Chapter 113: The Price For Power


    The air was thick with a metallic tang that prickled Abel’s senses as he stepped forward, assessing the strange red flag in front of him. It pulsated, emitting an unsettling crimson glow that flickered like a heartbeat. The smell of iron was unmistakable, as though blood itself powered the artifact’s chilling aura. He hadn’t encountered a magical artifact quite like this one, and he found himself both fascinated and wary. The flag had somehow created a crimson world within its domain, masking the brutal acts taking place inside from anyone outside its boundaries.


    The outside made this area seem inconspicuous as nobody would feel anything strange taking place in this clearing. Thanks to Abel’s strength and proficiency in controlling mana, he was able to make his way into the domain. He was an Apostle after all, and there weren''t many magical artifacts in the world that could contest with apostles on a one versus one. If there were, they would no longer be considered magical artifacts and something completely different.


    Abel eyed Julius, the leader of the three thugs, who had turned to face him with a look that promised violence. The man’s skin had transformed into a sickly red hue, and Abel could feel the raw, volatile energy radiating from him. But beneath that energy, something was amiss. Julius looked almost… drained, his eyes sunken and pallid. There was a sickly look that Abel could discern behind the malicious face of Julius.


    "Who the hell are you?" Julius sneered, flexing his blood-slicked knuckles. "No one is supposed to know about this place."


    Abel tilted his head, amused by the man’s bravado. "Just someone who doesn’t appreciate your choice of decor. Blood-red isn’t really my color."


    Julius growled, swinging a heavy fist at Abel, who sidestepped the punch with practiced ease. He wanted to catch Abel off guard, as he felt like punching first and talking later had always worked in the past.


    Missing the punch, Julius looked towards Abel and then glanced at the flag before focusing on Abel again. He took a soft gulp, hoping not to show his opponent any of his thoughts, however, Abel smiled, as if reading him like a book.


    Despite the man’s supernatural strength, his movements were sloppy, almost desperate. Abel’s eyes narrowed as he noted the splotchy, uneven tone spreading over the man’s arms and face. Whatever this flag did, it was clear the man wasn’t in control of it—or perhaps it was in control of him.


    Julius went in for another swing, but Abel was faster, and with a sidestep, he delivered a precise hook to the man’s stomach. The impact brought Julius to his knees, a guttural groan of pain escaping him. His hands clutched his torso as he gasped, his entire form trembling from the force of Abel’s blow.


    “F-freak…” Julius barely managed to mouth the word, his voice strained and trembling. His body was trembling from both pain and disbelief. The blow Abel had landed felt like it shattered more than just his ribs—it shattered his confidence. For a fleeting moment, he tasted the bitter edge of fear. He had battled countless foes wielding strange and powerful magical artifacts, but this was different. Never had he faced someone whose raw strength overwhelmed the Red Flag’s enhancement. He knew the flag''s power was waning, and his time was running out.


    Abel wasted no time. With an iron grip, he yanked Julius up by the hair, forcing their gazes to meet. His eyes glinted coldly in the dim light. “That flag… where did you get it?” His voice was calm but carried an undeniable threat.


    Julius sneered, but it was hollow, desperation flickering behind his eyes. “You think I’d just tell you?” he spat, though his bravado cracked at the edges.


    Before Julius could act, he swung both arms upward in a desperate attempt to crush Abel’s head between his hands. The air vibrated with the force of his swing, but Abel was already moving. With a swift backstep, the crushing blow missed, the loud smack echoing uselessly into the open air.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    In one fluid motion, Abel surged forward. Julius barely had time to react before Abel drove his boot into his chest, the impact sending him sprawling back onto the ground. The breath was knocked from Julius’s lungs, and he lay gasping, his red-tinged skin beginning to pale as the flag''s influence faded further.


    With a flick of his wrist, Abel pulled out the hypnotic watch he’d obtained earlier from the brothers, letting it swing before Julius’s eyes. The watch emitted a soft, pink glow, and Abel concentrated, willing it to take hold. The energy wrapped around Julius'' eyes, his face slackening slightly as his will weakened.


    "Tell me," Abel demanded, his voice cold.


    But before Julius could answer, his eyes went stark white, and a horrible rattling sound emerged from his throat. Abel’s gaze shifted, noticing thin lines of blood beginning to pour from the man’s earlier wounds as well as his eyes, mouth, and ears. To Abel’s fascination and mild disgust, the blood wasn’t pooling on the ground. Instead, it seemed to twist in the air, drawn toward the flag like iron filings to a magnet. Abel released Julius, watching as the man’s body shook violently, each drop of blood draining into the flag until his red-tinted skin turned an almost ghostly white. His skin and body reverted back to their regular look, except much more pale and void of energy.


    This was obviously the side effect of the red flag, or rather, the effects of overusing it. Abel could use his abilities proficiently due to his mana pool''s support, which he could pull mana from to power his moves, however, there were always trade-offs when it came to magical artifacts, and some could be deadly. The mundane were very careless with how they used these artifacts, as not only did they put themselves in danger, but also others.


    With a final groan, Julius collapsed to the ground, his eyes vacant and his body crumpling like a shriveled husk. The flag gave one last crimson glow before its eerie light flickered out. The strange red-hued world that had surrounded them slowly faded, restoring the forest clearing to its natural state under the dim twilight. The sound of wind moving through the trees and bushes reflected the normalcy returning to the world around them.


    Abel knelt beside the now-lifeless body, curiosity tugging at him. He stared at the man taking note of his pallid face, lifeless green eyes, and sandy blond hair. “Quite a price to pay for power,” he murmured to himself.


    The blood-soaked flag lay discarded beside Julius. Abel examined it with interest, noticing intricate designs embroidered along its edges in deep crimson thread. He could tell it was no ordinary magical artifact—its ability to consume the life force of its user was unusual, even among the artifacts he had seen. Folding it carefully, he slipped it into his robe, intending to study it further once he returned to his villa.


    His gaze drifted to the girl, Lena, who lay unconscious nearby. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow but steady. Abel could tell she’d been on the verge of a terrible fate. But from what he’d seen, she wasn’t a threat to Reinhart; she was simply another soul caught up in the allure of magical artifacts.


    This brought up another issue that Abel hoped the Tower had considered: his role in Reinhart and the scope of his mission would need to evolve. The town wasn’t just on the brink of change—it was already shifting, and soon it could mirror the towns of the central continent, where magic wasn’t just a tool for the elite but part of everyday life. Transitioning a community from ignorance to understanding magic was always fraught with difficulty: fear, resistance, and unintended consequences often followed. Abel''s mind churned with concerns—would the Tower be prepared to support this shift?


    He could already foresee the challenges. This wasn’t just about managing rogue artifacts or magical anomalies; it was about guiding a society into uncharted territory, a task that weighed heavily on his mind. His headache intensified as the implications settled in. If the Murman family, the Bazaar, and rogue magical practices continued unchecked, the chaos could spiral beyond what even the Tower anticipated. Abel would have to be more than an observer.


    He turned to leave, taking a few steps back into the dense forest. But a slight movement behind him made him pause. He glanced over his shoulder at Lena, then sighed, walking back to her prone form. “Consider yourself lucky, I suppose,” he muttered, carefully rolling her onto her side to ensure she was stable before stepping away. He checked the other goons, taking note of their appearances and checking for any valuables in them.


    Without another word, Abel melted into the shadows of the trees, his figure vanishing as quietly as he had appeared. The forest was silent save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.