I Possessed The Immoral Empress

Ermedeline could hardly believe her eyes. She recognized Ermond’s magic circle instantly, having experienced it before. She was confident that she wouldn’t miss any sign of his work. But the problem was, Ermond knew this as well.

A curse magic circle requires the sorcerer’s blood and the victim’s hatred to be complete. Even if the circle was drawn, without these two elements, it would just be a meaningless sketch on the ground.

Before the war began, Ermond had started drawing this seemingly meaningless sketch on the plain where the melee would occur. The scale was so enormous that it could only be properly recognized from a great height.

As the battle began, the blood of the fallen soldiers, filled with fear and hatred, started to flow into the magic circle. The soldiers of Frianton, already cursed by Ermond, had ingested even a small amount of his blood, thus infusing the circle with the sorcerer’s blood and the victims’ hatred.

With the addition of the victims’ lives and blood, the once meaningless sketch transformed into a potent, curse-laden magic circle. Ermond sensed that the time had come. The magic circle had gained enough strength, and now was the opportunity to act.

“No, no! Get out! Get out now! Get out right now!” 

Ermedeline screamed with all her might, her voice straining to reach the chaos of the battlefield, but her cries were swallowed by the pandemonium.

“What’s happening?” 

Felio, having rushed to her side, asked breathlessly.

“The magic circle.”

“What?”

“The forest, Ermond’s magic circle… Get out! Get out now!” 

Ermedeline didn’t waste a second on further explanations. She sprinted back down towards the battlefield, shouting as she went.

‘Magic circle?’

Felio turned his head and finally noticed the same magic circle that had once ensnared him, now brimming with even more malevolence beneath the battlefield.

“Damn it!” 

Felio locked eyes with Arvian. In that split second, they understood the gravity of the situation and nodded, quickly following Ermedeline.

“Get out! Get out! Please!”

Ermedeline, almost tripping over herself, ran desperately, trying to evacuate the soldiers from the magic circle. But unfortunately, Ermond was a step ahead in activating the curse.

Some say that with enough effort, anything is achievable. But those who have lived through the harsh realities of life know that such words are nothing more than blatant lies meant to deceive the naive.

Ermedeline reached out her hand desperately, trying to lift the curse magic at least in the area she was in. But her urgent fingers never reached their goal. Just before she could reach the magic circle, the soldiers of the Trivian Empire began collapsing one by one, blood pouring from their mouths and noses.

What followed was a scene that defied even the concept of hell—a horrifying massacre. The cursed soldiers of Frianton, devoid of reason, began slaughtering the Trivian soldiers who were writhing on the ground as if they were merely weeds to be plucked from a field. The mages tried to hold their ground, but the novices, unaccustomed to curse magic, struggled even to protect themselves. This magic circle was completed with the lives and blood of countless sacrifices, making it immensely powerful.

Ermedeline, still traumatized from the events of the first day, could only take a few steps back, unable to process the horror unfolding before her. She wasn’t running away; her spirit and body instinctively rejected the reality of what was happening.

“Ah… ah…”

Ermedeline stumbled and fell to the ground, unable to take another step as her legs gave out. Felio and Arvian weren’t much better off. The other mages who had been lucky enough to avoid the magic circle knew they couldn’t end this tragedy on their own.

“We can’t do it. It’s over. We have to abandon this place,” one mage finally admitted. Though it was a crucial location for maintaining the front lines, losing all the mages would mean complete defeat. Following this admission, the other mages began moving towards the designated retreat area.

“Let’s go,” Felio said, lifting Ermedeline onto his back. He despised the idea of abandoning his comrades on the battlefield. If it weren’t for Ermedeline, he would have rather thrown himself into the magic circle and died with his comrades. But having forsaken familial love and loyalty to the state, nothing was more important to him than Ermedeline’s life.

As Ermedeline, Felio, and Arvian were about to make their final departure from the battlefield, a cool, radiant wind blew. While wind doesn’t usually have a color, this one carried tiny particles of sacred light toward the battlefield.

“No… it can’t be…” Arvian, who had been preparing to leave, turned back towards the battlefield. 

