Chapter 93: We Can Only Rely on Ourselves!

Count Crowley entered the room. As a soldier, he was efficient and direct—any pleasantries had already been exchanged days before. So, after a brief apology and small talk, he got straight to the point.

“Sir Bach,” Count Crowley looked solemnly at the man who, among all wizards, was the least convinced of the existence of magic, and said, “This time, everything depends on you. I have especially invited Bishop John and his companions to assist you—if you need anything, just ask.”

He nodded to Louis and Helen, adding coolly, “Please do your best, both of you.”

It seemed Kate had already spoken to her father through the butler, confirming these two, dressed in theatrical costumes, were indeed priests. Yet Crowley did not bother to explain his wife’s situation to them again—clearly, he had little faith in their abilities.

‘Well, I must admit…’
‘Who exactly did Mr. Kentucky Beref recommend to us…?’

Having said what needed to be said and shown consideration to all, Count Crowley fell silent. What shocked everyone was that the people he valued most were those three wizards who knew nothing of magic.

Helen and Stuart exchanged bewildered glances—what could those three Muggles possibly do?

To their further surprise, the Bishop nodded and smiled, “Don’t worry, Count Crowley, we will support them fully—Sir Bach, Lord Ron, and Grand Wizard Fermi, we verified your drawings last night. You were right. We were all mistaken, and we’ve grown old; we can no longer understand these things. This time, you must take the lead.”

With that, Bishop John drew a weathered, incomplete scroll from his sleeve and handed it solemnly to the three men in stockings.

As they glimpsed the scroll’s markings, Louis’s eyes flickered—Dawn Seal Array?!

‘The spell left behind by the Witch Queen for Stuart is a modified version of this?'
‘So the true legacy lies in the Moon Court! Or perhaps only they retain anything of value!’

The three wizards accepted the scroll without humility, each holding their head high in pride. One of them was already flipping through books rapidly, seemingly entering a working state.

Helen looked over curiously, seeing the scroll filled with his own scribbled incantations, yet the other two wizards seemed to defer to him, full of expectation for this bookish man in red stockings.

“In theory, these spells should perfectly compensate for the damaged ‘magic array’,” he said.

“Do your best, Sir Ron!” the other two said gravely to the book-flipping red-stockinged wizard, “The future of magic rests with us!”

“Don’t worry, Ron! We’ll give our lives to buy you time if needed!”

“Open the door, Count Crowley!” The three men in stockings clenched their fists together and turned toward the door that everyone had studiously ignored.

In their death-defying resolve, their eyes were filled with utter determination.

Count Crowley, his hand trembling, closed his eyes in pain as he handed the key to his daughter—the only one who could approach the door. Miss Kate pressed her lips together and opened it.

The door slowly swung open, and the group peered inside, beholding a dim hall covered with ropes made from clothing, sheets, curtains, and sundry fabrics.

These garments, knotted into immense webs, hung throughout the hall, covering every inch.

Even more bizarre, within the hall were several cocoon-like bundles wrapped in sheets—shifting and twitching, they had once been living people. Now, they had become half-human, half-puppet entities, crying out in despair.

[Laugh… laugh… laugh… laugh…]

Strange laughter echoed in everyone’s mind.

The ropes above suddenly twitched, and a gaunt, joint-reversed woman flashed through the “web of clothes,” wrapping herself around a half-human puppet on the verge of escaping its cocoon. Then she vanished—like a fast-forwarded film, so swift as to be nearly invisible.

Even more disturbing, the person who had just been alive began to turn to wood as soon as the sheet wrapped around them.

It seemed that anyone covered by those web-like sheets and clothes was simply “gone.”

Count Crowley, witnessing the scene, covered his eyes in grief. Kate, too, wept with her face in her hands.

The rest were so terrified their scalps tingled; even the seasoned priests were struck dumb, nearly losing control of themselves with fear!

What was this horror? This wasn’t what the king had said! How could three old men and a paladin possibly deal with such a thing?!

This would require an entire order of paladins!

Stuart’s thoughts matched theirs. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead—these were monsters born from the dreams of gods or countless witches!

This was the Source of Calamity.

Known as the Seed of the Fallen Angel!

In ancient times, when this thing awoke, it was near-divine!

Just like the Faceless One in the legends of Blackhorn Alley.

Of course, the Faceless One from Blackhorn Alley was not nearly as formidable as the boss…

If the boss weren’t here today, I’d leave at once!

I couldn’t deal with this thing! No one in the entire Magic Prison could—perhaps only the artifact, Death’s Lantern, could counter it!

If it hadn’t been for the creature’s slumber, still influenced by the last vestiges of the countess’s consciousness, it would have escaped the house already. Then, the entire count’s domain would be covered with these clothes-ropes!

The Ministry’s Department of Mysteries is utterly useless!

How many years has this thing been sleeping here? No one noticed, no one took action?!

Could the Witch Queen have interfered? She’s at odds with the Crowley family!

Stuart and the priests stood dumbfounded, while Helen, licking her lollipop, remained oblivious—after all, Louis seemed completely unfazed.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be leaving the hall just yet,” one of the wizards said.

It seemed the three wizards were not afraid.

Or rather, they knew they could not afford to be.

At this moment, these three wizards, ignorant of magic, wore the most serious expressions.

They gripped tightly their useless books, the scroll of the Dawn Seal Array from the Holy Court, and the various tools for inscribing it.

They understood that, right now, the lives of everyone present depended on these three “scholars,” powerless though they might be.

And they knew that someone must shoulder the future of magic.

Yes, they all knew their spells might not work.

But if they didn’t try, how could they know if their theories were correct?

How could they know whether the path of theory should be pursued further?

How could they know whether magic truly existed in this world?

["—On the road of seeking truth, there must always be a price. Everything begins with us!"—A declaration from a certain magical revolutionary]

[Interestingly, the aristocratic wizards understood magic, but burned and sealed it away.]

[The Grand Wizards of the ‘Moon Court’ understood magic, but lacked knowledge and skill to use it.]

[Yet, in this declining age of magic’s disappearance, a group of people who knew nothing of magic shouldered the impossible burden.]

[Relying on their self-made incantations and fervor, they pressed on through the unknown path bristling with darkness and thorns.]

[They hoped, pleaded, wished that their spells—useless as even they knew—might have some effect, to prove their theories correct.]

[Magic in this world surely has not vanished!]

[We will certainly leave a true legacy for future generations!]

...

Please give a recommendation.