Chapter Ten: Noel, Hoenir, and the Ritual

White snow drifted gently through the air that day, like flower petals in the wind. A child with hair as white as the snow itself was reading a book that looked too complex for his age, curled up in a corner of his room like always.

Since the day he had been labeled a monster, this corner and the world of his books were the only escape offered to the child. Every time his parents’ eyes fell on him, they would groan in annoyance. When he walked outside, the villagers feared him and children would even throw stones at him. Everyone who had been kind to him had completely changed their tune as soon as they discovered his abnormal powers.

The boy carefully turned the page as silently as he could, for fear of being scolded for the mere rustling of paper. Just as he finished turning the page, he heard the voice of a man and a woman from the adjoining room. The child set the book down, covered his ears, and pulled his knees into his chest before resting his head on them.

This man and woman, the child’s parents, had been a loving couple until the day their son had been deemed a monster. Since then, they had constantly fought.

Once, the child tried to intervene, only to make the fight worse; his father had screamed that he was no son of his. “How is it that a kid like that could come from someone normal like me?!” his father had spat out, which had made his mother crumble into tears. Who could have blamed her, when her husband had essentially accused her of infidelity? And his father’s words had left a scar just as deep on the boy’s heart as it did on his mother’s.

The boy always had a picturesque appearance, and was fair enough to be mistaken for a girl. He was unmistakably blessed by the goddess of beauty—particularly in his amber eyes. Despite his young age, words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘elegant’ fit him better than ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’ Compared to him, his parents were run-of-the-mill. He was nothing like either of them. Even that had remained merely a humorous quirk until their family had been completely turned upside down.

After watching his parents at each other’s throats, the child stopped interacting with anyone if he could help it. He shut himself inside during the day to read books in the corner of his room, day in and day out.

Just before the boy would turn ten, a man came to him. It had been three years since the boy was first called a monster, and he had already resigned himself to spending his entire life reading books in that lonely corner of his room. The man had fearlessly lifted the child from his secluded little corner and asked for his name. When the boy answered that he was always just called a monster, the man chuckled and patted the child’s hair.

“Then I shall call you Noel, henceforth.”

That was the first meeting between Noel, the beautiful child, and Hoenir.

However, that comforting memory had been destroyed by the very person who had originally created it. “My dear little Noel.” He smiled a sickeningly kind smile, riddled with madness.

Shiro awoke to a cold sensation on his forehead, and soon realized that he had been laid on the ground, face-down. He tried to push himself up, but couldn’t move his arms. In fact, he couldn’t move a muscle, as if his entire body would not obey his command.

Where am I...? Shiro managed to move his eyes enough to glance around the room. It was dimly lit with very few sources of lighting. He saw the statue of the creator god rising up before him and guessed that he must be in the chapel deep within the cathedral.

Then, he spotted an inscription on the floor that seemed out of place with his location. Formulas...? No, there are too many. A Magic Circle? A Magic Circle was composed of several magical formulas which interacted with each other to produce a powerful effect. It was one of the lost technologies thought to have been used in the Ancient Era. Spellcasters had repeatedly researched and experimented with the art, much as they did with combining spells, all to no avail. Shiro couldn’t comprehend how he could possibly be staring at a Magic Circle, here and now.

“Good morning, Noel,” he said, interrupting Shiro’s thoughts. He grabbed Shiro’s arm and flipped him onto his back. Seeing that same old smile almost made Shiro feel like maybe this had all been a dream or illusion... But his curse-bound body, on the other hand, was screaming at him that the real illusion here was that kind smile on the man’s face. “Oh, you can’t speak... It’s all right now, Noel.” Hoenir stroked his forehead, just as he’d done when Shiro was a child.

A portion of Shiro’s body was released from the curse. He tried to speak, but only dry gasps came out, his cracked lips quivering. Fear began to come over him, like the sensation of a python slowly coiling around his body from the feet up.

Even still, Shiro had to ask, “Why...?” Hoenir had been so kind to him. He had always accepted him. Had it all been a lie? With a single word, Shiro had asked all of this.

