Chapter 486: The Noble Existence (1)
He was chosen.
Pan never once doubted this fact, because his mother had always said so. His mother, who was more youthful and beautiful than anyone else, had assured him.
She also said that in truth, they were descendants of a forgotten royal family, and Pan was indeed royalty—a prince.
It had to be true. If not, why would his mother proclaim it day and night, in rain or snow, without fail?
"I am royalty, you are a prince. I am royalty, you are a prince..." She repeated it so often that it seemed etched into his ears.
Of course, the people around him scoffed and threw stones at the idea, but his mother was undeterred.
She simply said that the world was steeped in sin, corrupted, and had temporarily gone awry.
She believed with unwavering conviction that when the time came, the prince would undoubtedly appear, punish the world for its wrongs, and save them all.
She even claimed to have seen it in her dreams—the prince, radiating brighter than anyone else, accompanied by 36 great beings, countless apostles, and a grand war that would herald the dawn of a new era.
“Stop it, you crazy woman! What prince? Enough with the nonsense!”
Pan believed those words.
Otherwise, how could he have survived hunger, cold, violence, and the harsh labor, not to mention the cruel world itself?
How else could he have wielded the power of creation, the most esteemed of all magical arts, without ever learning any form of black magic?
His mother's words were true. He was a prince—a prince!
Even now, wasn't he summoning and subduing a demon with ease, something that other "Fingers" couldn't manage?
He had spent decades preparing, hammering in spikes and hooks.
The demon's dangling legs, arms spread wide, and flesh on the verge of being torn apart by hooks were proof enough.
This was punishment—punishment!
It was for the insolence of the demon, who, despite being summoned by Pan, had the audacity to greet another person first and speak politely to them.
It didn’t make sense! He was clearly the prince! The great prince who would punish the world! The prince his mother spoke of! Damn it! Damn it!! But instead of addressing him, it greeted that shabby Fixer? How could that be right? It was as if...
...whirr!
The demon, bound by the restraints and torture devices Pan had crafted from darkness, turned its head 180 degrees to look back at him.
Just moments ago, it had been unable to resist and was simply pierced and captured.
Naturally, this outcome was to be expected. Pan had used nearly all the children's souls he had collected over decades.
With such materials, it might even be possible to subdue a brute flesh chef, a cunning old puppet master, or perhaps even the Pied Piper himself. Maybe even that monster.
The ritual had strict requirements, but the effects were absolute.
Yet, something was amiss. Despite his meticulous preparations, even receiving the demon's wisdom, the demon before him appeared far too composed.
It was calm enough to burn a holy knight and save the Fixer while keeping its head turned 180 degrees. It was unforgivable.
"I am the prince... I am the prince..." Pan mumbled to himself, his voice soft yet filled with a wicked determination that rivaled any shout. After all, he was the prince. If, just if, he wasn’t a prince...
“Aaaaaargh!! Don’t ignore me!!”
Pan screamed, blood streaming from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Even the pain, which would be unbearable for an adult, was numbed by his obsession.
“I am your prince! Kneel before me! Bow down!!”
Clank... thud!!
The tightly woven chains and hooked restraints pulled from all directions, binding the distracted demon.
Its body, charred as if it were firewood, looked ready to be torn apart at any moment.
No matter how powerful a demon was, if it descended into the material world, it would be subject to its laws. Besides, this was merely a manifestation, not its true form—it was considerably weaker.
Pan was certain he could subdue it. He had summoned it intentionally in this weakened state. There was no doubt; it could be subdued.
[Apologize to the prince.]
A voice echoed from all directions, striking directly at Pan's mind.
As the voice reverberated, the demon turned its head once more, following the direction it had rotated earlier.
Crack.
Its neck twisted a full 360 degrees. It was an unsettling sight, but a grin formed on Pan's lips.
After all, the demon had called him a prince. As expected, he was indeed the prince, the prince, the prince...
[Thanks to you, I was able to meet you. Now, bow before me, Prince of Ash.]
Pan froze. What had the demon just said?
[Would you prefer another title? Broomstick Prince? Crouched Prince? Or perhaps Testicle Cancer Prince, or Skin Cancer Prince?]
Pan's eyes trembled, and his breathing grew ragged.
The demon hadn't cast any special magic; it merely used its expertise in speech to pry open the past, bringing back memories that Pan loathed.
Memories too dreadful to recall.
With a little help from the darkness, the effect was magnified.
[Bow down! Here stands the Prince! The Prince of Ash with his broomstick!]
[Giggle giggle!]
[He calls himself a prince? Giggle giggle!]
[Giggle giggle! I’m dying here!]
[No, no! Let's make a crown out of a useless broomstick and put it on his head! He’ll look just like a prince!!]
[It suits him! It really does! He's a real prince!]
[Giggle giggle giggle! Ah, I’m going to die laughing!]
[Hey! Let’s strip the prince's pants off. Didn’t you see the wart under his balls? Who wants to see? Anyone?]
[Let’s see it! Let’s see it!]
[Pull down his pants! Grab his arms!]
[He’s crying! He’s crying!]
The darkness, supposedly under Pan's control, morphed into childlike figures and surrounded him, tauntingly crying out.
The shadows, shaped like children, were small and merciless, embodying the turmoil in Pan’s heart.
His emotions betrayed him, as if his heart had been stabbed thousands of times. He was unable to collect himself.
[Let us worship our prince! The prince with the wart-ridden...]
“Aaaaaargh!!!”
