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⁜ Episode 18. A Creature I’ve Never Seen Before
The second time I saw the Dimia Temple, it was still as grand and as beautiful as before.
Phew, if this were a comic, it would definitely have a giant dollar sign floating above it.
How much could I wring out of them?
I’ve never really schemed before—will I be any good at it? It doesn’t suit me, honestly. But when your throat is dry, you’ll even drink vinegar; sometimes you have to do unfamiliar things.
“Why? Don’t worry, no one will touch you.”
Damien looked at my face, then opened his palm above my head. Strange words spilled from his lips.
Ah, so this must be an incantation.
Magic manifests in three ways.
The first is “inscription summoning.”
On the same day, mages “engrave” spells upon waking. Where exactly? Who knows. They just say they engrave it. Whether you’re a mage or just an alchemist depends on whether you can engrave or not. And engraving requires a certain level of magic power—a lot of it. If your magic is too small, you can’t engrave anything at all.
But there’s one spell that every mage must engrave first thing in the morning: “Absorption.”
Because magic recoil is intense, “Absorption” is essential to survive using spells. It’s as necessary as breathing.
How do I know this? My eldest brother, Bertrand, is a mage. No matter how groggy he is in the morning, he engraves “Absorption” first thing. It’s second nature. Since mages often unconsciously use magic, it’s a safeguard.
Engraved spells don’t need incantations; they activate automatically when triggered.
It’s basically a passive skill in a game.
So then, was the spell Damien used to slay the monster an inscription too? Actually, no. That kind of magic requires enormous reserves, too great to engrave in advance.
The second method is “incantation.” Most use language, though the stronger ones can summon magic with just a gesture. The words chosen are “whispers,” the magical language taught in the Tower. Its rhythm and tone make spells easier to cast.
That song-like chant Damien uttered just now—that was it.
The third method, of course, is items. Relics and tools that made the Tower the richest power in the world.
When I lifted my gaze, white feathers were falling above me. Feathers of light. They dissolved into the air as if melting.
Damien chanted again, softly.
Golden light rained down, shimmering like ripples gilded in sunlight.
Then he whispered once more.
This time it resembled an aurora veil. Ah… I’d always wanted to see one. I’d put it off every winter break, saying it would be too cold, until I ended up in this ridiculous place instead.
And then Damien again—
“Ah, stop it already!”
What are you doing, casting so many spells on me?!
I shoved him, but only I stumbled backward. He reached out quickly to catch me, but I managed to plant my feet on my own.
Hands on my hips, I glared at him.
“Why are you piling on spells like that? Are you cursing me or something?”
Damien’s face twisted.
“Don’t be ridiculous. What could I possibly gain by cursing a little kid like you?”
“You might hold a grudge.”
“Count Danior, sure. But you? You’re twelve.”
“You’re twelve too!”
“Anyway…”
He shook his head.
“I cast healing, reflection, and defense. You said you were scared.”
I blinked up at him, stunned.
There he stood, a white boy in front of a white temple, his violet eyes gleaming brighter in the light.
Almond-shaped eyes, a sharp nose, soft lips—too unfinished to be a man, too beautiful to be a boy, and yet far too masculine to be mistaken for a girl. Damien was like… a creature I had never seen before.
Unknown beings are rarely a good thing. Didn’t people’s lives usually go to ruin when they met aliens?
“Hamilcar said your family cherishes children… You really must have been pampered growing up.”
“Me?”
“You don’t even understand how the world works. One protective spell would be enough, but you’ve cast a whole ceremonial set on me. I’m not Queen Marguerite!”
Queen Marguerite, the king’s mother, was infamous for her timidity. She rarely appeared in court. She hadn’t even shown up to my birthday banquet, though the king had. When she did appear, she’d be layered in spell-protections like state regalia.
And now that same pomp was draped over me. What a luxury.
I grumbled, and Pythia muttered:
“Since Arian doesn’t want them… maybe bestow the ceremonial protections on the Saint instead…”
The one and only Saint looked downcast. Embarrassed, I jerked my chin at Damien.
Hurry up and do it, what are you waiting for!
He frowned.
“No. Ceremonial protections aren’t for the Saint. Gerka would be furious.”
And that wasn’t untrue. The rift between the Temple and the Tower was worsening.
Still, wasn’t it hypocritical? The Saint was protected by cottage wards, not Gerka’s hand.
Even so, Damien shrugged off his robe and wrapped it around the shivering Pythia. She already wore the monster fur coat I’d brought earlier.
I shiver easily, but it’s nothing. Pythia could literally freeze to death. This is the Middle Ages, after all—there are healing potions, but no antibiotics. Potions are precious; better to swaddle her up.
“Even the doorknobs are too extravagant, don’t you think?”
I muttered while holding one, and Damien gave me a baffled look.
“Isn’t this just an ordinary temple?”
“Ordinary? The Gerka temple is over a thousand years old and lives in poverty—no, austerity. Compared to that, this place is a palace! Doesn’t suit servants of the gods!”
He glanced at the Dimia Temple, then at me, and muttered reluctantly:
“Palaces are in your domain, not here—”
Ugh, no tact at all. I banged the door handle loudly, drowning out his voice.
“Th-this robe… you say the monster was wearing it?”
The Dimia High Priest stared at the garment Arian brought. His eyes gleamed with greed at the thought of rare materials.
He had just received word last night of a missing novice. An orphan with nowhere to go—likely not a runaway. Perhaps misfortune had struck. But who would have guessed that misfortune meant he had actually been a monster?
The High Priest suddenly remembered the uneasy expression of the senior priest who had reported the disappearance.
“He wasn’t the type to run. But… he had changed recently. Went out at night sometimes. And he’d… lost his fear.”
The mountain ridges at night are perilous. While monsters are rare near temples, beasts often descend in the dark to scavenge food. Everyone knew to stay indoors after sundown.
So yes, the boy had seemed strange. But who would have suspected this?
The High Priest’s gaze shifted warily to the violet-eyed boy who had handed over the robe.
“Are we certain he was a monster? You—your eyes are violet too, but that doesn’t make you a monster, does it?”
Damien stiffened, stealing a glance at Arian. She hadn’t seemed to know what violet eyes meant before. Would she avoid him now that she did? The thought stabbed at him like a blade.
He fought to keep his face blank. Then Arian burst out laughing.
“High Priest, whether my friend’s eyes are violet or bruised is his business. He’s human. The real issue is that your novice wasn’t even human at all. Don’t try to cover up such a huge fact with nonsense about eye color! Don’t distort the truth!”
Bruised eyes…
It was absurd. She was clearly defending him, yet her words stung bitterly. Damien bit down hard to swallow what wanted to leap from his mouth.
From the side, Pythia patted his back. Endure it, endure it, her touch seemed to say.
“And besides, we all saw that the one in this robe was a monster. High Priest, you witnessed it yourself. Are you doubting the Saint’s testimony?”
The High Priest turned away, choking on his frustration.
The brazen girl rattled on beside the Saint, who only smiled beatifically when their eyes met. That vacant, foolish smile—the same one that had drained temple coffers for decades.
And now she was fronting this insolent girl to attack him?
The High Priest’s face contorted like a demon’s mask.
