Chapter 217

Chapter 217. Nonbelievers and Interference

Arson?!

When I stared at him like he was insane, Jonathan awkwardly shifted his gaze and pointed at the tree branches growing everywhere.

“Those things keep moving, and if we get caught, we’ll definitely become fertilizer…”

“Becoming compost might not be such a bad experience.”

Saint-Germain’s nonsense was cut short by Lucita smacking his back with her gun barrel. Jonathan joined in, enthusiastically pounding Saint-Germain’s back. Though Saint-Germain briefly whimpered after getting his back thoroughly beaten, even that soon disappeared beneath a serious expression.

Jonathan neatly divided his silver canisters between Saint-Germain’s hands.

“It’s oil. Let’s go give those crazy trees a taste of hot barbecue.”

Revenge and hatred toward the cult swirled in his eyes. I didn’t even have the energy to ask if this was okay or if he was really serious about doing this. Honestly, it seemed close to madness to me.

Until I left, he hadn’t been fully involved in this place. What exactly did he experience in the 19th century to change like this?

Saint-Germain only told me that Jonathan had been injured badly enough to suffer burns all over his body. Someday, I’ll have to properly ask Jonathan exactly what happened then. In this new era, I’m the only one he can call family, and though we’re not blood-related, we’re like an alternative family who consider each other kin. Even if it’s the aftermath of what might be possession or brainwashing.

“I’ll go first.”

“I’ll back you up, sis.”

How did he grow up like this? I giggled and moved my feet swiftly.

As I advanced, the tree vines thrashed wildly, striking where I had been seconds before. If I hesitated out of fear, I’d either get hit hard by the tree vines or suffer serious injury from being impaled. However, I didn’t feel much fear. Thanks to Jonathan and Saint-Germain covering me by quickly setting fire to tree branches here and there.

The chapel was now filled with sweltering heat. The man was still lost in prayer with his arms spread wide. Mad prayer verses continued to echo.

I ran past piles of chair debris. Then stopped right behind him.

“Where are the sacrifices?”

Summoning requires several things, but first is magical power, and second is a clear and pure mind.

Yet the more magic one uses, the more the mind is carved away. One becomes a monster mad with power. The fate of such magicians was typically similar. Either dying insane from chasing power or being locked in mental institutions. That’s why sacrifices were needed to share the impact on magical power and mind.

Especially for a massive summoning, attempting to call forth an external deity, sacrifices were essential. Otherwise, the summoner would die on the spot, bleeding out.

All cultists were the same, and this one too would feel no guilt toward those who would die in his place.

“The sacrifices?”

I pressed again. He didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly adjusted his grip on the stone knife and without hesitation cut his opposite arm.

Red blood welled up like a spring, pooled on his skin, then began dripping down. Despite what must have been a deep wound, the man’s face showed no sign of feeling pain. With each drop of blood, the jewel in his scepter emitted an ominous light.

The scepter appeared to be made of pure gold, with complex patterns twisting around to embrace the jewel. But what was strange was its shape. While scepters come in many forms, I’d never seen one like this. A tree branch shape? Moreover, the more blood he shed, the more those branches seemed to extend. As if growing from nutrients!

A red aura gradually swirled around the jewel that glowed like fruit on a tree. The man’s already pale face was now becoming nearly corpse-like. It must be from magical power consumption. Between the summoning circle and these tree branches, the magical power consumption was abnormally high. It was incomprehensible how he stayed conscious.

“What are you trying to summon? What’s the medium? What’s the purpose of this summoning?”

I asked this borrowing Liam Moore’s manner of speech. My sword was pointed at the man’s neck. After a moment of silence, he slowly spoke.

“A great forest approaches.”

“…”

“You shall face the forest.”

Just as the blood-stained scepter flashed once, Jonathan shouted at me.

“Sis!”

The next moment, before I could process what was happening, my body flew through the air. Something had struck me. My airborne body slammed into the wall with a crash, sending shockwaves through my bones.

Sharp teeth appeared before my eyes. It was a massive four-legged beast, either wolf or dog. When it bared its teeth with a growl, the stench of rotting blood hit me. It was pressing its sharp claws against my throat, but seemed more intent on restraining me than killing me. Was this too influenced by its controller’s intentions?

“Take one more step and I’ll cut this woman’s throat.”

The man spoke in a calm, quiet voice. Openly ignoring him, Saint-Germain asked me,

“Hey, impudent youth. Are you alright?”

“Ah, old man. I’m always fine and dandy.”

Even in this situation, I was thinking hard.

There were three likely candidates for the medium: the statue, the stone knife, and the scepter. Which one was maintaining this ritual? The stone knife was used to draw blood, the statue was an object of worship. Then the scepter was most likely to be the medium.

Seemingly unaware of my thoughts, the man spoke magnanimously as if granting a favor.

“As the sword’s owner, I’ll give only you the chance to witness the descent. The others must pay a painful price for daring to interfere with this sacred ritual…”

“Why only me? What’s so special about this sword?”

The man didn’t answer. His eyes looking down at me held no emotion, as if watching a mere insect. Well, I suppose this is what happens when you don’t see people as people.

Though I had slight concussion symptoms from the impact, I’d been through too much to let that stop me from acting. After all, I’m one of the few who survived facing the ‘Black King.’

“Stay still.”

At the man’s warning, I lightly raised my empty hand.

“I’ll stay still.”

People tend to hesitate momentarily when faced with unexpected situations. Seeing the sword that had been in my hand was now gone, a flash of confusion crossed the man’s face. It was almost the first clear change of expression I’d seen. I smiled triumphantly.

‘I’ certainly stayed still. Just as I said I wouldn’t do anything.

But I never said my companions would stay still too. Besides, wasn’t there someone here who could read my intentions fastest without needing words?

‘Liam Moore, you clever one.’

From the moment I charged at the cult leader, Liam had already been moving too. It was a feint attack, so to speak. Even Jonathan’s loud strategic directions were to hide this fact from him.

The man was convinced he’d achieved his goal perfectly after restraining me, and Liam, having concealed his presence with Ian’s help, didn’t miss that moment of carelessness. He precisely caught the sword I’d thrown and struck down the man’s hand holding the scepter.

Slash!

With a chilling sound, the man’s wrist rolled across the floor. Then blood burst from the severed surface like a fountain.

We seemed to have chosen correctly. The heavy tree branch-shaped scepter made of pure gold clattered as it rolled across the floor, followed by the man’s agonized scream as he clutched his wrist in pain through gritted teeth.

The trees, cut off from their magical power supply, began crumbling and withering. The massive beast pressing its claws against my throat also lost its power and slowly dispersed into mist. Regaining my freedom, I got up while rubbing my sore neck.

Though I’d felt slightly desperate when attacked, I think I instinctively knew. That even without his magical power, Liam would be able to wield this sword again.

After all, mine was just a copy of Liam’s sword—he was its original owner. As it was before, and as it would be from now on.

And now, having grasped a sword again after so long, Liam smiled broadly with an expression full of life.