UCPA Chapter 74: Pale Gray, Pure White

Chapter 74: Pale Gray, Pure White

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: PlumSauce

 

John sensed that something was off with Coraci. Yet humans were supposed to change quickly. His father had said it before: once you lived past your first century and made new human friends, you will gradually notice how fast they changed — both in appearance and mindset.

After three years apart, Coraci’s appearance hadn’t changed much. (If his nails hadn’t grown, perhaps he really hadn’t changed at all.) He had spent three years living outside West Bay City, and no matter whether those years had been smooth or difficult, his mental state must have shifted in some way.

Comparatively, other people had clearly changed. Carolyn no longer radiated the same lethal intensity, Lathander had grown more cautious in love¹…and John himself had also changed. He remembered the feeling when he opened the Association’s website for the first time; now he was mentoring interns.

John concluded: it was probably his complicated feelings toward Coraci that made him notice these subtleties.

Inside the sandbox space, even in daylight, John could move freely without discomfort from the sun. As the group pressed deeper, the forest gradually transformed. Tropical plants gave way to white birch, which eventually shifted into a cold-climate conifer forest. The vegetation changed, yet the temperature remained constant — small details that reminded them the world wasn’t real.

The density of creatures in the sandbox was far lower than in the real world. As they died or fled, the forest and plains grew quieter. Within hours, John witnessed a series of strange events: an Archaeopteryx caught by tendril vines, a flower spirit flying into Mark’s backpack seeking protection, a field mouse that spoke Arabic agreeing to leave this world, and more.

John tried repeatedly to focus on the mouse or other creatures, but totally failed. He couldn’t stop noticing the changes in Coraci.

Coraci’s tone and the look in his eyes hadn’t changed, yet John inexplicably felt he had grown sharper. “Sharper” was a vague word, but he couldn’t think of a better one.

Perhaps it was in subtle micro-expressions, or maybe the shift from mediator to freelance exorcist had altered his aura.

By dusk, John’s doubts reached their peak.

In the setting sun, shadows of the forest swayed as they approached a shallow pool in a crevasse. The water was barely a meter deep, and the pool and its edges were littered with animal carcasses.

Alette opened the map. “A monster lives here,” she said. “It’s an evil spirit based on real undead creatures. It lures life toward it with an illusory voice, then attacks to drain their vitality. But adult humans from outside aren’t affected — apparently their ears can’t hear its calls, like those ‘how many hertz can you hear?’ tests online.”

“My god… You can’t hear it?” John looked at the pool, ringed with skeletal remains. “Maybe it’s because I’m bloodkin. I heard it from far away. Luckily, Alette warned me beforehand… Something’s singing.”

“What is it singing?” Coraci asked. Since his body was still human, he couldn’t hear it.

John sang slightly off-key, “Tell him to find me an acre of land, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme…” (Note 1)

“Scarborough Fair?” Alette smirked. “That’s not scary at all…”

“It wasn’t meant to be scary,” John said. “Maybe it’s more like a siren’s song…beautiful but deadly.” ²

Originally, the pool was designed to contain only one evil spirit. As more corpses accumulated, many living creatures were transformed into evil spirits. This couldn’t happen in the real world — spirit transformation was complex — but this was a sandbox space. Its overarching laws mimicked reality, yet the details obeyed the rules set by its designer.

Coraci pulled out a silver pen and began tracing symbols around the pool. As he neared, the water rippled, and countless evil spirits appeared on the surface. Some retained the forms they had in life, while others were mere skeletons or chunks of flesh.

Only Coraci, with his restored Eyes of Truth, could see them. John and the two humans could not — they only noticed the water darkening and churning as if boiling.

Coraci instructed the humans to step back. Even in the sandbox space, he wasn’t certain whether they would be harmed if they got too close. He himself had no such concern; his soul was something entirely different.

He called John over to assist. John didn’t understand the spell, but following Coraci’s guidance on directional patterns and necessary characters, he could help with the finer details. Starting from the outer edge, John worked on the perimeter while Coraci focused on the inner circle, until the pattern closed.

Perhaps because John was undead, the spirits paid him no mind, continuing to attempt to engulf Coraci. They were puzzled when they found they could not touch him — though nearly surrounding him, they couldn’t penetrate his body. Coraci didn’t reveal what he saw. Once the spell circle was complete, he asked John for the silver sabre.

