Chapter 36: Baglos has Changed?

Sympathizer.

Connector.

Dark Cleric.

Those titles all once referred to summoners in the past.

Among them, the title “Dark Cleric” symbolized not only the darkest and most shameful history of summoners, but also the deepest abyss.

“…Both of you, calm down.”

I said it for the sake of the Black Wyvern, still agitated under the influence of my emotions, and for Eril, who was watching with concern.

But it had no real effect—because my own heart was still unsettled.

As I’ve said before, summoners are closer to priests or shamans than they are to mages.

We are beings who communicate and harmonize with other entities, and though our ability was limited, we could far more easily create pathways between worlds than mages could.

That’s why we were first called Sympathizers.

Taming and calming wild monsters or beasts was their main job, and that was also their limit.

At the time, they didn’t truly understand their abilities, and there were so few of them that such an understanding was natural.

They were convinced that this was the extent of their power.

But eventually, among the Sympathizers, there emerged those who realized their potential.

They began communicating with and summoning entities from other worlds using mana, not just monsters and beasts—and from that moment on, they came to be known as Connectors.

Yet even then, they were regarded merely as assistants to mages.

They supported research into dimensional connections or performed tasks not much different from their Sympathizer days.

To the average person, they were just inefficient mages.

It was unavoidable.

Most Connectors were limited in the entities they could summon.

They could call and control monsters and beasts far more easily than before, but their abilities still had a ceiling.

So, for a long time, we remained known as Connectors.

And then—roughly 1,100 years ago—a Connector of unparalleled talent appeared.

He was greater than any Connector before him.

He summoned beings never before brought to the surface and glimpsed worlds no mage or Connector had ever dared reach.

Countless Connectors revered him as a master, eager to learn his skills and abilities.

Thanks to him and his disciples, the public gained a renewed perception of Connectors, and all Connectors finally came to understand the true nature of their abilities.

But the path he walked from then on was neither beautiful nor righteous.

When he stood at the pinnacle as a Connector, the world he reached was darkness itself.

He made contact with Urshis, one of the great Demon Gods.

He and his disciples began calling themselves the Clerics of Urshis.

But despite calling themselves clerics, what they sought was not peace, but power.

And the deeds they carried out from then on were nothing but vile.

People came to fear them, calling them Dark Clerics,
and gradually began to view all Connectors with the same suspicion.

In the end, he and his disciples were judged.

His name was banned from all records, erased from history to prevent another tragedy.

But ironically, despite those efforts, others continued to follow in his footsteps.

And ironically enough, it was always those with the most talent who walked that path.

The ripple effects only grew stronger, and thus the title “Dark Cleric” persisted for a very long time.

Depending on the region or culture, the title varied,
but the term “Dark Cleric” only completely disappeared and was replaced with “Summoner” about 300 years ago.

That’s why the title “Dark Cleric” remains, to us summoners, a shameful name— a path we must always be wary of.

“…I should’ve just let it go in one ear and out the other.”

What followed was regret.

I could’ve ignored it—no, I should have ignored it.

I should’ve laughed off his foolishness and sent him on his way.

But I couldn’t.

Because I’ve always had doubts and unease about it, deep down.

And just now, I proved to myself that I lacked the composure to resist.

Not just to Morotai—but to myself.

“Anyway, let’s wrap this up quickly and go back.”

I deepened my connection with the Black Wyvern.

If I returned to Lowell and Aegina, such useless provocations would no longer reach me.

In that light, darkness could never rear its head.

I would not lose my way again.

“Have you seen a human around here—specifically, Baglos?”

As I engraved an image of Baglos into the Black Wyvern’s mind,

I began combing through his limited memories.

Of course, if the Black Wyvern had actually encountered Baglos directly, he wouldn’t still be alive like this.

Still, he might’ve picked up traces.

“Ah, yes. It’s here.”

The Black Wyvern’s memories were extremely limited,
but a distinct trace remained—etched in the form of intense fear.

The specifics of what happened weren’t clear,
but one thought remained seared into his mind:
that he must not go near that place.

And there was only one being around here who could instill such fear into the Black Wyvern: Baglos.

“Return to your nest.”

I sent the Black Wyvern back and climbed onto Eril’s back.

It wasn’t easy without a saddle, but if Baglos were to see the Black Wyvern and react prematurely with his sword, I would lose my prized summon far too easily.

At the very least, with Eril—even if Baglos didn’t notice I was riding her, he wouldn’t be so quick to draw.

“…At least, I hope so.”

Because Baglos was always unpredictable.

And I didn’t think a few years would’ve changed that.

“Let’s go, Eril. Over that ridge, there should be a small valley.”

We reached the valley in just a few minutes.

