The Plague of Power: A Scarred Mage's Reluctant Return - The Solitude of Obsidian——Memories of Eclipse Scars and Gray Omens

The Obsidian Spire stood in the highlands of the Drasvel Mountain Range, a place isolated from the world. At an elevation of 1,400 meters. A two-day walk along mountain paths from the nearest settlement, Halcroft. It was ancient stone architecture, its walls resembling black obsidian and possessing a shielding effect that repelled any magical detection. An invisible barrier surrounded the tower, keeping people away. No one came. No one was allowed to come. Fifth floor of the tower. A study. Kestrel did not stop turning the pages of the old parchment. Afternoon light streaming through the window illuminated her face at an angle. Long silver-gray hair. Pallid skin. And above all—— Black-purple marks running across both arms and shoulders. Blight marks. An indelible stigma carved into her body as the price of forbidden magic. Countless thin lines intertwined, as if vines crawled across her skin. A faint scar ran along her left cheek. "……" She said nothing and turned the page. Her sharp gray-green eyes traced the ancient characters. This was an old theoretical text on forbidden incantations. One of the documents the Royal Academy had hidden as a "forbidden book." In her thirty-five years of life, she had read over a hundred such forbidden texts. Until five years ago, she had needed to. On the battlefield. In blood. Surrounded by the screams of others. Now it was different. Now she only read. She did not move. She had no contact with anyone. To forget the world and be forgotten by all. Kestrel's left hand reached for the next book from the shelf. Her movements were efficient. As if mechanical. As if emotionless. Outside the tower, the wind called out. Four hours until nightfall. During that time, no one would come. Balto, the tavern keeper in Halcroft, would deliver supplies once a month—tomorrow. Until then, she was alone. As always. She was supposed to be alone. ——But that evening. When Kestrel was organizing old baggage from the shelf in her study, it happened. A piece of unfamiliar cloth had been mixed into the package that was supposed to contain supplies from Balto. A grayish, dingy cloth. The size of a palm. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary scrap. But Kestrel's eyes were different. "……" She picked it up and examined it carefully. She placed it on the desk and touched it with her fingers. A faint powder adhered to the cloth's surface. It was—— She deployed an analysis incantation. A pale blue light faintly emerged in her palm. An old incantation. Not the orthodox magic of the Royal Academy, but a diagnostic method she had developed herself. It read magical residue and analyzed its structure and origin——something in the forbidden realm, but no one used it anymore. Kestrel's blight marks grew faintly warm. "……This is" Words escaped her lips. She, who normally maintained silence, spoke. The cloth's reaction was so—— Abnormal. More details. A stronger incantation. Kestrel poured more power into it. The blight marks began to glow black. Her skin flushed, and cold sweat beaded on her forehead. But she did not stop. She looked into the depths of the incantation. The magical traces left on the cloth——they were of the Gray Tremor. The Gray Tremor was a fatal plague in which the skin of the infected turned gray, causing violent tremors and organ failure. In recent years, it had spread rapidly, particularly in poor frontier regions, and had become an object of terror among the people of the royal capital. Cloth soaked in the bodily fluids of the infected. Or perhaps something artificially mixed in. But the magical array behind it——the chain of logical structures that composed the magical incantation—— Kestrel's breath stopped. "……This is" She slowly dissolved the incantation. The light from the blight marks faded. She sat down on the floor, still gripping the cloth and staring at it. The Gray Tremor was not a disease. It was not a naturally occurring plague. The magical array was artificially designed. Someone had intentionally created it by applying the foundational theories of the Royal Academy. And—— The structure of that incantation. It bore a striking resemblance to what Kestrel had researched nine years ago. Corrosive-enhancement combat magic——forbidden incantation that ignored the defensive barriers of orthodox magic and eroded from within, causing the target's biological tissue itself to collapse. Once, Kestrel had perfected this as a weapon to breach the magical barriers of enemy forces. And she had used it in the Battle of the Burnt Plain——a large-scale border conflict that unfolded in the southern plains of the Kingdom of Veridian, a wasteland called the Burnt Plain. In the moment she unleashed the incantation, a chain reaction she had failed to control engulfed even her own forces. As a result, she had killed three hundred of her own soldiers, and a variant of that incantation now lay hidden within this cloth. "……" The blight marks on both of Kestrel's arms began to throb. Not pain, but heat. A sensation of forbidden magic responding. Her past was trying to connect with the present. Someone. Had seen her research notes. Or stolen them. After the Battle of the Burnt Plain, Kestrel had sealed all records of her incantation research as classified documents. Those notebooks contained everything she had accumulated over ten years——from the theory of corrosive-enhancement magic to practical incantations. They had fallen into the hands of someone, and now were being used as a biological weapon. Disguised as the Gray Tremor disease, they were intentionally killing people. Kestrel turned away from the window. The mountains of the Drasvel Range were visible in the distance. Beyond them lay Aurelia, the royal capital of the Kingdom of Veridian. The Golden City. A place she had sworn never to return