Chapter 216
Chapter 216. Chaos
Good heavens, that senile old man! Why was he so mercilessly slapping my poor boy’s face?
With each of Saint-Germain’s slaps, wrinkles gradually formed between Liam’s delicate brows as he lay sleeping demurely with closed eyes. Ian let out a short “Eh-hey.”
“If slapping would wake him, I would’ve beaten him up already!”
“Is that so?”
“What do you mean ‘is that so?’ Move aside!”
Golden tree branches sprouted from Ian’s fingertips. Unlike the human-shaped trees growing throughout the mansion, these beautiful and harmless golden branches gently circled around Liam’s cheeks before slowly seeping in.
After a flash of gold flickered just beneath the skin and disappeared, Liam Moore’s eyelids trembled.
Opening his eyes, Liam tilted his head in confusion at the mansion’s shattered ceiling and building debris fluttering like flower petals.
“…Why did this happen?”
“Welcome back, first time seeing this? That’s exactly what we said too.”
Either way, we couldn’t just sit here. Something tremendous seemed to be happening in this area. Though we came here to investigate, this was still a city where people lived, and we had no intention of causing problems and running away.
Finally, Lucita sprang up and immediately rummaged through her clothes, pulling out a palm-sized glass bottle. Her expression while opening that bottle cap was terrifying! Her murderous intent was so strong it seemed she might catch this incident’s mastermind and blend them like a frappuccino.
Only after grinding her teeth and downing the golden liquid in one gulp did Lucita let out a deep sigh, as if finally finding emotional stability.
I carefully watched Lucita’s expression before speaking.
“…Lucita? Are you okay?”
“Of course I am! If a bottle of whiskey can prevent murder, how could I not be?”
“Whiskey…?”
If this situation were a bit more leisurely, or if this were happening at 13 Bailonz Street in the 19th century, I might have had time to ask what she meant by that, but now wasn’t the time. So that was whiskey…. As I muttered somewhat intimidated, a firm answer came back.
“Whiskey.”
After carelessly tossing aside the empty bottle, Lucita grabbed the musket rattling on the floor, jumped up, and fastened her coat. The discarded bottle rolled across the floor with a crash, following the howling wind. Without even glancing that way, she urged us on in a sharp voice. Her blonde hair whipping in the fierce wind looked just like Medusa’s serpents.
“If everyone’s done resting, let’s move. Killing him should be my job.”
…The hallucination must have been quite severe. I decided to keep quiet. Even Lucita must have things she wants to keep private. But this bald man had apparently managed to press Lucita’s rage control button.
Fortunately, the storm that seemed ready to destroy everything gradually began to subside. Jonathan took quite a while to wake up and needed Ian’s help, but eventually, we were all mentally prepared to catch the bastard who had thrown us into this pit. Some driven by evil, some by anger. As for me… well, I think I briefly thought about wanting to finish this quickly and go home.
* * *
Finding him wasn’t difficult. After all, except for a few areas, the entire mansion was completely destroyed. We soon arrived at a place that looked like a church chapel.
We immediately recognized this as where the cult mainly held their gatherings. We didn’t need to look around much. Long benches were arranged in rows, and the furnishings were neatly organized as if people had been here recently.
However, the aftermath of the recent storm had left everything in disarray, with chairs broken and scattered like planks across the floor. Beneath them, a massive magic circle glowed in strange colors. Though its composition was too complex to grasp at a glance, it seemed to cover the entire floor. Should we erase it?
The bald man was kneeling in prayer before a massive statue resembling an iceberg at the innermost part. Clusters of candles burned around him. Appalled by this pious scene, I muttered,
“…Who puts something like that in a church?”
Like what we’d seen beneath the memorial in Misty London, it was a grotesque statue filled with the madness of trying to recreate part of a deity. It oozed sticky, black malice, with an evil intent that seemed determined to break the minds of all who saw it. Thankfully it was unfinished. Had it been completed, it would be hard to guarantee what horrific events might unfold here.
Even after noticing our arrival, the man continued muttering prayers for a while before slowly turning around.
Just as I’d seen in the hallucination, his pale, empty face provoked visceral disgust. Though now his attire had changed to priest-like black vestments, and he held a scepter and what appeared to be a very old stone knife made from black mineral.
“At last, you have arrived before me.”
Still that archaic language that belonged in medieval Britain. He used expressions so different from modern English that understanding him gave me a headache.
Lucita stood with her musket propped against the floor, wearing a crooked expression. She looked ready to gladly shoot his head off at the slightest permission.
“Jane.”
“Yes, I know.”
I gripped my secret weapon, the sword I’d already summoned. The cult leader’s gaze briefly paused on my sword. I hadn’t planned to hide it anyway. He must have already seen it through the brain leech at that church where Liam’s funeral was held. Maybe he’d seen it through the fake Moore in the hallucination too.
Whatever it was drawn with, the pattern beneath our feet had been active since before we arrived. The storm that destroyed the mansion must have originated from this too. The ground began shaking more and more violently. It felt like experiencing countless aftershocks and major quakes.
Suddenly, tree branches burst from the ground and started destroying everything randomly! As if the trees had minds of their own!
The hot surge of charged magical energy hit our faces. If we were going to stop this, it had to be now.
“Soon those full of disbelief and blasphemy shall fall, and the original god shall descend here…. The glory of reception shall come unto the poor lamb….”
What’s he saying? Blas-what?
As I stood there blinking stupidly, Jonathan whispered,
“Sounds like he’s trying to summon something?”
“…Well, that much seems clear.”
Since he kept using expressions difficult even for native English speakers to understand, we had to perform the remarkable feat of guessing meanings from whatever words we could catch. Despite something about to explode right in front of us, his manner of speaking killed all tension and just made us want to laugh.
“Damn, I’m completely useless at this kind of thing.”
I was just a normal education major student whose life’s joy was helping future generations grow. But what do you know, suddenly I got a quest saying ‘Stop the apocalypse!’ Not in the game world of Misty London anymore, but in reality no less!
I hate magic…. I hate monsters…. But what can I do about it? Just have to do it.
Holding back tears at my pitiful situation, I moved Liam as far back as possible. Then I turned and gently tapped Ian.
“Ian, can you tell what this magic circle on the floor means?”
Ian narrowed his eyes and carefully examined the pattern while rubbing his eyebrows. After silently studying it for a while, he tilted his head once.
“…It means they want to summon someone as big as this pattern. Those writings are charms to increase the success rate. Oh my, they’ve brought everything that’s supposed to bring luck. Must be quite desperate. They’ve bet everything on this summoning.”
“So when the summoning is complete…”
“Something big enough to fill this chapel will appear.”
The outcome was obvious without seeing it. If we tried to fight that, we’d all die. The only option was to stop it before the summoning was complete. We exchanged glances and instantly prepared for battle.
Jonathan calmly rummaged through his coat pockets and pulled out several silver canisters, saying,
“Sis, fight him at close range while keeping him away from Ian or Moore.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Ian and Lucita here will handle long-range control.”
Lucita was still glaring at the distant man with seemingly enraged eyes. Ian wordlessly searched his clothes and pulled out a small book he’d brought. Probably some kind of grimoire.
Finally, Jonathan looked at Saint-Germain.
“Boss, just do one thing with me.”
“What thing?”
Saint-Germain blinked in confusion. Jonathan sweetly answered his employer’s question.
“Arson.”
And I grabbed the back of my neck.
