Darkness.
In a world of black, as if the entire landscape had been painted over with ink, two men stood against their enemies.
"Hraaaaaaaaah!!"
With a primal roar, a massive man swung his fist. His opponent ducked low to evade the strike and lunged into the giant's guard. Then, using his legs like coiled springs, he unleashed a punch aimed squarely at the man's jaw.
The movement completely exceeded the perception of an ordinary human.
It was a feat possible only for a sorcerer utilizing Inside Code.
However, the large man was also a sorcerer. He didn't even need to think about how to defend himself.
"—Hah."
The big man snorted.
As if the attack were too monotonous—as if it were a pre-established harmony that offered no entertainment—he lopped off the man's arm with a single knife-hand strike.
Fresh blood sprayed.
Drip, drip-drip-drip. Blood pitter-pattered onto the ground.
The severed arm danced through the air. The giant caught it instantly and hurled it back at his opponent with the form of a professional ballplayer.
The limb sliced through the night air, scoring a clean hit on the jaw of the agonized man.
"Ugh, guh... aah... aaah..."
Giving a wordless cry, the opponent collapsed to the ground.
He couldn't even react properly; his body had been thrown into shock by the sudden amputation. He pathetically lost consciousness where he fell.
A pool of blood spread.
Staring indifferently at the mess, the large man took a slow step forward.
"Hey. Mors, I'm done over here."
"The finishing blow?"
"Not yet."
"Excellent. Please leave them as they are. I shall be finished shortly as well."
The man called Mors—a medium-built man with brown hair—was also engaged in combat. He was facing five opponents at once.
He was handling them all by himself.
These opponents were experts. In the hierarchy of sorcerers, they were equivalent to the highest tier: Platinum Rank. Even among that elite group, these five were particularly well-versed in combat techniques, yet he was overwhelming them single-handedly.
"Guh...!"
"What the hell is going on...!"
"Why can't we hit this guy!?"
The men cried out in frustration.
They couldn't understand the reality of the situation. Every magic spell they were certain would land simply passed right through him. It was the same even when they closed the distance to physically slash at him with knives.
Smiling thinly, Mors continued to endure the onslaught.
He stood there with total composure, simply taking the hits. Naturally, he remained uninjured.
The men facing him were no strangers to magical deathmatches; they had survived countless encounters. However, this was far too irregular.
No matter the sorcerer, one could usually see through the essence that formed the root of their abilities to some degree. These five had that confidence.
Yet, look at the current situation.
Originally, they were assassins dispatched specifically to kill these two. Their numbers easily exceeded ten. It was supposed to be a trivial job, just like always. Kill the targets, collect the reward, and go home. That is what they had all believed.
They had researched the targets' identities thoroughly. They were nothing special, just sorcerers—though information suggested they were involved in illegal activities. They were fellow denizens of the dark.
These were sorcerers who lived in the underworld, belonging to no Magic Association. And yet, even they had never encountered a darkness this deep.
"Well then. It seems preparations are just about complete."
Mors stared at the five with a seemingly kind smile and, for the first time, exercised magic against his opponents.
In an instant, the five men collapsed on the spot as if their strings had been cut.
What just happened? There wasn't even a sign of magic. The flow of Prima Materia... it was completely invisible...
While lying prostrate on the ground, the men all shared the same terrifying thought.
When exercising magic, it was a perfectly natural phenomenon for Prima Materia to converge. A skilled sorcerer could usually identify an incoming spell in an instant based on those signs.
However, there were no such signs in Mors's magic.
They were left utterly dumbfounded, but the battle was already over.
"Well now, Para-san. I am finished here as well."
"I always think this, but your magic is creepy as hell."
"I am humbled by your praise."
"Hah. I wasn't praising you. So, the usual?"
"Yes."
Thirteen men were scattered across the ground.
The opponents defeated by the giant called Para had lost limbs or sustained heavy bodily damage, but they were still barely conscious. Meanwhile, the opponents Mors had defeated were still fully awake. They simply couldn't move their bodies; their awareness remained agonizingly sharp.
