“I see,” Mihail said. “Charm is naturally a holy spell. Why has it transformed so monstrously, gaining a subjugation attribute like darkness? That change was the reason I was able to break it.”
It was only a hypothesis, but... During the magic curse incident a few months ago, perhaps Mihail had unconsciously trained and heightened his dark magic powers. That was why he could break free from the charm’s hold on his own, and perhaps even read information from the magic itself.
A person’s magical power transforming, though? Not like in Mihail’s case, where the aptitude ratio changed...
Indeed, the pope’s charm carried something akin to subjugation. True charm enchantments opened another’s heart naturally, without discomfort, fostering goodwill. The pope’s enchantment carried an unnatural quality—inflating benevolent emotions with such force it could feel as if one’s will was being hijacked.
“Hmph... So it was precisely because your dark magic ratio is so high that you noticed?”
“Yes. Your magic is ominous, sharp and thorny. Yet simultaneously, it feels cold and painful.” There was clear sorrow in Mihail’s words, and in his eyes... What was going on? “Was that girl Princess Beljeanne?” he asked.
Princess Beljeanne? So Mihail had interfered with the pope’s magic after all. I’d received the report about him peering into Sienna’s memories during the magic curse incident. It would hardly be surprising if he’d glimpsed the pope’s memories too.
Those with high aptitude for dark magic could unconsciously interfere with an opponent’s magic and spirit when their own magic became unstable. Had his dark magic aptitude surged suddenly, causing instability as he forcibly resisted the altered charm spell?
From our conversation so far, I was certain the pope was connected to Princess Beljeanne. And he was clearly sympathetic toward her. As for Mihail, he seemed to have seen something unbelievable; something he accepted and yet could not fully comprehend. From the look on his face, I was certain he had caught a glimpse of the pope’s memories. What on earth had he seen?
The moment Mihail asked about the princess, the smile vanished from the pope’s face. The black smoke rising from his body grew even denser. That smoke... It could be interpreted as visible magical energy, but it wasn’t dark magic either.
“Hmph... The grandson of the man who, as her fiancé, knew the princess’s true form yet continued to stand by and watch...” Anger seeped into the pope’s voice. The black smoke was absorbed back into him, only to emerge again from his body even darker.
It was like... Yes, like Heinz several months ago near the boys’ dormitory, when Lady Robur had called him “Black Bodysuit,” as negative emotions had flowed in and out of the mass of his magic.
Incidentally, I’d never forget the way her dreamy indigo eyes looked then. I’d never forget them, and I’d never forget the pitch-black jealousy that welled up inside me when I’d realized they were directed at someone else, not me.
“I would prefer you not speak that name,” the pope went on. His anger swelling, he turned to the chimera, fixing the beast with a freezing stare. “Come now, that is your son, after all. How long will you remain held back by such a poor-quality light arrow?”
The black smoke flickered. Then, the several light arrows pinning the massive body to the ground vanished.
“Ah... Ah... I...”
Suddenly, the chimera—no, the former duchess—turned a despairing face toward her son, as if she had regained her self-awareness. The holy light arrows seemed to have healed her consciousness, restoring some memories.
“No... Not like this... Help... Ah... I’m hungry... No... Help... I have to escape...” Her self-awareness flickered back and forth in eyes the same violet as Mihail’s.
“A woman who abuses a helpless child for so long is nothing but a scourge, in any era,” the pope intoned. It sounded as if he was echoing someone else’s words—but whose? “Suffer before you die,” he declared, manifesting and launching a single light spear. It should have been a holy light spear, colored in golden light, but while the attribute remained unchanged, its color was a poisonous, dark red. Was this transformation of magical power?
“Tch.” Mihail clicked his tongue as the two of us each raised a barrier at once. Yet the spear pierced through the double barrier, stabbing the chimera in the chest from behind as it spun on its heel.
The former duchess let out a death cry, collapsing into the magic circle Jabi had interfered with, turning it crimson black, and vanishing. The barrier vanished as well, nullified by the spear that had pierced it.
“Well, well. Escaped by chance, did you?” The pope’s hand held yet another crimson-black spear. When had he...? “I suppose it’s time for us to show you what we’re truly capable of.”
The black smoke rising from the pope instantly retreated back into his body, and his skin darkened before our eyes to a reddish-black hue. His frame grew larger still, and through the white cassock embroidered with silver thread—the distinctive vestment of the clergy—one could get a sense of the sheer power of his physique.
As the pope bent forward, his back bulged beneath his robes. After a moment, he thrust his chest out forcefully, and wings burst through the fabric on his back. They were clad in crimson-black feathers, instantly recognizable as rigid and hard.
“Gah!” Mihail and I groaned in unison as we were violently assaulted by the mesmerizing power Mihail had been suppressing. An overwhelming, almost violent urge to worship surged from deep within my chest, uncontrollable—a sensation unlike anything before, making my head spin wildly.
“How utterly ridiculous.” The pope’s voice, tinged with contempt, was unbearably endearing... I wanted it... I wanted to be gazed upon...
Mihail and I collapsed, both of us dropping to our knees, nearly prostrating ourselves to the impulse.