Malignor’s Letter
Guzman exhales slowly, running a hand through his dark brown hair before sinking into the nearby couch.
His fingers trace the edges of the cursed envelope before he carefully peels it open, unfolding the letter sealed by Malignor himself.
His eyes flick across the page, taking in the neat, precise script.
Dear Guzman de Venefique Moreau, esteemed leader of La Peste Noire,
Guzman remains still, unfazed—but his grip on the paper tightens slightly.
I would like to extend an alliance between Umbrascourge and your distinguished mafia. I believe this partnership would benefit both of our organizations. You may be wondering why an entity such as myself would take an interest in La Peste Noire. The answer is simple—I see potential. Your consistent destruction of infrastructure in the E?eforte territory is... admirable. A force as ruthless as yours should not be wasted on such menial tasks.
Guzman strokes his chin. Is that all this is about?
He continues reading.
However, I understand that Rosa’s actions may have caused you some concern. Yes, she has killed some of your men. But do not dwell on such trivial matters—there is no true loss. As long as those ashes remain, my subordinate, Luo Minghao, will personally oversee their revival using his advanced Magi-Tech equipment.
Guzman’s brow furrows. “Luo Minghao…” he mutters.
Everyone in the underworld knows that name.
A rogue Magitist, exiled from the Society of Geniuses—now a mad Magitist serving Umbrascourge. His reputation is one of nightmares. His unethical experiments have turned entire groups of people into living weapons, twisted beyond recognition.
Guzman’s gut twists.
This revival… it will not be painless. It will not even be human. Would his fallen men even recognize themselves when they return?
A slow, bitter sigh escapes him, but he forces himself to keep reading.
Now, to the point. By now, Rosa has surely informed you of the benefits of “cooperation”—wealth, influence, and power beyond your current reach. However, there is something she does not know. I have seen your future.
Guzman freezes. His future?
His eyes narrow, scanning the next lines with renewed sharpness.
In the near future, a Manaless boy—Dominic E?eforte—will send you a letter, challenging you to a duel.
Guzman’s grip on the letter tightens. He knows that name.
Dominic E?eforte.
The heir of the very territory La Peste Noire has been terrorizing for years.
Guzman has barely given him a passing thought.
The brat’s a Manaless. What could he possibly do? The mere idea of being challenged by someone without Mana is an insult.
His jaw clenches, pride bristling at the notion.
You will accept the challenge, seeing no threat in a boy without Mana. You will go alone, expecting an easy victory. However, it will be a trap. Célestin Moreau will be waiting. He will snipe you.
Guzman’s blood runs cold. His head snaps up.
Célestin Moreau?
He has heard the name before—a young aristocrat, the younger son of a powerful and influential family. But Guzman has never considered him a threat.
He’s just some rich kid. And yet, here it is—in black ink—a warning that this boy will be the one to kill him.
His fingers press into the parchment, mind racing.
Is this some elaborate trick? Some power play by Umbrascourge to push me into submission?
He needs proof. He needs answers.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Guzman’s gaze drifts back down to the letter.
I understand that you may have doubts. However, to clear them, all you need to do is touch the pink letter ‘D’ on this page.
He frowns. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
Yet, despite his skepticism, curiosity gnaws at him.
Hesitantly, Guzman presses his finger against the pink “D.”
–FWOOSH!
A sudden rush of air envelops him, his body jerking as if pulled through space itself.
The lavish ruins of the mafia’s hideout vanish.
In their place—a vast flower field, blooming with vibrant colors.
Guzman staggers slightly. He stands up, his sharp gaze sweeping across the landscape.
“Where the hell am I?” he mutters.
–CRUNCH! CRUNCH!
The sound of footsteps.
Guzman spins around and sees a man in a black suit walking toward him, his expression cold and detached.
Guzman's breath hitches. “That’s… me.”
There is no mistaking it.
The other Guzman moves with calculated ease, his posture rigid—but his aura brims with irritation.
His jaw tightens. His brows furrow.
Guzman knows himself well enough to recognize that despite the indifference on his face… he is pissed.
Yet the other Guzman walks straight through him. Like a mirage.
Guzman whips around, his pulse pounding.
His other self is approaching someone—a boy standing alone in the field.
Guzman narrows his eyes.
The boy is younger than him, probably by a few years.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Fair skin. He wears a white dress shirt, black vest, red tie, and tailored black pants. His shoes gleam beneath the sun.
"Who the hell is that?" Guzman mutters.
Then the other Guzman speaks. "So, you're Dominic… the Manaless brat who challenged me to a duel?"
His voice is calm, indifferent—but dripping with malice.
Guzman stiffens. "That’s the heir of the E?eforte territory…?" he mutters.
Dominic meets Guzman’s gaze, his expression unreadable. "Correct."
