<Episode 4>
The demon kings of the realm were cruel.
The Demon Lords who reigned above them were even more so.
But Balcaserius was in a realm of his own.
The Primordial Darkness.
The Absolute Evil.
The Apex Predator of the demon realm.
Even Gyrobel, a being revered as a Demon Lord, could not compare to the immeasurable power of Balcaserius.
The mere mention of the name sent waves of soul-dissolving terror through Gyrobel, pressing down on him through Ruin’s vision.
<Guhhhh…>
Gyrobel groaned, watching as the sinister magic circle absorbed a familiar divine demonic aura—an unmistakable presence.
It was unfathomable.
Even summoning a demon king would wreak havoc on this fragile continent, leaving it utterly devastated.
But this magic circle, radiating a transcendent energy that defied comprehension, was summoning something far greater.
No memory in Gyrobel’s millennia-long existence could explain this unprecedented magic.
What sort of mortal could inscribe a spell that even his godlike wisdom could not decipher?
<Stop this at once! Do you not care for the fate of your kind!?>
The demonic energy spilling from the summoning circle was absolute.
Even a faint trace of it leaking through the dimensional cracks could turn the human realm into a molten hellscape.
“Quiet. Hide yourself well,” Ruin said, his tone cold.
“They’re already watching.”
Gyrobel sensed an overwhelming presence and recoiled in terror, retreating deep within Ruin’s soul.
Even as a mere fragment of consciousness, summoning the Absolute Evil disrupted the laws of nature and causality in an instant.
***
At that moment, the glowing magic circle erupted in a flash.
Tendrils of pure darkness slithered out, reaching toward the world.
The dazzling lights that once adorned the surroundings extinguished instantly, and all living beings froze in place, as if seized by death itself.
Only Ruin stood unscathed, staring directly into the writhing black void.
In his clear, transparent pupils, a single pale dot shimmered like a cold winter star, faint and distant against the infinite darkness.
It was ominous.
Like a sharp, blue-tinged blade, the thoughts of Balcaserius flickered, gazing at the now-extinguished magic circle.
The circle was undeniably a fragment born of his knowledge.
Yet, there was no instance of him ever sharing his wisdom with anyone—least of all a pitiful mortal.
It was absurd to think that Balcaserius, who held the power to unravel the dimensional domains, would impart even a fragment of his knowledge to a human.
Balcaserius immediately discerned Ruin’s essence.
“How fascinating. You’ve defied time itself.”
For the first time in eons, Balcaserius felt something akin to amusement, a break from his eternal ennui.
The fact that a mere human soul—a frail vessel—had managed to interpret even a sliver of his knowledge was remarkable.
But a deeper question lingered.
Could a human truly present something that might satisfy him?
Ruin’s face twisted grotesquely, almost demonic in its distortion.
For the mere amusement of that wicked existence, countless transcendent souls were pulled into the void, vanishing into oblivion without a trace—never to reincarnate, not even as a fragment of consciousness.
The fleeting smile of Ardiana, the once-pure saintess, flickered in Ruin’s mind. His lips curled into an even darker grin.
“Your essence, which endures through eons of ennui—I am here now to resolve that question for you.”
<Impossible.>
The tendrils of darkness expanded, seemingly enraged.
How could a lowly human dare attempt to solve the enigmas of providence that even Balcaserius himself could not fathom?
Ruin, undeterred, smirked and stared at the extinguished magic circle.
“Is that so? Then how do you explain it? That circle is undeniably a fragment of your power. Did the so-called Absolute Evil really make a deal with a mortal, without any conditions?”
<Absurd!>
Even the lowliest creatures of the demon realm demanded terms when granting power to humans.
The tales of black mages who forfeited their emotions or pledged their souls were common even in human folklore.
Balcaserius, as the pinnacle of the demon realm, was undoubtedly more meticulous in his bargains.
<State your desire.>
As expected, Balcaserius couldn’t resist.
For this very moment, countless comrades had perished. Ruin finally spat out his words.
“I seek a contract with you, Balcaserius. If you demand payment, I will offer all my life force. If that’s insufficient, I will pledge all my posthumous time to you.”
It was a perilous proposal, pledging his soul to Balcaserius for eternity, bound forever beneath the throne of Absolute Evil.
Ruin’s transparent eyes glimmered, filled with the questions of those who had perished—the truth that all humanity longed to uncover.
Two outcomes awaited this question:
One, to gain the power to oppose Him by contracting with Balcaserius.
The other…
<Impossible. The Covenant of Providence allows only one contractor.>
Thud.
Ruin collapsed to his knees, his face pale and expressionless.
The worst truth, the one everyone dreaded but never wanted to face, had come to light.
That faint hope.
That collective yearning.
All of it had turned to ash.
To think that Balcaserius had already contracted with Him!
<Human, I will offer another proposal. I will summon your body and soul to the demon realm and grant you half of my dominion.>
Hearing this, Gyrobel, who had been listening in hiding, was utterly shocked.
