***
"Do you not know that you are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?"
Corinthians 3:16.
Prayer helps center you in a specific state of mind and helps to bring out the right emotions.
So it was for me, back when I was a human.
Prayer was a much more hollow act to the current me. I could recite the words, with my curse, I could even recall the prayers in latin - I always used to like how they sounded, almost like spells, but could never memorize them in my previous life - yet the words by themselves were pointless.
To commune with God, your prayer had to come from the heart, he would hear you either way of course, but you didn't pray to God so he could hear you worship him. God was beyond such gestures, the prayer was always for the sake of the one praying. If prayer doesn't help you emotionally, it is a gesture lacking in meaning.
"...Sancte Michaël Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium…"
My words were quiet, barely a whisper, and I couldn't tell how many times I've repeated Oratio ad Sanctum Michaelem. The prayer to protect oneself against the snares of the devil.
It helped because when I was thinking of the words and how to pronounce them, I wasn't thinking about anything else. My mind was keenly focused on specific words or turns of phrases, which reminded me of how I studied Latin back in school and university.
To the current me, prayer wasn't a religious experience. It was a meditative one.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the world peeled away. My eyes were closed, and my voice was the only thing I started to hear.
My heart was beating in a rhythm.
*Thump-thump, thump-thump.*
My breathing was even, deliberate, used to take in air between specific verses.
*Thump-thump, thump-thump.*
Magic was everywhere around me.
I had never felt it so clearly as when I was deep in prayer.
In that stillness, the world opened up. Mana flowed, not in torrents, but in quiet, ceaseless currents. It drifted through the soil beneath me, curled around the roots of trees, and shimmered faintly in the air like unseen mist.
It was everywhere, subtle as breath. The stones ground held it in its silence; the leaves whispered it as they swayed. Animals and people blazed like lanterns by comparison, their mana vibrant and immediate. But this -this ambient mana- was the world's quiet song.
Prayer didn't summon it. Prayer attuned me to it. Like tuning a string to the right pitch, it brought me into harmony with the mana's gentle hum. And in that harmony, I could feel the magic not as something to command, but as something to witness and observe.
Demons were natural at shaping mana; to us, it was akin to moving a limb. Moving around pure mana was simple, but by itself, the energy did nothing. Reinforcing your body, the most basic application of the energy I could think of, for a demon was as simple as simply willing the energy to reinforce you.
At least, that's how it may appear if you didn't pay attention.
This is why comparing using mana to moving a limb was so accurate. As a human, I was never truly aware of all the micro-adjustments I had to make just to pick up a cup of coffee. Similarly, as a demon, it took me a while to realize that simply pushing mana into my own body didn't reinforce it. It wasn't as simple, though; to me, a demon guided by my instincts, it appeared so at first glance.
There are… things you can do with your energy, or rather have to do in order for mana to do anything. Things that I have trouble describing in words. To reinforce yourself, you need to do something to your energy, pull at it in a specific way that feels instinctual and right, that changes the mana, allowing it to flow into your body in a way that makes it stronger. This particular manipulation was instinctive to a demon. Just like how regeneration was instinctive, or flight.
It wasn't just willpower or imagination, there was a very real cause and effect. The energy changed its property after you twisted it, and so it interacted with matter in a way it didn't before.
Throughout the years, I found other ways to twist your energy just so, so that it acts differently. Making it produce a little heat, making it physically push upon other matter, making it create a static charge… many more things besides.
I long deduced what it was. The manipulations I discovered weren't spells or curses, they were the fundamental properties of the magical energy. A building block for any magic, and I was willing to bet human mages didn't have to waste their time discovering such things by blindly trying every way to twist their mana they could think of; rather, they probably were taught by examples.
I didn't have such a luxury. I had to blindly stumble in the dark until I found the way to shape my mana into an interesting configuration worth pushing further.
I called this mana transformation.
