CHAPTER 5
The next day was another busy one for Silas and everyone at the temple. Unfortunately, the surge of victims from the two towns continued, and the wave of casualties persisted for days. They were running out of space to house the injured, and the Aura stones they had used to treat the wounded were almost depleted. It wasn’t until the tenth day that the crisis finally subsided, granting the priests and slaves a much-needed rest after exhausting themselves day after day.
But a few days of rest hardly seemed enough after the sleepless nights they had endured.
At first glance, one might have assumed that the priests were starving themselves, given their gaunt appearances—an effect they had achieved in just one week of continuous work. From their once-pristine, holy appearance, they had turned into hollow-eyed, almost depraved figures. If not for their attire, they might have been mistaken for patients themselves.
Silas couldn’t help but see his fellow temple slaves and other priests in this light, though he couldn't afford to nitpick. He wasn’t in much better shape. He, too, had lost a considerable amount of weight, and his exhaustion had driven him to pass out right outside the door to his quarters. He slept there like a drunken fool, unable to wake up even when other temple slaves shook him awake. But no one could blame him; they were all in the same situation, and Silas was just one of the unfortunate ones who hadn’t made it to his bed in time.
Fortunately, the few hours sleep helped him regain some strength, and he was able to attend an important meeting.
“We need to make the celebration grander this year,” Vice Priest Roland suggested, pertaining to the upcoming Foundation week of Infanta. Despite the exhaustion still visible on his face, he looked slightly better than the others.
At that moment, every Chief Priest and a few of the temple slaves from across the empire had gathered in a large, dome-shaped hall for their annual meeting and in preparation for Foundation Week. Despite the recent incidents causing chaos, the meeting proceeded as scheduled, and the other Chief Priests throughout Vethoria were able to attend as planned.
At the center was an elevated stage where the high priests sat—the Head Priest in the middle, with the Vice Priests to his left and right. Surrounding the stage on the first level were the Chief Priests from every region. Behind them, a step higher, stood their Vice Chiefs, and in the last two rows were the temple slaves, including Hugh and Silas.
After the Chief Priests completed their reports that also matched the investigations did by Silas and others, Vice Priest Roland brought up the topic about the celebration.
“Shouldn’t we do the opposite? Two towns just got attacked,” one of the Chief Priests spoke up, voicing a reasonable worry.
“I understand your concern,” replied by Vice Priest Beta. “But that’s exactly why we should make the celebration grander. We need to lift the spirits of the people.”
The Foundation Week of Infanta was an annual event attended by people from all over the empire. It took place every fall and was a week-long celebration with various activities, almost comparable to the empire’s national day in scale. But the most important event was the blessing ceremony on the evening of the first day, where the barrier protecting Infanta will be strengthened by the Mage’s staff.
Ironically, the holy barrier of Infanta, created by the High Being, was supported not by a holy relic, but by a mage’s staff. It used to be a holy relic, and in a way, it still is—but not entirely.
Silas had always wondered why a mage’s Aura could be used to support a holy barrier. According to legend, the orb at the top of the staff had originally been a gift from the High Being to the temple, only to be stolen by a mage. When the mage went missing—presumed dead—the staff was brought to the temple in respect for the orb’s original nature as a holy relic. But when it reached the hands of the Head Priest, the orb no longer held holy power; it was filled with Aura instead.
Silas still couldn’t understand the mystery behind it—how a mage’s Aura could be infused into the holy orb. The two should never mix, and those who had tried before had only ended up failing, often resulting in explosions. What was more, when the Head Priest had used the staff on the barrier, it had worked. Believing that Aura could be used to strengthen the barrier, the temple had asked mages to try supplementing it with Aura. However, when they did, the Aura was deflected, leaving the phenomenon a mystery up until now.
But such things didn’t really matter at the moment. Silas was just glad the staff helped protect the people by reinforcing the barrier. He wouldn’t be able to find an answer anyway. Hundreds of scholars had tried, and up until now, it remained a mystery.
But if it had happened in the past hundred years, maybe someone could provide answers. After all, Vessels were born back then—those who could wield holy power and speak with the High Being.
