Chapter 6: Survival After the Catastrophe

Entering his room, Komer sat cross-legged on the bed. His heart was surging like boiling water, and dizziness plagued his mind, making him realize he was on the verge of losing control at any moment. Although he had been unconscious in the wilderness for several hours, that hadn’t freed him from his predicament. The power of the purple-robed priest far exceeded Komer’s expectations, forcing him to take a risky gamble and use the advanced hybrid magic of “Bloodflame Troll,” which combined dark and fire elements. As someone who originally didn’t possess the ability to cast such magic, he now faced the danger of magical backlash—a perilous situation. Though he took a calming potion immediately after casting “Bloodflame Troll,” it only delayed the onset of the backlash, and by now he was already on the brink of disaster.

At that moment, Komer felt as though all the blood in his body was boiling and burning—this was the backlash of fire elemental magic. The dizziness in his head grew stronger, his consciousness gradually blurred, and he felt almost unable to control his movements. This was the dark backlash attacking the limits of his mental will.

Blood seeped from the corners of his lips. Komer tore open his emergency medicine pack and swallowed three doses of the cooling powder in one go. It was a mental clarity drug he kept on hand just in case. Though it couldn’t stop the magical backlash, it could help keep his mind clearer and more focused. He then took out three gold needles and, with all his strength, inserted them into his head, chest, and abdomen. Severe pain, as if his muscles and tendons were being torn apart, overwhelmed him instantly. He could no longer maintain his cross-legged position and could only curl up on the bed, convulsing. The sound of his teeth clashing and the beads of sweat all over his body made it clear just how much pain he was enduring.

Using every ounce of his strength, he pulled the blanket over himself and stuffed the corner into his mouth to prevent his teeth from biting off his tongue if he lost control. He imagined lying in warm seawater, with mermaids swimming around him. The gentle flow of water caressed his skin, healing his wounds, while tiny fish nudged his feet. Seaweed swayed in the water, creating a serene and peaceful scene. Yet, the pain, present everywhere in his body, continued to spread wildly like a tide.

The master taught him an extremely cruel method: using intense pain to stimulate one’s potential, instantly enhancing it to strengthen mental willpower in order to cope with the potential backlash from magic that could lead to obsession. Yet such pain was beyond what ordinary people could endure; those with weak willpower or overly sensitive touch senses might even go mad without even the backlash from magic. So this was also a risk, but Komerin chose to take it because he was convinced his willpower was strong enough to withstand the torment. Moreover, enduring such trials would surely elevate his mental willpower to a higher level.

Yet he never imagined that the seemingly ordinary pain described by his master would be so intense and direct. At that moment, he wondered what kind of torment the special pain in his deceased master’s mind must have been like.

Fran listened carefully to the suppressed groans coming from inside the room. Though he didn’t know what was wrong with his master, he was certain that his master must be in unbearable pain to emit such sounds. He wanted to push the door open and help him, but remembering that his master had never shared his personal problems with anyone, he thought it might be wiser to wait quietly outside.

The strange noises in the room gradually faded, returning to silence. Fran could hear his master’s steady breathing, and he felt relieved.

Komer woke up at noon. The slanting sunlight was incredibly lazy. Lying motionless in bed, he enjoyed this rare peace. The feeling of surviving a crisis was wonderful. Komer could clearly sense that his mental power had reached a higher level. Although casting high-intensity spells like Bloodflame Trolls would still pose a risk of magical backlash, Komer was confident he could handle it on his own without any assistance. As the old saying from the distant East goes, “Misfortune hides within fortune, and fortune relies on misfortune”—it seemed to hold some truth.

Returning to his cross-legged position, Komer tried to relax his entire body, allowing his mind to wander freely in the endless world of meditation. His mental power, having broken through its limitations, was like a bird freed from its cage—many things that were previously incomprehensible suddenly became clear, giving him a sense of insight and connection. It was a wonderful feeling. Komer silently savored the peace he had gained after going through such hardships.

“My lord, Mr. Kafli has been here several times. He says he has important matters to discuss with you, probably regarding immigration issues with the kingdom’s internal affairs officials this afternoon,” said Fran, standing outside the door in a solemn voice. Having been waiting at the door, he realized his master had woken up from sleep.

“Oh, ask him to wait a moment. Fran, come in first,” Cohmer said after some thought.

Fran, with a calm expression, pushed open the door and entered. He didn’t know why Cohmer had called him in, but he could guess it must be related to his now-defunct homeland, the Kingdom of Melen.

“Fran, this afternoon, Mr. Kafli and I will discuss immigration issues with the kingdom’s internal affairs officials. However, this time the number of refugees is extremely large—tens of thousands from the city-states of Main and Susor, and as many as 150,000 from the Duchy of Melen. Therefore, the kingdom hopes that the total number of refugees from the three countries will be between 80,000 and 100,000. This far exceeds our expectations and capacity. But I think we may have no choice but to agree to the kingdom’s arrangement. Still, we can still have some say in the composition of the population. I’d like to hear your advice,” Cohmer said thoughtfully, staring at the somewhat melancholic look on Fran’s face.

Sighing inwardly, Fran was an extremely honest man, but he also had experience in officialdom and understood politics. He could tell that his master didn’t seem intent on allocating all the immigration quotas to his own people. He understood this—after all, the population of Caucasus was only a few thousand at present. If all those tens of thousands were refugees from the former Duchy of Melen, it would pose many challenges to governing Caucasus, especially since the native population was in the absolute minority.

“My lord, most residents of the Duchy of Melen are farmers. They are simple and kind, both hardworking farmers and competent miners. The city-states of Main and Susor, being close to trade routes, have a higher proportion of urban residents. Many of them are skilled artisans and merchants, and their economic conditions may be better, though their temperament is somewhat more impetuous. Of course, this is relative. As for how to allocate the quotas, it depends on your decision, my lord,” Fran said, a hint of gloom crossing his face. His explanation was quite apt.

“Ah, I see. I understand now,” Komer nodded without saying more. Fran also bowed silently before turning to leave. As he watched the figure about to disappear, Komer suddenly called out, “Fran, I’ve heard that the infantry soldiers of the Principality of Mellen have always been a source of pride in the Land of Azure. I was wondering if you’d be interested in training an infantry unit for my Caucasus.” Fran trembled slightly but didn’t turn around. Instead, he raised his head with a hint of fatigue and stared ahead before saying after a long while, “If my lord believes Fran is capable, Fran won’t disappoint you.”