This was how I developed my curse, too. I found one way to twist my mana in a way that let me reach… deeper into living beings with my energy. A way to reach the souls of living things with magic. Years of meticulous study followed, countless mistakes, countless small and grand victories, and I turned the basic mana exercise into a curse.
Originally, it started with me being simply able to reach somewhere, and feel for things inside a bird of prey I caught for dinner. Then I built upon this transformation of my power. But that alone wasn't enough. Mana acted strangely, unlike liquid or gas, not like anything in the physical world, but it had this… fleeting, amorphous property that reminded me of them.
To make mana do anything of significance, I discovered quickly, transformation alone wasn't enough. Even when a demon reinforced his body, by instinct, you were guided to first transform your mana and then… twist it unto itself, in a specific way.
I called this a weave. Weave was the second step in shaping a spell, after mana transformation.
Weaves were even more counterintuitive than transformation alone. There are countless shapes you could weave your mana into, but most of them do nothing. Stumbling on anything that produced a result, much less a functional one, was a process of trial and error.
So that's what I did. Trying different things, seeing what worked and what didn't, and what effect it caused, if any. Eventually, I mapped out enough with my blind stumbling to feel someone's soul. Then I went further with a goal in mind, stumbling and pursuing false ends countless times.
Of course, my demonic instincts helped. I instinctively recognized when a specific weave of mana was unstable, dangerous to try. I also vaguely could tell what would happen with the weaves I shaped before trying them. If I were to guess, this alone saved me a few decades' worth of study, and likely a few grave injuries.
It helped immensely with my pursuit of magic, but didn't substitute for research.
However, my final curse wasn't simply a single transformation and a single weave. Doing magic turned out to be much harder than that.
In the process of creating my curse, I discovered the third step in shaping a spell, the template. Templates are a specific combination of one transformation and weave with another, which produces a specific effect consistently. A mini-spell if you will. For instance, my curse, the Resonant Soul, is composed of five different templates.
One template was responsible for reaching into someone, the other to feel the soul and give me feedback, the third to coax the soul into recalling a memory, the fourth to connect the soul to the body, the fifth to push the resurfaced memory from the soul into the body.
I knew there were probably countless ways to improve Resonant Soul. And I understood now why it was said, even in the Scripture of the Goddess revered in this world, that demons normally focused on developing one specific magic or a curse. It made sense because to create Resonant Soul, I had to map out so much around my field of study.
If the magic itself, with its countless applications, was a dark room, the area around Resonant Soul was the only place where I've lit a few candles. In that area of magic, I could probably create things with a fraction of the effort it would take me to try and branch out, into say, attempts to create an arrow of flames to shoot.
In other words, it would always be more beneficial to simply continue broadening my horizons in the area where I am already competent, rather than to start from scratch in an unrelated field.
Which was why I was so interested in human spells. They were a product of someone else's labour, reproducible by nature. With each spell, no matter how useless or niche it may appear at first glance, I could learn countless minor energy interactions I never considered or encountered myself. Ways to shape mana to produce an effect I never fathomed by my lonesome, small interactions that worked, and which I didn't need to blindly stumble upon personally.
It would take time to make sense of all the transformations, weaves, and templates I could find in any given spell, but I could research them separately from the spell. And construct my own, new spells, based on them.
Oh, I was sure it wasn't quite so simple and that I was probably just seeing the tip of that particular iceberg from afar. In magic, despite all of my studies, I was surely just a novice for now.
My discoveries in the field of magic initially confused me greatly. Didn't the manga talk about imagination being important? Why did magic seem more similar to electrical engineering, with its countless resistors, circuits, and wiring, rather than simply weaving your hands around and imagining something really hard?
But in hindsight, it made sense. There was a component for imagination. A lot of my templates didn't produce a simple effect. They bordered on conceptual actions. For instance, a template in my curse that is responsible for 'pushing the memories brought up in a soul into a body'. What did it physically entail? I still have no idea. It was my imagination that likely influenced the result greatly. If I had more time to test this on someone other than myself, I would see exactly how much I can change the result of casting my curse, without physically altering the curse's magical structure, just using my imagination.
