With nothing but a single-minded determination to learn magic, he had taken Brizeman as his master, but what followed
were days so horrifying that Doil could not even bear to think of them. It had happened exactly one year after Doil became Brizeman's disciple
that most of the thirty apprentices were sacrificed in live experiments. At that time,
Doil had screamed before the mutilated corpses of his colleagues. By any means necessary,
he would survive; he would learn magic no matter what.
At the time, most of his colleagues had died in chimera fusion experiments. His master, Brizeman, was a black mage of such extreme malice that he would throw his own disciples into live
experiments. Experiments attempting to fuse human bodies with orcs, trolls,
or even goblins were carried out by his hand, and Doil had been forced to dispose of countless corpses of his comrades whose bodies had been
twisted together with monsters.
And the master's evil claws reached Doil without fail. He was thrown into an experiment to fuse him with the intermediate fire spirit,
Salamander. What followed was a process he truly did not even wish to
imagine.
Though he managed to survive after countless twists and turns, his skin had already
been completely burned by the Salamander's heat. He had become something that could hardly be called
human.
"You are a tenacious one. Fine. I shall make you my second disciple."
The cold voice of his master spat these words at Doil, who lay barely breathing with severe burns. From that
moment, Doil harbored a bone-deep hatred for his master, Brizeman. For what had been done to his appearance,
he vowed to take revenge. But since mastering magic was his priority, Doil
never revealed his true feelings under any circumstances. He
always faced Brizeman with an expressionless face and learned black magic from him. In this way,
Doil's magical abilities steadily improved.
It was then that the Dark War broke out. Naturally, Brizeman and all his disciples, including Doil, who had already become a fairly accomplished
black mage, participated in the war. In the course of that war, Doil witnessed his master's final
moments.
Ironically, Brizeman had not died in battle. He had been ambushed by none other than his first
disciple—more precisely, by Drew, the disciple who had survived being fused with a troll.
Drew, like Doil, had harbored a bone-deep hatred for Brizeman. Drew's ambush succeeded, and Brizeman ultimately suffered a fatal wound.
Because Drew possessed the monstrous regenerative ability and strength of a troll, Brizeman could not withstand the surprise
attack.
But in his final moments, Brizeman's counterattack turned Drew into a handful of
ash. Brizeman, who had sustained serious injuries at the time, called out to Doil in a plaintive tone.
"Doil. Help me. I must become a lich. Since you are now my only disciple,
I shall pass on everything I have to you."
A fervent attachment to life, determined to preserve his existence even by becoming a lich. But to do so, he desperately needed the help of
Doil, a capable black mage. Yet Doil refused Brizeman's
request as if it were only natural.
"That is impossible, Master."
"W-what did you say?"
"You are a being who would be of no use to this world even if you lived."
At Doil's unexpected attitude, Brizeman's eyes flew wide.
"K-kuh... Y-you?"
"Farewell, Master."
In the end, Brizeman had no choice but to meet his end before Doil's unblinking gaze. He had been brought to his end by the very disciples he had
raised.
After Brizeman's death, Doil was able to get his hands on all the magic tomes and magical implements he had left behind. And the subsequent Great Dark War
played a significant role in increasing Doil's magical prowess. Doil, who was already under the control of the Demon Lord's mana, could not refuse to fight against the
humans. The war dragged on for a long time.
It eventually ended in victory for humanity, and Doil found himself captured. And for a full thirty years,
he was imprisoned in an underground dungeon, paying for his crimes.
A life that could truly be called tumultuous, and by no means short, like a revolving lantern,
flashed through Doil's mind. And now, after many long years,
the tables had turned—Doil now stood in the position of a master who would teach another.
*Thud-thud.*
Because the road was not smooth, the wagon's vibrations transmitted directly to his body, but they could not interrupt Doil's
thoughts. He stole a glance at Daemon's profile.
'Although I do not know how much magical aptitude Daemon has, I shall do my utmost to
teach him. At the very least, he must not walk the same path as I did.'
Though he had walked the path of a black mage only after enduring tremendous hardships, Doil was determined never to pass on his own experiences to Daemon. It was not a decision made because he wished to avoid his
master's fate, but at the very least, he intended not to bequeath his own karmic burden to
Daemon.
Doil had no intention of continuing the master-disciple relationship that Brizeman had created. Daemon, who had never had a proper master until now, had finally met a master worthy of the name in
Truvania.
"Enemies!"
At the sudden, urgent shout that rang out, Doil snapped to attention. As befitting a seasoned war
mage, he was already reflexively casting an offensive spell.
*Thud-thud-thud-thud.*
A single cavalryman on horseback was charging toward them at full speed. He was a scout deployed to the front for
reconnaissance. The other scouts were nowhere to be seen, perhaps already dead,
and the rider's body, desperately rushing toward them, was covered in blood.