“Why? For the sake of our world,” Hoenir answered with a tender smile, as if he was teaching a lesson to a beloved child. “The world is drowning in great sorrow and lament. Our once perfect, united world, crafted by Saint Ferris, is now divided by war, resulting in horrific bloodshed. And those who do not suffer the ravages of conflict are crushed by poverty.”

Gracis Kingdom was a world power that shared the continent with the Empire to the west, the Militant State to the east, and the Federation to the south, as well as numerous smaller nations. Beyond the sea lay more continents and smaller islands, all with their own nations. There even supposedly existed a continent ruled by magical creatures. The perfect world of peace that Saint Ferris had envisioned was nowhere to be found. In the present world, the larger nations ruled the smaller, the powerful few ruled the powerless masses, and the strong ruled the weak.

“We must correct the world that has gone astray,” Hoenir concluded in a calm voice. “Don’t you agree, Prince Herscherik?” And then, the Archbishop turned around.

Shiro followed Hoenir’s gaze to find the prince who had given him that name fixing a piercing glare at Hoenir without a trace of his usual gentleness.

“I see Mister Shiro... Now where’s Jeanne?” Herscherik demanded. He had always employed proper etiquette—even when talking to Barbosse, he was careful to maintain a polite demeanor even as he cursed at him internally. Of course, his men of service would describe him putting on an immaculate performance. But now, Herscherik ignored everything Hoenir had to say and simply demanded an answer.

“Prince Herscherik, no need to rush—”

“Do your ears work, or are they strictly for decoration? I asked you where Jeanne is.”

Hoenir shrugged at Herscherik’s stoicism and signaled to one of the clergymen stationed at the corner of the room. The clergyman disappeared through a small door beside him before returning with a copper-haired woman, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Jeanne!” Herscherik called, prompting Jeanne to lift her head. He had seen her only a few days prior, but she seemed so sickly compared to before. Her delicate arms were tied behind her back. Coupled with the dirt stains on her clothes, it forced Herscherik to face the fact that Jeanne was being held against her will.

“Prince Herscherik!” Jeanne called with a faint tone of joy. But her expression soon clouded, and she shouted with desperation, “You must run, Prince Herscherik! They’re going to—!”

“Shut up!”

Her plea was cut short by a strike across her cheek. Jeanne’s frail body tumbled to the ground.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Herscherik couldn’t help but shout. He felt a flame of rage erupt within him. He tightened his fists and gritted his teeth in an attempt to quell the fiery emotion. Calm down, he told himself. If I lose it now, I’m giving him exactly what he wants. Jeanne and Mister Shiro are both alive. This is different from earlier. Unlike Klaus, these two were still alive. Unlike Baron Armin, they hadn’t yet been backed into a corner they could not escape from.

Herscherik kept telling himself that there was still time to save them. He took one deep breath in, then out. In the process, he forced the rage from his body. He would lose any chance of winning this fight if he let Hoenir make him lose his cool. Now I know they’re both alive. I just need to buy some time. Once he did, Kuro and Oran would come to their rescue. Moreover, his brothers would arrive with the Royal Guard. If my guess is right, Hoenir won’t kill me right away.

As Herscherik controlled his anger and calculated how to buy time, Hoenir called out, “Let us strike a deal, Your Highness. In exchange, I will return this young lady to you.”

Herscherik stared Hoenir down. “You want me to carry the banner of your revolution?”

“I must say, I am shocked,” Hoenir said, impressed. He looked Herscherik up and down as if to calculate his value.

“It was just a guess until I heard your conversation with Shiro...” That had ultimately solidified Herscherik’s conjecture. “Your Holiness, Archbishop Hoenir, leader of the zealots of Saint Ferris.” The Church was separated into numerous factions, but one in particular, the believers of Saint Ferris, had the most capacity for violence.

“Zealots? We are merely devoted followers of Saint Ferris, and we are different from others who do nothing but preach empty sermons. We have been waiting for the right time, for the sake of all who share this world... That time is now,” Hoenir rattled on with a completely self-satisfied tone that showed he had no doubt about his moral superiority.