It also explained why a piercing spell, the Zoltraak, was treated as it has been. After all, the concept is really obvious, I doubt that it hasn't ever been tried by others before Qual. Surely there were attempts; his spell, according to Frieren, was just a marvel of magical engineering. Optimized to the extreme, elegant, simple, and ridiculously good at what it did because of it. In other words, Zoltraak was so efficient without imagination ever even coming into play, it was engineered in a way that its basic fundamental properties were simply amazing at killing.
Zalktraak was a magical equivalent of inventing a gun when everyone else was comparing swordsmanship.
There is other supporting evidence that my current findings aren't a false lead. If recreating a spell was as easy as just imagining it, there would've been no need to preserve spells in grimoires or study magic, much less the research on a spell of a demon in institutions across the entire world to develop a defence capable of countering Zoltraak.
Which meant the imagination was important for a mage in a fight, but for a mage who did research and developed new spells, knowledge was just as essential.
"...qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen."
The mind is a strange thing, operating on patterns. I lost count of how many times I recited the prayer, deep in thought as I was, but by the time I finished the prayer once more, I was done with my contemplation.
I felt focused, ready. My awareness of magical energy and the surrounding world was never as clear. I could never be sharper, as I am now, I felt confident I won't miss a single detail.
I opened my eyes, and once more found myself kneeling in the small garden of the Mutig's house, I sat before an apple tree. It was early, the sun was yet to rise. But my infernal eyes saw clearly in the twilight.
Taking care not to damage the paper in my excitement, and to tamper myself, I slowly opened the pages.
Hungrily, my eyes drank in the words written on the parchment of the grimoire.
What I saw initially was incredibly odd. It was a small, poetic description, detailing mana manipulation as 'cold' or 'warm', 'sticky' or 'coarse'. But the interesting thing was that I could feel that there was some sort of enchantment applied to this description. It reminded me of Greek treatises on the properties of matter that I remembered seeing. Very similar to Aristotel's work in how it was written.
Tentatively, I channeled a small amount of my own mana through it, without giving it a shape.
It did nothing at first. But as I started in my confusion to re-read the description, I felt it. The mana within the pages twisting, transforming, just a little depending on which description I was reading.
I felt deeply amazed. Despite being a demon, despite my emotions being muted, I undoubtedly felt honest amazement.
The grimoire was somehow enchanted to allow the one studying from it to get a feel for what mana transformations were required! This is why grimoires oozed mana!
I looked lower, there was a diagram. A complex shape drawn on parchment, composed of strange geometrical figures. My mana was still chanalled through the book, and the circle gave me a subtle impression, somewhere in the back of my mind…
An impression of a weave.
Giddy, I turned the page, then again and again, before I noticed it I was done with the grimoire.
There was a pull inside. I wanted to immediately cast the spell, but being aware of the emotions, I stopped myself. Patience is a virtue, I reminded myself.
Instead, I forced myself to consider the content of the Grimoire. The first four pages were simply filled with the lyrical, enchanted description and the circles. The rest was a much stranger text, full of technical terms and phrases I had never encountered. Likely an explanation of the spell for learned mages.
The spell incorporated seven different types of mana transformations, ten patterns of weave, and was composed of two templates.
Compared to my curse, it was basic.
I stirred my mana into action, taking care not to ruin the concealment, and started to slowly shape the spell, one part of it at a time.
Finally…
"Dust clearing spell."
I chanted, though there was no reason to. Immediately, an invisible wave of mana spread from me in a one-meter radius. I could feel it taking hold of each grain of dust around, and turning it into pure energy.
This…
How fascinating! How amazing! I knew, of course, that magic allowed you to turn energy, your mana, into matter such as rocks or water, but here was a spell that did the opposite!
