Chapter 55: Whispers of the Abyss

“Ross, you went to all this trouble just to steal that scroll? Heh, you fail at everything else, but you’re quite eager to play a woman, aren’t you?”

Facing Ross again in the dead of night, I saw the black mage standing silently.

Unable to hold back, I spoke with a taunting edge.

Ross had disguised himself as Darryl, but what had happened to the real half-elf warrior?

A flash of worry crossed my mind, but with the black mage before me, I had no time to fret over others.

This was Romern’s upper city.

I couldn’t yet gauge the gap between us in dark magic.

But causing a stir, stalling until help arrived, should be feasible.

Yes, no fear—this was just a doppelgänger, not his true self.

From what Darryl said, Ross was badly wounded, far from his peak.

And surely Leyak kept watch over his shop’s surroundings.

I couldn’t believe he’d ignore a commotion.

Repeating these emboldening thoughts, I looked up at the shadowy figure outside the window.

“Ah… the scroll? That was just a side errand. That blade-swinging half-elf spilled your secrets to Reilir, so I learned the scroll was with you.

Yes, it’s still useful. Its maker thought it a grand prank—really? Well, I’d like to test that…”

Ross tugged at his lips, smirking.

“A side errand? So you still won’t leave me alone—you insist on taking me?”

I narrowed my eyes, stepping back, glancing aside.

Nolan was just a wall away.

I refused to bank on vague “protagonist luck.”

If he got dragged into this, it’d be a disaster.

“No… that was my original plan, but now, perhaps not…”

Ross said suddenly, his gaunt, gloomy face taking on a thoughtful look.

“What, scared now? Think I’ll fall for that at this point?”

I scoffed, but Ross’s tone turned odd:

“No… I don’t know what game you’re playing. You came here, stirred things up, told Nolan, brought him here, yet acted like you knew nothing about him.

It seems you don’t want to harm Nolan—or drag him into your troubles. With your power, you didn’t need this charade to catch me. And Nolan—why bring him here? What’s your goal?”

I caught his gaze and saw him staring oddly at my blood-wreathed right hand.

“Miss Airandil, you feel… different today. Very different.”

Ross said abruptly.

“Speak for yourself—your cowardly, skulking act is a refreshing change.”

I mocked, realizing this was the first time I’d shown my magic control to Ross.

Had he spotted a flaw in my clumsy spellwork?

Guessing so, I casually hid my hand behind my back.

“Abyssal secrets, or what the world calls dark magic, are a profound art. Logically, a novice shouldn’t master them alone.”

Ross glanced at his chest’s gash, stitched like thread but leaking black mist, signaling his doppelgänger’s countdown.

“Thinking it over, there’s only one possibility—”

Ross lifted his head, looking at me.

His refined air, like an apartment’s art teacher, returned, making him harder to read.

Sometimes he seemed mad as a hatter, other times, like now, deeply calculated.

Had dark magic warped his mind?

A chill ran through me.

“Miss Airandil, have you… made a pact with the Abyss?”

“Uh…”

I opened my mouth, unsure how to answer.

Ross looked at me like I was some bizarre anomaly.

I saw no issue—weren’t all black mages and cultists like this?

“Miss Airandil, you seem to misunderstand—lacking even basic knowledge.”

Ross clasped his hands behind his back, pausing as if gathering thoughts, then spoke slowly:

“Do you know the first step in practicing abyssal secrets?”

“Uh… going completely mad?”

I dodged, half-joking, then cringed, realizing I’d insulted myself too.

Forced by circumstance, I’d learned dark magic from the evil god’s knowledge.

But Ross ignored my jab, continuing:

“The first step is offering a ritual to the Abyss. When the god responds, you connect through the god’s seed—”

“Oh…”

I eyed Ross skeptically.

How were evil god’s seeds made?

Curiosity piqued—it couldn’t be like hens laying eggs, gods churning out seeds for followers, right?

“The second step, after sensing the god’s undeniable reality, is resisting the temptation of a divine pact from the seed. Only those who resist qualify to delve deeper into the arcane.”

Ross’s words hit like a hammer, dazing me.

I forced calm, saying:

“Don’t spout cryptic nonsense. You worship the Abyss—why resist a god’s pact?”

Ross gave me a strange look, then spoke deliberately:

“Of course, Miss Airandil, resistance is essential. Our sect’s aim is humanity’s path to ascension and salvation, not sinking into vulgar greed or desire.

Resisting the pact’s temptation is a natural test. Only those who pass lead the way to redemption. The second reason… the pact from the seed draws you into a mental illusion.

It tempts with power, wealth, coercion, fear—things humans crave or dread—to sign the pact. Those who sign lose their lives. Their bodies, consumed by unchecked divine power, become mindless fiends.

Only those who resist the illusion’s lures retain their minds. Guided by sect elders, they channel the Abyss’s power, rooted in the seed, to grasp the god’s essence and mysteries.

We’re not blind worshippers like the Radiant Church. We revere the Abyss to surpass it—”

“You mean…”

My heart wavered.

Ross’s words were unthinkable.

The novel never detailed how evil god worshippers gained power.

If he was right, my reckless pact with the evil god…

“So, understand, Miss Airandil? If, as I suspect, you didn’t resist the pact’s temptation but made a direct deal with the god, gaining abyssal secrets in some incomprehensible way…

That’s unprecedented—at least, I’ve never seen it.”

Ross maintained his scholar-like demeanor, murmuring:

“Why are you still alive? Why haven’t you lost control? What makes you special? What’s the underlying reason… But this exceeds my expectations. Perhaps I should hold off, observe you instead.

Yes, a surprise. Understanding this might push me closer to immortality. No, no, stay calm—dealing with gods demands utmost caution…”

Ross’s lips moved rapidly, his muttering tinged with mania.

That crazed aura descended again.

He claimed to worship the evil god, yet spoke of exploiting its power.

Radiant Church priests might hide such thoughts, but none dared voice them.

Was this what a black mage was?

Or were evil gods and cults not ethereal deities, but mortals climbing to divinity through twisted means?

I opened my mouth to speak, but Ross looked up, grinning:

“Well, I’ve disturbed you enough tonight. I’ll take my leave. We’ll meet again, young lady—”

Ross’s final words echoed as his misty, fading figure retreated.

In a blink, he vanished into the dark night beyond the window.

My fingers twitched, itching to chase and demand answers.

But I stayed rooted, Ross’s words about the evil god’s pact looping in my ears like an echo.

Clang!

A sharp night breeze slammed the half-open window against the frame.

Startled awake, I stared ahead dazedly.

After a long moment, unsure what to do, I slowly closed the window tight.