But to do so, I had to minimize Natasha’s psychological shock.

I asked again.

“Natasha, what do you think life is?”

“…To live and breathe?”

“If one does not breathe, are they not alive?”

Natasha thought for a moment, then answered.

“I do not know.”

“Then consider this. If you cannot move, eat, or drink, yet you still breathe—is that living?”

“…It is living, but I would not want to live like that.”

“Then how do you want to live?”

Natasha organized her thoughts for a moment and spoke.

“I want to live doing what I desire. That is… to travel. I want to travel again. I want to see the salt desert that reflected the blue sky like a mirror. I want to visit the quiet pond where fairies gather every night for their dances—and this time, I want to dance with them. And…”

“And?”

“I want to meet my lover. He said he would wait for me in my homeland.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkled and wavered.

She truly seemed to want those things.

“If… you could do all those things without breathing, would you say your illness has been cured?”

Natasha nodded.

I couldn’t tell if she understood my meaning, or misunderstood it.

She only shed tears.

She held back sobs that threatened to escape and asked me:

“Am I going to die?”

“For now, yes.”

“Then the things I wish to do…”

“You will be able to do them.”

Natasha looked at me with eyes that said she did not understand.

But I had no way to explain further.

I continued in as calm a voice as I could.

“Do not fear. Death is but the beginning. You will live eternally.”

As I finished speaking, I separated Natasha’s soul from her body.

Because I had fully grasped her soul during our conversation, separating it was easy.

With that, her body began to die.

Her heartbeat stopped, and so did her breathing.

The eyes that sparkled moments ago lost their light.

But Natasha’s soul did not yet realize her state.

Father, my body feels light. The pain is gone. Is it all over now?

[Not yet. The important part still remains.]

To settle the soul into the dead body.

For this, core mana is needed.

I focused on her heart.

The rotation of the Mana Rings slowed, and viscous core mana flowed out through my fingertips.

The mana gently wrapped around Natasha’s soul, then clung to her dead flesh.

Moments later.

Natasha opened her eyes.

Natasha felt strange.

Memories of her life since the day she was first born in this world flashed before her eyes.

But that was not all.

Even earlier past lives streamed past her as well.

These were memories she hadn’t known until just moments ago.

But now, they came vividly to mind.

‘I wasn’t just Natasha.’

In a previous life, she lived as a priestess named Tearna; before that, as Isis.

Before that, she bore the name Eunoria, a poet; at another time, she lived as a woman named Lionette.

Of all those many names, the most vivid one remained—Ailina.

It was the name she carried when she was first born into this world.

Ailina. You are awake?

Grandmother.

Natasha remembered who had called her by her very first name.

It was Ceres, the guardian spirit of her lineage.

She was Natasha’s grandmother.

She still vividly recalled the warmth of childhood, when visiting her grandmother’s chamber meant being given sweets and candy.

Ceres examined Natasha’s state and asked:

Are your memories intact?

Yes. I remember everything. But what… what happened to me?

As she asked, everything that had just happened to her came rushing back.

Moments later, she faintly began to understand her situation.

Ah… I had gangrene. It was dire. And my maid… she died in the sewers because of me.

Worry not. I have taken that child as well.

Then… What happened to me? I remember meeting High Priest Raiernov, but after that it is hazy. I think he said he would grant me ‘eternal life’…

Even as Natasha spoke, she couldn’t comprehend it.

Eternal life?

How could a living being truly live forever?

But Ceres did not deny it.

It seems he has indeed granted it to you.

What?

Natasha could not understand, and Ceres continued.

I struck a bargain with him. If he healed you, we would all be offered up to him.

That’s…

And he kept his promise.

With that, Ceres faded away.

And a man appeared.

A man with long hair and pale skin.

Wearing a black robe, he pulled back his hood, revealing his face.

His face was beautiful.

But it was not like a radiant flower—it was more like the noble moon hanging in the night sky.

Above all, from his deep eyes flowed an irresistible power.

And in that gaze, she realized who he was.

Lord Raiernov.

[No. I am not Raiernov.]

The man stepped closer. He was a head taller than Natasha.

Looking down at her, he continued.

[Raiernov is merely one of the masks I wear. Do not confuse me with him.]

Then… who are you?

[I am Damian. Your master.]

Damian’s words rippled through Natasha’s soul.

Natasha wanted to respond, but she couldn’t.

To be precise—because he did not permit it.

Damian asked her:

[The treatment is not yet finished. The most important work remains.]

He approached Natasha and held a mirror before her.

Yet though the mirror was right there, it reflected nothing.

As Natasha stared, Damian whispered in her ear.

[What form do you wish to live in? Imagine the appearance you desire.]

His command could not be resisted.

Natasha recalled her appearances before coming to the Theocracy.

From the day she first debuted in society, to her disheveled appearance in the morning mirror.

Her look the day she met her lover, Kaspar, at the hunting grounds.

And so on.

Each time she remembered one, that form appeared in the mirror.

And she liked each one.

After gazing entranced for some time at her beautiful past selves, she confronted one particular image.

Three years ago, before the gangrene had grown severe.

When she had gone out alone, gazing at the moon in the night sky.

The sight of the moon reflected in her eyes conveyed the same awe as back then.

And she liked the way she looked while gazing at it.

Natasha pointed to that reflection and answered:

I like this appearance the best.

[Even with the scars, are you sure?]

Natasha thought briefly, then nodded.

Yes. These scars are better—they make it easier to live.

Natasha remembered how her beauty had once been a burden.

Everywhere she went, people stared, and she was always the subject of gossip.

She no longer wished to live such a life.

After contracting gangrene and journeying to the Theocracy, she remembered how the scars covering her face had made others stop paying attention to her.

The reflection in the mirror was from her first night in a village where no one cared about her.

She had never felt so free as then.

And she wanted to live freely like that again.

Then Damian’s voice reached her.

[Your freedom exists only within me.]

I understand.

[If you ever wish to change your form, tell me. I will show you how.]

Thank you.

[Good. Now, open your eyes.]

Natasha opened her eyes.

A room flooded with bright sunlight.

She lay upon a bed there.