Night had fully fallen by the time Galad and his group's carriage arrived before Old Neil's house.
The detached, two-story residence still had warm light shining from the glass windows flanking the front door, casting faint glows onto the garden path. Roses and golden mint filled the garden, their fragrance drifting through the night air. From within came the sound of piano music ,elegant, lively, yet serene against the stillness of the night.
Old Neil can play the piano? Never would've guessed…
Galad's thoughts stalled as he noticed Dunn, Seeka, and Daly's expressions shifting.
"Old Neil doesn't play the piano," Seeka whispered quietly.
Galad froze. If not Old Neil, then who was playing at this hour?
"The spirits here are restless," Daly murmured, eyes closed in concentration.
Creste's calm voice followed: "Then let us begin."
He did not step inside. Instead, standing before the door, he began to chant a song without words, only melody. The sound seemed to blend with the night itself; the roses and mint swayed gently in the breeze, and for a moment, the world felt tranquil.
A heaviness pressed against Galad's eyelids. He quickly shook it off, realizing the song wasn't aimed at him.
From beneath Creste's collar floated something translucent, drifting silently through the front door into Old Neil's home.
The piano music inside faltered… and stopped.
"You may enter now," Creste said, voice faint, expression unreadable.
So strong… to subdue a target so effortlessly. This is a true High-Ranking Cleric.
Galad followed the others inside.
The house was unexpectedly tidy , too tidy for an old man living alone. Past the porch, where coats and umbrellas were neatly arranged, stretched a spacious living room. A patterned rug lay at its center, supporting a heavy round table. Benches, a rocking chair, and a piano stood around it.
Galad's eyes were immediately drawn to the piano where he thought he glimpsed a faint, translucent figure.
But Old Neil himself was slumped over the round table, head pillowed on his arms, as though in peaceful slumber. No one else was present.
Floating behind him, however, was that same eerie eye Galad had noticed before but now it was entangled, restrained by the translucent being Creste had released.
Recognizing this, Galad turned toward Creste only to find the man already watching him.
"Tell me," Creste asked evenly, "what do you intend to do next?"
On the carriage ride earlier, Galad had claimed that Old Neil still had a chance to be saved. It wasn't mere bravado. Days of observation had revealed clues: though the eye had latched onto Old Neil, eroding his body, it had yet to burrow into his mind. He still resisted, though his defenses were failing fast.
"I'll need two candles and a dagger," Galad said.
Seeka quickly slipped into a side room. When she returned, she carried two ritual white candles and a silver dagger.
"Until last year, we often came here to visit," she explained softly under Galad's questioning gaze. Her expression dimmed. "But back then, there was no piano in this house."
Galad accepted the items silently.
"Captain, lay Old Neil flat on the floor. Strip his upper garments completely."
Dunn complied, lifting Old Neil carefully from the table. The old man was limp as mud, still sleeping soundly. But when Dunn hesitated at undressing him, Creste's silver briefcase gave a subtle tremor. At once, Old Neil's clothes were sliced apart by invisible force, scattering into neat strips on the floor.
The chill of exposure made Old Neil twitch faintly, a few groans escaping, yet he did not wake.
Galad lit the two candles between himself and Old Neil, then turned solemnly to Dunn.
"Captain, you know I've only just joined the Nighthawks. My grasp of mysticism is shallow, and this method is adapted from ritual fragments in my potion. It… may not work."
Dunn met his eyes steadily. "Do your best. Whatever the outcome, I won't blame you. I'm already grateful you're trying to help Old Neil."
Those words alone were enough.
Galad nodded, then swallowed hard as he glanced at Creste. "Um… this might involve using forbidden power. Please don't mistake me for a heretic…"
Creste's gaze was cold, fathomless, like the surface of a dark lake. "I am watching. Whether you are heretic or not I will judge."
Not exactly reassuring… Galad muttered inwardly, steeling himself.
"Captain, please step back."
Dunn withdrew a safe distance. Galad raised the dagger. At once, invisible force sprayed from its edge, forming into shape. His hand was clumsy, but the structure held a barrier shimmered into existence, cutting off the space around him and Old Neil.
The Wall of Spirituality… not bad, Old Neil, you taught me well.
It was a mystic defense, a screen of pure spirituality which was of mental essence itself.
With the barrier set, Galad did not hesitate further. He pressed the dagger to his finger, slicing deep.
"Hiss.....damn that hurts."
Blood welled up, but he ignored it, pressing the wound to Old Neil's chest. Swiftly, he traced lines in crimson: a rough emblem of the True Creator, enclosed within a circle.
When the sigil was complete, he lifted his eyes to Creste.
With a gesture, Creste recalled the translucent restraint. Freed, the eerie eye rose, glaring at Galad with cold, cruel force.
"!!!!!...."
Blood burst from Galads nostrils and eyes instantly.