Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Around those days, Dale, barely eight years old, had the guidance of three instructors.

The first of them was Sephia, the experienced leader of the Blue Tower, in charge of instructing him in the secrets of water magic. The second was his own progenitor, the renowned Black Duke and sovereign of the Black Tower, who guided him along the paths of dark magic. And, finally…

Under the frigid atmosphere of the early morning, Dale’s breath materialized in dense clouds of vapor.

Thwack!

Inside the extensive practice grounds of the ducal estate, Dale skillfully maneuvered a wooden sword. His opponent in training was Sir Helmut Blackbear, the commander of the Night Crow Knights, the order that faithfully served the Saxon duke.

The moment Dale’s wooden weapon cut through the air, Sir Helmut prepared to fluidly evade the blow.

Nevertheless, in an unforeseen movement, the young boy’s sword clung to and slid around Helmut’s, emulating the movement of a snake, managing to deflect the original trajectory. It was the refined technique of absorbing the impact to bend the rival’s power.

“Splendid!”

Despite this, being considered one of the seven most formidable warriors in the entire territory, Helmut would not let himself be defeated by such an elementary tactic. Even so, he chose to play along with the child and released the hilt of his weapon.

“Haha, excellent execution, young master!”

He burst into a loud laugh, raising his hands to signal his defeat while his wooden sword rolled away after spinning in the air.

“Please, you let me win on purpose,” Dale objected.

Helmut stopped his laughter, inwardly astonished by the young boy’s mental sharpness.

“Ah, it truly is a pity that your path is linked to the world of sorcery, young master.”

With the approval of his spouse, Elena, the Black Duke had formally taken Dale under his direct tutelage. This event was recent, though predictable. Being the descendant of the regent of the Black Tower, Dale’s natural destiny consisted of inheriting his father’s arts in dark magic.

Even so, for someone of Helmut’s stature, one of the most illustrious blades on the continent, Dale’s skills with steel were truly exceptional.

That dexterity evoked the formidable capability he had witnessed in the past during a combat against the mythical swordsman Bardel. That identical innate quality now manifested in the movements of the eight-year-old child.

Bardel, who had been defeated by a savior in remote times… Dale’s future gave the impression of being on the same level as that of that celebrated warrior.

However, little could be done about it. The child was already receiving the teachings of the most prominent sorcerer in the territory, who was in charge of molding his mystical talents.

“Why does destiny grant such a duality of gifts to a single individual?”

Although Dale was consecrated to the life of a mage, Helmut insisted on training him in fencing, yearning for him not to neglect his physical condition. However, due to his nature as a mage, Dale would never manage to manifest the aura energy coming from his core.

Just as magic users channel mana using the circle of their heart to manifest their spells, high-level warriors accumulate that energy in their core to project it in the form of an aura.

Despite sharing the same source energy, the internal biological processes to manifest it are completely different.

Helmut’s regret became evident every time he shared a practice session with Dale.

Key to that dissatisfaction, Helmut harbored a genuine esteem toward the child. The vast majority of mystical scholars shunned bodily effort and depended entirely on escorts to make up for their deficiencies in physical combat.

What motive would a magic user have to subject themselves to the rigorous sacrifice of the sword?

For a child of such a young age, it represented an extremely demanding routine. But Dale’s mindset operated under another logic.

“It is not my intention to rely solely on mystical barriers and abandon the care of my own body.”

The reasoning possessed a simplicity that even a child managed to structure.

Despite this, even highly experienced sorcerers who had survived multiple warfare conflicts were reluctant to assimilate that concept. The immense majority of mages Helmut had defeated in combat perished precisely due to that overconfidence.

A single impact.

That decisive instant defined a mystic’s fate if a warrior managed to close the distance between them. Dale possessed an understanding of this superior to anyone else’s.

An eight-year-old boy who had never set foot in a real war environment!

The art of the sword consists, ultimately, of the method to bring death. And for Helmut, who had perfected this lethal art throughout his existence, Dale’s innate conditions for combat were a blessing.

This only served to increase Helmut’s enthusiasm in his role as instructor.

Even if Dale never fully adopted the path of steel, he represented the hidden treasure Helmut had yearned to find for years.

When afternoon arrived.

In the underground sectors of the Saxon ducal castle, a monumental grotto served as a workspace for a single mystic.

The sorcery laboratory of the Black Duke.

In this place, Dale remained focused on a different modality of learning alongside his progenitor.

However, they did not immediately dedicate themselves to raising the deceased or giving mobility to inert remains. When Dale initially raised his desire to understand the fundamentals of necromancy, the most celebrated death sorcerer in the territory was not moved.

“Do you mean to claim that you have given movement to something without understanding the nature of the elements you were altering?”

Dale awaited words of approval, but instead, the Black Duke threw a set of highly thick volumes at him.

Anatomical illustrations of human beings and multiple species, medical treatises that explained in detail the uses of the bone structure, vital organs, and muscle tissues; notions that even 21st-century doctors would consider highly complex.

Only after Dale completely assimilated that knowledge did the Black Duke proceed to instruct him in the practical applications of his magic.

Inside the laboratory, the Black Duke placed the dried remains of a goblin on a ceremonial table.

“We will begin the process by raising a corpse soldier.”

A corpse soldier. The task did not simply consist of providing movement to a biological remain, but of structuring a superior entity.

In the same way that elemental magic could be altered through specific spells, the arts of death allowed the reanimation process to be modified.

