Chapter 31: Unexpected

  This was the Great Cathedral of the Magic Academy. Ethan had never been inside before—he rarely even came near it. The grand building exuded an air of solemn piety that made him uncomfortable.

  Only now, standing within its towering walls, did he fully feel the unique power of religion. Even though he’d never believed in any gods, he couldn’t help but be awed by the solemnity of his surroundings.

  The ceiling soared dozens of meters high, and the vast interior felt expansive, ethereal, and dignified. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows—both on the walls and the roof—casting hazy, shifting light across the space. Majestic murals on the walls depicted the gods’ majesty and mysteries in vivid detail. The sound of an organ filled the air, its deep, resonant tones seeming to come from nowhere—as if they were a natural part of the somber atmosphere, an illusion born from the overwhelming sense of awe.

  Ethan suspected the two priests leading him had received special training. They walked briskly through the solemn space without a sound, as if they’d long since merged with the surroundings. Only his own footsteps echoed faintly in the emptiness, as if emphasizing the grandeur around him. He felt humbled by the gravity of the moment, as if he were a mere speck of dust.

  The priests led him through the main chapel and into a long corridor. At the end, they opened a door and bowed respectfully inside: “Your Eminence, we have brought him.”

  It was a small room—furnished with just a small table, two chairs, and bookshelves lining the walls. Compared to the cathedral’s grandeur outside, it was simple and neat, almost hermit-like. Only a few high, narrow windows let in light. Bishop Ronis was standing by the bookshelves; he returned a book to its place, then nodded at the priests. “Very well. You may leave now. Close the door, and see that no one disturbs us.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence,” the priests replied, exiting and closing the door behind them. Suddenly, all sounds and atmosphere from outside were cut off.

  Ethan froze in the doorway, nervous. He knew he stood before a man revered by the entire empire.

  “Don’t be nervous—sit,” Ronis said gently, smiling and gesturing to a chair. His pure white silk robe and gaunt face made him look like a reclusive hermit, perfectly matching the room’s simplicity. He exuded no sense of authority, which put Ethan at ease. He sat down—unaware that, by etiquette, only the emperor himself was permitted to sit while a bishop stood.

  “I had this room built specially,” Ronis said, gesturing to the walls. “It’s completely soundproof, and no one outside can see in. So when it’s just the two of us, we can set aside all those tedious formalities. I’ve always preferred speaking without worrying about rules. When there are too many rules, people often get so caught up in them that they forget what they’re really here to do.” His expression was warm, his tone free of arrogance or pretense. This ease, combined with his exalted status, made Ethan feel a deep, genuine respect.

  “I hear you obtained a World Tree Leaf?” Ronis picked up a teapot on the table, poured a cup, and asked in a casual tone—as if he were asking if Ethan had bought a head of cabbage. “And you used it to save someone?” It seemed Sandro had spoken quickly.

  Ethan nodded. “Yes.” His heart raced. He was sure the bishop wouldn’t mock him like Sandro had, but he still hated the thought of disappointing this respected elder. Fortunately, Ronis only shook his head with a faint smile, looking at Ethan with something like approval. “I can tell—you’re a kind man.” He handed the teacup to Ethan. “Try this. I brewed it myself.”

  Ethan took a sip and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not good at tasting tea—it just tastes bitter.”

  Ronis chuckled. “I’ve heard that in some kingdoms, making tea is considered an art. To turn something so simple into a profound practice… they must be very peaceful nations.” He sat down in the chair next to Ethan. “Now, tell me how you got that World Tree Leaf. Be specific—I’m sure it’s a fascinating story.” He looked at Ethan with a smile, as if genuinely eager to hear a good tale.

  At first glance, Ronis’s eyes looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept well in days. But when Ethan met his gaze, he saw two small, fiery lights deep within them—faint, but intense. Under that stare, it was impossible to be casual or evasive.

  Ethan recounted everything that had happened, starting with his encounter with the robed man. He omitted or altered the parts about hijacking the Imperial Envoy and the local magistrate, of course. As for the words Elder Kelan had spoken to him—Ethan had never cared about them, dismissing the elves’ rigidity as nonsensical wishful thinking. He’d even forgotten most of it, so he only mentioned briefly that the elves had barred him from leaving the forest due to their “strange ancient legends and rules.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Ronis didn’t press him on that. He seemed far more interested in the robed man, asking for every detail. He smiled softly, occasionally nodding more broadly, and sometimes let out a deep sigh tinged with a bitter smile. His overly thin face was surprisingly expressive—but whether it was the illusion of his status or his natural aura, even his calm or smiles didn’t invite familiarity. There was an unspoken dignity about him.

  When Ethan finished, Ronis looked away, staring at the opposite bookshelf as if sorting through what he’d heard in his mind. Ethan didn’t dare interrupt; he just waited quietly.

  Finally, Ronis turned back to him. “Have you heard of the Necromancer Guild?”

