Chapter 17: In Control

Chapter 17. In Control

She immediately raised the blade with both hands.

Now it was obvious.

She was terrified.

[Arcana Injection activated.]

[Instant Magic Formation Creation]

[Arcana Injection successful.]

[A Forbidden Skill created.]

[Abyssal Formation Creation]

[Effect: Instantly constructs advanced magical formations using Host knowledge.]

[Forbidden characteristic detected.]

[Formation residue suppression available.]

My smile widened.

The servant’s eyes darted toward the glowing mana. "What... what are you doing?"

She jumped.

The obsidian walls closed.

She stumbled backward.

Her knife slipped from one trembling hand and clattered against the stone.

"Don’t," I hissed.

She froze. Completely.

Her entire body was trembling now.

Not the controlled tremor of someone preparing for battle.

Fear.

Pure and ugly.

Her breathing came fast.

Too fast.

She looked from the formation to me like she’d finally realized the worst part wasn’t that Rey Valen had gone mad. It was that the Mad Magus standing in front of her... was perfectly in control.

And apparently, she didn’t like that realization.

Her fear twisted into desperation.

The servant suddenly snatched the fallen blade from the ground and lunged.

No diversion.

No clever escape route.

She genuinely aimed for my chest.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

"Activate."

The formation answered.

[Target is temporarily unable to move.]

The servant froze.

Instantly.

Her blade hung less than half a meter from my chest.

Her eyes widened.

Her arms trembled.

Not because she was hesitating.

Because every muscle in her body had simply stopped listening.

Her fingers slowly opened.

-Clang!

The blade hit the stone.

She tried to step backward.

Nothing.

Only her eyes moved.

Frantically.

Her breathing became ragged as panic consumed what little composure remained. "W-What..." Her lips barely worked. "What are... you doing...?"

I looked at her.

Then grinned.

She looked pathetic.

Minutes ago, she’d been watching me across the dinner table with those calm, observant eyes, probably recording every twitch for her master.

Now she couldn’t even move a finger.

I stepped into the formation.

Black symbols crawled beneath my boots without reacting to me.

The servant’s eyes followed.

"Mind corruption..." I murmured.

She didn’t recognize the name. Nothing like this existed yet.

At least not in this era.

The system reacted.

[Host-created magical theory detected.]

[Ancient magical structure incompatible.]

[Adapting formation using Host knowledge...]

[Forbidden Energy integration successful.]

[Mind Corruption Formation]

[Function: Alters selected mental associations and establishes designated cognitive directives.]

[Formation-based execution.]

[Residual spell signature: Suppressed.]

[Target resistance determines processing time.]

The formation flared.

Black-violet light surged upward.

The servant gasped.

Her body jerked once.

Then her eyes lost focus.

Not completely.

That distinction mattered.

Ancient mind manipulation was crude.

Embarrassingly crude.

Most spells from this era forced magical energy directly into someone’s consciousness and imposed instructions like chains.

The result? Puppets. Blank expressions. Delayed responses. Strange speech.

And enough magical residue inside the target’s mana pathways that any competent healer could detect it.

Useful for interrogation.

Terrible for espionage.

This was different.

Because I wasn’t casting the alteration directly into her mind.

The formation was doing the work.

Layers of carefully structured mana surrounded the target, mapped magical and cognitive reactions, then adjusted the associations from outside.

More importantly, the formation dispersed after completion.

Modern.

Deeply unethical.

I was rather proud of it.

The servant’s pupils trembled.

Her lips parted.

The fear gradually disappeared from her face.

Her breathing slowed.

Then the formation dimmed.

The woman straightened.

Her shoulders relaxed.

Her eyes focused on me.

There was no emptiness.

No puppet-like stiffness.

She looked completely normal.

Except the fear was gone.

In its place was something else.

She lowered her head. "My lord."

I walked around her once.

She didn’t move unless necessary.

But she wasn’t frozen anymore.

Her eyes tracked me naturally.

Her breathing was normal. "Look at me."

She did. No delay.

"What is your name?"

"Mira Solen, my lord."

"What are you doing in this mansion?"

