Before she had regressed, Ophelia had known about the Gloomtaurs. Not just as a name whispered in fear, but as a reality she had experienced firsthand. She had been captured by them once, held in their underground civilization, surrounded by the eerie silence of a people who patrolled the forest above yet hid themselves away beneath it. They were a contradiction—proud, yet afraid.
At the time, they had been a mysterious force, controlling the vast stretches of the wilderness, avoiding conflict unless provoked. But a few years later, everything changed. The Gloomtaurs, once an independent civilization, became one of the Holy Empire's most powerful weapons in the war against the Kingdom of Nessigolopt. Their once-hidden civilization emerged, their warriors standing alongside the forces of divine purity they had no business being a part of.
Why?
Gloomtaurs weren't the type to bow to another power, much less the Holy Empire, an entity that represented everything they were not. And yet, they had fought, not as allies, but as servants—enslaved by something beyond their control.
The answer lay in magic. Specifically, in Connections.
Connections were the foundation of all magic, though few understood them. Every spell, every ability, every supernatural feat related to magic relied on a link—what would eventually be called Mana Tunnels. These tunnels were unseen pathways of energy, tying the caster to their creation. When a mage formed a fireball, a Mana Tunnel linked it to the flame, and another tunnel connected the fireball to its targeted location. Every act of magic followed this unseen rule, though the world had yet to uncover it.
A century from now, the discovery of Mana Tunnels would shake the world. It would shift magic from an art to a precise science, changing the way spells were cast, controlled, and even countered… shooting Ophelia into stardom.
However, that is a story for the future, as right now, what mattered was what the Holy Empire had already figured out.
The Gloomtaurs, despite all their strength, had one weakness. They did not wield mana. They never had. But like all monsters—whether an abomination of terror or a Gloomtaur, which could only be considered partially monstrous—they were made of mana. Their bodies, their essence, their very being was constructed from the energy that fueled magic itself. And among humanoid monsters, they were special.
They were connected.
A single Mana Tunnel ran through all of them, an unbroken thread linking one Gloomtaur to the next. A shared existence, a shared awareness—an unseen web that made them stronger together, but also vulnerable.
And the Holy Empire had exploited that.
The Supreme Command, the highest order of divine authority, had the power to manipulate these tunnels. They took control of the Gloomtaur's shared Mana Tunnel and bent it to their will, forcing obedience, stripping them of choice. The proud and hidden people had been turned into puppets, bound by authority they could not fight against.
Which led to another question.
If the Supreme Command had this power, why hadn't Ophelia used it from the start? Why hadn't she simply taken control of the Gloomtaurs from their first meeting?
Because it just wasn't that simple.
Three conditions had to be fulfilled.
…
Ophelia stood on one of the watchtowers, arms crossed, her expression cold and unreadable. Her gaze cut through the darkness, settling on the hidden figures beyond the walls. Her voice carried across the night, steady and firm.
"What is it that you want? If it is within reason, we can provide that for you… of course, if you give us something back."
From the shadows, a figure emerged. At first, it was as if the night itself was shifting, but then black strands of hair took shape, followed by a form solidifying at the base of the wall. The Gloomtaur leader stood there, her gaze unwavering as she looked up at Ophelia.
"Let me in," the woman said. "However, if you pull anything sketchy, my two hundred men will eradicate you and this camp in an instant."
Ophelia glanced down, meeting her eyes before nodding. Then, she gave another nod to Edwin, who stood at the small gate built into the wall. The wooden barrier creaked as it opened, allowing the woman to step through.
Ophelia watched closely, her thoughts sharp. 'Two hundred, huh?' Her eyes flicked over the woman's forces still concealed in the shadows. 'It seems she only brought a little over seventy…'
She descended the watchtower, stepping onto solid ground just as the Gloomtaur leader strode forward. She walked into the camp confidently, passing over the bone powder warding the perimeter. Around them, the Workers stiffened, nervously watching as the powder did nothing to her.
"I hope you don't mind if I bring some assurance along."
Ophelia tilted her head slightly. "Of course…"
With a simple hand signal, the Gloomtaur leader summoned two figures from the darkness. They moved swiftly, stepping into the firelight—one man with dark brown hair, red eyes, and a scar running across his bronze face, the other with longer hair of the same color and twin swords made from darkness strapped to his back.
Ophelia turned, gesturing for Alexandra and Edwin to follow. As one, the group moved toward her cart.
Inside, the usual furniture remained, but at the center of the room stood a wooden table with two chairs positioned opposite one another. Ophelia took the seat farthest from the door, Alexandra and Edwin standing silently at her sides. The Gloomtaur leader took the opposite seat, her two underlings mirroring Ophelia's guards.
For a moment, silence settled between them. Then Ophelia spoke.
"What is your name?"
The woman didn't answer at first. Then, with a slight shift in her posture, she said, "There is no need for such information. I have come for a trade. Either give me an item that will allow me to control somebody through a contract, or lend me a mage who can create one. I promise, on my mother and father, I will not do anything to the item or mage you grant us."
