Breaking the isolation barrier, they decided to study the site instead. Whatever was going on with Bathsheda could wait. No sense tearing open two mysteries at once.

The wards fell with a faint shimmer. A handful of scholars started muttering about fresh notes and detailed diagrams, already itching to tear apart every inch of the ruins.

Cassian stayed by the archway, arms folded, watching previously scared scholars scatter. “Brilliant,” he said under his breath. “We survived a half-bound monster and the first thing they want to do is take rubbings.”

Bathsheda shot him a look. “Let them work.”

“Work is fine. Work doesn’t usually end with someone missing a limb.” He gave the crimson-robed witch a pointed glance as she scribbled on her parchment as if nothing had happened. He also learned that she was the Greek Minister’s daughter. That explained her… attitude.

The Hit-Wizards didn’t move far. They lingered near the perimeter, hands twitching toward their wands whenever the ground gave so much as a soft groan.

At the arch, the masters clustered tight, eyes raking over every inch of the ward lines. Nicolas shook his head slowly, fingers brushing the carved sigils.

“Why wouldn’t you study the runes first? The story is clear as day right here.”

The group went quiet, every gaze sliding toward Cassian.

Leontis rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding the weight of the stares. “Professor Rosier said the same,” he admitted. “But the wards were cracking already. We didn’t want to wait.”

“Reckless,” one of the old masters muttered.

The rebuke cut sharper than a curse. Everyone froze as if caught nicking sweets. Heads ducked. Quills stilled. The crimson-robed witch’s lips clamped shut, hiding behind her Daddy.

The elders circled the arch in silence. Nicolas crouched near the largest glyph, fingertips brushing its edge. His brows knitted. “This wasn’t just a binding. It is layered. Whoever etched these knew their quarry wasn’t going to stay quiet.”

A scholar frowned at the runes, “They don’t seem useful. Just… symmetrical, beautiful…”

Bathsheda moved closer to the nearest ring. “The lines aren’t decorative. They channel the seal inward. Each spiral tightens the containment.”

One of the Turkish scholars knelt, squinting. “But why? It would trap the magic in a chokehold.”

“That’s the point,” Perenelle said sharply. “It is not meant to just bind. It was meant to smother. Whatever they locked, they didn’t want it thinking, let alone moving.”

Flamel sighed through his nose. “There is genius in the simplicity. No runic drift. No symbolic flourishes. Pure function.” He straightened, brushing dust from his knees. “It’s almost… mechanical.”

“That thing is awake,” the French scholar muttered. His knuckles whitened around his wand.

“It is rousing,” Perenelle corrected. “There is a difference. If it were fully awake, we wouldn’t be standing here having this pleasant little chat.”

The Greek Minister’s eyes darted between them. “What is it?”

Ji glanced at the veiled elder. The old master gave a small nod.

Ji’s tone shifted. “Krouna tou Kakou.”

Cassian froze. The words clawed at his ribs like cold fingers. Even the syllables felt heavy, sinking into the air until the group went still.

The Greek Minister’s face paled. “The Crown of Evil?”

Master Ji shot him a look. “That creature isn’t bound by Olympian terms. This is older. It is the sprout of evil.”

Perenelle brushed her palm lightly over the nearest glyph. “We should keep moving. The runes tell the story better than we could.”

The group fell in step behind her. Nicolas traced a finger along one of the spirals. “It begins before men walked upright. Before words were words. A thing crawled out of the void. Hungry. Shapeless. It fed on the wild magic that hung loose in the world. It grew teeth, claws, and a crown of coiled light. Wherever it stepped, forests rotted. Seas blackened. The winds carried sickness.”

“The people gave it no name at first. Names give power. But they feared its shadow, feared its voice. They built fires to drive it away, drew sigils in the dirt. Useless. The creature did not care for fire or charms or prayers. It devoured all the same.”

A faint gust of air slid down the passage, carrying the smell of salt and stone.

“Eventually, they called it Krouna tou Kakou. Not because it wore a crown, but because it crowned evil itself. Wherever it went, lesser beasts gathered at its feet. Creatures with no names.”

Nicolas stopped in front of a cracked section where the runes flared faintly under the light. “In time, the ancient ones, the ones before gods and men, rose to face it. They forged chains of thought, memory, and magic. They lashed it down, peeled its mind open, and locked it in a sleep so deep the world would forget its name.” Googlᴇ search N0v3l.Fiɾe.net

Perenelle crouched beside him, eyes narrowing on a twisting sigil. “But it wasn’t killed. They couldn’t kill it. They buried it alive, sealed it beneath layers of earth and magic.”

