I'm Really Not The Demon God's Lackey

Chapter 191: My Idol, Wilde

Black Magician Dunlop Gall, codename “Soaring Wyvern,” by tradition, was a rogue magician.

Also the kind most despised by orthodox magicians that believed in the passing down of skills.

He was not taught by any teacher, nor were his powers inherited. All the skills he had learned till now were things he had pieced together or learned secretly. Some he had even snatched from others via the use of memory-stealing spells. There were even some which he created himself by merging certain spells of special languages.

In other words, he was an independent magician that had no affiliation.

In essence, he was just like the creations which he excelled in, a "patchwork monster."

But on the other hand, he was able to surpass those ‘academic-styled’ magicians and became a powerful Pandemonium-rank magician, even though he was self-taught. Without a doubt, he possessed talent, luck, and endeavor.

Perhaps with a decent teacher, his achievements would far surpass what he had currently.

But that might have stifled that wild and unrestrained nature of his, which might have resulted in him being like the ‘academic-styled’ ordinary and nondescript magicians.

But in reality, when Gall was still just an Abnormal-rank magician, there was no lack of higher-ranked magicians who approached him willing to make the gifted rogue magician their disciple.

This novel is _hosted_ by hosted novel.

However,rouge magicians despised those spells that could be learned directly from a teacher or from a magic academy. They thought of them as nonpractical and just for show, just like flowers in a conservatory. These rouge magicians disdained to even be with these “academic-styled” magicians.

And Gall, who had already managed to find his way into the Blood Feast, didn’t really feel that he could really learn much from these people.

His heterogeneous skills had long evolved into a self-made system, forming a unique set of theories and fighting methods. Therefore, he was very clear that changing these would be to lose his greatest advantage.

Gall often said, "One of the favorite things of I, the Soaring Wyvern, likes to say is no to those self-important people!"

Then, he would be chased and hunted down by those angry higher-ranked senior magicians.

Of course, after he managed to gradually break through and reach Pandemonium-rank through cumulative transactions in Blood Feast, the Pandemonium-rank magicians that were hunting him down were taken down by him in succession.

In the end, there was basically no one that could be his teacher.

Almost no one.

One of the original founders of the Blood Feast, a Destructive-rank black magician by the name of Zuikaku, had tried recruiting Gall into his own magician corp and even went to the lengths of revealing his own identity.

Gall still refused, but this time in a more euphemistic way.

After all… He really couldn’t beat a Destructive-rank.

Fortunately, Zuikaku had an entire corps and wasn’t short of magicians.

Taking a fancy to this small Pandemonium-rank was merely a whim. There wasn’t any need for Zuikaku to lower himself just to force things to go through, so the matter ended with proper closure.

Gall felt bad as well, but he had no regrets.

This was because had his own goals and dreams ever since becoming a black magician and was certain of the direction and type of magic he wanted to pursue.

All in all, it just came down to one sentence—

Wilde, forever the greatest!

"I can tell at a glance that you are imitating Wilde. Although I haven\'t seen him with my own eyes, I am very familiar with the way he dresses!"

Although Soaring Wyvern’s mask was hiding the faces he was making, his excitement was still obvious.

It was easy to imagine how he had suppressed his excitement of meeting a fellow fan while going through routined warnings and explanations of rules with mock solemnity.

As a rogue magician struggling to survive at the bottom of the society all the time, Soaring Wyvern didn\'t give off the cold elegance that society assumed magicians to have.

Having survived in the bottom rungs of society where the conditions were harsh with no one to rely on for support, Gall had to use all sorts of means to survive. Therefore, he became a smoothtalker, who could talk to anyone and everyone.

If not for this fact, he wouldn\'t have become a middleman for all kinds of connections.

"This black robe, classic!

"An orthodox black magician should always wear a black robe, and the thorn totem and sacrificial knife are a perfect match with it. As the disciple of the Black Emperor Augustus, Wilde is a true orthodox black magician. He’s the real deal! Those so-called ‘academic-styled’ magicians stand no chance! They’re simply a group of brainless retards."

Soaring Wyvern exclaimed as he examined the hem of the newcomer’s black robe.

He had completely forgotten his cynical disdain for all the orthodox magicians and did not even bother to hide his own double standards.

"You\'re wearing a suit underneath, aren\'t you? You’ve really captured the essence, these details are so similar to the original!

"Wilde is such an elegant old gentleman, and killings are like a ceremony to him. He never loses his style regardless of when and where."

Soaring Wyvern continued longingly, "I\'ve heard he never lost the slightest bit of composure even when he was fighting Joseph. He’s really so strong!

"And this mask is really iconic. I remember Wilde got his nickname from this. Legend has it that during his early years when he was still of Pandemonium-rank, he had a grudge with a Destructive-rank foe. Although he managed to escape being killed, his whole face was disfigured, and to cover it up, he wore a mask.

"Later on, he took his revenge, but he never took it off again to remind himself of this hatred."

Soaring Wyvern cheerfully commented on the newcomer’s cosplay of Wilde and also carefully recounted the life story of the "Faceless Black-scale Man" as if it was a sacred tale passed down from generation to generation.

With a strange look in his eyes, the Black Snake stood in place, letting the man comment on him.

He had come here with almost no disguise. Of course, it was also because Wilde had died at Joseph’s hands two years earlier according to most people. Thus, he had come over with such swag and strut as no one would expect him to be the real deal...

As a matter of fact, after restraining his aura, most people he encountered assumed he was a pretender or a fan of Wilde’s.

But he hadn’t expected to run into a real fan...

"Moreover, you’re of snakeman blood. That\'s a natural advantage."

Soaring Wyvern praised with a tinge of envy, then added, “But, your dog looks out of place. It completely ruins the vibe!”

_ Support us at h+sted novel _

“Growl…”

The large white-furred dog instantly let out a low growl, along with a slightly hostile look.

You’re the one who’s out of place! You’re the one that ruins the vibe!

Soaring Wyvern\'s heart palpitated. For a moment, he felt as if something terrifying had set its sights on him, but the sensation disappeared shortly.

His eyelids twitched and he raised his vigilance when he saw the large white dog resume its cute posture.

This newcomer… Isn’t as simple as he seems.

On the surface though, he chuckled and gave a thumbs-up. "But this dog looks extraordinary and has great potential. Hahaha!"

Black Snake stroked the dog\'s head and uttered indifferently, “His name is Grady.”

Seeing that the newcomer didn\'t seem open to talk about his idol, Wilde, Soaring Wyvern attributed this to the new recruit having an introverted personality. He was probably embarrassed to be seen in this cosplay and likely didn\'t want to be exposed in public.

Soaring Wyvern showed his understanding. He coughed, then pointed to the door in front, resuming his formal tone. "Well, this will be where the current Blood Feast is held. I\'ll introduce you to the others in a bit…"

Black Snake nodded.

He had already sensed the ten Pandemonium-ranks behind the door.

But besides that, there were an additional ten Pandemonium-ranks and also… A Destructive-rank.

Oh? An old acquaintance…

He smirked.