The cave's stone chamber was lined with Zombie Puppets, guarding the passage on all sides.
These low-level zombies were becoming less and less valuable—not only because of the birth of the Black Knight, but also because their master's soul was growing ever stronger.
A thunderous tremor resounded through their souls. The Zombie Puppets all collapsed to the ground, an emotion they could not comprehend forcing them to kiss the dirt in submission.
Sensing the fluctuation, the Black Knight slowly rose outside the stone chamber and entered.
"How long was I asleep?"
Lowett had been in deep sleep while repairing his soul, so he could not accurately judge how much time had passed.
The Black Knight handed his master a fitted formal suit, paused, and let out a low roar.
"Five days?"
Lowett took off his sleepwear and adjusted his hair before the mirror. Then the corner of his lips lifted.
"Not bad."
After a month of hunting pirates, along with the Navy souls taken from Branch 153, hundreds of Soul Light Orbs had been devoured. It had taken only five days to digest them all. That was enough to make Lowett proud.
Momonga's arrival in the East Blue to suppress pirates had given Lowett a sense of urgency. Before the monsters in his memories, his current weak self had no means of fighting back.
Strength!
He desperately needed strength!
Strength to achieve his goals and protect himself.
Now, his efforts had finally paid off. After five days of stabilizing himself and five days of digestion, the sphere of Mental Power within his Soul Sea had expanded more than tenfold!
Five days ago, it had been as faint as a firefly. Five days later, it was at least as bright as an incandescent lamp.
This showed just how terrifying the recovery speed of a Necromancer who had mastered "Soul Devouring" could be.
As long as there were enough souls to devour, even soul fragments torn into thousands of pieces by time-space turbulence could recover and heal. For ordinary injuries that merely damaged the soul, the recovery speed was self-evident.
The explosive growth in Mental Power was merely an outward sign. Mental Power was the evolution of the soul, a measurable unit of count. What it truly represented was the soul's continuously strengthening essence.
If Lowett's strength had still been hovering around the threshold between Mage Apprentice and Elementary Mage five days ago, then now he had already crossed that gate and advanced into a true...
Elementary Mage.
Even if there was not another Elementary Mage in the Mage World stronger than him, he was still an Elementary Mage.
To become an Official Mage, one's soul had to undergo an ascension.
Other than "Spell Apprentice" and "Mage Apprentice," the mage ranks known to the world consisted only of Elementary Mage (apprentice mage), Official Mage (scholar), and High Great Mage.
Titled Mage and Holy Ten were honorific titles and were not included in the actual ranking system.
Ordinary mages had no need for them at all.
A lich that had lived for nearly a thousand years might only be slightly stronger than the standard for an Official Mage. The path of magical research was long and arduous, strewn with thorns. Hard work alone could not make one stronger.
Only those truly blessed by fate and granted heaven-defying opportunities could step through the gates into the New World beyond and earn the title of "Great Mage."
Such beings appeared only once in several centuries.
Then, when they each stood alone in a certain field, becoming so powerful that the world feared them too greatly to even look up at them, they would receive a title.
Then!
Only those who stood at the very pinnacle even among Titled Mages, far ahead of all others, were qualified to join the Ten Saints Council.
"Holy Ten" did not necessarily mean ten people. There had simply been ten founders. Across the tens of thousands of years of Mage World history, the eras that had gathered all ten members were as rare as a drop in the ocean.
This showed that "Official Mage" was the first great divide in the Mage World's harsh system of ranks, separating mediocrity from genius.
The ascension of the soul was also the sole standard by which a "mage" stood above a "human!"
"Not to mention... with my current amount of Mental Power, I can't even see where the gate to Official Mage lies."
Lowett shook his head and stopped dwelling on it.
He had only been in this world for a few months, yet he had already achieved what most people of mediocre talent would need a century of effort to attain. What was there to be dissatisfied about?
Rustle...
A mass of black, viscous smoke spread out from his severed limb, clawing through the air before forming the shape of a pitch-black arm under the restraint of Mental Power, extending from the stump.
Necromancy—Withered Black Sand!
Using that "arm," whose single grain of black sand could poison an adult to death, Lowett accepted the top hat handed over by the Black Knight and gently placed it atop his head.
"Mm, not bad! This really is more comfortable."
Looking at the man in the mirror—dressed in a black gentleman's suit, a black shoulder cape draped over his shoulders, black thorned gloves on his hands, and a black top hat on his head, with a pale face, black hair hanging to his cheeks, and a slender build—Lowett nodded in satisfaction.