Sure, I could tell, it only worked on dust for a reason, the first template was all about connecting and identifying dust, and second, to transform dust -and I knew instinctively it won't work for anything but dust- into mana, but I glimpsed it! The possibility! The completely novel weaves I never discovered myself!
"Ah…" I realized, absent-mindedly, that I was smiling.
That took some amusement out of me. Indeed, demons too were quite excitable by magic.
I suppose there is nothing strange about me enjoying it so much.
Now to read the technical part. I couldn't wait to find out the proper terminology…
"You really do love magic, don't you?"
I froze. Flight or fight instinct kicked in, as I sharply turned around, seeing a… priest.
His mana was concealed; this was why I didn't feel him approach. How he concealed his footsteps and smell, I didn't know, or if he concealed them at all. I might have been so deep in my focus that I simply didn't notice him approaching.
As I realized who it was, I forced myself to relax. The demonic instinct truly was that of a wild animal, I acknowledged that if he stood any closer, I might have instinctively attacked him before I could've stopped myself.
"It is a passion of mine," I admitted quietly. I felt wariness, but no fear.
Nothing was outwardly threatening my life yet, after all, even if I intellectually acknowledged that his presence should be concerning… demons didn't feel concern.
The old priest stood before me, his back slightly bowed by time, but his presence warm and steady. His robes were plain, the fabric worn thin at the cuffs, smelling faintly of incense and old parchment. A silver medallion of the Goddess hung at his chest, dulled with age, but well cared for.
His face was deeply lined, not just by years, but also by the small smile he wore. A soft white beard traced his jaw, and his eyes, pale and clouded, still held a subtle light. He smiled, but not with grandeur or performance, but in a… welcoming way.
His expression seemed genuine enough. But for what reason, I couldn't immediately pinpoint.
"I've heard quite a bit about you, Mutig, the restless boy, couldn't stop complaining that you refused a celebration." His voice didn't sound like it belonged to his frail body. It sounded much stronger than he was.
It dawned on me what it reminded me of, from a memory I recently revisited. A pastor in the church where I went with my parents, when I was younger, spoke like that, too.
"I practice asceticism," Though not entirely by choice. "Mutig's idea of a celebration was mostly about drinking the evening away, but I wasn't interested in that." I spent most of the time in the herbalist's hut, redrawing the map while drinking tea and humoring the old woman with idle talk.
She seemed lonely.
The priest, Feuer, I knew he was called, simply nodded at my words, as if expecting that much.
He glanced to the side, towards the east, the sun wasn't rising just yet, but the sky there was noticeably grayer.
"I noticed your prayer when I was opening the church," He said instead, glancing at me, "This wasn't any language I've recognized."
"It's a dead tongue," I said simply, "And the religion isn't connected with the Goddess most people here worship."
The man seemed surprised for a moment, but a genuine interest lit on his face.
"Truly? Fascinating, I've heard of spirits of nature being worshiped in some tribes on the eastern islands, but I am afraid you truly have me at a disadvantage. I've never encountered a believer in another deity, though I've heard of some cults. Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"
Considering his advanced age, this piece of information was quite curious. It appears the worship of the Goddess is as widespread is was depicted.
Additionally, the lack of any hostility or distaste to my comment was informative, too.
"I would rather not tell," I answered firmly, after considering his question for a few seconds. "It's a faraway land you've never heard of either way." I hesitated for a moment. "I don't like thinking too much about home." I couldn't feel longing or sadness as a demon, but recalling the simple comforts and safety of it, I felt angry at the loss, and that was a pointless emotion, as there was no one responsible for my passing.
And gnawing your teeth in your lot in life is a purposeless, fruitless endeavor; that energy is more suited elsewhere.
I rose from my kneeling position, carefully placing the grimoire into a small traveling bag behind my back. A gift from the hunter.
Feuer simply nodded at my words, his eyes, if I read him correctly, softened a bit.