This is bad, Herscherik silently groaned. People who never doubted themselves were some of the most dangerous, ferocious, and fearless people. Hoenir was a zealot, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

Hoenir stepped away from Shiro and approached Herscherik, who stood on guard. Then, the archbishop knelt and reached out his hand. “Prince Herscherik. We have all been waiting for someone like you,” he said, as if he was reciting holy scripture. “All of the good deeds you have done around the nation... absolutely magnificent. There is no one else like you—a young but wise prince with kindness in his heart to put the people first. Your Highness was born to rule... Please, Your Highness—lead us, and the rest of the world!”

Hoenir stared up at Herscherik with passion in his eyes and continued. “The world and Saint Ferris himself longs for this rotten nation to be rebuilt under your rule, which will lead to a reunion of the world. In this way we shall also require the least amount of sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice, huh?” Herscherik couldn’t help but snicker at how cold his words sounded, in a manner unbecoming of his age. His smirk intimidated Shiro and Jeanne almost as much as Hoenir’s mad smile.

Hoenir, however, took this reply as an affirmative. “Your Highness, as unfortunate as it is, saving the masses will require sacrifice. Surely Your Highness understands the importance of mitigating this sacrifice of the people in the process of saving the rest of the world?” Hoenir passionately continued, with a manic gleam in his eyes.

Herscherik did see some merit in what Hoenir was saying. Those who led would sooner or later be faced with decisions about what to achieve and what needed to be sacrificed. He had already learned the hard way how difficult it was to achieve everything while sacrificing nothing.

“Saving the most while sacrificing the least. That is the duty of the chosen.”

“You say I’m the chosen one?”

Hoenir nodded. “Who else but Your Highness...? My liege,” Hoenir sweetly whispered as if to a lover.

Herscherik groaned in annoyance. “Can you not? Don’t call me that. It’s revolting,” Herscherik answered with an icy tone and glare that stood in stark contrast to Hoenir’s ecstatic calm. Herscherik wouldn’t allow him to address him in the same manner as his closest confidants; hearing those words out of Hoenir’s mouth made them seem tainted.

The prince continued, still as cold as before, “What you need is someone from the royal bloodline with a commoner mother whom the people can more easily accept. Not me.” My heritage isn’t the only thing keeping me from being your ideal candidate, either, he silently added. Fortune may have favored the bold, but it came with a price.

For the most part, Herscherik’s operations had been a success. He had helped the people while drawing the attention of both the minister and the Church. Sadly, it seemed it had been a little too effective. He had become more popular with the public than he had expected. Even though he made sure to swear everyone involved to secrecy, there was no way to put a lid on gossip. Before he knew it, people were telling stories about him and traveling theater troupes reenacted his adventurous tales. Even children played pretend as the prince and his men. The people had suffered greatly from oppressive rule, and they longed for salvation and reform more than he’d realized.

Herscherik guessed that, if he were to become the banner of the revolution, it would more than likely succeed.

“If Your Highness understands that, then...”

“No. I will never be a symbol for your revolution.” Herscherik shot Hoenir’s hopeful proposal down. When revolutions happened, royalty were the first ones on the chopping block. Agreeing could very well kill his family, whom he wanted to protect more than anyone.

Hoenir shrugged, as if he was dealing with an obstinate child. “Your Highness, I had hoped that—”

“You knew what my answer would be,” Herscherik interrupted. That’s why Hoenir had prepared that trap, after all. “The Manipulation spell.” Herscherik watched Hoenir react to the phrase and lowered his arm. Now, Herscherik was sure of it. “You’re a Divine Spellcaster, but you also use Manipulation spells. You set that trap in order to take control of me.”

Just before Herscherik left for the cathedral, Eutel had come to him after making preparations for his charge on the Church.

“Hoenir and I have something in common. I can smell it.”

Herscherik kept his initial reaction of You’re both secretly ruthless spitfires? to himself and awaited Eutel’s explanation, even though he was secretly nervous about Eutel’s excited grin, as if he had read Herscherik’s mind.

