**Chapter 22**
—
Unprecedented.
There was no other word to describe the situation.
A trial meant to efficiently weed out the examinees had been reduced to utter chaos—by the hand of a single person.
Dale’s life points: **59.**
Everyone else: **eliminated.**
Though it had been called a *“Battle for Life Points,”* no one had imagined that one person would monopolize every single one of them.
Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd.
Dale calmly lifted his head, his gaze meeting the distant figures of those from the **Black Tower** watching him.
He had never been interested in the greenhorn magicians gathered here in the first place.
Those he truly had to prove himself to—
were the Black Tower Elders under the Duke of Saxen,the “Black-Clad Guard,”
no different from the Duke’s Night Raven Knights who served as his personal guard through strength of arms.
And the **Trial of the Tower** had only just begun.
—
—
──**Tower’s Trial, Second Layer.**
The Second Test.
To defeat the *Flesh Golem*, guardian of the floor.
A creature of several meters in height, its massive frame made of grotesquely knotted muscle—
it was not an opponent a mere third-circle magician could face alone.
This was a trial designed for many examinees to combine their strength and intellect.
Yet there was one problem.
“Ah…”
Only those who survived the first layer’s *Battle for Life Points* could take the second test.
And yet—
“Oh, right. I made sure everyone else failed.”
In other words, he had no one to fight beside him.
Not that it mattered much.
Dale smiled faintly as he looked up at the Flesh Golem.
Even for several newly initiated magicians working together with full effort, the creature’s defeat could only barely be guaranteed.
The Flesh Golem roared, and the spectators collectively held their breath at the sight.
No matter how astonishing Dale’s talents had been a moment ago, the enemy before him was something else entirely.
He could not use the artifact *Shadow Cloak.*
However, magic outside of necromancy and enhancement was still allowed.
He could now fight at full magical strength.
*‘That’s enough.’*
That alone was more than sufficient for Dale—
because now, for the first time as a third-circle magician, he could truly test his own worth.
The Flesh Golem bellowed again and charged, the impact shaking the ground.
The sheer force of its advance pressed down on the hall like an onrushing war chariot.
Everyone froze.
And Dale—stood perfectly still.
The Golem’s massive fist swung down toward his face.
Spectators assumed the blow would shatter his Life Point Necklace in an instant.
“**Accelerated Decay.**”
Refined dark mana surged from beneath Dale’s feet, wrapping him in a shroud of darkness.
The Golem’s strike crashed into the veil—
and halted mere centimeters from his face.
From the point of impact, its flesh began to **rot**, spreading rapidly.
Freshness.
Bloating.
Collapse.
Post-collapse.
Every stage of an organism’s death cycle—compressed into the ticking of a single second hand.
──Decomposition of organic nitrogen compounds by anaerobic bacteria.
In *that other world*, biochemical warfare had been a key strategy alongside thermonuclear weaponry in battles against monstrous creatures.
Here, they called such arts **Black Magic**.
And the knowledge Dale carried as the former **Commander-in-Chief of the Human Resistance** was far beyond the level of high-school science.
In a sense, his understanding *exceeded even that of the Black Duke himself.*
Add to that the horrific memories of the battlefields—rotting corpses, maggots, beetles, flies swarming the dead—
the hellish scenery of life and death intertwined.
That liminal space had defined Dale’s entire life.
Such an intense understanding, born of experience one could never forget even if one tried—
only that could serve as the trigger for true magic.
Every intricate element meshed perfectly, miraculously forming a single phenomenon.
Amid the stench of decay that stung the nose, Dale lifted his head calmly.
It was the scent of death—one he knew all too well.
—
—
“……Absurd.”
Those who could not enter the viewing chamber watched the *Tower’s Trial* through the Tower’s magical projectors.
Among them, the **Black Duke** himself observed his son’s performance from the control room—
together with his most trusted aide, **Eris**, the Black Executor.
Absurd—that was the only word that escaped her lips.
For one who almost never showed emotion, that alone spoke volumes.
The spell of **Decay** was one of the most advanced forms of black magic, far beyond what a mere third-circle “beginner magician” could comprehend.
Only those deeply enlightened in the cycles of life and death could cast it—
and wielding it as an instantaneous *combat spell* required power squared.
“He remind me of your younger days, my lord,” Eris murmured.
Even so, Dale’s talent—and the weight of his lineage—left little room for disbelief.
The mere fact that he was the **Black Duke’s son** was enough to make people accept the impossible.
For the Black Duke was the greatest black magician on the continent—
and even he remained silent before his son’s display.
That silence was what made Dale truly terrifying.
—
—
By day’s end, Dale had cleared the tenth floor without a scratch.