The blade’s sharp gleam made the spirits shiver. Coraci’s lips moved slightly as he whispered the incantation, then sliced along the circle’s characters with the silver edge.

Sparks flared with each cut, and one spirit let out a piercing shriek. John instinctively covered his ears; the sound was like nails scraping across a chalkboard.

At the instant the sparks flew, the spirits became briefly visible to the other three — for less than a second — before disintegrating in agonized screams. Each spark was immediately followed by Coraci impaling the spirit. The shrieks echoed as the spirits surged toward him, yet powerless to touch him. A few tried to attack the more distant humans, but before reaching them, they were destroyed by the magic.

The bones along the edge and under the water began to decay and crumble. The remains on the ground turned to powder, drifting away; those below the surface clouded the water. Coraci moved with precision and efficiency. His white wrists beneath the dark sleeves were slender, yet his actions radiated an inescapable authority.

John finally realized something was wrong. He was certain this was no illusion.

He thought of the Atwood Manor incident. The Association had destroyed those specters, even though some were victims. Coraci had looked solemn then — he did not enjoy such work.

If Atwood Manor had been an exception, John could still recall many other times he had partnered with Coraci. They had faced creatures with good intentions but dangerous behavior, and others that were truly malevolent. No matter the situation, Coraci preferred trying alternative approaches, his gaze devoid of hatred, only quiet resignation.

Now, it was different. His spellcasting was as skilled as ever — if not more. Each evil spirit was destroyed decisively, without hesitation, and his body language hinted at…eagerness.

John found a moment to ask a few questions, like whether Coraci could communicate with the spirits.

Coraci shook his head. The spirits were designed as pure evil constructs. Like the giant bat-people whose purpose was slaughter and plunder, these spirits had no past, no future, no thought — they could only be annihilated.

Logically, Coraci was correct. But John felt it was wrong. He admitted the facts were true; the problem was that someone who made such swift judgments and acted so definitively didn’t seem like Coraci.

After the work was done, Coraci sheathed the silver sabre and handed it back to John. John stood there, staring blankly at him, making Coraci slightly uneasy.

“What’s wrong?” Coraci asked.

“Nothing… Just a little surprised,” John said, still uncertain, thinking perhaps it was only his mind playing tricks. “I’ve never seen you use that spell. The effect is…frightening.”

Coraci looked at the pool. The two from Engrity were poking at the bones turned to dust, clicking their tongues in awe.

“This is especially useful against spirits confined to a specific location,” Coraci said. “If the target can move freely, it won’t work. But for eliminating entities trapped inside a house, it’s perfect. I can teach you this later. It’s very efficient — quickly destroys incorporeal creatures.”

John stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “Coraci… What’s wrong?”

“What?” Coraci asked, looking at him in confusion.

“You just used two words that mean ‘kill’ in that sentence,” John said, “even if one was ‘destroy’, the meaning is basically the same. You didn’t talk like this before. No, the point is not the words — it’s that… that attitude.”

Coraci went still. He looked down at the ground and his feet, and after a long moment, lifted his head and glanced around.

Alette and Mark were studying the map, the forest silent without bird or insect sounds, night was falling again, a soft breeze rustling through the branches. The pool was murky, like a swamp that had rotted for years.

“I…” Coraci struggled to form the word, unable to speak the rest. He didn’t know what to say.

In these three years, he was no longer an Association mediator or caster — he had acted alone as an exorcist. Occasionally he partnered with hunters, but most of the time he worked solo.

He had experienced his powers spiraling out of control, and he had mastered them again. The Eyes of Truth were restored, and he could still wield divine magic and weapons. He had helped hunters bypass protective spells of violent bloodkin, fought alone against heart-eating monsters that invaded campgrounds, set traps and killed werewolves to protect wild spirit beasts…

He missed his colleagues in West Bay City, cherished memories with his mother, and every day imagined what John might be doing. Even in solitude, he had lived steadily — it hadn’t been all that lonely. Compared to the nauseating years in the Hungarian Arcane Covenant base, or witnessing attacks on “Mother” and her real child, how could this count as anything?

So many terrifying creatures had crossed his path. In the magic-protected arenas of the research base, he destroyed them endlessly. When fleeing the facility, he had protected Zoltán and his wife — how many human guards had he killed, even he couldn’t recall. How can the events of these three years compare to all that? How can eradicating the spirits in the sandbox today compare to any of it?

