“Elder! Are you all here?”
“Yes,” came the answer, steady but grim. “We’re all here.”
“Then… that monster, was it Mara…?” Aldrit’s voice faltered as he asked the question.
“Didn’t he tell you anything?” an elder snapped.
“No,” Aldrit admitted, the memory of crimson eyes flashing in his mind. “He swallowed me without a word… I thought I was going to die.”
“What?” another elder barked, anger rising. “That damn snake bastard!”
“How dare it threaten the lifeblood of our clan!”
The elders’ voices swelled with outrage, their indignation filling the stifling darkness.
“Elders, please,” Aldrit interrupted, his tone firm despite his racing heart. “What in the world is going on? Did Mara break the spell?”
The furious murmurs quieted, replaced by the heavy sound of a sigh.
“It wasn’t Mara who broke it,” one elder admitted at last. “The spell shattered—because of Ramita.”
“Ramita?” Aldrit repeated, confusion lacing his voice.
“That’s what the beast said,” the elder continued, his voice tinged with frustration. “It claimed its body, stimulated by Ramita, could no longer be restrained by the spell. It said the world is now filled with the scent of Ramita. We humans can’t detect it, so we have no way of knowing.”
Aldrit’s mind raced as the elder’s words sank in. That… must be it.
He recalled the illusion of water. While running toward the stone tower earlier, he had seen strange bubbles rising before his eyes with every exhale, as if he were submerged underwater.
“Then why did Mara bring the elders here after the spell broke?” Aldrit asked, his voice tight with unease.
“The creature demanded we recast the spell,” one elder replied, his tone heavy with frustration. “But that’s impossible for us. Preparing a spell of that magnitude takes months.”
“And we may not even survive days, let alone months,” another elder added grimly.
“Ah…”
Aldrit gasped softly, the true weight of the situation dawning on him.
The elders… are nearing their end…
Despair gripped him, cold and unrelenting, as though he were stranded in the middle of an endless ocean. For as long as he could remember, the clan’s hopeful gazes had been fixed on him, their expectations heavy as a stone upon his shoulders. The elders had always been his guiding stars, their wisdom a source of solace in times of uncertainty.
And now, even they were slipping away.
“So,” one elder continued, breaking the silence, “the creature declared it would seek help from a master of spells. It threatened to destroy the village if we didn’t comply. We had no choice but to obey. With such an unpredictable beast, who knows what it might do?”
“Who is it seeking?” Aldrit asked quickly, his mind racing. “Could it mean… the spellcaster of Sang-je?”
“That’s right,” an elder confirmed, his voice low.
“Then… is Mara heading to the Holy City now?”
“Who knows?” came the weary reply. “We can’t begin to fathom what that creature is thinking. We’ve told it countless times—every beginning has an end. But this stubborn fool…” The elder’s voice softened, taking on a note of exasperated fondness. “What are we to do with it?”
Aldrit blinked at the tone, taken aback. The elder’s words sounded almost like a lament for a wayward grandson—a mix of affection and frustration.
***
The four kings entered the Holy Palace, their footsteps echoing faintly against the marble halls as they moved toward the site where the ancient monster was buried. They positioned themselves at the four cardinal directions around the sealed area, ensuring they remained far enough away to avoid being caught in the inevitable collapse when the seal was broken. The distance between them was so great that they couldn’t see one another.
Each king carried a signal flare. The plan was clear: once they reached their designated positions, they would fire their flares to indicate readiness. The sequence was to be completed only after Kasser, the last to signal, sent his flare. Then, and only then, would the Myung King write and read the instructions to break the seal.
Bang. The first flare exploded to the south, its bright red light illuminating the hazy sky. The Fire King had taken that direction.
Kasser smirked faintly. He could almost picture Riner’s face alight with exhilaration, his unrestrained energy likely making him impatient for what came next.
Bang. The second flare erupted to the west, signaling the Dark King’s readiness.
Kasser, stationed to the north, took his time surveying the surroundings. A long gallery connecting two sections of the Holy Palace caught his eye, its sloped roof providing an ideal vantage point. With a light leap, he landed atop the structure and drove his Praz-laden blade into the stone beside him. The blade sank effortlessly into the hard surface, a testament to its potency.
From this elevated position, Kasser gazed down at the meticulously maintained expanse of the Holy Palace. Despite himself, he felt a strange mix of emotions stirring.
The palace itself was a paradox. Reserved exclusively for knights and priests, it appeared serene on the surface.
The knights reveled in their privileged status, swaggering through the Holy City and stirring up scandals with noblewomen. By contrast, the priests lived as little more than laborers, burdened by endless toil under the guise of sacred duty. Yet, in truth, their sweat and devotion had only polished the marble and gilded the halls of the monster’s lair.
The aftermath of dealing with the beast will be the real battle.
The stronger someone’s faith in the palace, the more devastating their realization would be upon learning the truth. Many would lose their sanity, unable to reconcile their beliefs with reality. Others might resort to desperate, even violent, measures to express their anguish.
Kasser’s brow furrowed as the grim possibilities unfolded in his mind.
“I’ll need to station a military detachment in the Holy City for a while,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but resolute.
He glanced toward the east, where the final signal flare had yet to light the sky.
We’re running a little late.
Turning his head idly, Kasser’s gaze landed on something that froze him in place. A massive tidal wave loomed over the Holy City, its sheer size making it look as though it could devour everything in its path.
Before he could fully comprehend the sight, the wave surged forward. It crashed down, swallowing him and the city in one colossal sweep.
Kasser instinctively crouched, gripping his sword tightly to brace for the impact. Yet no force struck him. He straightened cautiously, watching in disbelief as the water flowed through him as if he were made of air.
Then it hit him—a sudden, overwhelming surge of Praz coursed through his body. Unlike the resistance he usually felt when trying to control it, the energy now pulsed with unrestrained joy, exultant and alive.
His breath caught as a familiar sensation washed over him.
“…Eugene?” he whispered hoarsely.
Snapping out of his daze, he fumbled with the pouch at his waist, retrieving his notebook. With practiced speed, he scribbled her name with a piece of graphite.
[Eugene. Are you alright? Right now, here…]
Before he could finish the message, the ground beneath him rumbled violently. The sudden quake sent him stumbling, his notebook slipping from his grasp. His heart lurched as it tumbled toward a crack rapidly splitting the earth.
Kasser lunged forward, snatching the notebook mere inches before it disappeared into the darkness. He exhaled shakily, clutching it tightly.
The tremors grew stronger, the deafening roar around him intensifying. His instincts screamed at him, warning of impending disaster.
It’s the energy of a lark… but at a scale I’ve never felt before.
A chilling realization dawned on him, sharp as the blade in his hand.
The seal. Has it been broken? But I haven’t relayed the order yet!
Without hesitation, Kasser yanked his sword from the stone.
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