The audience was beyond astonished;
his feats, one after another, bordered on the miraculous.
It was an extraordinary record by any measure.
Soon after a brief period of rest, the eleventh layer’s trial approached.
The eleventh marked the boundary—
where fledgling magicians were separated from true practitioners,
and the difficulty of the trials surged dramatically.
Those who, like Dale, had conquered ten or more layers joined the next phase,
facing not academy graduates, but full-fledged black magicians of the Tower itself.
No more ghouls or Flesh Golems.
No more safety nets.
The *Life Point Necklaces* no longer guaranteed survival.
Competitors were permitted to use **all** their resources—artifacts, grimoires, and any item their family or fortune could buy.
And to address the unprecedented massacre during the first layer’s *Battle for Life Points,*
the Tower unusually permitted **re-examinations** for the fifty-nine academy graduates Dale had eliminated.
—
—
“Dale.”
That night, as he rested after the trials, a familiar voice greeted him.
“Teacher Sephia!”
Sapphire hair glimmering under the lamplight, long elven ears peeking through,
and a face as beautiful and cold as ice—softened by a faint, gentle smile.
“You performed splendidly in your trial.”
Sephia smiled as she spoke. It seemed she, too, had been watching him.
“And to think you reached the Third Circle overnight… Truly, you never cease to amaze me.”
“It’s all thanks to your teachings, Teacher.”
“…Thank you, Dale.”
Her words faded into a soft laugh.
There was a trace of something complex in her tone, and Dale didn’t miss it.
Now that he no longer hid his power—
what could a teacher, a sixth-circle elven magician of the Blue Tower, be thinking as she watched her pupil grow by the day?
He didn’t want to be seen as a monster.
And yet, his achievements already surpassed the realm of genius.
Between genius and monster, there was only a paper-thin boundary—
and Dale had stacked hundreds of those sheets high.
“Teacher Sephia,” he said suddenly.
“Would you like to go on a date with me?”
“D—Date…?”
Her cheeks flushed pink, like those of a bashful young girl.
“Yes! There’s a festival in the city right now.”
He smiled, feigning the innocence of a ten-year-old who had no idea of the deeper meaning of the word *date.*
“…Very well. Let’s go, then,” she said with a faint laugh.
“A date… well, I suppose that isn’t the wrong word for it.”
“What do you mean, Teacher?”
“Oh, nothing at all.”
Her smile carried the kind, knowing look of someone thinking, *You’re still too young to understand.*
Gentle as ever.
But what Sephia failed to realize that day—
was that Dale understood *exactly* what “date” meant.
*‘So this is what they mean when they say someone’s heart is pitch black.’*
The thought drifted through his mind, detached and sardonic.
It was, indeed, perfectly apt.
—
—
The winter sky was pale and ashen,
but even the biting wind could not freeze the heat of the city’s festival.
Magicians and townsfolk alike filled the streets of Necropolis,
breathing life and color into the City of the Dead.
They strolled across a stone bridge spanning one of the Saxen River’s tributaries,
its surface frozen solid and glittering under moonlight like the scales of fish.
“You’ve gone through such a difficult trial,” Sephia said softly. “Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m fine,” Dale replied, shaking his head.
“And there are still a few days before the next trial begins.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
A brief conversation, then silence.
“…The moon is beautiful tonight,” Dale said at last.
“Yes,” Sephia smiled, “it truly is.”
Silence again.
*‘…Our conversations always end like this.’*
He wasn’t uncomfortable with the quiet; it was how things usually were with her.
And yet—
*‘I want to be closer to her.’*
Not just as teacher and pupil.
Why?
Even Dale couldn’t say.
He recalled the empty, blank world he had glimpsed when he attained the Third Circle—
his true world, the inescapable truth.
And realizing that truth had only made Sephia’s warmth ache in his chest.
Her kindness—her acceptance of the monster within him—cut deep.
He liked that about her.
Or perhaps, he simply wanted to run away—from that endless, colorless world,
from the chilling loneliness that was his true existence.
“I like you, Teacher.”
“…?!”
Sephia’s long ears twitched upright in surprise.
“W-what did you just say?”
“I said I like you, Teacher Sephia!”
Dale beamed, smiling innocently—just as before, pretending not to understand the weight of his own words.
“…I see.”
Sephia smiled softly.
“I like you very much too, Dale.”
Her voice was warm and gentle, filled with affection.
The same tender Sephia as always.
In the end, she saw only a ten-year-old human boy.
Nothing would change.
“Thank you, Teacher.”
Dale smiled faintly, turning his thoughts away from the dark emotion stirring within his chest.
*‘…Having a second life really does have its perks.’*
He thought idly, as if about someone else’s story.
Above them, the ashen sky remained dark and heavy.