“I think he uses Manipulation magic. Divine healing spells require intricate Magic control anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised, knowing how potent his healing magic is, if he was also skilled in that.” Eutel then patted Herscherik’s head, with much concern in his tone. “Mind Manipulation and Curses in particular are spells that prey on weaknesses in your heart. One small opening could cost you your life... Be careful.”

Eutel was right. Herscherik had fallen right into Hoenir’s spell. Without Klaus, he might have been trapped forever.

“You knew I would turn you down. That’s why you set a trap for me. Pretty words won’t do you any good now—they’re all paper thin.”

Hoenir sighed, realizing that any more talk wouldn’t serve his cause. “I was hoping His Highness, in his wisdom, would understand.”

“Wisdom? You really have a knack for making compliments sound sarcastic.” I’ve just got a little more knowledge and experience than most, he silently added. So far, everything’s come along as planned, he thought—except for him falling for a trap along the way.

That being said, Herscherik was still troubled by something. “Hoenir. Do you really believe that your faction has the power to achieve a revolution?” The few missing pieces in Herscherik’s understanding of the situation warned him of danger. Hoenir might be zealous, but he was still a calculating individual, and Herscherik didn’t believe for a second that he hadn’t anticipated this. He had to have some kind of absolute trump card. “What else are you hiding...?” Herscherik asked. “What are you trying to do to Mister Shiro?”

Herscherik had thought it strange that Shiro had not moved from his place inside the strange patterns on the floor. He assumed that Shiro could not, as he lacked his usual look of indifference, instead staring at him like a frightened child. Herscherik had always thought that, if Shiro had actually been ordered by Hoenir to manipulate the prince to their cause, he would have acted a little more friendly. By contrast, Shiro had always acted withdrawn, and never once even tried to fake a smile. He intimidated people with his appearance and kept on guard like a prideful cat.

Herscherik, however, saw that Shiro was actually afraid of others, protecting himself with that intimidating facade. Unlike Hoenir or even Herscherik, Shiro wasn’t the deceitful type.

Hoenir took advantage of Mister Shiro. Herscherik was disgusted by Hoenir’s actions—he had always lurked in the shadows. First with Baron Armin, then with Shiro, and now he was trying to use Herscherik as the figurehead of his revolution. Just like Barbosse, he used others until they no longer served his purpose, then cast them aside.

“Is Mister Shiro part of the ‘sacrifice,’ too?”

Hoenir didn’t answer that question, but his silence was confirmation enough.

Shiro, who had been listening to the conversation, felt his vision blur. The archbishop had been the only one to help him... the only one to accept him. He was the only one who had dared to take his hand when everyone else saw Shiro as a monster. Even if he was just using me... Shiro would have let the whole world hate him. He would have defied the gods. He would have gladly given his life to Hoenir... before he betrayed him.

But now, Shiro knew that Hoenir had never believed in him from the start. That’s why Hoenir had laid this curse on him. No one ever believed in me, after all... No one has ever needed me. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Shiro couldn’t tell if he felt sorrow, hatred, or resignation—he simply couldn’t stop the tears from coming.

“Whatever. I really don’t care what you think,” the prince said, sounding even more annoyed than before. He stared down Hoenir. “Let Mister Shiro and Jeanne go. If you’re going to threaten this country... If you’re going to get in the way of my goal, I’ll take you out.”

Herscherik’s determined declaration had stopped Shiro’s tears.

“Goal...?” Hoenir asked.

Herscherik smiled a dauntless smile, quite unlike the icy smirk he showed earlier or his usual expression of childlike innocence. “Everything... I will get everything I want.” His family, his people, his country... and his world. He would achieve a world where no one suffered from injustice. Where hard work paid off. Where everyone had a chance at happiness and a right to hope.

Herscherik knew that it would be almost impossible for everyone to be happy. Happiness meant different things for different people. But, he thought it might just be possible for everyone to have hope for tomorrow. That was the country—and the world—that Herscherik longed for. He knew full well that this was an idealistic goal—perhaps even wishful thinking.

Even so, he couldn’t help but long for that. He didn’t want to regret anything ever again, and he would never change anything without first wanting change.