To his astonishment, standing there was Noctavinus, a figure no one had expected.

“High Priest!!” 

Abandoning his support of Felio and Ermedeline, Arvian ran towards Noctavinus.

Arvian sprinted toward his master, mentor, and savior, who was walking alone into the enormous magic circle, intent on stopping him.

He had done many bad things in his life. Pickpocketing was a daily routine, and he often stole from shops. At that time, Arvian felt no guilt for such actions. What had the world ever done for him? It had taken his entire family. And what of the people? Even those who lived closest to him never extended a hand to the orphan left alone.

Arvian justified his misdeeds by thinking he was merely taking back what was stolen from him. Despite his wrongdoings, he never resorted to robbery or violence—not out of a sense of ethics, but because of his abilities. The petty thieves he associated with had souls that were murky and stained, yet still retained a semblance of humanity. However, the souls of the criminals who committed robbery and murder were beyond saving, dark and foul like a swamp that threatened to swallow anyone who looked into it.

Arvian could not see his own soul, but he instinctively avoided letting it become like theirs. He couldn’t bear the thought of living with such a filthy and wretched soul.

One day was particularly strange. Feeling unwell, he lay down but couldn’t sleep. His heart raced inexplicably, and he felt restless. Unable to stay in bed, Arvian got up and went outside. At that moment, he saw his gang returning from the alley.

‘Hmm.’

The same daily scene, the same faces, but one stark difference. Their souls, which had maintained some light when they left, were now completely dark. The gang members acted as usual, asking Arvian if he felt better. Though he felt uneasy, Arvian nodded awkwardly. They boasted about a successful haul and said they were off to dispose of the stolen goods before disappearing.

Shortly after they left, the authorities arrived. It wasn’t unusual for the guards to come by due to various altercations, so Arvian thought this was just another routine visit. Fortunately, his comrades had taken all the stolen goods to sell, leaving nothing for the guards to find. He expected the guards to leave after some questioning.

But he was wrong. The guards were there because his gang had killed a merchant in an altercation, and they had left Arvian behind without any warning to buy themselves time to escape. Realizing this, Arvian was taken away without resistance. At that point in his life, he didn’t care if he went to prison for murder or faced execution.

However, Arvian’s distinctive appearance worked in his favor. Witnesses testified that he was not involved in the incident. After two days of intense questioning, he was released.

It was midday. The scorching sun poured its heat onto the ground as if challenging anyone to withstand it. While most people sought refuge in the shade to escape the blazing midday sun, Arvian walked alone through the sweltering streets.

He walked and thought. The fact that his gang had killed someone and abandoned him was not shocking. He had long since lost any faith in people. It had only been two or three years since he met those people; their betrayal didn’t surprise him.

What occupied Arvian’s mind wasn’t such trivial matters. He kept thinking about the souls of his gang members that he had seen at the alleyway. When they left, there had still been light emanating from the untainted parts of their souls. But in just half a day, all that light had vanished.

It wasn’t that they had become as vile as the thugs Arvian despised, but he realized something in that moment. Even those thugs’ souls were not completely dark from the beginning.

Summer, midday. Strangely, Arvian felt a chill. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering from the sudden cold. He wanted to leave, to run away to a place where no one knew him.

So he ran. He ran and ran until he reached an unfamiliar village. But even in that completely foreign place, the fear did not disappear.

‘I’m scared. I’m scared.’

He feared that one wrong step would make his soul as hideous and repulsive as those thugs’. He was paralyzed by that fear. He sat under a random wall, doing nothing for days, trembling in terror. Occasionally, people approached to offer help or to harm him, but Arvian, able to see their souls, avoided them all.

When a white soul approached, he was terrified that he might stain it. When a black soul came near, the mere proximity made him nauseous, aside from any potential danger.

Then it rained. The summer downpour was so heavy that visibility was almost zero. The rain soaked Arvian completely, as he had no roof to shelter under. Yet, he felt a strange peace. The rain kept people away, and no one approached him.

In the midst of the downpour, he fell asleep.