Chapter 1 - Become a Mage (1)

Once upon a time, back when Zeus was sleeping with fairies.

In some backwater corner of Greece, there lived a shepherd named Gyges.

One day, he happened to find a magical ring that could make its wearer invisible.

Using the power of the magic ring, Gyges accumulated wealth by stealing without getting caught.

Eventually, he infiltrated the royal palace, killed the king, and made himself king.

What an utterly ridiculous story.

Anyway, the interesting part of this story is that no one could punish Gyges for his crimes.

Because they couldn't find any evidence that Gyges had killed the king.

If a person were given the ability to avoid responsibility for their actions…

For example.

If, like Gyges, they became invisible and could commit crimes without being discovered.

If they got their hands on a grimoire capable of causing things beyond human understanding.

How would they act?

How should they act?

I wish someone would tell me.

***

No matter how casually you choose a university major based on your scores.

Personally, if you're poor or don't have parents, you shouldn't major in philosophy.

Because you'll have to save money on food just to buy useless textbooks.

…Well, if you're sociable, you can get them from your upperclassmen.

To add one more thing, if you don't have parents and aren't sociable, you shouldn't major in philosophy.

[Some Whatever Philosophy Book — 34,000 won]

“Tch.”

I clicked my tongue as I looked at the price of the textbook I needed for class at the bookstore.

Every time a professor casually told us to bring some philosophy book that cost at least thirty thousand won, I regretted taking the entrance exam and enrolling in university after hearing that foster children received financial support for going to college.

Or, like one of those memes floating around online, I wanted to bury the professor in the ground.

The last time I complained about buying books so often, he asked if I was some beggar who couldn't even afford thirty thousand won.

What a fucking asshole.

If I buy one book, then I have to buy another, and then another after that.

How the hell is that just thirty thousand won?

The guy was fucking insane.

I never liked philosophy professors in the first place.

They'd studied philosophy at Peking University.

They'd gone to Germany for graduate school.

You had to study abroad.

They said all of it so casually.

They were all people who'd grown up in wealthy families, with full stomachs and warm homes, and gone on to earn doctorates.

I'm the idiot who chose philosophy over Arabic because my scores weren't good enough.

I'm an idiot.

A complete idiot.

I left the bookstore and headed toward an old secondhand bookstore I'd passed by before.

I was broke, and there was no way in hell I wanted to pay full price.

If I looked at it optimistically, this was near a university campus.

Maybe someone who'd taken the same class as me had bought the book, regretted spending the money, and sold it to this secondhand bookstore after the semester ended.

So I entered the shabby old bookstore, whose owner was a bespectacled old man and whose dusty exterior looked like it hadn't been maintained in decades.

…These places still exist?

Kind of refreshing, actually.

It was obvious there was no computer for searching the inventory, so as soon as I stepped inside, I asked the old man sitting behind the counter.

“Do you have Some Whatever Philosophy Book?”

“Go look over there.

If it isn't there, we don't have it.”

“………”

Well, if it isn't there, then it isn't there.

Fair enough.

I went over to the bookshelf the owner had pointed toward and searched through the books.

It looked like a junk shelf where all sorts of books had been thrown together.

The Eighth Book of Moses.

The Book of Raziel the Angel.

The Lesser Key of Solomon.

Moses?

An angel?

Were religious books kept here too?

There were all sorts of books with strange names scattered throughout the shelves.

And then one of the books caught my eye.

It was far too metallic to be called a book.

“…What the hell is this?”

Without thinking, I pulled out the block of metal that sat proudly among the books.

I could feel the cold touch of iron against my palm.

It was apparently a book, since it was sitting on a bookshelf, but its cover was made of dark iron.

A book with an iron cover?

A special hardcover edition?

…What's the title?

<De Vermis Mysteriis>

And just as I tried to read the title engraved on the iron cover, the letters rippled and changed into Korean.

<The Mysteries of the Worm>

The Mysteries of the Worm?

Was this written by Fabre?

Curious, I opened the book and skimmed through it.

Contrary to its title, it wasn't an encyclopedia of insects.

A spellbook?

No, a grimoire was probably the more appropriate term.

Anyway, it was some kind of occult book.

It contained instructions on summoning spirits, necromancy, and various methods of casting magic.

The contents were complete nonsense, but it was entertaining to read.

…This is basically a medieval magic setting guide.

At least it was more fun than a philosophy textbook.

Considering that neither was particularly useful in everyday life, the grimoire won simply by being entertaining.

I thought I'd give it a proper read, so I flipped to the introductory section at the beginning of the book.

There was a passage written by what appeared to be the author.

[This book was written by a survivor of the Ninth Crusade and an investigator of magic, recording the magic he learned while being held captive in Damascus. Whoever becomes the master of the grimoire The Mysteries of the Worm will become the master of a familiar comparable to the 'Invisible Monster' once commanded by Abdul Alhazred, the Poet of Madness. The 'Invisible Vampire.']

I couldn't help but laugh.

An invisible vampire?

What was this, some invisible dragon?

Still, it had succeeded in capturing the reader's attention.

At least it had captured mine.

Of course, I didn't believe the contents.

I wasn't that young.

And even if I were, I wouldn't believe them.

I felt self-conscious about standing there reading it for too long, so I took the book to the counter.

I had simply become interested in it.

It looked fun, so I was buying it.

An entirely ordinary thing to do, yet something I had rarely done before.

Back at the orphanage, I couldn't afford to buy books for myself.

And now, I only bought books required for my major.

It was okay to buy a book I actually wanted every once in a while, wasn't it?

A textbook required for class?

Screw it.

I'll go without it.

Let them fail me.