"You sent a duel request—one-on-one. No audience, no witnesses. Are you that confident in your… limited abilities?"
Dominic gives a small nod. "No."
Guzman frowns. Then why the hell—
—BANG!
A burst of red.
The other Guzman staggers, his head snapping backward. A sharp spray of blood erupts, and his body collapses.
Guzman’s stomach twists. His hands clench into fists. "So, this is what happens?" he mutters under his breath.
—FWOOSH!
The vision dissolves. The flower field fades.
Guzman is back.
The ruined mafia hideout reforms around him, the smell of ashes and blood settling once more.
His breath is unsteady. His heart pounds. His eyes flicker down to the letter, his fingers tightening around its edge.
If you have pressed the pink ‘D,’ then you have successfully witnessed your future. Knowing this, you may now choose— Avoid accepting Dominic’s duel request. Or plan accordingly.
Guzman’s expression darkens.
So, for my first request, I want you to poison the town in the E?eforte territory. Ensure that every last resident dies. Afterward, eliminate Dominic and Célestin and bring their bodies to me. In return, I will grant you 5 billion Camilliums. You have one week. Fail, and you will suffer the consequences.
Yours truly,
Malignor.
Guzman’s blood runs cold. His knuckles turn white.
"Poison… an entire town?" he mutters.
His mind reels, his thoughts spiral. His uncle’s legacy. His mafia. His own survival. His pride.
This is no simple deal.
This is an ultimatum.
Obey… or be erased.
His future has already been decided.
Unless—unless he changes it himself.
════ ?★? ════
Malignor sits comfortably on his throne, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. The dimly lit throne room pulses with an unnatural violet glow, the eerie light flickering from floating lanterns suspended in midair.
A slow, calculated smirk tugs at his lips.
“It is only a matter of time before she arrives,” he murmurs to himself.
—BOOSH!
A burst of purple flames erupts just a few feet away.
From the flickering embers, a figure emerges—graceful, poised, and completely unshaken by the infernal spectacle.
Rosa Blanchette steps forward with elegant composure, lowering herself into a deep kneel, her black gown flowing like liquid shadow around her.
“Lord Malignor, I have arrived.”
Malignor’s smirk deepens. “So, I assume Guzman received the letter.”
“Correct, Lord Malignor. Guzman has the letter in his possession and is currently reading it, just as expected.”
“Good.” His voice drips with satisfaction.
A moment passes before Malignor waves a dismissive hand. “You may stand, Rosa. You have done well.”
Rosa rises smoothly to her feet, the golden accents of her gown catching the dim violet glow of the throne room. “Your praise is an honor, my Lord.”
Malignor leans back slightly, his gaze sharp and calculating.
“Now, you may go.”
Rosa nods, offering a slight bow of respect before turning toward the massive black double doors at the far end of the chamber.
As she walks, her heels click rhythmically against the polished obsidian floor, echoing faintly in the vast space.
However, before she can leave, another figure enters the room—Luo Minghao.
Rosa’s gaze flickers toward him with interest, watching as they pass each other without a single glance from Luo’s end.
Her lips curl into an amused smirk.
“Dull, smart, handsome,” she murmurs under her breath.
Her gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before she lets out a soft sigh. “Too bad he does not notice my beauty and is too busy with his experiments. What a shame.”
Still, she continues walking, disappearing behind the heavy black doors.
Luo Minghao, unfazed and entirely uninterested in Rosa’s presence, steps before Malignor’s throne and kneels with practiced precision.
“Lord Malignor, I have arrived.”
Malignor’s red eyes gleam with approval.
“Luo Minghao, have you gathered the ashes of the men Rosa burned in La Peste Noire?”
“Yes, Lord Malignor.” Luo’s voice is eerily calm, carrying a detached air of professionalism. “While Rosa was engaging Monsieur Guzman, I discreetly retrieved the ashes. I used one of my spells to completely suppress my presence and control my mana output to an undetectable level.”
Malignor narrows his eyes slightly. The idea of Luo sneaking around unnoticed does not surprise him. Luo’s level of precision has always been terrifyingly efficient.
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Impressive. Very well done.”
A slow, almost sinister grin spreads across Malignor’s lips.
“Use those ashes in your experiments. I want you to create demons out of them.”
Luo Minghao bows his head slightly. “As you command, Lord Malignor.”
Without another word, he rises, turns, and begins walking toward the exit, his footsteps utterly silent despite the polished floor.
As the doors creak closed behind him, Malignor lets out a quiet chuckle.
A deep, unsettling chuckle.
His fingers drum against the armrest, his smirk widening.
“Let us see if you will be prepared for this, Dominic and Célestin.” He leans forward slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “This time, I am taking the initiative.”