Earth's Greatest Magus

With Lodos’s arrest, the case closed swiftly. The evidence and multiple witness statements painted an unambiguous picture: Lodos was the main perpetrator, his crimes etched in blood and chaos. Official charges awaited trial, and though Chumo was initially implicated as an accomplice, Emery’s influence and connections helped to reframe him as one of the afflicted, another tragic victim of the disease. Chumo was placed under medical arrest, his fate tethered to the outcome of the pending trial.

As a prominent apothecary master and a key contributor to advancements against the Nightwalker disease, Emery was granted access to patient records and insights into the treatment history from the last 15 years.

Reading through the archives, Emery uncovered a truth both unsettling and heartbreaking. Out of all infected patients in the last decade and a half, only one in five survived. For those fortunate enough to endure, complete recovery remained an illusion. The Nightwalker virus, insidious and persistent, left traces in their systems that no cure could fully eradicate. Each month, survivors required regular doses of a complex medication to suppress the disease’s influence, which fluctuated from patient to patient. Some managed with minimal doses, while others relied heavily on potent formulations to stave off the virus’s darker effects.

Among the afflicted, Lodos stood out as the one with the most severe and unstable condition. He was the last to be released from the Golden City Medical Center, about 8 years ago. Each of his checkups, documented in stark detail, recounted escalating doses and grim warnings about the costs of relapse. According to the records, Lodos had continued these periodic visits for treatment and medicine collection even after his release, a cycle that should have kept the disease at bay.

Five years ago, the records stated that Lodos’s condition had improved drastically, to the extent that he was declared in full remission from the Nightwalker disease. The stability he exhibited at the time led the medical facility to discharge him from their list of monitored patients. For years, the report gathered dust, the lack of incidents leading everyone to believe that Lodos was yet another success story of their decade-old treatment.

But now, with the horrors he’d committed, Emery knew there had to be more beneath the surface. Seeking clarity, Emery turned to Chumo, hoping his friend’s story would fill in the missing pieces. Chumo described their encounter four years prior during a mission when Lodos crossed paths with him while part of a mercenary group. In that time, the madman had gained notoriety for his brutal prowess in battle, earning respect and fear in equal measure. His grotesque visage, twisted by the remnants of the Nightwalker disease, had become a symbol of both horror and power. Over multiple meetings, Lodos had confided in Chumo, revealing his secret, the compatibility of Nightwalker blood with blood magic. It was a seductive promise: the ability to harness the raw power of life essence, to wield a force that could turn the tide of battle. Lodos offered to teach Chumo the intricacies of this dark art, invoking their past camaraderie as a reason for him to accept.

Initially, Chumo had firmly rejected the offer. He has heard the stories of blood magic, tales filled with tyranny and madness, the kind of power that corrupts the user and consumes their humanity.

But everything changed after the death of Senior Fuxi. Grief and anger had stirred something within him. Chumo found himself drawn to Lodos’s proposition, the allure of blood magic whispering promises of strength and vengeance.

Chumo’s voice trembled as he continued, revealing the twisted truth behind blood magic’s power. Just as Lodos had promised, the magic delivered an immense boost to his abilities, a surge of strength that had allowed him to dominate the Terra tournament six months earlier.

But the victory had come at a price he hadn’t foreseen. Soon after, the effects began to manifest—the gnawing need to consume blood, a craving that demanded it come from a living person.

Each passing week made the urge stronger, and harder to resist. Chumo’s face was pale with shame as he admitted to the lengths he’d gone to satisfy it.

The reason he had shielded Lodos, he confessed, was because Lodos had been a lifeline in his battle against the curse. Under Lodos’s twisted guidance, Chumo had learned to temporarily sate his thirst by hunting down criminal magus, channeling his hunger through them to keep it from spreading to innocent lives.

The strength he gained from each hunt was undeniable, and for a time, he had believed that this dark practice could serve as a controlled means to manage his curse.

But it wasn’t long before the thirst grew worse. The craving became relentless, gnawing at his control, turning every battle into a desperate struggle to contain himself. He quickly realized he was fighting a losing war against his desires.

Chumo began to suspect that Lodos had hidden critical truths from him.

Frustrated and teetering on the edge of control, Chumo had reached out to Gerri, desperate to uncover Lodos’s activities and gain clarity on the madness he had unwittingly become part of. What he discovered shook him to his core.

In secret, behind Chumo’s back, Lodos had taken blood magic to a depraved extreme. He hadn’t just been hunting criminals as Chumo thought but was instead targeting innocent civilians—capturing them like livestock, imprisoning them in hidden cells, their lives reduced to a daily harvest of blood to feed his twisted thirst. The blood magic, which Chumo had once hoped could be a path to strength, had mutated under Lodos’s influence into something profoundly dark and vile.

Horrified, Chumo had tried to confront Lodos, only to find himself ensnared in the blood magic’s pull. Realizing that his curse was spiraling beyond his control, he made the agonizing decision to cease the hunts and isolate himself. Locking himself in the cell, he had hoped to restrain his madness, to resist the haunting whispers of his own bloodlust.

Chumo’s voice was heavy with despair as he finished his confession, leaving the air thick with his unspoken regrets. In a strained tone, he revealed the burden he’d been carrying in silence: his family. The very thought of them brought shame crashing down on him. The image of returning to Earth, to his corrupted state, was unbearable.

“I don’t know if I could ever face them like this…”

The anguish in his words weighed on Emery. Yet, even now, Chumo was trying to stay strong, resolved to fight in the coming duels a year from now, knowing the stakes. But beneath that determination was the unmistakable turmoil of a man teetering on the edge, torn between duty and despair.

“Emery… I feel lost… Tell me what I should do.”

Chumo held Emery’s gaze, resignation flickering in his eyes as if silently inviting whatever judgment Emery deemed necessary.