"I was assigned by Lady Elia Seren to observe your condition and report any significant changes."

I stopped in front of her. "Who arranged tonight’s attack?"

"I was."

"Explain."

"I received instructions through a temple messenger this afternoon. I was ordered to observe you and report the curse’s reaction."

I glanced toward the enormous corpse behind me.

"And Ariel?"

Mira lowered her eyes. "A lie."

"She was never here?"

"No, my lord."

My jaw tightened slightly.

I turned my hand over.

Black symbols briefly crawled across my palm before disappearing.

This formation... I hadn’t created it for anything noble.

That memory was almost funny now.

Back in my era, people liked imagining researchers as quiet academics who argued politely over journals.

Sometimes we did. Sometimes...

Other times millions in research grants were involved.

Rare artifacts.

Patents.

Military contracts.

Academic prestige.

And suddenly respectable professors developed the moral flexibility of sewer rats.

My broken mana core meant direct confrontation was never an option.

Ten percent capacity.

That was all I had.

I couldn’t throw advanced spells around.

Couldn’t overpower someone who tried to sabotage my work.

So I adapted.

Magic formations became my weapon.

They didn’t require me to maintain huge amounts of mana inside my damaged core.

Draw them beforehand.

Charge them gradually.

Activate them when needed.

Simple.

Efficient.

My first reason for developing cognitive formations had been embarrassingly mundane.

The restricted library.

There had been books I needed.

The academy disagreed.

Something about authorization, safety and forbidden research classifications. Very reasonable concerns that I had very reasonably ignored.

I needed access.

So I’d designed a primitive suggestion formation.

Nothing dramatic.

The librarian simply became absolutely convinced that I had already submitted the proper authorization.

I walked inside.

Read what I needed.

Left.

Nobody noticed.

Version two came later.

Because research had enemies.

Not theatrical villains in black robes.

Academics.

Researchers who wanted unpublished work.

Competitors who tried to sabotage experiments.

People who stole data, tampered with artifacts, bribed assistants, or conveniently published suspiciously similar theories three weeks before your own paper was due.

I couldn’t fight them physically.

So I became creative.

Someone repeatedly came after me despite warnings?

Well...

I learned to become less gentle.

I eliminated problems.

Not always people.

Usually their opportunities.

Their access.

Their certainty.

Their willingness to approach me again.

The beauty of being underestimated as a cripple was that nobody imagined the quiet researcher with ten percent mana capacity could be dangerous.

They expected fireballs, I used geometry.

I looked at Mira.

Funny.

Thousands of years in the past, and the same lesson still applied.

Power wasn’t merely how much mana you could throw at someone’s face.

Power was understanding exactly what magic could do... then realizing everyone else had been using it unimaginatively.

The formation beneath Mira finally disappeared.

Completely.

I smiled. "Now. We’re going to make your report. You saw me fight. You saw the curse." My bloodstained fingers lifted her chin. "You saw exactly what they expected you to see."

Understanding settled naturally across her face.

"Rey Valen is deteriorating. His magic is unstable. His curse reacted violently during combat." My smile slowly widened. "And whatever happened here tonight frightened you."

Mira’s expression shifted naturally.

Her eyes gained the remembered unease of someone who had witnessed something horrifying. "Yes, my lord."

"Good."

Then I looked toward the mansion.

The eastern battle sounded like it was already dying down.

Soon Lily or Seris would come searching.

And I really didn’t feel like explaining why I was standing beside a decapitated behemoth, covered in blood, casually rewriting a spy’s loyalties.

That sort of thing tended to ruin dinner.

"Go. Tell the servants to come and clean this mess. And give me a written report about what you know about the other four heroes and their plans."

Mira bowed. She turned.

Walked toward the mansion.

I watched until she disappeared. Then laughed softly.

Rey Valen had been branded the Mad Magus because the curse drove him insane.

How unfortunate.

Because now everyone who already believed that story would interpret every strange thing I did through the explanation they had conveniently prepared for themselves.

I glanced down at the blood covering my hand.

My smile sharpened. "Perfect."

Let them believe Rey Valen was losing his mind.

While they were watching the madman... the researcher could work in peace.