to. For five years, Kestrel had not moved from this tower. Trusting no one. Trusted by no one. Without facing her own sins. She had simply been here. ——The scene changes. The Radiant Crown Palace——decorated with white marble and gold leaf, the palace of the king of the Kingdom of Veridian——stood at the center of Aurelia. In its innermost sanctum, the secret chamber of the Royal Council. Here, the highest decisions of the kingdom were made. Lord Chancellor Seron held a report in his hand. The Lord Chancellor was the official who, in the Royal Council——the highest decision-making body directly under the king——held authority second only to the king himself. He wielded cross-cutting influence over the judicial, administrative, and legislative branches, effectively controlling the majority of state affairs. Fifty-six years old. A gentle smile. A soft tone of voice. A man who had climbed to the apex of the bureaucratic structure over thirty years, starting from the lower nobility. His mild appearance was the most effective weapon for seizing power. But beneath that smile—— Cold ambition slept. "Twelve thousand in the three frontier provinces. Proceeding smoothly." Seron murmured. Joy mixed into his voice. As he counted the number of infected, he placed the report down with satisfaction. The spread of the Gray Tremor. In the frontier provinces of Belgard, Velgrat, and Crossfield——all far from the royal capital, regions where the forces of old feudal lords and independent sorcerers remained deeply rooted. The people living there were turning gray one after another, suffering from tremors, dying from organ failure. The first phase of Seron's plan was proceeding as scheduled. "What of the next-stage production in the Academy's secret laboratory?" Seron posed the question himself. The secret laboratory was an underground facility separated from the official facilities of the Royal Academy, a research section that officially did not exist. Apart from official magical research, researchers whom Seron privately managed continued to produce the Gray Tremor there. A subordinate answered. "Yes. In the depths of the third underground level. Three researchers manage it in rotation. At the accelerated production pace, we anticipate tripling current output within three weeks." Seron nodded. Cleansing——the name passed through his mind. The internal code name he had given his own purge plan. Using the Gray Tremor as a pretext, he would purge the old noble houses. Expel independent sorcerers. Arrest regional lords. Invoking emergency powers under the guise of plague spread, he would eliminate those who voiced dissent one after another. All toward the strengthening of royal authority. All toward the concentration of power in Lord Chancellor Seron. And above all—— "That woman's research notes proved most useful." Seron laughed coldly. A former forbidden magic scholar. A researcher who had created the runaway incantation in the Battle of the Burnt Plain. The woman who was officially supposed to have been disposed of——Seron had secretly had her secret research notes removed from the royal palace's sealed document vault three years ago. With that technology, the Gray Tremor had been perfected in its current form as a magical weapon disguised as a plague. "Where is she now?" A subordinate answered. "The Obsidian Spire in the Drasvel Mountain Range. She has been in seclusion for five years. The kingdom's trackers have failed to pinpoint her location." Seron hummed thoughtfully. "Then we shall proceed without her knowledge. We must complete everything before she moves." Seron's words were utterly cold. Thousands of deaths lay ahead, yet they did not touch his heart in the slightest. ——Back to the Obsidian Spire. Kestrel withdrew from the window and stood in the center of her study. The cloth scrap remained on the desk. That small piece of cloth bearing traces of the Gray Tremor. Her blight marks still throbbed faintly. "If people die from my technique" Kestrel murmured. Her voice, having spoken to almost no one for five years, was slightly hoarse. "Then I must stop it." With those words, she took action. She pulled an old wooden box from the shelf. It was covered in dust. Inside were tools necessary for travel. A black leather bag. Various catalysts for using magic. And a jet-black thin cloak. Travel preparations for one who had not left this tower in five years. Kestrel put on the cloak. It fit her shoulders perfectly. Her physique had not changed in five years. No——she had ensured it did not change. A body always ready to fight again. A heart always ready to move again. But that spirit had slept for five years. "……" Kestrel turned to the window once more. The mountains of the Drasvel Range. Beyond them, far to the southwest, a faint gathering of lights. That was Aurelia. The center of the kingdom. A place where conspiracy and power swirled. In that city, there was a conspiracy using her technique. In that city, someone had stolen her research. And that fact——would draw her from this tower. Night was breaking. From the observation dome at the tower's highest level, the light of dawn began to shine. Light that had not been there for five years. Light full of movement. Kestrel's blight marks glowed black in that light. And in her expression—— Cold resolve and faint determination mingled. She who had rejected the world was about to set foot in it once more. Her reason was atonement. She could not forgive people dying from her own technique. But in the depths of her heart—— Another emotion slept. A faint weariness toward solitude. A deeply suppressed desire to connect with someone. That would become the catalyst for everything that was to come, though Kestrel did not yet know it.

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Episode 1

Name: The Plague of Power: A Scarred Mage's Reluctant Return
Author: Novelia

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