Around that time, 8-year-old Dale had three teachers.
Sepia, an elder of the Blue Magic Tower, who taught water magic; the Black Magic Tower Master and Dale's father, the Black Duke, who taught Dark attribute magic; and finally...
Hot breath leaked out into the frosty, chilly early morning air.
"Huh!"
Dale swung his wooden sword in the spacious training ground prepared for the Duke's knights. The one who received the blow was Sir Helmut Blackbear, who led the Raven Knights which is under the direct command of the Duke of Jackson.
As Dale's wooden sword swung, Sir Helmut continued to strike it back effortlessly.
Right then, Dale's sword, which swung towards Sir Helmut's wooden sword, wrapped around his sword like a snake and deflected it off-center. It was the art of using softness to overpower strength.
"Hoo!"
However, there was no way Sir Helmut, one of the seven knights of the continent, would fall into that trap. Still, there was no need to give his all.
Sir Helmut deliberately pretended to fall into Dale's trap and let go of the sword in his hand.
"Haha, Young master! It's quite good!"
As he watched the wooden sword he was holding spin around in the air, he raised his hands and laughed.
"Hey, you did it on purpose."
Sir Helmut took a deep breath after hearing Dale's words. "... It is truly a shame that Young master is walking on the path of magic."
With the consent of his wife, Elena, the Black Duke officially accepted Dale as his disciple. That was just a while ago. In the first place, Dale is the son of the Black Magic Tower owner before being the eldest son of a duke's family, so there was no doubt that Dale was led down the path of black magic by his father.
However, in the eyes of Helmut, one of the Continents top Seven Swordsman, Dale's sword skills were by no means ordinary.
The overwhelming talent he felt when he fought the strongest knight in the past, the divine swordsman Lord Badel. A glimpse of that talent could be felt at the tip of this child, who was only eight years old. Lord Badel, a divine swordsman who was once defeated by a 'hero'... A gemstone that might rival his swordsmanship.
But is it okay to feel regretful? This child has already become the greatest wizard on the continent, and his magical talent is blossoming.
'How did heaven bestow such numerus talents upon a single individual?'
Even if he becomes a wizard, he teaches the sword in the hope that he will not neglect his physical training. However, as a wizard, he cannot use the aura of the dantian.
Just as wizards rotate mana around the circle of the heart and process it into the form of 'magic power,' skilled knights accumulate mana in their dantian and utilize it as a form of power called 'aura.' Even though the source of the sword, magic, and abilities are the same, the organs in the body that utilize them are separate.
The regret Helmut felt every time he taught Dale was indescribable.
However, more than that regret, the emotion that drove Sir Helmut's passion was extraordinary. Ordinary wizards are far from using their bodies. Wizards always have quite a few guard knights with them on the battlefield and make up for their lack of physical ability with outside help.
But is there really a need to hold a sword and undergo physical training?
Even for Dale, it would be overly harsh education for an 8-year-old child. But Dale's way of thinking was different.
'Relying on escort or defensive magic, I don't want to neglect physical training.'
The logic itself is not difficult for even a child to understand.
However, it is difficult for even veteran wizards who have been on the battlefield for decades to truly realize the truth. In fact, most of the wizards that Lord Helmut slaughtered on the battlefield were people who fell into that kind of complacency.
Unity.
Whether or not that attack can be blocked will determine the life or death of the wizard who gave the knight distance. And Dale understood that fact more clearly than anyone else.
An 8-year-old child who should never have even seen a battlefield!
Swordsmanship is ultimately the art of killing people. And in the eyes of Lord Helmut, who had been honing his 'art of killing people' throughout his life, Dale's fighting sense was like something from heaven.
Therefore, Helmut's passion as a teacher boiled over even more.
Even if he did not follow the path of the sword, young Dale was the 'brilliant gemstone' that Lord Helmut had been looking for.
That afternoon.
The basement of the Ducal castle of Jackson. The entire vast underground cavity there was a huge workshop that existed only for one wizard.
The Black Duke's magic workshop.
Right there, Dale was practicing with his father.
However, he did not immediately revive the dead or move corpses. Instead, when he heard that Dale had mastered such beginner-level necromancy, the greatest necromancer on the continent clicked his tongue.
'Are you saying he brought the corpse to life without even knowing what he was doing?'
For Dale, who was secretly expecting praise, this reaction came as a surprise. After that, the first things the Black Duke handed over to Dale were enormous books.
A medical book that recorded the anatomy of people and various living things, and the movements and principles of bones, internal organs, and muscles. Professional-level knowledge that is unlikely to be encountered by anyone other than 21st-century surgeons.
Only after Dale read those books to the point where he could put them in his head did the Black Duke finally begin to teach practical magic.
In his workshop, the Black Duke placed the stuffed body of a goblin like a mummy on the altar.
"Let's start by causing the disease of the dead first."
Dead man's disease. The reason why it is called a soldier rather than a dead person is because it was not a magic that stopped at just raising a corpse.
