Chapter 156: Chapter 156: When Light Strikes the Veil

The door closed behind them with a quiet click.

The boys’ dormitory, usually filled with the slow rhythm of sleeping breaths, now held six figures standing in a half-circle, lit only by the pale moonlight slipping through the shutters.

Marcus was the first to speak. His tone was calm, but his posture was tense.

“You found something, didn’t you?”

Noel gave a single nod.

Clara glanced between them, frowning. “Found something? What are you talking about?”

Marcus didn’t look away from Noel. “Someone’s trying to kill the Saint. That’s what we believe.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “That’s… serious. We need to report it immediately to the church.”

Noel’s voice cut through the air. “Wait. That’s the problem. Too many people are involved. We don’t know who we can trust. The old pope who opened the gate for me… he’s part of it. And the elven nun who helps run the orphanage—she’s involved too.”

Charlotte’s face went pale. “…That means—”

“The children aren’t safe,” Noel finished flatly.

Silence fell, heavy and cold.

Marcus stepped forward. “What did you find?”

Noel’s gaze darkened. “They’re using the children. Turning them into monsters. I think they’re building an army to strike during the ceremony tomorrow.”

Charlotte’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. Her eyes were wide, her voice barely a whisper.

“That means… the children from the orphanage… they weren’t going to loving homes…”

Marcus clenched his fists. “Then we need to move. Fast.”

Laziel frowned. “Wait—are you planning to attack that place directly?”

Marcus turned toward him. “Do you have a better idea?”

He looked at Noel. “You, Clara, and I are Adepts. We can fight. You and Garron stay here with Charlotte. Keep her safe.”

Noel shook his head. “As soon as the battle starts, the Holy Guard will show up too. It’ll turn into a bloodbath on all sides—we won’t know who’s with us or who’s not.”

He turned to Charlotte. “Can you do something?”

She looked up at him, still shaken. “What is it?”

“Find the High Pope. Tell him to activate the Sacred Blessing.”

Charlotte blinked. “That’s a defensive protocol… the church only uses it during extreme emergencies.”

“What do you think this is?” Noel said sharply. “The longer we wait, the more children die. We have to act now.”

Charlotte swallowed hard. And then she nodded.

—

The cold air bit at Charlotte’s cheeks as she ran.

She, Laziel, and Garron had left the orphanage in silence, weaving through the narrow streets toward the main cathedral. There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation—only the pounding of footsteps and the growing weight in her chest.

The Holy Church loomed ahead, tall and silent, its white spires glowing faintly under the moonlight. As they reached the marble steps, Charlotte’s breath caught for just a moment—but she didn’t stop.

They entered the main hall and made their way toward the descending spiral stairway behind the altar—one that led to the lower levels, where only the highest clergy could go. At the base of the staircase, two guards stood in full ceremonial armor, spears crossed in front of the entrance.

One of them stepped forward as they approached.

“Forgive me, Saint Charlotte, but they cannot pass beyond this point.”

Charlotte didn’t slow down. “This is a state of emergency. Let us through.”

“State of emergency?” the second guard asked, frowning. “What exactly are you referring to?”

She didn’t answer with words. Her voice trembled slightly, but she forced it out:

“Someone is trying to kill me. Right now.”

There was a moment of silence.

And then the first guard moved.

With no warning, he lunged at Charlotte, spear flashing forward like a silver strike.

But before it could reach her, the second guard shifted—stepping between them and parrying the attack with a violent clash of steel.

The first guard stumbled back, expression cold and resolute.

“It seems the plan has to move ahead… but if I kill the Saint here, everything ends.”

The second guard turned to Charlotte, urgency in his voice.

“Go! Quickly! I’ll deal with him!”

Laziel grabbed Charlotte’s wrist and pulled her forward. Garron shielded her side as they sprinted past the guards, entering the sacred corridors below.

Behind them, metal rang against metal, and angry voices echoed in the stairwell.

Charlotte didn’t look back.

She ran faster.

The corridor was lined with golden sconces and stained-glass windows depicting saints and angels. Every step echoed like a hammer strike in Charlotte’s chest. She led the way through the sanctum without pause, her breath ragged, her fists clenched at her sides.

