When the head inquisitor realized the arcan mage and Jagra were helping him quell the corruption, he snapped back and hurriedly strengthened his mana to dissolve the curse. The seal writhed helplessly under the three people's assault, roaring stubbornly while gradually disappearing. It ford a pulsing ball of red light, the size of one's thumb.
Jagra and the arcan mage pulled away and gave the head inquisitor so space while he wiped his sweaty forehead. Examining the tense expressions of the people around him, the mage gave a light cough before reassuring them. "A minor setback. Work in pairs to remove the seals. In dissolving the curse, you must have soone to amplify your mana and protect yourself. If the seals are too difficult, terminate the spellwork and withdraw imdiately."
"Yes!"
There were more than a hundred aggressive runes before them, so with haste, the n and won hurriedly positioned themselves. Before Jagra could speak, the hooded arcan mage had already moved behind him, ready to work. He flashed Jagra a delighted smile.
'Sothing feels... odd about him...'
With furrowed brows, Jagra hesitantly nodded to him before getting to work.
.....
The process went smoothly, yet slowly, but no one felt dissatisfied. It ant there was clear progress, good enough to report to the higher-ups. Relieved, Kerien withdrew from the room, eting the others who were resting, having finished their turn.
Her brown eyes curved gently, "This will be the last round for today. Great work."
Kerien knowingly faced Jagra along with the arcan mage, listening intently in the far corner. She nodded sincerely before leaving, trailed by a string of followers behind her.
"She's not that bad. Don't you think?"
Jagra flinched and turned his head slightly to the person standing beside him. Face concealed with the Arcan Sector's white hooded robe, the person lazily played with the embroidered end of his sleeves.
"…" Jagra felt his heart thundering strangely. He could no longer deny how his actions were increasingly familiar.
The two other Arcan mages had already left the room. Then why does this person…
"Follow for a mont…" Jagra spoke, gesturing his head towards the storage room across them.
The man silently followed behind Jagra without any hesitation, as though he placed his full trust. The mont the door shut with a dull thud, Jagra swiftly turned around with narrowed eyes.
"You… reveal yourself. None of this disguise is convincing . You're not one of the Arcan Mages, are you?"
…
A faint, amused chuckle sounded throughout the room. The hooded person let his shoulders fall in a relaxed manner. "As cautious as always, my friend."
Slender hands raised themselves, reaching the edges of the white hood. The fabric of his sleeves fell from his wrists, revealing one smooth arm and the other, beautifully pale and decorated with swirls of gold.
Jagra only knew one person possessing a spiritually ford arm.
The hood fell back, and silver white hair shone under the lamplight. Silver eyes and a familiar smiling face revealed themselves.
"Moulin?!"
Jagra exclaid before instantly clamping a hand on his mouth. His heart pounded while he glanced towards the wooden door of the dusty storage room.
Moulin helplessly sighed, "Keep your voice down. I had quite a difficult ti leaving the realm. I can only- Urk!"
Before he could finish his words, he was engulfed in a tight embrace. Silver eyes widened in surprise as he felt his arms pressed strongly against his sides.
Jagra hugged him tightly for a few seconds before abruptly letting go. Moulin noticed so redness on the corner of his friend's eyes.
"Are you crying?"
Jagra scrunched his face. "Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be out here? Are you thinking straight?"
"I am thinking straight." Moulin shrugged, rubbing his arms to ease blood flow. "I heard you were having a difficult ti with the sentinel mages and thought I had to see it for myself. You know we couldn't afford any delays for this task."
"If the sentinels recognize you-"
Moulin waved his flowy sleeves, "That's why I had to disguise myself. Stop worrying. I have Ordan and Snow back at the realm to cover for ."
No matter how much Moulin reassured him, Jagra couldn't help but feel extrely anxious. He thought of various ways Moulin could be caught in trouble. Does Ghana even know about this?
His questions were left unanswered when Moulin patted his shoulder. The youth gazes at him intently. "Don't worry too much. I know what I'm doing. Moreover, I ca to see Gaile as well."
Gaile?
"W-What for?" Jagra suddenly felt cautious, but relaxed his expression.
