Adopt 189

Episode 189

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The magic I had witnessed from Leo and Cheshire until now had always been beautiful and steadfast, suffused with goodwill.

Perhaps, having always been surrounded by such things, I had unconsciously come to underestimate what was called black magic.

In an instant, the massive magic circle, black as pitch and coiling across the entire temple like a giant serpent, glowed with such ominous light that it seemed to choke the breath from all who beheld it.

Realizing that Giuseppe had uncovered his identity, the novice priest—or rather, the black mage—had, at the cost of his own life, summoned a hideous explosion spell.

Its force was so great it charred the black mage’s corpse. Yet, astonishingly, aside from the black mage himself, there was only one casualty.

The thunderous blast and the screams of the people.

Blood spattering everywhere, the acrid stench of things burnt.

Everything was still far too vivid. When I squeezed my eyes shut, it all rushed back.

Creak.

With the sound of a twisting hinge, the door of the infirmary—which had remained closed until now—opened, and Ophelia appeared, her face drawn and weary.

“The High Priest?”

At my question, she bit her lip as if to stifle her tears and sank down beside me.

“He’s out of immediate danger. His body hasn’t recovered enough for him to regain consciousness just yet, though.”

“Even after being treated with holy power?”

In this world, holy power is nothing short of miraculous.

Even so, Ophelia could not promise Giuseppe’s recovery.

“Healing one whose divine rank is so high demands so much more divine power. With the blessings of ordinary priests, we can barely even stop the bleeding. That’s why I have to check on him every day and give him as much divine power as I possibly can.”

I was struck speechless by her words.

Did Giuseppe, knowing all that, still cast a shield over himself and the black mage during the blast, to keep others from being caught up in it?

Thanks to his intervention, all those nearby were safe. But Giuseppe himself was gravely injured in the explosion.

Just then, Ophelia suddenly seized my hand and spoke with desperate urgency.

“Belinda, you can see for yourself how dangerous it is here, with black mages about. If something goes wrong, you could become a target as well. So, please, return to the capital.”

I shook my head immediately.

At the very least, I felt I wouldn’t be able to lighten the burden on my heart until I saw Giuseppe regain consciousness.

After all, my life had been spared thanks to him.

Yet Ophelia was resolute in her opinion.

“I don’t want to say it— but the High Priest is… harsh. To himself, and to others. If I even imagine that you—being so close to him—might have been caught up in the blast…”

She could not continue. The grip she had on my hand tightened.

Though she left her thought unfinished, I understood how Ophelia felt.

Anyone in their right mind, faced with an explosion, would prioritize their own life. To enclose oneself and another within a barrier to lessen a blast’s force and save others—that is not the choice a sane person would make.

‘He’s completely mad.’

From the very start, the way Giuseppe treated others as pawns—sacrificing the few for the many as if it were natural, treating Lady Cherry as a mere chess piece—I’d sensed something bent in his values.

Especially in the way he shrugged off his own sacrifice, thinking of himself as nothing more than a piece to be moved.

Whether I liked it or not, staying near a person like that would inevitably draw me into danger.

‘So, what now?’

Giuseppe was unconscious. I’d yet to locate the headquarters of the black mage organization.

All I’d wanted was to obtain information from Giuseppe about the downfall six years hence—how had it come to this?

With a sigh, I looked down and noticed a bloodstain on the hem of my dress.

“Step back!”

Ah, why did I have to owe Giuseppe a debt at all.

In the end, I nodded as if to accept Ophelia’s words.

“All right, if that’s what you wish, I’ll return.”

Only then did relief flicker across Ophelia’s face.

“You made the right choice. Don’t worry about the High Priest. Even if I have to pour out every ounce of my divine power, I’ll make sure he recovers—and then, he’ll nag us all year round because of what happened today.”

She made an effort to joke, easing the mood, and I met her gaze briefly before turning without hesitation.

But the path I took did not lead to my quarters in the temple where my belongings were kept.

