The High Priest Velenor greeted Serin and the others first after entering the chamber. It seemed that everyone in the Order of the Holy Mother shared certain similarities, chief among them the same benevolent smile worn by its high-ranking members.This made them approachable and cordial, as even though great divine authority radiated from the white-haired High Priest—specifically from the staff he held—it felt more comforting than oppressive.
For Serin, however, a person from Earth, he could not easily believe in the allure of religion, no matter how divine or magical it seemed.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, the High Priest took his seat. A smile rested on his face, but his gaze was as sharp as a razor—High Priest Velenor silently scrutinized Serin. Priest Phelipe also looked on with interest.
Steward Bartley sighed bitterly. He could not understand why the Count would task Serin with such an important matter, especially when the Order had such… disagreements with that person in the capital.
He truly could not tell whether his master was seeking help from the Order or deliberately provoking them.
Serin shared the same question. He was not surprised by the attitude; the Steward had already informed him of the complexities. The relationship between the Scepter and the Crown was far from harmonious.
Serin laughed mockingly inwardly. To think that he was connected to such a thorny relationship in so absurd a way was something no one could have imagined. Because of this, Serin often wondered what kind of man the Emperor—his father—really was.
He did not yet have an answer, but he knew it would not be a pleasant one. If he could help it, Serin never wanted to meet such a man. And yet, there was a sliver of curiosity—perhaps even admiration—in his heart. The Emperor's deeds were so outrageous that it could not be helped.
"Your Eminence, have I offended you?" Serin decided to be straightforward. Whatever had transpired between the Order and the Emperor was their affair. What did it have to do with him? Why should he fear it?
The High Priest's gaze softened. "Certainly not. A child is not to be blamed for his father's sins."
Serin gave no response. He could not. Wouldn't answering be tantamount to admitting that the Emperor was a sinner? Serin was not tired of living enough to say something like that. What if the Emperor somehow learned of it? On the other hand, he could not refute the statement either—offending the Order for a man he himself had long deemed a scumbag was not worth it.
"Your Eminence, may we trouble you with a trivial request?" Steward Bartley intervened politely, seeing the conversation veering off course.
"Ah… of course. Please, go on."
Serin gestured toward the slave between the two knights and explained the situation to the High Priest.
High Priest Velenor studied the slave for a moment, his brows furrowing briefly. After tapping his staff twice against the floor, he said, "You did well to bring this poor child here. I sense corruption clinging to his soul. Surprisingly, his soul has not yet departed for the Kingdom of the Goddess."
"Corruption?" Steward Bartley frowned in concern.
Serin was unsure what this fully entailed, but he could guess a thing or two. Logic dictated that if the slave's delirium was caused by corruption rather than trauma, then the rumors circulating were not entirely unfounded.
"Can it be treated?" Serin asked anxiously. After this revelation, it had become even more urgent to uncover the true cause.
High Priest Velenor smiled and nodded. "It will require a considerable amount of divine power, but it can be done."
Serin bowed without hesitation. "Then please, I humbly request your assistance."
The High Priest raised his brows ever so slightly in surprise before returning to his usual expression. He gave Serin a serious look, evaluating him once more.
Then his smile widened, the wrinkles on his aged skin deepening as he placed a hand on Serin's shoulder, gently straightening his posture. He looked like a kindly grandfather.
"The Holy Mother has compassion for all, even those lost in salvation. Young man, you are an Apostle, and the gods bless you. This favor, I am willing to grant to you alone."
Serin put on a touched expression, as though overcome with emotion. "Praise the Lady!" he said piously. "I will forever remember this favor of the Order, Your Eminence."
The High Priest shook his head. "It is merely the duty of this humble servant of the Goddess Mother."
High Priest Velenor then instructed the knights to place the slave upon the stone slab. Everyone stepped back, giving him ample space.
The slave lay silent, no longer rambling but clearly still unwell. He stared blankly at the unimpressive ceiling above, lying stiffly upon the cold stone slab, his face twisted as though trapped in a nightmare.
Warm sunlight filtered through a small window as the sun shifted across the horizon, a thin ray illuminating the cold stone and lending it a faint warmth.
Once again, Serin felt the air thicken slightly as divine authority descended upon the chamber. Utterly entranced, he watched the High Priest perform the miracle with reverence. This did not escape Priest Phelipe's notice, who smiled faintly.