Half of Balcaserius’s dominion—an unparalleled power capable of commanding even the eight Demon Lords.
It was a force so immense that it made human concepts of power, such as emperors, seem laughable in comparison.
But Ruin rejected it without hesitation.
“No deal. You’ll never get an answer from me.”
In an instant, indescribable rage surged from Balcaserius’s apparition, enveloping Ruin’s body.
Yet, he did nothing more.
Though he could have broken the Covenant and crushed Ruin like an insect, doing so would forever rob him of the answers he sought.
<We will meet again, human.>
And then—
Whoosh!
Time resumed its flow.
The once-trapped sunlight returned to the desolate prison, as if nothing had happened.
Ruin slumped where he knelt, overwhelmed by despair, his head hung low.
The worst possible outcome.
Hope had turned to despair.
Ruin raised his trembling hands and muttered bitterly.
“**** it…”
Without a contract to obtain true demonic energy, his Bloodline Magic became a useless, life-draining burden.
He could no longer walk the path of a black mage.
But the thought of reviving his family’s vision was even more unrealistic now.
A knight?
Facing Him with anything other than magic was unimaginable.
Abandoning all the knowledge he had gained as a black mage felt like an impossible inefficiency.
Demonic energy was not just power—it was everything to Ruin.
To forsake it and take up the sword as a knight felt utterly implausible.
What could he do now?
It was then that Gyrobel, who had been silent, suddenly cried out in shock.
<Could it be!? Did you turn back time?>
Having closely observed Ruin’s conversation with Balcaserius, Gyrobel had reached a conclusion.
Ruin chuckled hollowly.
“I told you you’d find out soon.”
Gyrobel was in disbelief.
A mortal defying the absolute providence of time?
Impossible.
<Anyone who’s attempted to decipher the domain of time with magic has either perished or gone mad! How did you… This is impossible!>
‘Yes, that’s how you perished.’
But Ruin had no intention of revealing the truth to Gyrobel.
<—Me. Make a contract with me! I’ll free your vessel and provide pure, unmatched demonic energy. In return, all your experiences will belong to me!>
In response, Ruin coldly summoned an Od, the symbol of binding contracts between a ruler and their contractor.
Od.
The promise forged by a soul.
Once brilliant flames now burned into nothing but ash, gray and cold.
“Contracting with the same entity will never happen again. A soul-bound contract cannot be broken, even through the reversal of time.”
Like the ashes that remain after burning, the hollow and desolate residue suffocated Gyrobel.
The faint trace of his own existence in the Od.
<Did I… kill you?>
Once again, silence answered Gyrobel.
Even after centuries, Gyrobel was still a demon.
Death was something he had never truly considered—a concept beyond imagination.
For someone who had spent eternity, confronting the truth would shatter his lofty sense of self entirely.
“I don’t know.”
Ruin gazed at the sky, now starting to turn crimson, his figure blending into the fading light.
Unbearable sadness and a crushing sense of misery surged, spilling down his cheeks.
A voice, too painful to bear, echoed in his mind—a voice he would rather forget.
The figure of the tyrant rising above, laughing heartily against the sky.
One by one, the memories of fallen comrades overlapped, embedding themselves into his heart like thorns.
Is this how it ends?
As Ruin succumbed to his despair, Gyrobel’s voice broke the silence again.
<The power you seek to reclaim isn’t, by any chance, black magic, is it?>
Gyrobel pressed on, eyes fixed on Ruin in expectant curiosity.
<Why do you continue to cling to black magic when learning human magic is enough?>
Ruin gave a bitter, incredulous laugh.
Even within the same hierarchy, the difference between black magic and white magic is staggering.
Why?
If Balcaserius had contracted with him, Ruin would have, at the very least, inherited all his knowledge—honed over millennia.
Back magic, far superior to human white magic, had gained such power due to the disparity in history.
While the demon realm’s history stretched back over a million years, human magic barely reached three thousand years.
Moreover, the gap between mana from the mortal realm and the pure demonic energy supplied directly from the demon realm was vast.
Yet Gyrobel dared to speak such foolishness.
“Enough of your nonsense. I’m tired, so shut that fool’s mouth already.”
<Pfft, who’s the fool? By contracting with me, you’ve agreed to inherit all my knowledge.>
“So what? What does that even change? Just knowing your magic doesn’t suddenly grant me the power of pure demonic energy!”
Gyrobel’s cold voice cut through the air.
<You fool. Black magic from the demon realm and white magic from humans are merely different languages, but they still share the same essence. Of course, given that humans are mortal, time is inevitably limited. But what if humans were granted lifespans comparable to those of demons?>
Ruine had never entertained such a thought before.
“Then…”
<Yes. With your knowledge, if you were to build upon white magic, you would undoubtedly be different from other humans.>
Gyrobel’s words pierced Ruine’s thoughts like a wedge.
<Humans may be insignificant, but white magic doesn’t lack potential—it just hasn’t been fully realized.>
I didn’t expect this novel to be this dark. But it’s really interesting…