Cassian’s lips tugged faintly. Of course they couldn’t kill it. That would’ve been too neat. Things like this didn’t die, they just waited for idiots to dig them up.

“The story ends with a warning,” said the veiled woman, her staff tapping the ground softly as she read. “Break the chains and the hunger returns. The beast remembers every soul that laid it low. It does not forgive.”

“Well, that’s bloody cheerful,” Cassian muttered. “Nothing like an ancient bedtime story to make you question every career choice you’ve ever made.”

Bathsheda glanced over her shoulder at him, lips twitching faintly. “You picked the career.”

“And I regret it daily.”

“Liar. You love it.”

Nicolas stood, brushing dust from his hands. “This is no myth. The seals hold because they are fed by the world itself. Life above keeps it dormant. If they weaken…”

“It wakes,” Master Ji finished simply.

One of the old masters thumped his staff against the cracked pillar near the archway, his voice rasping. “It says right here! Don’t enter. Don’t open. No matter what you do… don’t try to break in! Fools!”

No one argued. They didn’t even move.

A silence settled over the group.

“This place was buried on purpose. Its memories were washed away, its very name forgotten. Not to be destroyed, but to be hidden, sealed until the runes grew weak, so that those who found it could strengthen them again. That was the design. That was the safeguard. Done so three times. Until now.”

“The outermost rune was no riddle, it was a warning. It told you to stop, to read, to understand before you set foot further. And what did you do? You rushed forward. You broke what you should have mended. You did the opposite of what was intended.”

The master’s gaze swept across them, sharp and condemning. “Fools.”

The crimson-robed witch shifted on her feet, shoulders tight. Even she couldn’t wriggle out of that one… not with the warning carved into stone, plain as day, and every rune around them humming like it had been holding its breath for millennia.

Nicolas sighed, looking at the base of the pillar, fingers brushing the carved lines. “They weren’t subtle about it either. Repeated the warning in three scripts… Mycenaean, Linear A, and something I don’t even recognise.”

“They were kind enough to add the story again in two other languages, long after the original, so that even fools like you could still read and understand it in case the original language was lost in time.” Another elder huffed.

Perenelle stepped closer, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Whatever this thing was, they wanted it forgotten. Buried. Nothing about these wards suggests containment alone. This was meant to erase.”

The veiled elder shifted. “They tried to drown its memory as much as its body.”

The Turkish Minister let out a quiet hiss, throwing a glance to Greeks. “And yet you all still insist on studying it.”

Greek Minister shot him a look. “As if your scholars wouldn’t. You had a team in here.”

The Turkish Minister’s lip curled. “Our team had nothing to do with this mess. They left the site untouched until you invited half of Europe to meddle.”

“You were planning your own dig before even applying for permits,” the Greek snapped back. “Don’t pretend you are the cautious ones.”

“Cautious enough not to rip open a bloody containment ward without knowing what was inside,” the Turk said, voice tightening.

Cassian scrubbed a hand down his face. “Here we go. Ancient monster nearly claws its way out of the earth, and now we are debating whose flag gets pinned on the disaster.”

Neither Minister spared him a glance.

“We should’ve been consulted,” the Turk went on. “Instead, you dragged in British and French scholars and let them poke around as they pleased.”

“That is rich coming from you,” the Greek said flatly. “You were caught trying to move half a Minoan site across the border last year.”

The Turk’s face darkened. “Lies. That was a Ministry operation.”

“Call it what you like,” the Greek said, folding his arms. “Your Ministry has a habit of losing control of what it touches.”

The Turkish Minister jabbed a finger toward the archway. “What’s inside there is awake because of you.”

“And you’re welcome to take a closer look,” The Greek let out a short, humourless laugh. “Perhaps we should send in your team first, Minister. See how cautious they are when the chains start snapping.”

The Turk’s jaw twitched. “If it weren’t for outside interference, we wouldn’t even be in this position.”

The crimson-robed witch cut in sharply, glaring at the Turkish Minister. “If you are done measuring your Ministry budget with ours, we have a more pressing issue.” She jabbed her wand at the runes carved into the dirt. “This seal is unstable. It won’t hold indefinitely.”

“Because you broke half of it already,” Someone said under their breath.

Master Ji’s voice cut clean through the tension. “Enough. This creature does not care for borders. It will not pause to ask for your papers before it kills.”

The Turkish Minister looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t.

Ji’s gaze swept over the group. “We focus on containment. Politics can wait.”

Nicolas nodded. “Agreed. Whatever bound this creature originally had more sense than we’re showing now.”

The Turkish Minister’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “What do you propose?”

Nicolas looked at the old masters, each of them giving a faint nod. “We will remove your memories.”

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Your silence arrives on time, every time. Punctuality deserves praise.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep