The way Ingo moved was nothing like what one would expect from the mayor of a small village. Despite his constant claims that he wasn’t particularly capable in combat, he must have had some degree of physical ability, since being a tamer necessitated that he make close contact with monsters.
Of course, he could have stuck to taming weak monsters and guiding them through Existential Evolution, but even then, the number of people killed by slimes each year was no laughing matter. It seemed obvious that he was strong enough to defeat the monsters he tamed—or at least skilled enough to escape them, if matters turned south.
The wild slime seemed not to notice Ingo as he approached, no doubt because he was limiting the amount of mana that his body naturally emitted. It seemed that the fine mana control required by his method of monster taming came with many advantages.
Although the types of sensory organs a monster possessed depended on its species, most had the ability to sense mana—it was often the method they used to find their prey. Thus, if one wanted to conceal oneself from a monster, one usually had to dampen one’s own mana signature. From his careful movements alone, I could clearly see that Ingo was well-versed in monster behavior, as well as in how to use it to his advantage when taming them.
Once he’d gotten close enough, Ingo took aim at the wild slime and tossed the small test tube filled with his blood. The monster, still unaware of his presence, naturally failed to dodge. By the time the test tube struck the slime, I saw that Ingo was already working his internal mana, channeling it in the slime’s direction.
A magic circle appeared on the ground beneath the monster. At first glance, it resembled those used for contractual magic in trade deals, but a closer look revealed numerous differences.
Ingo extended his mana like a thread, connecting to the place where his test tube had struck the slime. Although I wondered briefly what his goal was, it soon became clear: To my surprise, his mana thread slipped straight into the slime’s body.
Ordinarily, channeling mana into another living creature’s body was exceedingly difficult—especially if it was involuntary or forced. A living organism’s mana system would naturally reject the foreign mana, dispersing or repulsing it outright in a matter of seconds. It was still possible, but it would require close proximity—direct contact was best—a large quantity of mana, and intricate control.
Of course, it was a different story for certain tested and completed spells—support magic, for example. Those were highly technical constructs, though, and a far cry from simply channeling one’s mana into a foreign creature.
Given that, one might have been tempted to think that Ingo’s mana thread was a similar kind of highly developed spell, but my magic eyes told me otherwise. To me, it was plain as day that Ingo’s mana thread was no prepared spell, but a pure mana construct.
If I had witnessed this out of the blue, I likely would’ve been exclaiming in shock right now. However, Ingo had taken a number of steps that had clued me in. After all, I knew that his mana thread was connected to the point where the test tube had struck the slime. That suggested to me that he had used his blood and mana to open a gate of sorts into the monster’s body.
By passing his mana through this “gate” he’d created, would he face no resistance when channeling his mana into the body of another creature?
I suspected I was onto something there. Admittedly, no other ideas had occurred to me at the moment, but as I considered the question further, an example came to mind that seemed to lend credence to my theory.
This method—it bore a striking resemblance to how vampiric monsters created familiars. It was known that the process involved a vampire injecting their own blood into a human via biting them, but the exact process behind how it worked remained unknown.
However, Ingo was using his blood as a medium to break the boundary between his mana and that of another creature’s, redefining said creature as part of himself and taking command of its very soul. What if that was exactly how vampires did it too? The similarities were too obvious to ignore.
I watched as Ingo’s mana spread throughout the slime’s body along a path that resembled that of a human’s capillaries. As it did so, the magic circle underfoot—not that a slime actually had feet, but regardless—began to change shape.
The way its lines and patterns shifted seemed to be in conjunction with Ingo’s mana rather than any natural catalyst, and the process didn’t seem to be smooth. In fact, it seemed to involve a great deal of trial and error.
By the time the magic circle turned from red to blue, becoming three-dimensional and connected to the mana threads in the slime’s body, I’d lost count of how many times it had changed.
“Yes! I’ve made the connection!” Ingo cried in delight.
As he continued channeling his mana through the thread, the magic cylinder around the slime gradually contracted, becoming smaller and smaller until it finally vanished into the monster’s body.
“This contract I make with my blood and mana as sacrifice,” Ingo chanted. “Thou shalt live for me, and I shall live for thee. Contractus de Origo.”
The magic circle flashed, causing me to reflexively close my eyes. Immediately, I was worried I’d missed the critical moment; I should have brought something to shade my vision. Sure enough, by the time I opened my eyes, it seemed I was too late.
“As you can see, Lorraine,” Ingo said, glancing down at the slime by his feet. It was bouncing around happily, rubbing itself against his feet with the kind of affection that no wild creature would have shown. “This slime is now my familiar.”
Once again, I was struck by how priceless this opportunity to learn from him was.