  Ethan nodded. Hardly anyone hadn’t. It was an organization of dark mages who worshipped death, based in the Diya Valley in the continent’s far south. Legends claimed they ate human flesh, drank blood, and controlled zombies and ghosts—they were practically a synonym for terror.

  “The mage you met in the Whispering Woods was a member of the Necromancer Guild,” Ronis said.

  Ethan nodded again—he’d suspected as much.

  “Sandro was also part of the Necromancer Guild, once. A long time ago.”

  “What?” Ethan was shocked. He couldn’t reconcile the old man he’d lived with for so long—who wandered the streets every day—with the bloodthirsty monsters of legend. It was completely unexpected, beyond anything he could have imagined.

  “For years, they lacked a true leader, so they gradually became a loose alliance of mages. Some even cut all ties with them—Sandro is one of those. But there’s always been a small, extreme faction determined to cover the world in darkness and death. They’ve been working in secret all these years: sowing dissent in the empire, founding heretical groups, and undermining people’s faith. This kind of destruction is the most dangerous. If faith collapses, the entire country will spiral out of control. History is filled with wars and tragedies caused by fanatical beliefs.”

  “Do you know what that book was— the one you lent to Duke Mrak’s daughter?” Ronis suddenly shifted to a topic Ethan had been dreading.

  “No,” Ethan admitted, feeling guilty—like a child waiting to be scolded for a mistake. Without realizing it, he’d been completely won over by Ronis’s quiet authority.

  “It was the journal of Archibald, the founder of the Necromancer Guild. Written in ancient script, it records all manner of magical knowledge he possessed. More importantly, it contains a dark meditation technique—said to have been created by Archibald specifically for the Guild’s leader.”

  Ethan swallowed hard, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Ronis didn’t notice.

  “Fortunately, no one has ever truly mastered this meditation in hundreds of years. Most who dared to try were consumed by the dark magic in their hearts halfway through and died. Twenty years ago, Sandro stole the book. I suggested destroying it, but he insisted it was a ‘great work.’ I didn’t want to force him, so we kept it. Sandro told me he’d hidden it somewhere secret and safe, so I didn’t worry—until you found it. And then you lent it out, unknowingly…” Ronis’s voice grew serious. “I’m worried about that dark mage you mentioned— the one who went after the World Tree Leaf. If he wants to use its life force to counteract the dark magic’s backlash during meditation, and if that book falls back into their hands… the result could be a true Lich King. Not just the empire, but the entire world would be at risk of being swallowed by darkness.”

  This time, Ethan didn’t think, What’s that to me? The matter involved him, Ronis, and Sandro. He respected the bishop, didn’t want to be yelled at by Sandro, and knew the mess was his fault.

  “But I can’t search for the book openly. I suspect the Necromancer Guild has many spies in the capital—maybe even some high-ranking officials. If they learn where the book is, they’ll likely get to it before us. So now… I have to ask you for a favor. Please get that book back… or better yet—destroy it.”

  “I know you’re a capable young man,” Ronis said, patting his shoulder. “So I believe you can do this. Please.”

  “Yes. I’ll get it back,” Ethan said firmly, standing up. He hated being ordered around, but he couldn’t refuse a plea—especially from the bishop.

  Ronis smiled and nodded. Suddenly, he froze, as if he’d noticed something strange in Ethan’s face. The surprise flashed across his features for just a moment before he regained his calm demeanor. “Young man, where were you born?”

  “The Kalendor Basin— the mining region in the empire’s southwest,” Ethan replied, not noticing the bishop’s brief change in expression.

  “I see,” Ronis said, smiling and nodding as calmly as before.

  Duke Mrak stared at the unbelievable scene, took a deep breath, and lowered the metal tube in his hand.

  It was a long, cylindrical tube—thicker at one end, thinner at the other—with a piece of glass set into each end. A marvelous invention, likely crafted by dwarf artisans. Like all their creations, it contained no magic. But when you pressed the narrow end to your eye, it let you see distant objects with crystal clarity.

  He was standing at a window in the attic of a tall building, far from the Magic Academy. From here, the strange tube let him see clearly into the bishop’s study.

  The duke prided himself on knowing the likes, personalities, and habits of every powerful figure in the capital—except Bishop Ronis.

  The bishop seemed to have no hobbies, no distinctive personality, no unusual routines. The duke had no idea what Ronis liked or hated, or even what he did day-to-day. He couldn’t curry favor, and he couldn’t find a way to oppose him. Yet even though Ronis had no obvious political stance and never took sides, he remained a crucial player in the capital’s power games.

  When he’d heard the bishop had a private room, the duke had spent enough money to buy a small town to purchase this tube from a dwarf treasure dealer. Then he’d spent days searching the city for a spot where it would work.

  Now, he would have gladly given half his fortune for a device that let him hear distant voices.

  Unfortunately, no such thing existed. Without it, he could only guess.

  What kind of person was allowed to stand before the bishop without kneeling? Who got to sit on equal terms with him? What kind of relationship let the bishop pour him tea—and pat his shoulder so warmly?

  It was completely unexpected. The duke drew in a sharp breath.