Ophelia studied her, her expression blank. The Gloomtaur leader held her ground, but after a moment, she shifted slightly in her seat.
Then, Ophelia spoke again.
"That is quite easy. We do not have an item, but we do have a mage. I could lend her to you for a bit, but in exchange, I would need some kind of reassurance. Lend me one of your trusted men—not some random soldier—and I would be happy to lend my mage to you. However, I also want something from this trade…" She trailed off before finishing, "Lend us safe passage through this forest. Should be easy enough for you all."
The Gloomtaur leader did not react outwardly, but inside, she was pleased. She masked it well, unwilling to show too much enthusiasm. If she seemed too eager, the woman before her would surely add more conditions.
Unbeknownst to her, Ophelia had been in control of the conversation the moment she stepped into the room… even without her [Golden Tongue].
With a small turn of her head, Ophelia looked toward Alexandra. "Bring Tridra."
Alexandra bowed her head before swiftly exiting the cart. Not even a minute later, a woman with shoulder-length black hair, violet eyes, and dangling green emerald earrings entered, standing beside Alexandra.
The Gloomtaur leader frowned. "This is an assassin, is it not?"
Ophelia's expression darkened slightly at the reaction, but she remained composed. Without needing a command, Tridra lifted a hand, conjuring a ball of violet light in her palm before crushing it. The mana dispersed into glowing sparks before fading into the air.
A sigh escaped the Gloomtaur leader's lips. "Okay. I will lend you this man."
She turned her gaze to her right. The swordsman with the twin blades gave a short nod.
Tridra glanced at Ophelia, concern flickering in her eyes. Ophelia held her usual blank expression before allowing the faintest smile to tug at her lips.
She extended a hand. "Let us shake on it then."
This time, her voice carried the weight of [Golden Tongue].
The Gloomtaur leader hesitated. A flicker of uncertainty passed through her, but after a brief pause, she reached out. Their hands clasped, sealing the deal.
Ophelia stood at the entrance of the camp, watching as Tridra walked away with the Gloomtaurs. The woman's unease was clear, but Ophelia met her gaze and offered a warm smile. It was small, brief, but enough. Tridra hesitated for only a moment longer before turning and following the figures into the darkness.
Ophelia remained still, sensing the moment they had fully disappeared from view. Then, she turned back to the one left behind. The swordsman with twin blades stood rigid, his red eyes unreadable. The others around them—the Holy Knights—kept their distance, hands resting near their weapons, tension thick in the air.
She took a step forward, meeting the man's gaze. "So, what is your name?"
Silence.
Ophelia sighed lightly. "Do you understand why you were left behind and not the other man?"
Still, he said nothing. His expression did not shift, but his fingers curled slightly, tightening into a fist.
She continued. "It should be quite obvious. It is because he is useful, while you are useless. Do you really think she cares about you?"
A flicker of something passed through his gaze—anger, doubt, or something in between. His brows furrowed, but his stance did not change. The Holy Knights exchanged nervous glances, sensing the weight in the air, the pressure mounting.
Then, finally, the man spoke. "You speak a lot for such a weak thing."
Ophelia grinned. A slow, knowing expression as she took another step forward. She let the power settle into her words, her voice twisting with the influence of [Golden Tongue].
"You are nothing. Am I wrong?"
The Gloomtaur stiffened, his jaw tightening. His body resisted the magic, his mind clawing against the weight of her words, but Ophelia pressed on.
"You were discarded. Thrown away without hesitation. You are not needed. You are not important."
His breath grew heavier. His hands twitched at his sides.
"You are nothing but a demon. A grotesque demon."
The shift was instant. The Holy Knights, once simply observing, changed. Their auras darkened, malice erupting from them like a crack in a dam. Their eyes burned with purpose, hatred coursing through them.
Ophelia flicked her gaze toward the trees, ensuring the others were long gone. Then, her voice was cold, final.
"Beat him to the brink of death."
There was no hesitation. Like a pack of starved beasts, the Holy Knights lunged. The Gloomtaur barely had time to react, his blades flashing as he attempted to defend himself. But he was too slow—outnumbered, overwhelmed.
A fist crashed into his stomach, another against his jaw. He staggered, tried to slash out, but a knee caught him in the ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt. More strikes followed—boots slamming into his back, fists hammering against his face. He gritted his teeth, trying to rise, but he was dragged down, crushed beneath the sheer force of their assault.
It did not stop. They beat him, over and over, until blood stained the ground until his breathing was shallow until some of the Knights had to be physically pulled away before they actually finished him off.
Ophelia walked across the blood-stained grass and then knelt beside him, a grin tugging at her lips as she studied his broken form. His body twitched, barely holding onto consciousness.
She leaned in slightly, her voice soft, but filled with something absolute.
"As your apostle of light and greatness, I wield the [Supreme Command]."
All the conditions had been met.
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[A few stats have changed]
[Interpersonal Intelligence: 11 → 10]
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