"Old Neil lost control?"
Inside the gray fog, George listened as Klein delivered the news, his expression heavy.
Klein nodded slowly.
"When he was young, he had a fiancée. Her name was Celeste. She fell gravely ill before their wedding. There was no cure."
"He tried to save her with ritual magic, even risking exposure of supernatural secrets. It still wasn't enough."
Klein paused.
"Recently, he began hearing whispers. Guidance. Promises. The Hidden Sage tempted him with forbidden knowledge. He tried to resurrect Celeste through life transmutation."
"It failed."
"He lost control and turned into… something else."
"We managed to suppress him with a sealed artifact. He's being held in the basement at the Blackthorn Security Company."
George let out a quiet breath.
"Loyal to the end," he murmured.
Then he looked at Klein.
"As long as he's alive, I can bring him back."
Klein visibly relaxed.
Old Neil had taught him most of what he knew about mysticism. Mentor. Colleague. Almost family.
"I'm glad," Klein said.
"The Captain has already sent word to headquarters. They'll likely contact you soon."
George nodded.
"Keep him contained. I'll head there tomorrow morning."
He withdrew from the gray fog.
As expected, it didn't take long.
A knock came that evening.
The visitor was familiar.
Crestet Cesima.
The bearer of the title "Goddess' Sword."
He had recently advanced and now carried himself with even greater presence.
"You've succeeded," George said, sensing the shift in his power.
Crestet smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"Congratulations," George replied. "So, we're heading to Tingen?"
Crestet nodded and briefly outlined the situation.
George feigned mild surprise.
"I remember thinking he seemed unstable. I didn't expect it to go this far."
Within the hour, they were on their way to the train station.
George's parents would notice nothing.
The Church was more than capable of smoothing over a child's temporary absence.
In a private compartment aboard the steam train, George and Crestet spoke quietly.
Every conversation with one of the Church's senior operatives was an opportunity.
Last time, George had extracted several valuable pieces of information without Crestet even realizing it.
"Old Neil followed the Seer path, correct?" George asked casually. "I've heard it's particularly prone to instability."
Crestet inclined his head.
"That path is more accurately called the Hermit path. It originated from an ancient organization known as the Moses Ascetic Order."
"They worshiped a non-personified entity called the Hidden Sage."
"Originally, the order was respectable. Strict discipline. Moral codes. Silence as training. They believed in reincarnation and the pursuit of pure knowledge."
"Members entering the path were required to observe five years of silence."
"Their maxim was simple: act as you will, but do no harm."
Crestet's tone darkened slightly.
"Then something changed."
"The Hidden Sage was corrupted. Influenced by an unknown malevolent force."
"It became personified."
"And it began hunting its own followers."
George raised an eyebrow.
"Hunting?"
"It forces knowledge into their minds," Crestet said. "Overwhelming torrents of arcane truth."
"Those with exceptional willpower endure."
"The rest are twisted into monsters."
George's eyes gleamed for the briefest moment.
Knowledge forced upon you by a god.
For most, that meant madness.
For him…
It sounded like an opportunity.
If Old Neil's supernatural essence still carried traces of that connection, then it could serve as an anchor.
A bridge.
George suppressed his interest and nodded thoughtfully.
The train reached Tingen at dawn.
They proceeded directly to Blackthorn Security Company.
Dunn Smith received them personally and led them downstairs.
The air grew colder with each step.
The containment room door opened.
What remained of Old Neil was barely human.
A mass of viscous, blood-red substance pooled across the floor.
Short black hairs sprouted from the surface.
His pale head was fused to the mass, additional eyes bulging from his forehead and cheeks, staring blankly without lashes.
Dunn's voice was tight.
"We're using Sealed Artifact 3-0611 to suppress him."
Grief flickered across his face.
Old Neil had been his longest-serving teammate.
Others had died.
Others had lost control.
Each time, something in Dunn hardened.
And cracked.
If George failed…
This would be another name added to a list Dunn never wanted to grow.
The Watchers were protectors.
But they lived on the edge of madness.
Every single day.