“Hoenir. You said saving the masses required sacrifice. I understand that.” No matter how hard he tried, he always knew there was a chance of losing people along the way. But for him, that was a tragedy to be prevented as much as possible—unlike Hoenir, who expected there to be “necessary sacrifice.” Essentially, the archbishop had given up on his allies and followers from the start. “Saving the masses with minimal sacrifice? I don’t want to hear someone like you, who’s already given up on saving everyone, talk about ‘the masses.’ Your victory would be built on their corpses.”

“Do you propose to save this nation—this world—without any sacrifice? You must realize how unrealistic that is... Can that approach really change this rotten nation?” Hoenir spat out in half exasperation and half anger.

Herscherik considered that question in earnest. “That’s what I want, no matter what anyone says. It’s not for anyone else, either. For my own sake, I will achieve everything I have set out to do.” The thought of doing something for his family, people, or entire country seemed virtuous enough, but Herscherik knew deep down that he wanted to help his father, to protect his family, and to see his people smile. This was the conclusion he reached precisely because he couldn’t bring himself to give up on anyone. All of this was to satisfy his own desires.

“How greedy.”

“Greedy? You said it, Hoenir!” Herscherik loudly declared. “If giving up on sacrificing the few to save the many is the right thing to do, then I’ll be greedy. I’ll take the wrong way.” Why should he give up before giving it his all? Herscherik had things to do before he reached that point. There were things he could change. As long as he didn’t give up, he could always find a way to move forward.

Hoenir shook his head in resignation, looking down at him. His eyes had lost their mad passion, and they were now devoid of emotion. “It seems I overestimated you... I’m sorry we could not reach an understanding.”

“Understandings are between people on equal footing. This is called blackmail, by the way... So you’ve realized you can’t make use of me. Now what?”

“Now? I return to my original plan.” Just as Hoenir said so, the clergymen, six of them in all, who had been standing aside spread around the room, stationing themselves on points along the circle on the floor below Shiro.

“What’s going to happen now?” Herscherik asked, as he quickly looked around the room.

Hoenir smiled and raised his arm, prompting each of the clergymen to take out a magical item. Herscherik could feel the air in the room shift. His palms started to sweat at the tangible tension in the air, like a balloon filled to its limit and threatening to burst.

Hoenir, as if to mock Herscherik’s reaction, maintained his icy look and frozen smile. “I wanted to use Your Highness to take control of this nation first. Even though it is rotten to the core, its influence and military could have been useful... But I don’t expect to unify the world with one single nation, no matter how powerful.”

“And so...?”

Hoenir spread his arms towards the statue of the creator god. “So I am going to build my ultimate weapon. Let us begin the ritual to create a god!”

At Hoenir’s call, the clergymen began their incantation, materializing formulas around them. Their incantations intertwined to form a powerful chorus, and the markings on the floor started to glow, flooding the room with a whirlwind of color as bright as the midday sun.

Shiro still lay in the center of the markings. Light began to shimmer around him as a gust of wind lifted his body into the air. Layers of magical formula materialized in ribbons of light, wrapping around Shiro. When the light became even brighter, Shiro screamed in agony as if he was being torn apart.

“Mister Shiro!” Herscherik had never imagined a scream like that could possibly come from Shiro, who now clasped his chest as his white hair shimmered to reflect the colors of the incantations, dancing in the wind. Herscherik tried to rush over, but was stopped by an invisible wall—most likely a magical barrier—that stood around the magic circle. Still, Herscherik jumped to his feet and slammed his fists against the invisible wall, shouting Shiro’s name.

Shiro didn’t respond, and the barrier remained. His agonized screams faded away as his body relaxed entirely, as if he had finally run out of strength.

Herscherik snapped back to Hoenir, glaring at him. “What are you doing to Mister Shiro, Hoenir?!”

“The Ritual of Transcendence, Your Highness.”

“Transcendence?” Herscherik parroted the unfamiliar word.

“Do you know what Djinns are, Your Highness?”