‘I feel sorry for Ophelia, but… I never promised to leave this instant.’

With a small, silent apology to her, I knocked on the door of a suite in a five-star hotel.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to bother me—Master!”

Cheshire, flinging the door open with a look of irritation—mistaking me for someone else—immediately brightened upon seeing me.

But when I spoke next, Cheshire sighed and stepped aside.

“Cheshire, I have information about the Red Tower Master.”

“Knew it’d be business. Seriously, I knew it.”

When I stepped inside, the wide windows gave a sweeping view of the harbor city.

I glanced in the direction of the temple, then at the bloodstained hem of my dress.

Right after the explosion, I had rushed to Giuseppe’s side, desperate to confirm he was alive.

He had been covered in blood, clinging to consciousness.

I recalled the flask of Waters of All Things I had brought just in case.

“Please, just don’t lose consciousness. I have a potion that heals wounds—if I just give you this…”

I had babbled anything I could think of to reassure him, about to fetch the Waters of All Things.

Just then, Giuseppe’s hand clutched at the hem of my dress.

He shook his head, with what little strength he had left, looking up at me.

“There’s… someone else… in the temple…”

Rather than shake off his hand, I remained beside him.

Someone else… in the temple.

The question sprang from my lips before I could stop myself.

“Do you mean there’s another traitor in the temple? Someone who knows the High Priest’s face?”

He gave a shallow, ragged breath and nodded.

Then, in a faltering voice scarcely above a whisper, he added,

“Two days ago… the Red Tower Master… cough… For his wish… they gathered.”

That was the past Giuseppe had managed to read from the black mage, by the grace of his Insight, in the instant he touched the novice priest.

I had wanted to ask him more, but priests had quickly arrived and whisked Giuseppe away into the temple.

Alone, amid the lingering scent of burning, I had stood for a time.

Wondering if the other foe Giuseppe spoke of might—right at that instant—even be watching me.

“Master, what’s with the bloodstain? Are you hurt?”

“Luckily, it’s not mine. But, Cheshire, I think things have gotten extremely complicated.”

I tore my gaze from Giuseppe’s blood at last, and spoke—intent on finishing the task he could not.

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Cheshire’s demeanor grew grave as I relayed Giuseppe’s information.

“So, according to that priest’s Insight, at least the black mages seem convinced the Red Tower Master’s goal is actually within their reach.”

The Red Tower Master’s objective was immortality.

He already had a notorious reputation across the continent as the vilest of criminals. I shuddered to think what sort of calamity might befall the world if he truly obtained immortality.

“Is immortality even possible?”

I didn’t know all that much about magic, but I’d learned something in Cheshire’s class with Leo.

Cheshire had explained then: black magic, unlike regular magic, demanded a price instead of mana, but it wasn’t all-powerful.

Cheshire must have been on the same page, for he answered without hesitation.

“In theory, I suppose it’s possible. But I doubt the Red Tower Master has achieved anything like that level. So…”

Cheshire paused, running a hand through his hair as if the thought pained him.

“There’s probably someone within the organization who’s highly skilled in black magic. If a group of black mages worked together, led by such a person, it might just be possible to obtain immortality… But to think of black mages cooperating! It’s about as absurd as a sacred priest and a tower mage joining forces.”

He muttered it with a sardonic twist—but the implication was that the Red Tower Master’s wish, far from impossible, might well be within reach.

No sooner had that possibility reared its head than I glanced about, making sure no one was listening in, and quietly asked,

“And the price?”

Cheshire immediately understood what I meant.

If one could reach immortality through black magic—what on earth would the price be?

“The Red Tower Master’s already claimed countless lives as payment for black magic. If that old man means to make himself immortal…”

Cheshire’s gaze turned heavy, drawn to the harbor crowded with people stranded by the storm.

Then he continued,

“Even making sacrifices of hundreds of people might not be enough.”

It sounded like a dreadful prophecy, a verdict sealed upon their fates.