Chapter 368: Flesh Mender
"Master, are you sure that pig of a mage can drive those Magisterians toward us?" a purple-haired female asked, standing near the older mage, who was clearly the master of both her and Barok. Her mage robes marked her as a member of the cult’s combatant arm.
Her master, the older mage, was third-in-command of the cult’s mage combatant arm, the Abyssal Hands, and rumored to be the son of Charles Morvain, the Artistic Butcher, one of the cult’s leaders. An astral-ranked mage, he specialized in blood and flesh magic, just like his own master. Though his true name was unknown, everyone called him the Flesh Mender. "Don’t worry," he said with a sly grin, "I gave him some of my creations to make it happen. They might not defeat that monster of a Seventh Circle Warrior, but they’ll sure as hell scare the weaker ones into runnin’ back here. Even the stronger ones can’t hold out against a swarm of ’em..."
The purple-haired mage’s eyes widened in shock. "How many of those did you give him?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
The Flesh Mender smirked, glancing down at the cultists below, readying themselves for the Magisterian soldiers expected to come fleeing back. "About ten," he said, his tone casual. The revelation stunned his student even further. The creations he spoke of—flesh golems—weren’t just powerful; they were crafted with rare resources, especially the flesh and organs of high-ranked Circle Warriors, which were near impossible to acquire. These grotesque constructs, melded from the flesh of high-star monsters and Circle Warriors, bore abilities inherited from the Flesh Mender’s own master, honed through his blood and flesh magic.
The key difference was that while the Artistic Butcher stitched together disparate parts with magic to make them function, his student, the Flesh Mender, had refined his flesh-binding magic to meld them into a single, seamless new flesh. But the flesh of powerful monsters and Circle Warriors was hard-won—acquiring it cost many lives. Crafting just one flesh golem required the flesh of at least a dozen Circle Warriors and several high-star monsters, which only elite Circle Warriors or mages like the Artistic Butcher could hunt or create, making them extraordinarily precious. "But those were priceless, ordered to be saved for when the war truly begins..." the purple-haired mage muttered to herself, knowing her master wasn’t one to disobey the high priests’ commands.
Seeing him deploy these rare creations, fully aware they’d likely be destroyed by a Seventh Circle Warrior just to strike a heavy blow against the reinforcements headed to Karmen City, she flashed a wide, excited smile. "So, things are finally gettin’ serious?"
The Flesh Mender nodded, his wide smile mirroring hers. "This’ll be the first big blow we deal to those unenlightened, godless armies. Even bigger if we can take out a few high-ranked mages—especially those Aetherion or Sixth Circle Warriors. That’ll crush their morale..." His grin widened as he closed his eyes, voice reverent. "All according to the Enlightened One’s plans..."
The purple-haired mage echoed the chant, eyes closed, her own wide smile fervent. "All according to the Enlightened One’s plans..."
Barok, meanwhile, relished his first real chance to confront his lord’s enemies—ignorant humans, unenlightened to the power and brilliance of their lord. They didn’t deserve such glory, only death, so their lord could save their mortal souls, free this mortal world, and grant them immense power.