Chapter 44 — Welcome, Sebastian
The ceiling of the hall stretched like an infinite sky. Pillars of black marble stood in majestic rows between the soldiers flanking both sides. Ancient runes blazed atop each pillar, their glow casting shadows across the floor that moved like living creatures.
Sebastian swept his gaze over the soldiers lined up on either side. Their armor gleamed like polished silver, and black ostrich-feather cloaks billowed from their shoulders. Their faces were hidden behind masks, but through the narrow slits, their gazes—cold and razor-sharp—tracked his every step.
He stopped before the throne. The echo of his footsteps reverberated through the vast chamber.
The man seated on the throne was anything but ordinary. His long black hair cascaded past his shoulders, and his eyes—like two pools of blood—seemed to pierce straight through Sebastian. A black cloak trimmed with gold draped over his shoulders, and in his hand, he held a scepter inlaid with pearl carvings. The very air around him trembled; the density of his spiritual power made it difficult to breathe.
"Welcome, Sebastian," he said. His voice was low and gentle, yet it reached every corner of the hall.
Sebastian knelt. "This is more magnificent than I imagined, Mr. Disciple… or should I say, Grand Elder?"
The man on the throne smiled faintly. "Haha, no. Just a Disciple."
He raised his hand, gesturing for Sebastian to rise.
"Well, you did well. If you hadn't saved him, the elders would have had no choice but to interfere—and we were just one step away from that. If it had come to that, a major problem would have arisen."
A thin sheen of sweat formed on Sebastian's forehead. "You mean… the Academy…"
The Disciple cut him off. "No, no, no. I simply don't want any more trouble with those Grimjaws."
Sebastian's brows lifted. "There was trouble before?"
A shadow of heavy memory crossed the Disciple's face. He twirled his scepter between his fingers and spoke slowly:
"Yes. I dealt with the Grimjaw problem myself."
Sebastian froze. A chill ran down his spine. "How?"
A cold smile curled at the corner of the Disciple's lips. He tilted his head slightly, locking eyes with Sebastian.
"I killed him with my own hands."
Sebastian's eyes widened. The air grew heavy, pressing down on his shoulders like an invisible weight. "Is this a joke, sir?"
"Haha, no. Why would I joke?" the Disciple said with a wave of his hand.
Sebastian immediately bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the floor. "Forgive me, sir. I didn't know."
"It's nothing. You are one of our hopes."
The Disciple's tone suddenly turned serious. Sebastian rose to his feet and reached into his inner spatial realm. The divine artifact—an enormous gauntlet forged from black iron—materialized in his hand. Its surface was carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly, like flowing veins of blood. The sheer weight of it dragged his arm downward, and the air around it quivered under its unnatural presence. Its claw-like fingertips ended in sharp talon-shaped engravings, while interlocking iron rings reinforced the wrist area.
"Here, sir. Thank you for this," Sebastian said, extending the gauntlet.
The moment the Disciple accepted it, a black mist engulfed the entire hall. Stars flickered within the mist—this was no ordinary fog, but the sign of spatial dimensions opening.
The first portal opened.
Then the second.
The third...
The sixth.
Three on each side—each portal framed in glowing golden borders, from which emanated the breath of ancient, otherworldly power. Behind each portal sat a separate throne. And on each throne—a figure. None of them looked like ordinary humans: one had skin that rippled like black smoke, another's eyes glittered like shards of starlight, while a third was completely enveloped in a radiant white glow.
Sebastian's throat went dry.
"The High Priests…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The one in the middle of the right-side portals suddenly spoke up, his tone brash and booming: "Ohho! What's going on here? How interesting!"
His coarse, thundering voice shook the entire hall. Tiny sparks of lightning crackled around his throne.
"Shut your mouth, Feng!" hissed the first priest on the left. His voice slithered like a snake, whispering from the darkness. He was barely visible—only two gleaming yellow eyes glowed in the shadows.
At that moment, Sebastian couldn't help himself. He raised his voice and declared: "All glory to the High Priests!"
His words echoed and spread across the hall. In an instant, all the soldiers—hundreds of warriors—dropped to one knee. The rustle of their armor erupted in unison, like a single living creature. Sebastian himself bowed involuntarily, a strange mixture of reverence and fear stirring within him.
"All this pomp is unnecessary," said the third priest on the right. His throne was woven from flowers, and a green branch rested in his hand. Every word he spoke carried the scent of spring.
"Then why are you still alive?" came a freezing voice from the second priest on the left. His tone was sharp as a blade, making even the Disciple shift slightly.
"Is there a reason you're asking that?" retorted the right-side priest, a mocking smirk on his lips.
"Quiet."