I placed the book that was practically a block of iron onto the counter.

Thud—

“How much is this?”

“…?”

The old man frowned for just a moment as he looked at the book, as if wondering, Was this book here before?

Then he adjusted his glasses and answered calmly.

“…If you took it from that bookshelf, it's thirty thousand won.”

I'd expected it to be somewhat expensive because of the unusual iron cover, but thirty thousand won was pricey for a secondhand bookstore.

Still, it was four thousand won cheaper than the textbook I'd originally intended to buy.

“Do you only take cash?

Can I transfer the money?”

“…We accept cards.”

Despite the shabby appearance and atmosphere, they accepted card payments.

I didn't bother buying a bag.

When I left the secondhand bookstore, it was already dark outside.

Maybe because it was winter, the sun had set early.

Let's just go home and eat.

Since I'd saved four thousand won, maybe I could buy a can of tuna on the way home.

I hunched my shoulders against the cold air and walked down the street with the book tucked under one arm.

And then someone grabbed my upper arm and shoved me to the side as they walked past.

I had been walking with my body relaxed, so I was caught off guard when I was suddenly pushed aside.

I stared at the back of the guy who had shoved me despite there being plenty of room on the sidewalk, walking off coolly with a woman beside him.

I was too dumbfounded to even get angry.

That bastard is really showing off in front of his girlfriend.

I hope he fucking dies on the way.

To defend myself here, I wasn't some psychopath who genuinely wanted a stranger to die just because he'd shoved me.

Everyone has had an experience like this, right?

Something unpleasant happens with a stranger, and you think, I hope that guy dies.

When I say “dies,” I mean it as an exaggerated expression.

It wasn't genuine murderous intent, like wanting to kill him myself.

It was more like wishing that he'd trip over a rock while walking.

…So, to be clear, I didn't genuinely want this wannabe tough guy, who had been trying to show off by clearing a path in front of his girlfriend, to die horribly with his intestines spilling out everywhere.

“AAAAAAAGH—!”

“AAAAAAAGH—!”

A shrill scream of surprise rang out, accompanied by another scream of agony from someone who had no idea what was happening but could feel pain spreading throughout his body.

Like an animal being subdued by a wolf biting down on its throat, the man's body was lifted into the air.

Blood poured from his neck.

His legs dangled unnaturally in midair.

“AAAAAAAGH—!”

The man had no idea what was happening, but he desperately flailed his arms, trying to survive.

Trying somehow to push away whatever had done this to him.

But—

SHRAAK—

“Ah—AAAAAAAGH?!”

Apparently irritated by his struggling, the something tore one of the man's arms off.

Bone and raw red flesh were exposed as blood sprayed through the air.

“Huaaagh—!”

Part of the flesh around the man's neck was ripped away, and his body crashed to the ground.

His neck had been torn open, but he was still alive.

“Ah—AAAAAAAGH!”

Blood poured from his neck.

Looking as though he had already been condemned to die, he screamed desperately and tried to get up and run.

But with one arm missing, he couldn't maintain his balance and failed to stand.

…And then the butchering by the invisible something began.

The man's body was torn apart as if it were being displayed as a trophy, spraying blood, intestines, and organs in every direction.

That was when I came to my senses.

Was I in my right mind?

No.

But faced with something so utterly unrealistic, my body, which had frozen in terror, finally regained control.

I immediately turned around and ran.

I fled.

I didn't scream.

I needed to conserve the air in my lungs.

Maybe because the fear had gone beyond my limit.

Instead of panicking, my body seemed to move purely for survival.

Unlike some of the other people nearby, I didn't pull out my phone and start recording.

The next target could be me.

I had no time for that.

I just needed to get as far away from this place as possible.

That was all I could think about as I forced my legs to move.

I ran until I was completely out of breath, pushing myself to the limit.

Then I ducked into an alley and bent over, breathing heavily and gagging before spitting out the saliva pooled in my mouth.

“Haa… haak… khh—ptui.”

My legs trembled, and the cold air stabbed painfully into my lungs.

The book was practically a block of iron, so my right arm was heavy as well.

“Phew…”

Still, I let out a sigh of relief, thinking that I was safe for the moment.

Then—

Step—

A presence behind me made my skin crawl.

My teeth began chattering.

…It followed me.

It had followed me.

With trembling hands, I gripped the book tightly, feeling the cold metal against my palms.

There was no point in running anymore.

Resistance would probably be meaningless, but I had no intention of simply dying.

I'd at least smash it once with the iron corner.

“……….”

I slowly turned around.

There was nothing there.

Just an ordinary alley.

But then—

“Grrr…”

Along with the growl of a beast, a wave of hot air carrying the nauseating stench of blood touched my face.

There was definitely an invisible something standing there.

My stomach churned.

I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Haa—haa—!”

My heart pounded like crazy, and my pupils dilated.

The image of the man being brutally slaughtered flashed through my mind.

A disgusting, clammy sensation moved along my cheek.

“—!”

The something licked my face.

“Grrrr…”

“Huh…?”

Once.

Twice.

It licked my face like some enormous, gentle dog playing with its owner.

Then it stopped and waited obediently for my reaction.

“Gyaa…?”

Unable to comprehend the situation, the strength drained from my body and the book slipped from my hand.

Thud—

Whether it was a coincidence, or perhaps the book was once again trying to remind me of the truth—

Flip—flip—flip—

The pages of the grimoire turned on their own and opened.

[Whoever becomes the master of the grimoire The Mysteries of the Worm will become the master of a familiar comparable to the 'Invisible Monster' once commanded by Abdul Alhazred, the Poet of Madness. The 'Invisible Vampire.']

I couldn't laugh anymore.