"The backlash of the extraction must be insufferable. I have to inspect if his internal soul is nded properly and that none of Uldher's tricks are left." Moulin frowned as he straightened his back. "Co. Let's go see him."
Jagra hesitated briefly before nodding. Moulin put on the hood once more and followed Jagra out. They entered the hallway under swift glances and curious gazes. The area was too big. Honestly, Moulin felt like the place was even too cramped and gloomy.
Arriving before a guarded door, Jagra politely had the guard step out before leading Moulin inside. A pungent scent assaulted Moulin's nose abruptly. He felt his stomach churn.
Then he set his eyes on the person sitting silently on a wooden bench. Pale as a ghost, surrounded by a deathly aura, the man garbed in worn-out robes raised his head to face his guests.
His bloody red pupils shone eerily, but Moulin saw, within his eyes, a strong, resilient soul, desperate and determined. His platinum hair had grown whiter and longer. Moulin recalled his sharp features before, prominent and handso. Perhaps it was the malevolence eating away at his beauty.
"Jagra…"
Hearing his na, Jagra resisted the ache in his chest. "Gaile…"
The elf smiled faintly before shifting his gaze. "And…, the Sacred One, the Lynari."
Moulin approached him slowly, examining the man with his eyes and probing through wisps of mana in the air. Even as he sat, the elf's height made him at eye level before Moulin, who stood facing him.
"Quite the spirit you've got. Still resisting after all this ti?" Moulin spoke. "How heroic…"
Gaile t his gaze unwaveringly, "It's nothing compared to what Jagra has suffered."
Jagra bristled in response. "What are you talking about? Who are you trying to impress? You are clearly doing no better than a man at death's door!"
Gaile furrowed his brows, "It's not that-"
"May I?" Moulin held out his hand.
"..."
"Moulin..." Jagra couldn't help but approach. He felt his heart pounding violently as though knocking against his chest. His dark eyes seed to tremble, reflecting the glistening white figure before him. Moulin's gaze was without fear or caution, and it made Jagra all the more anxious.
Was he afraid Moulin might find Gaile's demonic nature revolting? Or was he afraid Moulin might attract sothing malevolent from just touching Gaile? Was it both?
"It's alright..." Moulin crushed his friend's thoughts with a reassuring tone. He took Gaile's hand and silently let his mana explore. In the back of his mind, he thought, 'If Hadrian heard about this, would he be furious?... Or not? It's not like I'm being reckless.'
Gaile flinched the mont the person let his mana flow inside him. Given his body, born from the filthiest of desires and ambition, he would undoubtedly reject mana as pure as the blessed one holding his hand. He waited for the excruciating pain that would make him wish for death. However, he felt no such thing...
Warm as the morning sun and soft as rain. Like floating along a warm stream with the cool breeze caressing his skin. Gaile felt more in disbelief than gratitude. Was there ever such rciful power able to bless soone as wretched as him?
Moulin nodded with lowered eyes and finally pulled away. Seeing Gaile's improved countenance, he took pride in himself. His silver eyes glead. "Do you feel better?"
"I do..." Gaile stared at him in a daze. He felt his muscles warming, his blood flowing, and his soul ringing in richness. The excruciating pain and the feeling of having his soul slowly deteriorating vanished as though it never happened.
Nodding, Moulin turned to Jagra. "See? Nothing wrong-"
Whoosh!
Jagra whizzed past him, dropped on his knees before Gaile, and inspected the elf's body and mana. His pupils trembled as he felt the warmth of Gaile's chest underneath his hands.
Moulin blinked. "..."
"Thank goodness..." Jagra leaned his forehead against the elf's chest and sighed heavily. The person sitting carefully brought a hand to caress Jagra's back.
Surrounded by a certain untouchable aura, the two silently felt each other's touch, basking in the other's embrace.
"..."
Watching them, Moulin realized how deep the two's feelings for each other were, contrary to how Ghana had hatefully described it.
Silently approaching the two, he spoke to Gaile. "None of this is temporary. Although you have broken away from your master, you aren't completely free. But as long as you don't stray and cooperate with us, I will ensure to erase every trace of malevolence from your body. You will live humanely and be free."