Pan cried out, shattering the child-shaped shadows around him in a fit of rage.
Primal fury, humiliation, sorrow, pain, hatred, and self-loathing surged within him.
It was no less than when Oliver had pierced Gretel’s heart right in front of the flesh chef.
Pan, with tears of blood streaming from his eyes and bloody saliva dripping from his mouth, howled like a beast.
[Absorb the shadows—now! I don’t need reverence! I don’t need recognition! Absorb them!!]
Pan yelled, extracting a large quantity of souls to support his creature with both hands.
His shadow, now merged with darkness, sought to devour the demon's flesh, pulling at the chains and hooks that bound it.
This was Pan's true aim.
The power of black magic could grow boundlessly depending on the materials used, and if he utilized not only human souls but also the soul and body of a demon, he could create an invincible creature.
He had intended to first prove himself as a prince and show how glorious it was to be used as his material, but now none of that mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.
“Rip it apart!!!”
Shhh-thwang━━!!
Pan shouted in rage, and the darkness restraining the demon was torn to shreds.
It happened so easily that there was no sense of despair or exhilaration—only emptiness and an overwhelming difference in power.
“Wha...?”
Pan uttered in a dazed voice, the kind he hadn’t used in ages.
But it was the most natural outcome.
One of the many titles of the demon was indeed the King of Fire and Darkness.
Pan had been able to manipulate the surrounding darkness only because the demon had permitted it in the first place.
To prove it, the darkness that had been under his control suddenly broke free and spat out Pan's shadow.
"······!"
The shadow, expelled like chewed gum, was battered and burned, barely clinging together.
Nonetheless, it still charged silently at the demon, despite its grievous injuries.
It was an unusual occurrence for a creature to prioritize protecting its master even at the cost of its own life.
[You have received many blessings.]
The demon spoke as the shadow stabbed it in the chest with a dagger. It should have been a fatal blow, yet it was the shadow that was surprised. It was firmly trapped.
Pan’s shadow tried to withdraw its hand to escape, but it was stuck, unable to move. Even Pan, its master, had slumped to the ground in a daze.
A master who had lost his will to fight, and a creature that refused to abandon its master.
To those knowledgeable in the arts of Creation-type black magic, it was a sight that would shock them to the core. Truly, one could say it was a blessing from the demon.
[I shall grant you a blessing as well.]
The demon, with the dagger still lodged in its chest, raised its charred fingers.
At the tip of the dried branch-like finger, a faint red ember flickered, emitting a small wisp of smoke.
Pan's shadow, despite not having a mouth, let out a silent scream. It attempted to flee but was unable to, and ultimately, the smoke-covered finger touched its forehead.
Sss...
A barely audible hiss accompanied the event. The shadow convulsed before it could finally return to its master.
Now alone, Pan mumbled with half-vacant eyes.
"I-I am... I am the prince. The prince... If... if not, then why... did the demon spare me... and grant me power..."
Pan murmured in shock, his emotions fluctuating wildly. It was unclear whether he was speaking to himself, to the demon, or if he was even making sense.
The demon looked down at Pan, seemingly saying something, though no sound was heard.
Based on Pan’s gaze and a brief glance at Oliver, one could surmise that the demon and Pan were indeed conversing.
Pan's eyes regained their greed-filled glow as the demon beckoned with a finger, and Pan was swallowed up by the darkness and vanished. It was impossible to know where he had gone, but unlike the holy knight earlier, he seemed to be unharmed.
Once Pan disappeared, silence settled in again, and darkness closed in from all directions.
Oliver glanced around just in case, but he still couldn’t find an exit.
In fact, he wasn’t even sure if this place was truly connected to the abandoned mine. Something felt off, like it wasn’t.
Step. Step. Step.
The demon turned its body and began approaching. As the only source of light in the darkness, its approach gradually brightened the surroundings, but at the same time, the pressure increased.
It felt as if a massive weight was being added piece by piece.
“What is your name?”
As the demon closed the distance, Oliver suddenly asked for its name.
“I was taught that asking for someone’s name before a conversation is a sign of respect.”
[······What is your name?]
“...My name is Oliver. In Landa, I go by the name Dave Light as a Fixer, and in the Tower of Magic, I’m known as Zenon Bright. I apologize for not introducing myself before asking for your name.”
Oliver spoke skillfully, despite the intense burning pain in his right arm. It hurt so much that he felt he might lose consciousness at any moment, but his instincts told him to stay alert. Otherwise, he would regret it.
“What is your name?”
[······]
“I’ve heard you are known as the King of Fire and Darkness, the Prophet of Destruction, and the Purifier. May I address you this way?”
[······Most of those titles refer to me.]
“...?”
[The King of Fire and Darkness, the One Who Illuminates the Dark—all these titles are indeed mine. However, I dislike being called the Purifier.]
Oliver reflexively activated his Necromancer’s Sight and immediately felt an intense pain that forced him to deactivate it. It was like staring directly into the sun.
“Apologies. It was a reflex... But why do you dislike it?”
Oliver asked, half out of curiosity and half to buy time. He didn’t know why, but he needed to stall.
[Why should I like being called impure?]
“Ah...”
Oliver pondered for a moment and understood. It was so obvious that he wondered why he had asked the question in the first place.
Was it because he was dealing with a demon? It seemed too biased a thought.
“I apologize... Then, may I know your name?”
Oliver apologized and asked again. The demon remained silent for a moment before responding.
[I am now known as the Burned One, noble being.]