Chapter 27: The Robe of Flames

The tongues of fire from the fireplace danced in the air like torn rags, illuminating the three faces in the bedroom, each with a different expression. Perhaps this used to be a bedroom, but now, Salser had chosen it as his temporary experiment site. He gripped Jeanne's snow-white wrist, which was exposed up to the forearm after lifting her sleeve. A maze of ancient text etched a blasphemous painting on his skin, covering his arm and fingers, flowing and transforming, spreading to the Inquisitor's wrist like blood slipping from the corner of a dying man's mouth.

The finely drawn red text outlined symbols resembling flames. Jeanne's fingers tightly gripped the Dark wizard's forearm, the veins on the back of her hand bulging, as if she were about to crush his bones.

"Truth above... Miss Inquisitor," Salser stared into her eyes, trying to twist her hand outward, "The ways and charges you've imagined for my death could fill a water tank. What did you say yesterday again? That I should commit suicide on the spot?"

When Jeanne's expression twisted, Salser didn't have much of a reaction to it—this woman's expressions were always twisted one way or another, especially when she smiled. However, after she turned her wrist and gripped his, Salser's thoughts weren't so pleasant anymore.

If these five fingers were on his throat, his throat bones might just shatter directly.

"Watch your tone, Dark wizard," Jeanne said in a deliberately relaxed voice that sounded somewhat hoarse, her light golden pupils reflecting the frenzied firelight. Salser's wrist in her hand was like a piece of bamboo—easily breakable: "When speaking to a superior, one should use a respectful address, especially when she's in a bad mood."

Salser looked down at her, seeing equally malicious intent burning in her crazy eyes. His eyelids twitched—her grip was really strong—extremely incongruous compared to her slender wrist.

"Can't you just cooperate with me like a dead person to complete the ritual?"

"Dead people can't provide the power of my Lord to you, Dark wizard. They would just hang on tree branches or be awakened from their graves by cursed beings like you, turning into zombies." Jeanne's beautiful eyes showed an even more ferocious expression. Speaking of this, her body twitched again, she coughed a couple of times, and a muffled sound came from her throat. Her palm facing up, clamped onto his wrist which covered in scorching patterns like a bent steel bar.

Those branching light beams flowed under Jeanne's forearm, burning her limbs as if they were filled with burning coals.

She felt her blood turning into something like sand and stones.

Whether it was an illusion or not, she felt she that could control those light beams. Jeanne resisted the urge to try, but her fingers gripped tighter—almost strong enough to break a sturdy table leg—as if doing that could make her feel better, "And it's very fair, isn't it?" She stared intently at the Dark wizard, "You want to share the pain with me, just like how you made me sign that damn contract before you released my restraints."

The Dark wizard also stared at her—I must be out of my mind to share pain with you.

"What if I accidentally mess up the operation and fail the ritual ?" He said hoarsely.

"Then I'll give you back your words—I believe that you can succeed, so you should believe in me who believes in you." When Jeanne said this, she had a twisted smile. Her expression and tone made the statement purely ironic.

Of course, the Dark wizard said it with malicious intent as well.

He struggled to maintain the stability of the spell while drawing energy from the Inquisitor, but his mockery didn't stop—due to the side effects of the ritual, his voice was very deep and hoarse, like an asthma cough during suffocation:

"That's really disgusting coming from your mouth."

"It's even more disgusting coming from your mouth."

"The only reason I would fail," Salser's voice was like a file, "is if you break my wrist."

"The only reason you would fail," Jeanne looked into those lizard-like pupils, as if staring into something bottomless, "is because your fragility isn't enough to bear the interference of pain."

"Fragile? When my body is sufficiently mutated, I'll let you experience who's more fragile."

"By jumping into a fire to see how long you can last before being burned to death?"

"Then you probably won't be able to see that," Salser spat. He slowly released her wrist, and along with it, the runes that had spread to her arm. It was like a tide receding. "One of the purposes of this ritual is to make sure I'm not easily burned to death by your flames."

Feeling the pain recede like a tide, Jeanne breathed a sigh of relief. She also casually released the Dark wizard's wrist, leaving behind five frightening indentations.

At the same time, Salser recited another spell, his voice was like a file scraping on stone—the colors of the runes on his body changed, turning into a dazzling and sacred white. The ring of glowing sparks around him also slowly changed color, condensing into a translucent white halo, looking like the light torn from a lighthouse on the coast, bright and dazzling, and almost tangible to the touch.

It should have been impure... yet now it looked extremely sacred, surrounding him, flickering, spinning, and becoming increasingly dazzling and glaring. 

Viola instinctively took two steps back.

The little girl hid behind Jeanne, holding onto the hem of her clothes, peeking out from her waist, cautiously observing everything in front of her.

Salser's feet no longer touched the ground, but slowly floated into the air. The arcs of glowing incandescent light surrounded him, spinning along intertwined channels like a web, as if it was a robe woven from auroras.

For a long time, Viola was too stunned to move, just raising one hand to barely block the bright light, her gaze attracted by those dazzling flashes.

She watched the spectacular scene, watched the Dark wizard rise in the white flames, her green eyes flashing with a symbol of desire. She saw the Dark wizard's eyes and mouth emitting glaring white light, saw those bright beams wrapping around him like a god's clothing, burning the ceiling and roof he touched into ashes, as if they were sunlight melting fragile snow...

...

"I thought you would fall after all your clothes burned to ashes."

Jeanne looked him up and down.

"This spell has been perfected over centuries," Salser said tiredly, sitting on the edge of the bed, "Its research records—including various changes and extensions—could fill a bookshelf, how could it be primitive enough to not even preserve clothes?"

"Where are those records now?"

"They blew up with my laboratory a few days ago, nothing left."

"What a misfortune," Jeanne mocked, "It saves me the effort of burning them for you."

"They're all stored in my soul," Salser grinned, pointing to his head, "I can finance the printing of ten thousand sets at any time, freely distributing them to every magic organizations on the Genabackis continent."

Jeanne snorted with a gloomy expression.

She didn't continue the conversation, just sat down at the other end of the bed, as if waiting for something.

The Inquisitor's face showed a few traces of fatigue.

"I'm a bit tired now," Salser patted Viola's shoulder, "Before I sleep, I'll teach you some simple knowledge about soul magic—the most basic, publicly acceptable kind."

He extended his right hand, his fingers spread, "Give me your hand, I'll transmit some temporary mana to you first."

Viola gently exhaled, silently staring at him for a while.

Her eyes sparkled with hope... and a bit of fear.

She looked fragile.

In the glow of the fireplace, the girl's thin, somewhat pale lips moved timidly, as if she wanted to express something. But in the end, she didn't say anything, just took a slightly determined step forward, and reached out her childlike little hand to grasp the calloused hand.

Fingers intertwined.

"It's a good thing to hope for power," Salser held her soft palm and told her meaningfully, "But you don't have to hand your hand over in this couple-holding-hands posture... it makes it seem like I'm committing a crime."

"Eh?" Viola's gaze was somewhat dazed.

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