He felt no change within himself. It all seemed natural: he still protected humans and harmless supernatural beings, cast spells with precision, and eliminated enemies efficiently. As they screamed in destruction, he felt a rare calm. In the arenas of the research base, he had ended their lives just as decisively, without pity, even eager to do it every day — the Arcane Covenant had called it the devil’s instinct to kill.

And now, where was he? During these three years, where had he been? In rural towns, jungles, coastlines, vast plains, unfamiliar but bustling cities? Or still in the Arcane Covenant’s laboratories?

Without a doubt, those creatures were evil — but what desire had driven him to deal with them? To reduce harm, to resolve the problem, or…simply to destroy them?

As Coraci gazed at John, seeing himself reflected in the bloodkin’s questioning eyes, a shiver ran through him.

He still looked like himself, wearing slightly ill-fitting clothes, the same face as before. Yet a foreign sensation pierced him like a blade, filling him with fear.

He thought of white fabric — some shades were actually cream, beige, or very light gray. Without a reference, all would be perceived as white. But when you truly prepared a piece of pure white for comparison, the difference became startlingly clear.

Since his body and soul had resynchronized, he no longer felt despair, only relief and occasional joy. Even as terrifying memories resurfaced, he felt he could withstand them — after all, he had successfully mastered that black power.

Yet some things were still happening, though he did not know what. The things he wanted to hold onto felt like fine sand, grain by grain, slipping from his clenched fists.

“I’m…sorry,” Coraci murmured, so quietly even he himself could barely hear it.

The worst part: he couldn’t even conclude what was wrong. He realized something was off but couldn’t judge what.

“I’m…sorry,” he whispered again.

“Don’t apologize. What do you have to apologize for?” John said, noticing Coraci avoiding his gaze. “I’m not rejecting you. I want to face everything with you.” He gently laid a hand on Coraci’s neck, enjoying the reassurance of his warmth.

“Maybe you’re a little confused?” John said. “I am too. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”

Coraci nodded softly and sighed. “I don’t understand… I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”

“Many times I feel that way too,” John said, deliberately lightening his tone. “When you don’t understand, just talk it over with someone. Anyway, I’m willing to handle anything with you.”

“Yes, indeed. If necessary, you could use the bond effect to restrain me, control me as much as possible,” Coraci said seriously.

“That’s not what I mean…”

“I’m serious,” Coraci finally looked up at him. “Do you remember what I said on Jibi Island?”

Actually, John couldn’t immediately recall what Coraci was referring to. While he hesitated, Coraci continued, “I told you not to see feeding as purely evil. We don’t have to make it romantic like the noble domain bloodkin, but at the very least, it can be a proof of the trust between us. John, I trust you — even more than I trust myself.”

“I know.” John’s hand, resting on Coraci’s shoulder and neck, pressed lightly, as if to give him a brief hug to temporarily end the topic.

But Coraci deliberately kept his distance, insisting on finishing. “If necessary, I am willing to let you command and control me. I am willing to obey you. This is not a joke. Do you understand?”

John understood. Of course he understood what Coraci meant.

Yet… he felt embarrassingly disappointed in himself. At that exact moment, his past experience writing for lowbrow gossip magazines suddenly hijacked his thoughts. He couldn’t help but imagine other things — Coraci’s choice of words was just too suggestive!

Thankfully, there was no mind-reading shapeshifter around. And fortunately, bloodkin didn’t blush.

“What are you thinking?” Coraci asked. At times, he could be as perceptive as ever. “Let me guess — from your expression…are you thinking about certain…”

“I’m not! Let’s focus on the next steps!” John surrendered, raising both hands.

Nearby, Alette’s voice chimed in, “While…I support relationships of any orientation, could you two stop flirting in public like that? Also, the bloodkin is right — we need to discuss the next steps.” She pointed to the other side of the pool. “Mark and I found some tracks. Judging by the size, they probably belong to the golem left behind here.”

 

Author’s Note:

1. Scarborough Fair is a traditional folk song. The most widely circulated version now is by Sarah Brightman… surely everyone has heard it. 

I’ve always thought bloodkin had more self-control than humans… How could humans be able to handle this?

Also, Coraci’s issues are long-term. He’s regained so many memories, even parts of his old personality… It’s not something that will be solved anytime soon (and it doesn’t really need to be).

 

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