The goal consisted of raising a body specially modified for battle. While an inexperienced practitioner would barely manage to generate a common undead starting from the remains of an expert swordsman, a scholar possessed the power to raise a death knight using only the remains of a common pawn.

Dale focused his thoughts and proceeded to trace the required mystical formulas.

Evoking the notions of anatomy he had memorized, he wove filaments of mystical energy throughout the goblin’s structure.

The arts of death did not consist of granting a real second life to the fallen. They bore a greater similarity to the work of a puppeteer.

The spell implemented by Dale sought to rigidify the goblin’s surface by accelerating the muscle hardening process after death.

The goblin’s remains straightened with difficulty, exhibiting a markedly clumsy and rigid gait.

“Governing the structure of a goblin differs enormously from doing so with a rodent.”

The physiognomy of an upright-walking goblin possessed great complexity and demanded a real understanding of its internal systems. The arts of death constituted a terrain in which Dale completely lacked any prior experience.

However, this obstacle did nothing but increase his enthusiasm.

“Causing rigidity in the remains to confer greater resistance to the specimen’s skin was a rather perceptive approach.”

The Black Duke contemplated the scene, exhibiting a pleasant gesture that denoted his pride as a parent. However, that moment was fleeting.

His countenance immediately adopted the characteristic rigidity of the most formidable necromancer in the entire territory.

“Nonetheless, such rigidity, the compression of muscle fibers, can excessively limit the specimen’s range of motion.”

“How could it be optimized?” the young boy inquired.

In response, the Black Duke snapped his fingers.

“…!”

An overwhelming current of dark energy flooded the room. The spell Dale had used to firm up the goblin’s body dissolved, causing its muscle fibers to relax.

A dry crack was heard.

“The thoracic structure has the natural function of protecting vital organs.”

Noises of bone pieces shifting their position followed.

“However, an inert body has no need whatsoever to keep those organs safe.”

The Black Duke added.

“Under that logic, what use will you give to the bones that have ceased to be useful for their original purpose?”

That was the great lesson the most prominent necromancer on the continent transmitted to Dale.

Crack!

Suddenly, the goblin’s midsection suffered a twist and a sharp point of bone material erupted from its extremity. A whitish, sharp edge, which previously integrated the specimen’s ribs, now displayed a highly dangerous appearance.

“Analyze the physiognomy of your target in detail and restructure it based on your combat needs.”

He had converted a section of the rib cage into a piercing element. After all, a being devoid of life had no reason to protect its viscera.

The Black Duke executed another snap of his fingers.

Crack!

Once again, the bone pieces and tissues of the goblin modified themselves, adopting highly aberrant positions, resembling the aberrations of a horror story. However, Dale was able to perceive the utilitarian meaning behind each deformation.

“He is removing any component that is not indispensable for combat, reshaping the bone structure with the sole purpose of hurting.”

The specimen, modified by the Black Duke’s intervention, was equipped with sharp bone protrusions. These simultaneously provided it with protection and weaponry.

It did not represent an ordinary reanimation. The original appearance of the creature had completely vanished.

An absolute alteration of its being.

It was a true metamorphosis.

An entity possessing a warlike capacity not only considerably greater, but dozens of times superior compared to any opponent he had faced in his past existence.

“Are you aware of the ideal that the Black Tower seeks to achieve?”

At that precise moment, the Black Duke formulated the question.

Dale remained silent and simply shook his head in denial. It was not due to real ignorance. Evidently, it was convenient to pretend he did not understand it. But the fundamental reason for his reservation was different.

He yearned to hear that maxim from his progenitor’s own lips.

“──The absolute truth.”

Declared the most imposing dark arts user in the region.

“And that truth always finds its place in death itself.”

Dale quietly held his breath upon hearing the duke’s propositions. Still, the subsequent statement turned out to be something completely foreign to what he would have anticipated.

“For that reason, it is imperative that you assimilate it.”

Assimilate exactly what?

“The transcendence and value of existence necessary to approach the truth.”

The value of existence.

It was at that precise moment when he understood it. The dark arts, so feared and designated as the sorcery of demise, only made sense because they started from a profound understanding of the phenomenon of life.

For someone like Dale, who had consecrated his entire being to the dynamics of extermination, this represented a contradiction of colossal proportions.

He had spent his existence completely ignoring the transcendence of life, keeping his hands marked by the execution of countless demises.

Ending lives, over and over again, uninterruptedly.

After a few months had passed.

The moans of suffering of a lady propagated from the main bedroom assigned to the rulers of the estate. Outside that room, Dale paced back and forth, manifesting great restlessness, constantly gazing outside through the building’s windows.

“Young master!”

Upon perceiving the call of the experienced woman, Dale rushed into the room without a moment’s hesitation.

“Dale.”

His progenitor and his mother contemplated him, transmitting great serenity, exhibiting expressions of happiness. Very close to them was located a tiny, new existence.

A small newborn creature that emitted slight cries, sheltered very delicately in a piece of cloth, held by Elena as if it represented the most valuable element in the whole world.

“A little sister who has features very similar to yours.”

Elena manifested an expression of pleasure, the typical display of affection from a mother who had just overcome the painful process of childbirth.

“Would you like to hold her for a moment?”

With Elena’s guidance, Dale took his little sister into his arms with extreme caution. At that precise moment, he truly experienced the transcendence of existence. It felt colossally solid, and at the same time, as light as a feather.