Chapter 88 — On the Same Side?
"So… you're one of my—uh—father's men?"
…
Inside the bedroom, Charles frowned at the sleazy old man sitting on the chair by the bed, idly fiddling with an apple core.
"You were sent to protect me?" he asked coldly.
"Of course," the old man chuckled. "Heh, heh—otherwise, why would a top-tier expert like me take an interest in a brat like you?"
Charles snorted.
"Ridiculous. If I remember correctly, he ordered my own butler to report me to the police. I nearly ended up behind bars."
"Report you?" The old man smacked his lips. "Tsk, tsk—you really don't appreciate good intentions. He was saving you, kid."
"Saving me?"
"Otherwise, why do you think you weren't allowed anywhere near your own territory?"
"You think someone really coveted that pitiful little town of yours and its miserable shops? Or that blocking your inheritance somehow brought them joy?"
"So sabotaging my inheritance, getting me hauled to the police station—that's saving me? And letting the Church suspect me of studying black magic and nearly burning me at the stake?"
Charles wasn't speaking out of resentment. To be honest, he felt nothing for that so-called father. But these things involved his own fate—he couldn't simply ignore them.
"Going to the police doesn't mean death," the old man replied casually. "And being suspected by the Church of dabbling in black magic—so what? Heh. Whether you could actually succeed at that, do you think your father wouldn't know?"
"If you ended up in prison, he could pull strings to get you out. If the Church put you on trial, he had ways to clear your name. But if you were truly possessed by a medium—then you'd really be beyond saving."
"Possessed by a medium?" Charles frowned.
"Exactly. Your aunt was that medium. She'd been planning something in the basement for years." The old man waggled his eyebrows. "We used that to draw the Church's attention to her. Heh."
"So… I was bait?"
"Correct. But bait doesn't mean unprotected." He grinned. "And as for the methods—well, you've seen the results."
"But I went into that castle."
"You went in twice," the old man said calmly. "Both times, I was watching from the shadows. The first time, she failed to lure you—right?"
His gaze swept over Charles, sharp and probing.
"The second time, the Church was involved. I didn't dare get close and expose myself, but I set up a banishment ritual in advance. I thought you'd fall into your aunt's hands."
"Who would've guessed she'd just drop dead like that…"
He stared at Charles, curiosity unmistakable in his eyes.
"I've always wondered—how exactly did you pull that off?"
"That's none of your business."
Charles's blunt reply left the old man momentarily speechless. He coughed, deflated, and finally shut his mouth.
Truthfully, Charles wasn't entirely sure himself.
Was it the Wraith Substitute?
The Eye of Reality had shown no prompt at the time—leaving him uncertain about that strange, elusive moment.
Those dreams I keep having… are they because of this? The man was who the Church was hunting, and the woman was my aunt?
She was that beautiful when she was young…?
Suppressing unease, Charles asked, "So all this effort was just to deal with a dead woman?"
"Not her," the old man said. "The one behind her."
"You let the Church find the notebook, watch my aunt, and trace her back to that person?"
"Exactly."
"And you were certain she'd give the notebook to me after she died?"
"She didn't give it willingly. We made sure it ended up with you."
"…I'm lost."
"How did you make her do that?"
"There are many ways to influence a spirit once it loses its body," he chuckled. "But doing it subtly? That's the hard part."
"And yet you succeeded."
"We did."
"Then why not have her surrender? Or pass it to someone else?"
"That would've exposed us. Using the Church is dangerous. You can only apply the lightest nudge—anything stronger would've violated her true will."
Charles rubbed his temples.
"So let me get this straight. My father wanted to use the Church to deal with someone, but first had to drag them into the Church's sight. So he used me as bait, took out his own sister, and then spent ages making sure I didn't die in the process?"
"Yes."
"And that butler?"
"Poor old man… knew nothing. Too impulsive. Completely unnecessary."
The old man sighed, then grew serious.
"Normally, none of this would be explained to you. But no one expected you to awaken spellcasting talent and join the Church. That wasn't the plan. You were supposed to be hauled back to Roan County and live as a useless noble brat."
"And now?"
"Now your father doesn't know what to do."
"I suggest ignoring me," Charles said calmly.
"That… may actually be best." The old man scratched his head. "He is busy lately."
Then he added quietly, "I didn't come just to explain things. I'm here to warn you—stop digging further. Otherwise, even I can't guarantee your safety. Your father may not like you, but he doesn't want you dead."
"I'd love to stay out of it," Charles replied flatly. "But others won't let me."
"You could pretend to be sick…"
Even as he said it, his voice faltered.
"…Yeah. Not convincing with the Church involved."
He sighed heavily.
"How did things end up like this?"
Charles said nothing.
He didn't fully believe the old man—if at all. He remained wary. But that didn't stop him from trying to profit—or test the truth.
"If you really want to protect me," Charles said, "then help me get stronger. Spellbooks, techniques—something. Running isn't an option anymore."
The old man considered it, then nodded.
"You're not wrong. But since you've joined the Church, you can't choose freely until you enter the Ring. So what can I give you…"
After rummaging through his vest, he slapped a sheet of paper onto the table.
"Practice these. Once you've mastered them, you could probably kill a grown man bare-handed."
Then he added abruptly, "Oh—and remember this. You can join the Church, but whatever you do—don't choose angels."
"…Choose angels?"
Charles was about to ask, but the paper drew his attention.
"You were prepared," he said slowly.
"Of course. You think I'd wait for you to ask?" The old man grinned, his red nose twitching grotesquely.
Charles sighed and read the paper.
"That's it? Nothing stronger?"
"Stronger spells exist. You can even cast above your level—if you don't mind getting roasted alive."
"Can't you give me more?"
"Unless you walk the Path of Flame, these three are all you can use."
"Path of Flame?"
"Like the Church leads to Heaven, the Path of Flame leads elsewhere," the old man said, studying Charles. "But it doesn't mesh well with the Church's Stone school."
Charles didn't ask why. Instead, he asked something more important.
"Can paths be combined?"
"Of course."
"Freely?"
"Hardly. Thorn Angels can never coexist with Hell Nightfiends. Mire Nightmares don't mix with Faerie Spirits either."
"…What are you even talking about?"
Charles stared blankly.
Was this a discussion about professions—or monsters?