"Are you not going to watch?"
"I've got no interest. I'm going for a smoke."
"I see. My domain is still deployed, so please do not wander too far."
"Yeah..."
Para pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it with magic, and walked away.
Meanwhile, Mors reached into his own pocket and withdrew a single knife. No—it was far too short and thin to be called a knife. In truth, it was a tool used for medical procedures: a scalpel.
The fallen men realized why Mors had produced it, and a chill ran down their spines.
Mors wore an ecstatic smile. He stroked the scalpel as if caressing a lover, then crouched down beside the nearest man.
"Now then. Fresh specimens need to be extracted quickly."
"Wha... what are you..."
"Oh! To think you can still speak after receiving my magic! You seem to be a truly high-quality sorcerer. I must thank someone for this."
Judging by his voice alone, Mors sounded like a gentle, everyday man. Combined with his pleasant features, anyone meeting him for the first time would likely feel no wariness toward him.
However, anyone who had touched the true essence of magic could sense it.
The overflowing, jet-black Prima Materia.
It was as if the man were the Abyss itself.
The assassins realized too late that they should never have laid a finger on him.
"Now, the first one."
"A—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
A scream rang out.
It was a sound filled with unimaginable agony.
Without hesitation, Mors had sliced open the man's head. Having magically reinforced the scalpel, he incised the skull as if cutting through soft fruit. His movements were clearly those of a seasoned professional.
"...Whew. Well, I suppose I should get to the rest."
Afterward, a hellish tragedy unfolded—one for which the word "despair" was far too mild.
"Done?"
"Yes. Successfully."
When Para returned after finishing his smoke, a scene of carnage awaited him. The men were all dead, their faces frozen in expressions of pure agony.
The blood pooling around them was a burning, vivid red. Usually, blood would blacken and coagulate over time, but this was still fresh and brilliant.
This tragedy had occurred in an alleyway within the Kingdom. Since it was the middle of the night, the details were obscured, but coincidentally, the moonlight was particularly beautiful that evening.
The light illuminated the carnage.
Looking at it, Para felt nothing. He had simply done his job. That was all.
"So, who the hell were these guys anyway?"
As Para asked, Mors—who was wiping blood from his hands with a handkerchief—replied in a gentle tone.
"Assassins from other factions, most likely. Currently, we are the ones who have progressed the furthest. Well, as someone who was able to secure new brains this way, I find it a happy result."
"So it's true that Eugenics isn't a monolith, huh."
"Indeed. But for now, the number of people who can stop us with magic is extremely limited. The top brass are busy with other matters, so the infighting is restricted to the lower levels."
"Hah. Whatever. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter as long as the money's there."
"Of course. I will pay the reward I promised—provided the goal is achieved."
"...I've already received a hefty advance. But in our world, trust is everything. I'll see the job through to the end."
"Thank you, Para-san."
Stained in fresh blood, Mors smiled.
It hadn't been long since the two had met. Mors had hired Para for a specific purpose. He had sought out this man who was famous in the underworld of magic, whose skill was said to rival even the Seven Grand Sorcerers.
No. In terms of killing techniques alone, Para was likely already among the world's finest. His magic was a technology polished solely for the purpose of ending lives.
Magic is ultimately a tool; while it can enrich lives, it is also the ultimate instrument of murder.
Furthermore, "Mors" and "Para" were both pseudonyms. They were nothing more than handles used for work. To these two, names were mere labels—convenient symbols for addressing one another, and nothing more.
Mors only needed to fulfill his goal. Para only needed to complete his contract. That was the only thing binding them together.
"Now then, shall we proceed with the matter of Rebecca Bradley? Before the others notice."
"Well, I'll leave that part to you. I'm just here to fulfill the request."
"Yes. And I shall also move forward with my revenge."
"...Can you really do it?"
"It is for that alone that I have been lying low for several decades. It seems my opponent is also inviting me, knowing full well what I intend."
"Hah. Is that so? Give it your best shot, then."
"I intend to."
In the shadows of the Kingdom, the will of the dark night was steadily advancing.