There were no immediate signs of life, but we didn’t need to look very hard.

“Can you breathe fire for me? Just enough for Baglos to notice us.”

Eril happily obliged.

She let out a blaze into the sky, and soon I saw black mist rapidly rising from below.

It had been a long time since I’d seen that sight.

The Veil of Night—that unique method of movement that looked as if he were leading the night itself—there was no mistaking it: it was Baglos.

“Let’s go down, Eril.”

He didn’t need to use such a flashy entrance, which meant he likely recognized us from a distance.

We landed by the waterside.

Soon, the area was engulfed in black mist, and then, in an instant, the darkness vanished.

Standing before me was Baglos, looking exactly as he did during the Great War— still in the form of a youthful boy.

“Long time no see, Baglos.”

I raised my hand in greeting toward the long-lost companion.

Of course, I didn’t expect a response.

It was Baglos, after all.

Even after our victory in the battle against the Demon King,
he hadn’t said a single word to us.

All he did was raise his right hand in silent celebration.

“Yeah. Long time, Anak.”

“…!”

I was momentarily flustered by his unexpected reaction.

It had been a natural and ordinary greeting—something any normal person would have found nothing strange about.

But for him, it was different.

Completely different.

Baglos, the one who creeps in the night.

He was called the strongest assassin, someone even top-tier assassins paid their respects to.

Yet, contrary to what the world believed—that he was a ruthless killer or a master of the underworld—he was nothing of the sort.

It was true that before the appearance of the Demon King Thanatos, he had displayed outstanding abilities as an assassin in the underworld.

Even after the rise of the High assassin guild, he remained the only one who could command the same high fees he had always received.

An entire renowned mercenary company had once vanished under his blade, and even Racho, the famed swordsman known as the Talon of the Hawk, failed to survive an encounter with him.

But none of that was due to his own will.

Baglos first made his name in the underworld well before the last great war.

And even though several years had passed since that war ended, he still appeared as a young boy—a fact that had a very clear reason.

He was not human.

Not in the sense that he had transcended humanity like Lowell or other allies, but quite literally—not human.

He was a chimera, a synthetic being.

The result of a deranged necromancer’s mad experiments, and more than that—an accidental miracle that even the creator himself could not comprehend.

Lord Medluf, who later examined Baglos, stated with certainty that Baglos was the outcome of an unexpected compatibility between various biological components and magical attributes.

It was never the necromancer’s intention or skill that produced such a result.

Still, whether it was a fluke or not didn’t matter to the necromancer.

To him, Baglos was simply a product—his possession.

Even though Baglos had surpassed his creator from the moment of his creation, a control spell implanted during the synthesis made him easy to command.

Besides, Baglos had no emotions or will of his own, so he never resisted.

When we first met him, he was stalling an entire army of demons alone.

The necromancer had deliberately left him behind as a distraction to ensure his own escape.

We still don’t know whether the necromancer succeeded in escaping.

But what was certain was that Baglos had faithfully obeyed that final command, without hesitation or doubt.

Even after being rescued by Lowell, he neither expressed gratitude nor relief.

In fact, he was confused—because he no longer had a command to follow.

It was probably due to this confusion, and Lowell’s sincere kindness, the first he’d ever received, that Baglos came to see Lowell as his new master and swore loyalty to him.

As we traveled together, thanks to Lowell and Lord Medluf’s patient efforts, Baglos slowly began to develop his own emotions and will.

However, his ability to express them remained very limited.

Even after years together, we could count the number of conversations we had with him on one hand, and none lasted over two minutes.

Many of those exchanges were awkward.

For instance, once, during a conversation about underworld customs regarding sending flowers to the dead, he brought it up out of nowhere at a soldier’s funeral where we were placing flowers on a grave.

Everyone was taken aback.

That was the extent of even simple conversation.

He only ever clearly expressed his thoughts or will on three occasions:

• During his duel with Orcan, where he risked his life.
• When he shielded Lowell from the Demon King’s sword during the final battle.
• And after it was all over, at the celebration party, when he told us he would go alone into the Merika Mountains.

So how could it be that now he naturally responded to my greeting?

That just wasn’t possible.

“Ba-Baglos, right?”

A stupid question.

He didn’t have many forms, and there was no way I wouldn’t recognize him.

I was just that shocked.

“Yeah.”

He answered with words again.

Not just a slight nod or silence like usual—a clear, verbal reply.

“Y-you’ve changed a lot, Baglos.”

To be honest, for a brief second, I almost doubted it was really him.

“Yeah. I’ve changed a bit.”

His tone was so natural that it actually felt strange.

What on earth had happened here over the past few years to change him like this?

“What happened here? What in the world…?”