The Blind Wizard's Past

The black-robed man stood before the door of the deepest cell. The door, forged from magic-suppressing obsidian, slid open soundlessly.

Unlike the prisoners in the other cells, the blind wizard seemed to have anticipated his arrival. He remained seated cross-legged, "looking" toward the doorway with his hollow eye sockets.

An unreadable expression appeared on his wrinkled face—part relief, part acceptance.

"Master."

The black-robed man called out softly once more.

His low voice echoed through the cell, carrying an almost imperceptible tremor.

"Mm."

The blind wizard lifted his head slightly, a complicated smile appearing on his wrinkled face.

"You've come." His voice was as calm as if he were speaking to students in a magic academy's teaching hall. "I can sense the commotion above. Is there a purge underway?"

The black-robed man fell silent for a moment, his hood lowering slightly before he finally nodded. His voice was hoarser than usual. "The contamination has already appeared. It must be stopped before it breaks out completely. Everyone who has come into contact with that power could become a carrier. We can't allow that to happen."

Those words revealed the truth behind all the previous killings—he was carrying out necessary work. This was not a bloodthirsty massacre, but an emergency response to a terrifying contamination.

Those prisoners.

Perhaps they had already been affected by the fallen god incident without realizing it.

And had become potential sources of contamination.

In truth.

This was perhaps not easy for the black-robed man either.

Sure enough, his hand trembled slightly within his sleeve. He remembered the cells he had just passed, those despairing eyes, those dying struggles.

"I guessed as much. I noticed something was wrong earlier."

The blind wizard nodded lightly.

His bony fingers brushed over his hollow eye sockets. "What you are doing is right.