“I understand that, but shouldn’t we even consider skipping the celebration this year?” Chief Priest Arman, head of the Angeles region’s temple, spoke up. Concern was clear on his voice. He could still recall the disaster that had recently struck his province, and he didn’t want to experience another disaster, especially with so many people gathered for the celebration. The temple priests and the small number of knights wouldn’t be able to protect everyone, let alone buy enough time for the people to escape in the event of another attack.
“We won’t be attacked,” Vice Priest Beta replied with conviction, casting a cold glance at Arman.
Chief Priest Arman tried to remain calm, not wanting to be disrespectful, but he couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, already anticipating a well backed response.
“We have the holy barrier—”
“The barrier is weakening,” Chief Priest Arman announced through gritted teeth. He had expected a different answer, but it was clear the Vice Priests was relying solely on the barrier, which, though it had protected Infanta for hundreds of years, was no longer guaranteed to remain intact with the surge of monstrums.
A chorus of surprised gasps echoed throughout the hall. The temple slaves exchanged worried glances, and even some of the Chief Priests were caught off guard. This was news to them, something important they should have been informed about. They turned their attention to the priest who had spoken.
“Are you sure about that Chief Priest Arman?” one of them asked.
“How can you say that?” another questioned.
“Wasn't the barrier was as strong as ever?” a third priest added knowing that the barrier was reinforced every year during the celebration.
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The commotion grew louder, and Chief Priest Arman, who had raised the issue, looked straight ahead at Vice Priest Beta who was now glaring at him openly. Arman had chosen to speak the truth rather than let it be hidden, even if it meant getting on the bad side of the Vice Priests.
“Quiet!”
The entire hall fell silent at the sound of the Head Priest’s authoritative command. The head priest, wearing the tallest hat and the longest white beard—the oldest among them—spoke with a voice that carried the weight of years of experience. It only took one word from him for everyone else to hush and turn their attention to him.
After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Indeed, the barrier is weakening—”
“Head Priest!”
“How dare you interrupt him!”
Vice Priest Roland interjected the moment he heard the Head Priest, but was immediately halted by Chief Priest Arman. The latter eyed Roland before looking back at Vice Priest Beta, and his suspicions were confirmed. All three of them knew.
Vice Priest Beta snapped her gaze toward Arman, her anger evident as her priestly demeanor momentarily slipped, revealing the mercenary she had once been. But Chief Priest Arman remained unfazed.
“It’s fine, Roland,” the head priest said calmly, referring to the priest directly with his name. Only him, with his authority could call a priest directly their names with no title.
With no choice but to yield, the vice priests backed down, casting a worried glance at each other before turning their attention back to the Head Priest.
“The barrier is weakening, and that is the reason why the celebration and the ceremony must proceed, no matter what. The barrier needs to be reinforced,” the Head Priest explained.
Silent murmurs erupted until one Chief Priest spoke. “Can’t we just do the ceremony without the celebration? It would be difficult if we suddenly get attacked with so many people from the empire here,” he said, his voice tinged with worry. He now shared Arman’s concern after realizing the barrier was indeed weakening.
“The palace will be employing knights for the entire week of the celebration. We, too, will stand guard,” the Head Priest answered, but the frowns of most people in the hall did not disappear.
“Will that be enough?” one Chief Priest asked, voicing the question on most of their minds.
The Head Priest looked at the one who had asked the question and met her gaze. His eyes shimmered with certainty. “We must have faith that it will be,” he replied, his tone resolute.
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“I can’t believe they made us guard the staff,” Hugh complained as he stood in front of the platform where the staff hovered in mid-air.
Silas couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of frustration as he stood beside Hugh. They were stationed in a room, guarding the staff that floated eerily in the center, surrounded by four intricately carved pillars. It hovered as though it had a life of its own.
With the discussions for the celebration earlier, Silas couldn’t shake the feeling that the entire situation was one of political maneuvering. The decision to make the celebration grander was a foregone conclusion, as he had expected. The two Vice Priests and the Head Priest himself had already made their positions clear, and the opposition had been quickly silenced. The Chief Priests, who had wanted to forgo the celebration in light of recent attacks, had lost out despite their reasonable concerns.
Silas couldn’t help but wonder if their refusal to postpone the celebration had less to do with the people's safety and more to do with politics. Though he knew he shouldn’t view it in such a light, the palace, which had already shown continued support for the temple, seemed to have a vested interest in ensuring that Foundation Day went off without a hitch. His suspicions were confirmed when the Crown Prince—who, as far as Silas could tell, was disliked by most people—was to be present, assisting the Head Priest during the ceremony. It seemed the palace was trying to bolster his image with the temple.
