The mission that had seemed destined for hardship ended far more smoothly than anyone had expected. In the vast, echoing hall, only Arya's faint, suppressed groans lingered, mingling with the soft rustle of the three sorcerers collecting their spoils. The air was thick with the aftertaste of battle—burnt ozone and stone dust—but the atmosphere among them was calm, even subdued.
Karl had just demonstrated generosity in the division of the core fragments. Because of that, no one questioned his share or spoke a word of complaint. To them, this minor matter wasn't worth spoiling the quiet satisfaction of an unexpectedly successful mission.
What had been predicted to be a long and perilous pursuit concluded in a manner that defied everyone's expectations. Neither Dredy nor the others had anticipated it ending so abruptly—or so easily.
When the work was done, Karl traced a glowing circle in the air. The portal shimmered into being, swirling with faint blue light. Without hesitation, he stepped through and returned to the academy.
As soon as he emerged from the rippling gate, the familiar scent of parchment and candle wax greeted him. Descending the spiral staircase ahead was his teacher, Hen—moving slowly, as he often did, a thick tome held in one hand. The book was ancient, bound in cracked leather, its pages filled with a long-lost language.
Hen paused when he saw Karl. His step faltered ever so slightly, and a flicker of surprise crossed his usually composed features.
Less than two hours ago, Hen had personally assigned Karl to join the enforcement team in their pursuit of Arya, a rogue wizard known for her stealth and cunning. In the past, similar missions had dragged on for days—sometimes weeks. Teams would chase their quarry across desolate plains and treacherous ruins, often clashing several times before finally capturing or killing their target.
Hen had prepared himself for Karl's first assignment of this kind to be a hard lesson. He had even been ready to console his apprentice in case of failure, believing setbacks to be necessary steps in a young sorcerer's growth.
Seeing Karl return so soon, his robes immaculate and his expression calm, Hen naturally assumed the mission had failed. A faint, understanding smile touched his lips as he closed the tome and began to speak words of comfort.
"Karl, don't let this discourage you," he said gently. "Pursuing fugitives is never easy. Even veteran enforcement teams sometimes lose their mark. Arya is skilled in concealment and illusion. Failure this time only means experience gained for the next."
But before Hen could finish, Karl interrupted him.
"Teacher, the mission is complete," Karl said quietly. "Everything went very smoothly."
The words echoed through the empty hall, clear and steady.
Hen froze, the comforting speech dying on his lips. His brow rose slightly, as if unsure whether he'd heard correctly.
"You… completed it?"
Karl nodded once. "Yes. Arya had found an elven ruin to use as her hiding place. Unfortunately for her, she triggered a defensive mechanism inside—the ruins were filled with active golems and gargoyles. By the time we arrived, she was already locked in a desperate fight for her life. If Dredy and I had arrived just a few moments later, we might have found only her corpse."
Hen listened in silence, absently stroking the tome's worn cover with his thumb. The story sounded almost too convenient, yet the calm confidence in Karl's tone left no room for doubt. Not only had he completed his first major mission, but he had done so with remarkable luck and efficiency. There were no casualties, and the discovery of ancient ruins added another layer of significance to the event.
"Elven ruins, guarded by golems and gargoyles…" Hen murmured thoughtfully. His scholarly curiosity stirred. "That suggests the site may be exceptionally well preserved. Such places often contain valuable relics—perhaps ancient magical artifacts or scrolls of knowledge long lost."
He raised his gaze to Karl, his tone softening. "You've done well. I'll arrange for a Brotherhood survey team to explore the ruins as soon as possible. Your operation not only completed the mission without loss, but also uncovered a site of historical importance. This will be noted as a great merit in your record."
Karl inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, Teacher."
Yet there was no joy on his face. His expression remained composed, his eyes distant. After a moment of hesitation, he looked up again. Something troubled him—something that had nothing to do with the mission.
"Teacher," Karl began quietly, "does the Wizard Council have any way to cure pallor sickness? Someone very close to me has unfortunately contracted it."
He spoke carefully, almost uncertainly. The Wizard Council had existed for centuries, and Karl knew it possessed vast knowledge and resources—some far beyond ordinary understanding. Perhaps, he hoped, among their secret archives lay a cure for the disease that had slowly consumed his relative's life.
Hen's expression darkened slightly. He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.
"Pallor sickness… no, the Wizard Council is powerless against it."