The Disciple's voice cut through—sharp, authoritative. He struck the ground with his scepter, and a profound silence descended over the hall. Even the air seemed to stop moving.
Several seconds of stillness passed. Sebastian could hear only his own heartbeat.
The Disciple spoke again:
"Now, back to you, Sebastian. I give you this gift—because you managed to save him without our interference."
"Yes, sir, but this is far too—"
"I don't want to hear it," the Disciple interrupted, raising his hand. "This is no ordinary matter. From now on, until he fully recovers, we want you to protect him wherever he goes."
Sebastian swallowed hard, but nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Take this as well."
The Disciple reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and pulled out a small, golden-colored pill. It seemed to glow on its own in the dim light, as if alive. As he released it into the air, it drifted slowly, almost as if it had found its own path, circling down until it landed softly in Sebastian's palm. The pill was warm—hot like a heated stone, yet it didn't burn.
Sebastian stared at it for a few seconds. A strange warmth spread through his chest, and the weight in his hand seemed to infuse him with renewed strength.
"This is..."
"For your next stage," said the Disciple.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. He understood that this gift was no simple trinket. "Understood."
He rose to his feet. Though his knees trembled slightly, he composed himself.
"Thank you. May I leave now?"
"Of course," said the Disciple, gesturing toward the door.
Sebastian turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed through the hall, and the soldiers followed him with cold, unwavering stares.
Just as he reached the door, he heard the Disciple's low murmur:
"Stay close… be patient…"
And then, as if whispering to himself:
"The Apostles of Catastrophe have awakened…"
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City Center. Hospital.
The ceiling lamp hummed steadily, casting a dim, colorless glow over the room. Through the window came the muffled noises of the busy city—carts rumbling, people chattering. The air was thick with the distinct scent of herbs and boiled linens.
Thump…
Thump…
Thump…
"Ohhh… I… what am I doing?"
I opened my eyes suddenly. Above me, a white ceiling, with a tiny crack in one corner. My body felt heavy, my limbs weak and numb.
"Arghhh… that pain again!"
A sharp, burning agony stabbed beneath my ribs, like a red-hot spike being driven into my chest. Breathing was hard. Each inhale made my ribs rattle, sending another wave of torment through me.
"Calm down, it's just pain," I told myself. I gritted my teeth, clenching my jaw to endure the hurt. Sweat poured down my forehead and stung my eyes, only sharpening the sensation.
The door opened. A woman in a nun's robe stepped inside. She looked to be in her forties, her face pale with exhaustion, but her eyes were kind and sharp. She carried a small bowl of herbal decoction.
"Drink this," she said, offering me the bowl.
"Errrrgghh… what is it?" I asked, still writhing in pain.
"A painkiller. We've examined you."
Her words suddenly made the air in the room heavier. I took the bowl from her and downed a gulp. It was bitter, but a warm sensation spread through my body, dulling the edge of the agony.
"Your mana core has been damaged by a severe impact," she said in a serious tone, placing her hands on her hips and fixing me with her gaze.
"Yes… how long will it take to heal?"
She fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her fingers unconsciously fidgeted with the edge of her robe.
"What does that mean?" I asked, a cold dread beginning to creep up my spine.
She took a deep breath and told me the truth:
"Well, because the damage is extensive, your body can't heal it on its own. You'll need external help. That can only be done with a special medicine found in the capital. If too much time passes before you restore the damaged core, even though it's only fractured now and still soft enough to recover—after a while, it will become irreversible. I'm sorry."
Her words fell as heavy as lead. I looked out the window—the city was distant, and the capital was days away.
"No need to apologize. It's my fault," I said, pressing my lips together. "Thank you for explaining."
The nun nodded, placed the bowl on the table, and walked toward the door. "You need to rest," she said, and left the room.
"Ohh… finally, the pain is fading a little," I whispered as the decoction's effects began to spread. Breathing felt a bit easier now.
Just then, the door opened again. The sharp, grating sound of boots brought a faint stir to the room.
The detective—a tall man with narrow eyes, an old, worn coat draped over his shoulders—stepped inside slowly. He carried a small notebook and a pencil. His gaze was sharp and probing, as if he intended to dissect me with his eyes.
He stopped, scanned the room once, then looked directly at me and began reading aloud:
"So, your name is Kael. Age eight. A first-year student. Your father's name is Sedrik. And lately, he's been very active in the local gold markets, handling an enormous volume of trades."
He closed his notebook and stared at me. The light caught a faint scar on his face.
"Hmm… what were you doing there? Mind telling me?"
His question settled into the room like a thick blanket of silence. I turned my gaze to the window—and saw a black crow perched on a tree branch in the distance, watching me, as if it too were waiting for my answer.
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