"That is fine. I am sorry that we didn't meet earlier, but you've been busy ever since your triumphant return last morning. I decided not to distract you in Weise's home with this old man's idle curiosity." He said, chuckling to himself, before offering me a hand. "I am sorry for startling you. I simply didn't wish to ruin your focus earlier." That explained the mana concealment earlier, and why he dropped it while we spoke, "You probably know by now, I am Feuer."
I accepted his hand with little hesitation, after reliving the human life, the gesture was instinctive.
"Albert…"
Mana is an odd thing. It was constantly in flux. You could feel someone shaping a spell, it always started with a small ripple across it. But the thing is, mana moved with other things, too. With emotions, with intent. This was likely how the living beings could shape it in the first place, because mana responded to intent, even if you weren't directing it consciously.
"Ah-choo!"
The following events, I could only truly process later.
The priest sneezed. Suddenly, without warning. In hindsight, as I relived that memory, I realized that this was the reason why, as I shook his hand, his grip tightened momentarily. When he did sneeze, the sharp and loud sound seemed to startle the sneezing old man himself, who didn't expect it. His mana fluctuated.
A normal person probably wouldn't have reacted much himself, aside from being startled.
I wasn't a normal person.
As grip on my hand tightened, as his mana tensed for a brief moment, my instinct screamed. Attack! Trapped! Ambush! Lash out first!
It didn't help that I always considered the old man a threat; there was no such thing as trust, affection, or benefit of the doubt to a demon. I was constantly aware that this old man is one of the few people capable of harming and killing me, and it was always in the back of my mind; this was simply how demons functioned.
My grip tightened back on his finger, my mana flowed into my other hand, lengthening my nails into claws, speeding up my perception, reaction speed, power…
It was only due to that increase in reaction speed that I saw the sleepy old man trying to blink away tears, his eyes reflexively closed from the sneeze, that I hesitated. Only because of how lost he seemed for a moment, my ability to read a person saying 'not a threat', was why I didn't reflexively swipe my hand across his throat.
The realization of what just happened left me frozen, my eyes probably widened unhealthy as I stared.
"Woah, quite a grip you have, young man!" It was only his voice that snapped me out of my stupor.
Slowly, carefully, I let go of his hand, dismissing my enhancements.
"I am sorry, I was startled," I answered, woodenly, my thoughts already far away from the old man, as I was trying to process what just happened.
I almost killed a human.
"No, I am sorry, the age seems to be catching up and…"
I simply walked past the man.
"I am going to sleep. My arm is aching again."
I said, not even turning around, as I headed towards the huntsmen's house where I'd been allowed to stay the night. The arm I mentioned was the one still bandaged from the wound, the same one that I reflexively healed, as I prepared to rip out the old man's throat.
I am not sure if the man said anything else, by the time he might have responded, I already closed the door behind me.
For a moment, I stood there, in the lobby of the house, staring into the door I had just closed.
I almost killed a man. I was a single instant away from doing it. It wasn't even a choice I made, my body almost reacted on its own. The only reason the old priest was alive was luck.
It seems I lingered in the village for far too long. I never even considered myself a danger to the people around me before, at least, not in such a way. I never even knew I had such strong instincts.
Resolving myself, I turned around and headed towards the small hammock I'd been given for the night. There was a lot to consider.
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Author Notes: Originally, I planned to move the story along, but I realized very soon into the previous draft of the chapter that I just NEED to go deep into magic at least once.
I know that magical autism is not everyone's cup of tea, but at least once it must be explained, for the readers and me to be on the same page, so I did. This chapter is kind of transitional due to it. Tell me what you think.
Also, the irony that MC uses prayer as Astartes use litany is not lost on me. The whole idea isn't even new or unique to Warhammer; in actual history, many people used prayer for similar purposes, to clear the mind and sharpen the focus. It finally came full circle in my warhammer-damaged autistic brain.
"What is your Duty?
To serve the Emperor's Will!
What is the Emperor's Will?
That we fight and die!
What is Death?
It is our Duty!
What is your Duty...?"