The woman touched the man’s face gently, almost reverentially. “Naomhan, please wake up.”

Oz’s brain worked overtime. He shook his head a little, unable to believe his eyes. This is insane. Absolutely insane. Her? What was it, Morag? The woman who led that little group to my door, who demanded I kill Linnea, the ultra-hardliner who hates demons more than anything—she’s growing a camp of undead in the shadow of the Mages’ Quarter? Fuck! Who’s going to believe me?

I’m not even sure I believe me. Her hatred for demons was no joke. When I looked in her eyes, she wasn’t faking that hatred. True, she did want to promote herself in her sect, but I think, if anything, being willing to demand the death of innocents to promote yourself only proves how little she cares about demons’ lives. To surround herself by demons…by undead, she…

Why? Why would she do this? What led her down this road?

Morag sighed. “You won’t wake up so easily, will you? I’ve waited for so long, Naomhan. For you to wake up and take your righteous place atop the Mages’ Quarter. For you to wake up and crush the demons. But I can’t’ wait any longer. The demons’ corruption spreads with every passing moment. They grow stronger. Infiltrate more of society. They’re in the library. They’re at the gates. Even if it means resorting to the most extreme of means, I—I can’t let you sleep like this for any longer.”

Oz frowned. Is this woman delusional? True, there’s a demon in the library, and Linnea was hiding in the Mages’ Quarter, but one demon isn’t exactly ‘demons beating down the gates.’ Linnea is vastly outnumbered by the mages in the Mages’ Quarter. Even if we consider Fenrir, there’s still a huge difference in numbers.

Wait. Hold on.

Linnea told me, didn’t she? All the demons from the Northern Wastes had to flee southward, toward the Mages’ Quarter. I haven’t really left the library, so I haven’t seen it, but I wonder—are there demons actually beating down the gates of the country the Mages’ Quarter dominates? It’s very possible there’s a flood of demons at the northern border, that I, insulated in the library, would never have seen.

If that’s the case, and Morag already hates demons, then it’s reasonable…well, not exactly reasonable, but understandable that she might go insane and see the situation as far more cataclysmic as it actually is, resulting in her going to such extreme ‘anti-demon’ measures.

But even then…why would someone who hates demons as much as her create an undead, demonic-slash-dark-magic army to fight demons? What’s her thought process? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? If she’s the one in control, she can make sure they’re used for good? Or is something else going on here?

Oz lifted a hand to his chin. Hold on. There’s still the question of what happened to Baltair. He’s possessed by something, and also, he’s the disciple of a dark mage clan. A dark mage clan and an exorcist sect aren’t going to easily work together. Something must have driven them together. Something, or someone. If we put the nature of their sects aside, Baltair is possessed. Someone’s spirit is in him, and it got there somehow. From my own experiences, possession isn’t something that happens on accident. It’s advanced blood magic. Serious, heavy-duty stuff. Not only that, but back in front of the Beheading Tree, something spoke to Baltair, and Baltair responded as if they were his superior. I don’t think whoever is possessing Baltair would see a mid-rank exorcist like Morag in that light. Based on the power level emanating from Baltair’s body, no, I don’t think he was talking to Morag. She’s powerful, but not powerful enough to dominate whatever’s inside Baltair.

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Oz shook his head to himself, then nodded. Morag isn’t the whole answer. There’s still more to uncover.

Again, footsteps approached the tent. Baltair stepped inside, moving with a grace and quietude the real Baltair had never possessed. He stopped before he reached the ring of light that encircled Naomhan, tucking his hands behind his back. “Morag.”

“What is it?” she asked, her voice suddenly bristling with thorns.

The thing that possessed Baltair chuckled. “I know you don’t want to acknowledge me, but there’s no need for such a tone.”

Morag turned. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Baltair. “One step closer to my lord, and I’ll end your pathetic life.”

Baltair put his hands up, chuckling under his breath. “Oh my, oh my. If your beloved Severance Sect could see you now…”

“The Severance Sect? Forget them. There’s no need for a pathetic bundle of spineless losers like them. They aren’t willing to do what it takes to drive the demons away,” Morag said firmly. She gazed at Naomhan, devotion in her eyes. “But when my lord returns…when he wakes…then, then the Severance Sect will open its eyes once more, and once more become a force feared within and without the Mages’ Quarter. Then, you filth will no longer look down on us and spit on our faces.”

“Such harsh words, Morag. And I thought we were friends,” Baltair mocked her.

“More the fool, if you did,” she said coldly, uncaring.

“Do you still see us as filth? Even as we help you to revive your beloved Patriarch?” Baltair asked.

“Filth is filth. Our goals might align for a moment, since I require blood magic to heal and strengthen Naomhan, but your sect and mine are fundamentally at odds, and you would do well to not forget that.”

Baltair chuckled. “Well, I suppose I can’t get too angry. After all, if you didn’t help disguise this operation, we would have been discovered by the Mages’ Quarter long ago.”

“It’s good you understand your position,” Morag said, looking down on him.

Yikesssss. I’m not sure who I’m rooting for in this conversation, Oz thought, then shook his head. Obviously, I’m not rooting for either of them! They’re both evil douchebags who deserve horrible deaths. After murdering this many civilians, there’s no question: they both deserve to die. No matter why they did it, no matter what their goals were, they’re douchebags.

I’ll be honest, though… I’m not really convinced by either person’s argument. I’m not sure what Baltair’s is, but given that he’s the possessed disciple of a demonic sect, it’s probably nothing good. Might even be as simple as ‘the downfall of the Mages’ Quarter.’

Baltair bowed to Morag. “As you wish, milady. Then, I shall take my leave.”

Morag snorted. “I should check on the formation as well.”

The two mages departed, one after another. Oz was left alone in the tent, no one but him and the sleeping mage before him.

He stared up at Naomhan and licked his lips. Welp. We’re in some shit, huh. You, me, and Fflyn, neck deep in it.

Oz eyed the pole through the giant mage’s shoulder and grinned. Well. Shoulder-deep, anyways.