Karl's eyes flickered with disappointment. Hen continued, his tone thoughtful but tinged with melancholy. "For most common ailments—fevers, wounds, even lost limbs—we have healing spells and potions. Alchemical prosthetics can replace damaged organs, though they never function quite as well as the originals."
He paused and met Karl's gaze. "But pallor sickness is different. It stems from the deepest layers of the body—from the very marrow of the bones and the essence of the blood. It is not merely an illness; it is a corruption of life itself."
Hen let out a quiet sigh. "It's like what happens to me as I age—my heart grows weaker, my body decays. Magic cannot reverse that. Pallor sickness is much the same. Even Lady Mati, the Brotherhood's most accomplished healer, can do no more than ease the pain during an attack."
Karl stood silently, hope draining from his face. The faint light that had flickered in his eyes went out. For a long moment, neither spoke. In his mind, Karl saw Raymond's pale, feverish face—the face of someone wasting away day by day—and his chest tightened painfully.
Hen noticed the change in his apprentice's expression and studied him quietly. He knew Karl's potential better than anyone. Within the young man's body lay a strange energy—something he had not yet fully understood, but which resembled the "dark matter" Hen had long theorized about.
After a brief silence, Hen spoke again, his tone softer now, more deliberate.
"Karl," he said, "that unique energy within you—it may be different in nature, but it reminds me of the power wielded by the priestesses of Meritelli. Their prayers draw on something we sorcerers rarely comprehend. It may not be divine intervention, but a force born of life itself—or something even more ancient."
Karl looked up, puzzled. "You mean… the temples?"
Hen nodded. "Yes. You might consider visiting the Temple of Meritelli in Erlend. Years ago, I studied reports and collected testimonies about that place. Among them were rare accounts—cases of people suffering from incurable diseases, including pallor sickness, who later recovered after long periods of prayer and ritual under the temple's care."
Karl blinked in surprise. This was not the advice he had expected. He had assumed Hen would direct him to some forbidden tome, or reveal an ancient alchemical formula. Instead, his teacher was suggesting faith—a temple, of all things.
For centuries, relations between wizards and priestesses had been strained. They were not outright enemies, but they stood on opposite sides of understanding. Sorcerers sought knowledge through reason and experimentation, while the priestesses believed in devotion and divine will. To a wizard, prayer seemed little more than superstition; to a priestess, magic was arrogance dressed in power.
"Teacher," Karl said slowly, "you think the temple could really… help?"
Hen's lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but something close. "I think," he said, "that magic does not encompass all truths. The world still holds mysteries that neither our spells nor our logic can touch. If even one among hundreds was cured there, that possibility is worth exploring."
He placed a hand on Karl's shoulder. "Sometimes, a power we cannot measure still exists, whether we believe in it or not."
Karl remained silent. He was still processing the idea—his teacher, a man who had devoted his life to reason and the study of arcane laws, speaking in defense of faith. It unsettled him, but also stirred a faint spark of curiosity.
"Very well," Karl said at last. "I will try."
Hen nodded approvingly. "Good. Remember, the path of a true wizard is not just to master the known, but to seek understanding in what lies beyond."
Karl bowed slightly, then turned toward the corridor. The glow of the portal behind him had faded, leaving the hall in warm lamplight. He walked slowly, lost in thought.
The idea of the Temple of Meritelli lingered in his mind. He recalled fragments of stories—tales of priestesses who could sense the essence of life, who healed without potions or incantations, whose prayers resonated with unseen forces. Even Tissaia, the great archmage, had once studied the nature of their power, hoping to find proof of its existence.
Perhaps there was something to it after all.
As he walked through the silent corridors of the academy, Karl's thoughts drifted back to Raymond—his frail body, his shallow breathing, the pallor that gave the illness its name. The memory filled him with both sorrow and determination. If the temple truly held even a sliver of hope, he would find it.
Behind him, Hen stood quietly on the staircase, gazing into the distance. The hall was once again empty, filled only with the faint scent of candle wax and the whisper of old pages turning in the wind.
Hen murmured to himself, almost inaudibly, "Perhaps… that energy of his really is the key."
And somewhere beyond the walls of the academy, in a distant land bathed in morning light, the bells of the Temple of Meritelli began to ring—clear, steady, and full of life.
End of Chapter 87 – The Cure for Paleness
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