Just as individuality is given to elemental magic through modifications, necromantic magic can also improve the form of revival according to the will of the magician.
Among them, raising corpses specialized for combat. A warlock without skills can only raise ordinary zombies even with the Sword Master's corpse. A high-level warlock can create a Death Knight from the corpse of a common soldier.
Dale concentrated his consciousness and focused on engraving the necessary formulas.
He recalled the knowledge he learned from anatomy books and wove threads of magic throughout the goblin's body.
Necromancy does not truly bring the dead back to life, as is commonly thought. If I had to compare it, it would be closer to the art of puppeteering
Dale then wove the goblin's corpse with the magic thread, and the formula he engraved on it was hardening. It is the hardening of the outer skin by promoting rigor mortis[1].
The goblin's body staggered and rose up, with movements so stiff that they seemed unnatural at first glance.
'It's different from moving a rabbit.'
The bipedal body of a goblin was difficult to handle without understanding the principles within it. Moreover, necromancy is a purely unknown discipline that even he had no knowledge of in his previous life.
Therefore, that fact made Dale's heart beat even more.
"It was a good idea to strengthen the goblin's outer shell using rigor mortis."
Watching that scene, the Black Duke smiled with satisfaction. A father's smile that cannot be hidden. But it was just for a moment.
Soon, a coolness befitting the continent's greatest warlock soon took its place. "However, the rigor mortis—in other words, the contraction of the muscles—has the side effect of restricting the movement of the body more than necessary."
"Are you saying there is a better way?"
In response to Dale's question, the Black Duke silently snapped his fingers.
'...!'
At that moment, an ominous dark force rushed through the room. The hardening formula that Dale added was lifted, and the muscles quickly relaxed.
Kwasik!
There was a sound of something being twisted.
"The ribs the ones that protects the internal organs."
It was the sound of bones twisting inside the body.
"But there is no need to protect the internal organs of a dead person."
Black Ball continued speaking.
"Then how will you use the bones that are no longer needed?"
That was the answer given by the continent's greatest warlock to Dale's question.
Kwasik!
As soon as he spoke, the goblin's stomach twisted and a 'bone blade' emerged from his hand. A white blade with blue razor-sharp edges. It was part of a rib that had surrounded the goblin's intestines just a few seconds ago.
"Understanding the structure of an object and reconstructing it in a form that suits the purpose."
Some of the ribs were instantly turned into weapons. As he said, there is no reason for a dead person to protect their internal organs.
The Black Duke snapped his fingers again.
Kwasik!
Once again, the goblin's bones and muscles twisted at strange angles, like a joint ghost from a horror movie. But Dale could sense the shape of the distortion.
'All elements necessary for survival are excluded, and the body is rebuilt solely for combat.'
A dead goblin created by the hand of the Black Duke. Blades of bone protruded sharply from all over the body. It was armor that protected the goblin, but at the same time, it was also a sharp blade to tear the enemy to pieces.
It wasn't even at the level of reviving. There was no trace of its appearance when it was alive.
Perfect stopper tank.
The word rebirth was truly appropriate.
A monster with combat power that is ten times more powerful than that of its lifetime.
"Do you know the goal that the Black Magic Tower pursues?"
Just then, the black duke opened his mouth. Dale shook his head without answering. He didn't know. Of course, he needed to pretend not to know. But the real reason for silence was different.
He wanted to hear it from his father's mouth.
"It is the truth."
The greatest warlock on the continent answered.
"And truth always exists in death."
Dale quietly took a deep breath at the Black Duke's words. However, the words that followed were very unexpected for Dale.
"That's why you have to understand."
"What do you mean?"
"The weight of life to reach the truth."
Weight of life.
Only then did Dale realize it. The black magic that people fear and whisper about is the magic of death, and it is an action that is possible only when one understands life before doing so.
For Dale, who had sacrificed everything just for the sake of slaughter, it was an incredibly paradoxical irony.
He was a person who had been covered in countless bloodshed throughout his life without even knowing the 'weight of life.'
He killed, killed, and killed again.
A few months later.
A woman's extremely painful screams rang out from the Duke and Duchess' bedroom. Dale was outside his bedroom, looking anxiously out the window of the castle.
"Young master!"
And soon, upon hearing the old woman's voice calling him, Dale rushed into the bedroom without delay.
"Dale."
Father and mother calmly looked at him and smiled. And the newborn infant next to them.
The new born, whimpering and crying, was wrapped in a swaddle and held in Elena's arms as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
"Your younger sister looks just like you."
Elena had a motherly smile on her face at the end of her labor.
"Would you like to give her a hug?"
With Elena's help, Dale cautiously embraced his younger sister. The weight of life he felt for the first time in his life. It was heavy as a thousand pounds, yet light as a feather.
T/L Notes:
1. Rigor mortis - stiffening of the joints and muscles of a body a few hours after death, usually lasting from one to four days.