Herscherik understood that Djinns were beings that held more Magic than any human possibly could and lived unconfined by mortality. Herscherik had only ever thought of them as a myth or fairytale.

“Djinns are superior beings, compared to humans,” Hoenir explained. “With its incredible Magic, a single one can annihilate a nation in the blink of an eye. Their power rivals that of the gods.”

Now, the missing pieces fell into place in Herscherik’s mind. The drug that improved physical strength, Shiro’s power to convert and amplify Floating Magic, and now the Ritual of Transcendence. Leaking the drug’s formula, putting it out into circulation... The death of Oran’s fiancée, Baron Armin... Everything was leading up to this moment.

Herscherik felt his blood run cold as he finally connected the dots.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hoenir said as if he was commending a child for doing well in his studies. “Very perceptive. Indeed, this ritual will transcend Noel into a Djinn.”

Herscherik gritted his teeth as his wildest imaginings became reality. He had only been a small piece of Hoenir’s plan—something that would have only made things more convenient for him. The main focus of his scheme, the one element Hoenir could not go without, had been Shiro all along. With him, he would have the power to unite the world.

“But... Shiro would never listen to you.” Herscherik couldn’t imagine that, human or Djinn, Shiro would ever obey Hoenir after how he had been treated. Herscherik wouldn’t be surprised if Shiro decided to annihilate everyone in this room the instant he gained his powers.

“That’s why I cast another spell on him. A curse, cast by calling his name day after day.” That curse had become binding chains, controlling Shiro and his overwhelming Magic. In fact, even as Shiro writhed in agony, he found himself unable to escape. “Now that he is suffering, drugged, and overwhelmed with Magic... I only need to make him transcend in order to use him as my puppet.”

“Curse or not, you can’t completely control him with a Manipulation spell!”

“Correct,” Hoenir agreed. “It is difficult to control someone, and even when it is possible, it does not last very long. This is because,” he added as if he was giving a lecture, “people have their own minds.” Just as Herscherik had done, these spells could be broken with determination and willpower, even by someone without Magic. “But what if their mind is broken?” Hoenir cackled heartily. “You only need to point a Mind Manipulation spell at the right scar in a person’s heart to break their mind with ease.”

Hoenir continued with a dark smile that would make anyone shudder. “Once a mind is broken and lost, that person is nothing but a marionette. While I regret that I failed to turn you into one, Your Highness, I still have Noel. And that is all I need. I will control that monster once it becomes a Djinn and unite the world like Saint Ferris before us!” Hoenir made his declaration, his robe fluttering in the whirlwind of light. He had not a shred of doubt that everything would go according to his plan.

Herscherik felt anger burning inside him at Hoenir’s speech. “How dare you...?” Hoenir had called Shiro a puppet. That was the key to his plan—everything else could have been cast aside. Even Shiro himself was nothing but an object to Hoenir. “Mister Shiro loved you!” Herscherik was enraged by Hoenir’s betrayal of Shiro’s devotion to him. Even though he didn’t often show it, Shiro considered Hoenir his true father, enough that his icy expression would melt ever so slightly into a smile at the sight of him. But this man had decided to sacrifice Shiro from the start, utterly betraying him.

“Yes—all according to plan,” Hoenir confirmed with a smile. “I played the role of a perfect father to that monster for seven years so I could betray it at the most opportune moment. Now, there is still some time left before the ritual is complete, but I need your assistance with one more thing, Your Highness.” Hoenir drew a dagger from his robe. “I need Your Highness to die in front of my puppet.”

Herscherik turned to run, but Hoenir grabbed hold of his arm. As he struggled to get free, Hoenir tightened his grip around Herscherik from behind, holding the dagger against his cheek. He was completely pinned.

“I thought that my actions alone may not be enough to fully break its mind,” Hoenir whispered into Herscherik’s ear, close enough that one might even mistake it for an amorous gesture. “I thought that I may need one more thing to ensure that it was fully destroyed. Luckily, I found you,” he continued to whisper to the immobilized Herscherik. “I first approached you for the exact reason you’ve deduced. That is the last card up my sleeve. But I was blessed with unexpected fortune, which assures me that Saint Ferris is watching,” Hoenir gleefully exclaimed. “That creature never opened up to anyone but you.”