The clothes had been handmade by the Black Knight. As a modified being, he did not need extensive tailoring experience. He merely had to follow orders and weave the threads into the appearance shown in the picture.
The suit was not entirely black. The buttons on the shoulder cape were gleaming gold, giving it a sense of depth.
Yet against Lowett's inexplicably oppressive aura, those decorative colors could only be ignored.
When night fell, even the most beautiful crystal beneath the sun would eventually lose its luster.
"Something's still missing..."
Lowett frowned lightly before suddenly realizing what it was.
A crisp tapping sound rang out, and a cane fitted with a golden ring appeared beneath his right hand. Ignoring its material, the scene looked like a magic trick.
Flap...!
A faint rush of wind sounded as a black raven fluttered onto his shoulder. It had a pair of ruby-like eyes that glimmered crimson in the darkness.
"Now it's complete."
Looking at himself in the mirror, Lowett felt somewhat sentimental.
The first time he had ever dressed so formally had been on the morning he declared war on the Saint Auckland Magic Empire.
At that time, the seven Black Dragon Lords stood behind him, while an endless army of Black Knights filled the world outside the window.
It was also from that day onward that the descendant of one of the Empire's founding meritorious families, the hereditary noble Count Francis, ceased to exist.
All that remained in the terrified eyes of the world was [Black Count], Lowett Francis.
But now...
One half-finished Black Knight, and several hundred disposable cannon-fodder tools outside.
"Triangle Spellbreaker? What kind of shitty title is that?!"
Lowett did not hide his disdain for the Navy's taste in naming, declaring forcefully, "Even reduced to this state, I am still a Titled Great Mage, the Black Count!"
"Black Knight!"
He turned around, his expression imposing.
"Roar!"
"I'm hungry."
"Roar?"
He had slept for five days without food or water. The fact that he had not starved to death was already thanks to magic.
So...
Perhaps that had not been the Ten Saints Venerable's twisted sense of humor.
Some pride did not change with the passing of time. It was carved into one's bones, something that could not be altered even if one's soul was worn away.
East Blue, Branch 16.
"You mean your colonel went out to capture pirates and won't be back for the next few days?"
In the spacious office, Momonga sat expressionlessly at the head of the room and looked up at a lieutenant colonel standing at attention below him.
Cold sweat dripped down the lieutenant colonel's forehead, matting his hair. Hearing the question, he snapped to attention and saluted.
"Yes!"
"The colonel has been distraught over the Ghost Ship Incident and has spent many days running about at sea without returning home. He hurried back as soon as he received the notice this time, but the exact time of his arrival has not been determined."
"Is that so? He's certainly worked hard."
A chill flashed through Momonga's eyes before he rose to his feet.
"In that case, accompany me on a tour of the nearby waters."
"Understood!"
The lieutenant colonel let out a long breath and hurried outside to make arrangements.
After he left, the adjutant sneered and spoke softly.
"He definitely won't take us to the problematic waters."
The waters under Branch 16's jurisdiction were neither particularly large nor particularly small. Without a local guide, they would be completely lost. As the saying went, a powerful dragon could not overpower a local snake. Once they set out to sea, there would be no way for them to tell whether they had been taken to the right place.
"That is why your task is so important."
Momonga opened his fist. A dried fruit he had crushed into powder slipped from his palm.
"Even now, I still hold a shred of hope for them. I do not wish to believe that Marines could be so utterly vile."
"But..."
"If the investigation proves it beyond doubt."
His two thin mustaches trembled slightly. Without drawing his sword, a trembling hum pierced the eardrums.
"Kill!!"
Sengoku had sent Momonga to the East Blue with an unspoken stance in mind.
As early as their discussion that day, Sengoku had already developed the intention to kill, but the situation had remained under control, so he had held back.
However, Branch 153 had then been mysteriously massacred, shocking the East Blue. As the flames spread across the plains, the balance had been broken.
At a time like this, it would be too foolish to keep turning a blind eye. Violence could not solve problems, but it could solve the people causing them!
As Fleet Admiral, Sengoku could even sacrifice the innocent Lowett. Naturally, he would show no mercy to those responsible for this chaos.
There was simply a limit that needed to be maintained.
That was also why he had sent a veteran like Momonga.
They could not kill them all, or the East Blue would fall into chaos.
But they could not refrain from killing either. They had to kill one as a warning to a hundred!
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