"All units, prepare for battle."
Whether because he was experienced in such situations, the commander issued orders without delay. As they had been trained, the soldiers urgently approached the wagons and gathered their armor and weapons.
They were donning the equipment they had removed,
in preparation for the long march.
Before he knew it, Doil had also dismounted from the wagon. Befitting a mage of high circles, he already
had an offensive spell firmly cast and ready. As the arriving scout tumbled off his horse as if
collapsing, the commander quickly approached him.
"What's the scale of the enemy?"
Blood streamed down his face, but the scout began his
report with an attitude that showed not the slightest tremor.
"An orc contingent numbering roughly five hundred. No riders are visible; most are infantry.
However, unusually, there is one ogre included in their forces."
"An ogre?"
The commander's face contorted. Of course, he knew well that the orcs deployed numerous
medium-sized monsters to counter knights and mages. The problem was the ogre.
He had already witnessed countless scenes of mages being slaughtered by
ogres.
Ogre skin was typically highly resistant to magical attacks. One or two spells
would not kill it instantly. Moreover, an ogre's agile
movements allowed it to break through guards' protection with little difficulty. Considering that, clumsy mages
stood no chance against an ogre. Among the orc armies, the tactic of using ogres to target mages
had become almost absolutely established. That was why
the commander was at a loss.
"It can't be helped. Everyone, form a defensive formation. Temporary guards, protect the mage immediately."
As soon as the order fell, a group of soldiers surrounded Doil. They were all clad in heavy
armor. Daemon also gripped his signature weapon, the spike gauntlet, and took his place in front of
Doil.
The long iron spikes attached to the gauntlet gleamed with unusual brightness. The other soldiers raised their shields to cover the front,
bracing for the enemy's appearance.
*Kwooooo.*
The ogre revealed itself before long. Though surrounded by orcs, its
massive size made it instantly recognizable even from afar. Unlike the twin-headed ogre Daemon had fought before,
this one had only a single head. But the hulking
ogre was charging toward them with terrifying speed. Behind it,
a wave of orc infantry could be seen running close on its heels.
"Oh, gods."
The faces of the soldiers at the front turned ashen. They were the ones who had to stop the ogre first. And that
with nothing but their own bodies. The charging orcs were drawing closer and closer.
It was then that Doil stepped forward. On his magic staff, a
discharge orb had formed, blazing with dazzling light.
"Chain Lightning."
It was merely 2nd Circle, but in melee combat against multiple foes, there was no more powerful lightning-based
offensive spell. It surged through the ranks of soldiers and spread toward the front.
*Crackle-crackle-crackle!*
It precisely enveloped the orc infantry charging at the front.
"Kiiiiik!"
Screams of death erupted as the orcs at the front collapsed in droves. True to electricity's nature of racing through pointed
ends, a great number of orcs suffered serious damage.
Only then did the orcs realize there was a mage on this side.
"Squeak. A-a mage."
The charging orcs nimbly reorganized their forces. Centered around infantry bearing crude wooden shields,
they began to gather in a circle. Seeing the terrifying power of the Chain Lightning,
they were certain that the mage who had attacked specialized in lightning magic. Therefore,
the orcs formed their battle array in a formation most effective at blocking lightning
attacks.
Having fought humans for a long time, the orcs had more or less learned how to deal with human armies. But that was exactly what Doil had intended from the start. As the orcs
moved according to his design, a cold smile flickered across Doil's lips.
"Foolish creatures."
Soon he began to concentrate his mana. This time, at the crystal axis of his staff, mana imbued with the
fire attribute was gathering. It seemed to be a fairly high-circle spell, as the casting time was exceedingly
long this time.
Meanwhile, the clustered orc infantry were rapidly approaching. Among
them, the ogre had drawn closest thanks to its characteristic agility. Though possessed of feeble intelligence,
the ogre knew its task well: to find and kill the mage by any means necessary to minimize the damage to the trailing
infantry. But
before the ogre could leap into the human formation, the spell activated.
"Flame Strike."
An enormous sphere of flame manifested from Doil's magic staff. Reminiscent of infernal fire, the
fireball flickered with azure flames and was soon launched forward with ferocious momentum.
Directly in the path of the charging orcs.
"Kweek?"
The eyes of the orc infantry at the front widened abruptly. In his pupils, the terror of death instantly
clouded. Flame Strike, a 5th Circle fire-based offensive spell unleashed by Doil,
accurately detonated at the center of the charging orc unit.
*Kwakwakwang!*
Along with a roar that seemed to shake the earth itself, shredded chunks of flesh scattered in all directions.
Orc infantry engulfed in flames thrashed wildly before collapsing, one after another. Along with them, a terrible stench
spread all around. Astonishingly, a single spell had killed half of the five-hundred-strong orc horde
on the spot.