With a determined gaze, Gaile nodded.
Moulin couldn't stay for long and said a few more words to Gaile and Jagra.
"I'll co see you again. But you must try to bridge the rift between you and the sentinel mages..." Moulin spoke worriedly.
"I am trying, but they make it harder for ," Jagra said, but then recalled the gratifying gaze of the head sentinel mage.
"Perhaps... I wouldn't need to try anymore."
.....
Moulin left the deep aetheric vaults as discreetly as he could and found Ghana waiting for him outside the wide doors. Before leaving the realm, Moulin contacted the only person he knew who experienced the fortress quite well, and perhaps the only person that he could trust with keeping his disguise. The woman with a sword heavy on her hip raised a brow at his outfit, judging it distastefully. Moulin could already guess her thoughts without trying.
"Hey... It's not that bad, alright?" He waved his flowy sleeves. "It's... graceful."
Ghana tilted her head and pulled back a corner of her lips. "Yes... very functional, indeed. Where was the you who prefers combat clothes over this garbage?"
Moulin dropped his arms with a frown. "It's all a disguise."
"Yes... yes. Co now." She jerked her head towards the open door. "We haven't got all the ti in the world, young master."
Despite the gloom that enshrouds the whole land, the fortress was brimming with life. A certain liveliness that it had lost before. Although its walls and roofs remained untouched, it brought about a change that Moulin hadn't known had been there. He followed behind Ghana like a silent manservant dressed in arcan robes and saw for himself the recent changes of the fortress.
In the vast halls inside the fortress, among the variety of workers, mages, and soldiers, he saw people garbed in familiar white hooded robes, the distinct uniform of the mages in the Arcan sector. They passed by him, bearing quiet yet graceful auras and possessing familiar relics hanging from their waist. Protective arcan relics, he realized, one of the first artifacts he had created a long ti ago. But it wasn't just the arcan mages wearing them; most of the people he passed wore them as well. So relics, smaller, were worn in rings, bracelets, and others as earrings.
"Feeling pride?" Ghana whispered with a smile. "These are your creations after all..."
Moulin didn't really know how to feel about being a famous jeweler all of a sudden. "..."
However, he realized what he observed was just the tip of the iceberg. The more he explored, the more confused and uneasy he beca.
"That? The Royal Council put that up to acknowledge the Arcan Sector's efforts." Ghana gestured to the giant white statue in the middle of the fortresses' gigantic garden.
Silver eyes, tremblingly reflected his own image, garbed in flowy robes and stretching his slender arms to the heavens. Cradled in a bed of moonflowers and long, wavy hair reaching to his ankles, the statue knelt pitifully, but its beauty and grace were ticulously emphasized like a rciful deity of light.
'W-Where were his muscles?...'
It looked so bright, it blinded him, and Ghana dragged him away before he could complain.
His journey was far from finished.
"What are they whispering about? Oh, a prayer of hope. Why are they ntioning your na? What else? The Lynari is a symbol of hope granted from the heavens."
"Those? The Crown Prince commissioned those glass windows. Yes, it does look like you're descending from the clouds with crystal wings."
"What is so shocking about soldiers reciting an oath to you in broad daylight? It's not like they're cursing you."
Unable to keep up with the shocking experience, Moulin refused to visit the Arcan Sector's Halls and rushed towards the barracks with Ghana laughing behind him.
Fortunately, unlike the grand expressions of devotion inside the fortress, the training yards had none of those things and looked just as he had rembered, giving Moulin a faint sense of peace. Swords clashing, sweat-soaked skin, and raw power bursting from each strike.
Walking in the vast training fields, Moulin hesitantly stretched his neck and looked at sothing that caught his attention.
Amidst the strenuous activities strewn across the area, a huge structure that, to him, looked like a stone tablet stood conspicuously. It looked simple, with a few soldiers stopping by it briefly.
Moulin's steps gradually slowed, and before he knew it, he was walking towards it.
"Moulin?" Ghana turned her head in confusion.
.
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