“Huh?” Herscherik blurted out, despite being held tight with his life on the line. Sure, he had a few lengthy conversations with Shiro, but if that was his standard for “opening up” to someone, Shiro was more catlike than any fictional character Herscherik could recall.

“If I could control you, it would have obeyed me without the use of magic,” Hoenir added. He must have been working to ensure that Herscherik and Shiro would cross paths.

“You approached Eutel...”

“To contact you. Which was a difficult task, thanks to those princes. I was forced to use my followers within the castle.”

Herscherik gritted his teeth, but there was more on his mind. “That accident in the test field, too.”

“Oh, I made sure to cover my tracks, but you’ve finally noticed,” Hoenir confirmed with the same boldness.

After the accident, Kuro had used Sigel’s findings to track the source of the materials, only to discover that they were the same as the ones delivered to the castle for various magical items commissioned by the Church through several nobles and merchants. After noticing the mass purchase of weapons, they had been planning to restrain the person responsible at the Church under the guise of a criminal investigation—but Hoenir had beaten them to it.

“If Shiro and I hadn’t been there...”

“Some lives might have been lost to the cause. But I was able to take advantage of that to keep it close to you. That coincidence had allowed my plan to progress rather smoothly.”

If Shiro had not been there, the triplets might have been injured or killed. Everyone there, for that matter, could have died.

“And you call yourself a priest...”

“All for the people of the world, under the guidance of Saint Ferris,” Hoenir said with absolute assurance. He turned to Shiro, still holding Herscherik fast. “Look here, Noel.” With that command, Shiro—who had continued to absorb vast amounts of Magic as the ritual progressed—slowly turned his head towards them. His eyes fell on Herscherik and opened wide in surprise.

“When you die,” Hoenir whispered, “and when that thing loses all hope... My Djinn will be complete.”

Herscherik felt a stab of pain in his cheek; Hoenir must have cut him with the dagger. But Herscherik neither screamed nor begged for his life. He simply held his head up.

Hoenir shrugged at the lack of a reaction. “Not even a single tear. It won’t be as effective if you don’t show some sign of fear... But I’m running out of time. Unfortunately, this is where our paths part.” Hoenir raised the dagger above his head...

“Goodbye, Prince Herscherik.”

And with that, he swung the dagger down.

A few minutes before this, a woman opened her differently-colored eyes on the couch in a dimly-lit room where she’d dozed off and sat up straight. “This...” she muttered as she waved her hand, causing a round mirror-like object to materialize.

Instead of a reflection, however, the object showed something quite different. Herscherik, if he had been in the room, might have called it a sci-fi hologram. But the prince was not in the room, nor was anyone else who might have questioned the nature of the object.

The Oracle, the Djinn known as the Eternal Witch to those familiar to her, gulped at the sight on the screen. “How can something like that exist now...?” She saw a Magic Circle that had no business existing in the current day. Then, she spotted a young man in the middle of the Circle, as well as a figure in a robe clutching the little prince she had met earlier.

Then, cracks ran through the mirror, shattering the thing into fragments that dissolved into thin air. The Eternal Witch’s eyes widened. “Sabotaged...” Then, she shook her head in resignation as she sank back onto the couch.

While she had the power to foresee the future, the information she received from her visions were fragmented and uncertain. The future was always on the brink of changing from someone’s actions. In fact, she had not foreseen this future at all when she had last seen Prince Herscherik. Even the immortal being with abundant Magic was not all-powerful. Even her clairvoyance would shut down when someone more powerful than her came into the mix.

Who...? And why...? But I’m not allowed to... A Magic Circle that should not have existed in this time had been activated. Something about this world was changing. The Witch knew that much, but her role prevented her from taking any further actions.

“The only ones who can change their destiny are those chosen by it... Apparently, Destiny has no plans to let him live a boring life.” The Eternal Witch stared into the air. There was a cruel future fast approaching the prince, but she had no way of telling him that.