But he doubted that would be enough to repair the Crown Prince’s reputation. The prince's image had been tarnished over the years, especially after his involvement in the water issue that had enraged the people. Silas couldn't see how his presence at the ceremony would calm the anger brewing in the hearts of the citizens.
Wouldn't it even anger the people more if he showed up?
His thoughts drifted as Hugh's voice broke through the silence. “I hate this,” Hugh complained again, crossing his arms in irritation.
Silas let out a silent breath in response. He could tell Hugh was getting restless, just as he was. Standing guard in an empty room felt like a waste of time when so much more needed to be done, but duty was duty. They couldn’t afford to slack off, especially after the staff had been stolen just a few months ago. The temple was on high alert, and Silas knew that if the staff were taken again, it could spell disaster for the province.
The barrier that protected Infanta, which was reinforced by the power of the staff, was key to the city’s safety. The upcoming ceremony on the Foundation Week was supposed to strengthen it even more, but the pressure of the looming event was starting to get to Silas, especially with the added duty as a guard.
What could we even do? It’s not like we know how to fight. They should’ve just doubled the knights outside instead of letting us guard it.
Although Silas understood why the Head Priests were against the idea of having the knights guard it inside the room, he couldn’t help but question why non-combatants had been positioned there in the first place.
After what felt like an endless amount of time spent in the room, Silas let out an exhausted sigh. With nothing else to focus on, he glanced at the Kenos hovering before him. Intricately carved from redwood, the mage's staff supported the palm-sized white holy orb at its top, secured by vines that wrapped around the entire staff. It was a symbol of the temple's growing desperation to protect Infanta from monstrums. Silas had always sensed a strange power in the staff—not just its Aura, but in its historical weight. The idea that a mage’s staff was responsible for the holy barrier always bothered him, but it was something he had learned to accept. Not that his opinion mattered, but Silas had always been intrigued by such things.
But now, something else intrigued him. Something felt off. The staff seemed to pulse with an unfamiliar energy, and Silas couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brooding beneath the surface. He stared at it, trying to push away the unease gnawing at him.
“Is it just me, or does the staff look different?” Silas muttered, more to himself than to Hugh.
But due to the stillness of the room, Hugh heard him and he glanced at the staff, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"It’s darker and... glowing," Silas replied, squinting at the once-grey orb atop the staff. The glow was faint, almost imperceptible, but there was definitely a shift in its color from the last time he had seen it.
Hugh raised an eyebrow. "You think it's been replaced with a fake?"
Silas shook his head, not fully buying into the suspicion. “I don’t think so. For sure the Head Priest checked it before."
Hugh seemed to accept that explanation, though he still looked uneasy. Silas wasn’t sure what was happening, but the feeling of something being wrong wouldn’t go away.
He leaned forward, studying the staff closer, and that’s when he saw it—the faintest glow emanating from the runes carved into the wood. For a brief moment, it was as though the ancient letters were alive, shifting and shimmering in ways they hadn't before.
"Did you see that?" Silas asked, his voice rising in surprise.
Hugh turned quickly, his eyes widening as he noticed the change. "What the hell?! Why's it glowing?"
Silas didn’t know how to answer. He had never seen anything like this before, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. “How would I know?! Go get someone!”
Panicked, Hugh turned to run toward the door, but the light from the staff grew brighter, more intense. Silas’s breath caught in his throat as the room was flooded with a blinding glow. He raised his arm to shield his eyes, but it was futile. The light consumed everything, even the sound of his voice calling out to Hugh.
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light faded like it was sucked out.
Exposed to the sudden light, Silas’s vision blurred, but he was thankful when the light finally faded. He had braced himself for an intruder, but there was no one. And when his vision cleared, he saw no thief, no danger. More importantly, there was no staff.
Instead, he found himself standing in the middle of a vast, white field. Soft snowflakes drifted gently from the grey sky, and the cold wind bit into his skin. With a surprised exhale, his breath escaped in a thick cloud of smoke.
Taken aback, Silas stood frozen, his mind struggling to catch up as he watched the rising vapor.
“Ha! Wh…what?!”
R E H I L I Y A