High Priest Velenor planted his staff against the stone floor.
The blue gem at its crown pulsed dimly.
He placed a hand upon the slave's brow.
"By the mercy of the Holy Mother,
let fear be stilled."
The gem atop his staff glowed faintly.
"What does not belong—depart.
What was broken—remember itself."
His voice lowered. A pure white light, like a gentle breeze, filled the chamber, banishing the shadows and outshining even the sun's radiance before slowly dimming.
"Return, soul, to your rightful shape.
By faith and order—be cleansed."
The light faded. The chamber fell into momentary silence. The slave lay peacefully upon the slab, his expression calm and still.
Seeing this, Serin let out a relieved sigh. He observed the High Priest, who—unlike Priest Phelipe—did not appear fatigued after using his powers.
Serin and the Steward expressed their sincere gratitude. The High Priest shook his head, compassion evident as he said, "Prince Serin, the Empire treads ever deeper down the path of chaos and sin. I hope that you will not disappoint the grace of the Holy Mother."
Serin maintained a neutral expression and replied earnestly, "Your Eminence, I hear your words."
High Priest Velenor nodded in satisfaction, exchanged a few words with Priest Phelipe, and then took his leave.
After some time, the slave awoke on his own, looking around in confusion. He was no longer distressed or delirious—a tanned young man with a well-toned, muscular body.
Serin signaled Steward Bartley with his eyes, and the Steward stepped forward, promptly explaining everything that had occurred.
Realization and fear dawned upon the slave as his memories returned. This time, however, they were no longer overwhelming; he retained clarity.
Serin, who had been thinking deeply until then, finally stepped forward. "What is your name?"
"Its… Finy, Lord."
"Finy, tell us what happened. How did the ship sink?" Serin asked.
Finy recoiled visibly, his eyes trembling as the memory resurfaced. His face twisted with fear, hands shaking.
"Calm down, Finy. You are safe now. Take a deep breath and tell us what happened," Serin urged.
"They… they all killed each other…" Finy muttered in horror.
Serin exchanged glances with the Steward and the Priest. "Who are they?"
"Everyone… everyone on the ship! They all killed each other!" Finy screamed.
Silence hung over the chamber.
"Then…" Finy muttered, his eyes shrinking to pinpoints as though recalling a nightmare.
"Then what? How did you survive? How far was the ship from the port?"
"Lord… suddenly everyone went mad on the ship and began killing each other. I sensed something was wrong, lowered a fishing boat, and jumped. Then… then I saw it—a shadow dark as the abyss in the sea. It was lurking, stretching its tentacles toward the ship…"
"How far was the ship from the port when this happened?" the Steward asked urgently.
Finy thought for a moment, brow creased in concentration. "Twenty-five nautical miles from the port city, Lord."
Priest Phelipe's smile vanished. Serin had never seen him look so serious.
"I have read of this creature in the Order's grand archives. It is called Akh'Thal, also known as the Sea Snake," Priest Phelipe said. "An aquatic beast with tentacles that corrupt the souls of living beings in its vicinity. It usually dwells deep within the sea and does not approach the shore."
"This is… troublesome," Steward Bartley said bitterly.
"Troublesome indeed," Priest Phelipe agreed.
After further questioning, the threat became clearer. It seemed the rumors might be entirely true.
With their task complete, Serin and the others reunited with Ellis in the main hall. They bid farewell to Priest Phelipe—none of them in the mood for conversation. The issue was grave, and countermeasures would need to be devised swiftly. Serin returned to the castle without delay.
He left the report to the Count to Steward Bartley and, after parting with Ellis, returned to his quarters to think.
After dinner, he completed his afternoon lessons, then spent several hours in the castle library studying the history and customs of the world.
That evening, Sir Gerard resumed Serin's daily training, preparing his body through meditation, medicinal baths, and other techniques so he could learn the Archaic Arts and advance toward Ascendance.
By nightfall, the moon had risen. Exhausted, Serin ate dinner in his room and lay down, closing his eyes.
At last, what he had been waiting for occurred.
That cold, mechanical voice he had grown accustomed to echoed in his mind.
[ Apostle, your match will begin in thirty minutes. Do you accept? ]
"Yes!" he answered eagerly. After more than a year, he would finally advance to the Beginner rank and gain a new Divine Blessing.