They reached the tall double doors of the Pope’s private chamber.

She didn’t knock.

Charlotte pushed them open with both hands.

Inside, the High Pope Orthran sat behind a heavy wooden desk, a thick leather-bound book open in front of him. His robes were white and gold, his face calm, his silver hair falling past his shoulders like threads of moonlight.

He looked up without surprise.

“Charlotte,” he said gently, “I assume there’s a reason for this intrusion.”

“Father!” she gasped. “You have to declare a state of emergency. Use the Sacred Blessing—now!”

The Pope Orthran closed his book carefully, marking the page with a ribbon.

“What you’re asking is not a small thing,” he replied. “You know that invoking the Blessing drains the life of the one who casts it. It is not mana we use—it is our years. Our body.”

Charlotte stepped forward. “I know. But this is real. There’s a plan in motion to kill me, and worse—they’re using the children.”

The Pope’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained even.

“Within a year, your status will exceed mine. You’ll be the one protecting this nation. Until then… it’s my duty to shield you, and that means making sure you grow into that role—without disruption.”

“Then listen,” she said, voice rising, “listen to what’s happening outside.”

As if summoned by her words, the muffled sound of weapons clashing echoed through the chamber. Shouts. Metal on stone. A short scream.

The Pope Orthran stood slowly.

“…I see.”

He reached for the golden cross hanging from his neck and held it in both hands.

“Forgive me for hesitating,” he said. “And thank you… for being brave enough to demand this.”

He closed his eyes.

The air grew still.

And then he began to pray.

—

The streets of the Holy Capital blurred past as Noel, Marcus, and Clara sprinted toward the western district. The cold wind rushed through their cloaks, boots hammering the stone with purpose.

Then it happened.

A tremor passed through the air, like a pulse of divine pressure.

They stopped instinctively, heads turning toward the central spire of the Holy Cathedral.

From its highest dome, a beam of radiant light surged into the sky—a blinding, pure white column that pierced the clouds and bathed the city in a silent brilliance.

Seconds later, a dome of golden light expanded outward from the church, enveloping the entire Holy Capital in a shimmering shield. The glow touched every alley, rooftop, tower, and shadow.

Then came the screaming.

All around them—near windows, on balconies, in the distance—figures began to convulse. Some guards and priests collapsed to their knees, clutching their faces. Others let out inhuman howls as their forms began to change.

Some grew horns, wings, or tails, their disguises shedding like cracked porcelain.

Others remained in their usual bodies—but a red glowing mark, circular and jagged, began to burn on their foreheads: the mark of the Circle.

Marcus clenched his fists. “We couldn’t have done this earlier?”

Noel’s eyes stayed locked on the light in the distance. “Only the High Pope Orthran can activate it. And he won’t act unless he’s certain. The blessing doesn’t draw mana—it burns away his life instead. It’s not magic. It’s sacrifice.”

Marcus was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I see.”

Clara took a deep breath, hands glowing faintly with water energy. “How much further?”

Noel looked ahead. “Not much.”

He turned to both of them, voice low and focused.

“I’ll take the front. Marcus, you push through the vanguard. Clara, cover us from the middle with support spells.”

They both nodded without hesitation.

Noel’s eyes narrowed as the dome above pulsed again.

“Reinforcements will come faster under the blessing’s light. It’ll give them strength, healing… and clarity.”

They resumed running.

The city behind them was already on fire.

They reached the western edge of the city in minutes, the chaotic noise of the capital fading behind them—but not disappearing. Screams still echoed. Magic detonated in the distance. The sacred dome above pulsed with a heartbeat of holy energy.

Noel halted near the ruined wall where the illusion began.

The barrier shimmered faintly in the moonlight now, visible under the effect of the blessing—like a curtain of glass rippling with heat.

He looked to the side. “This is it.”

Clara adjusted the strap on her satchel, water mana already swirling around her fingers. “I’m ready.”

Marcus cracked his knuckles. “Just say when.”

Noel stepped forward first.

“We going in,” he said. “No matter what comes out of that place. We need to hold them until the reinforcements arrive.”

Clara nodded, more serious than she had ever looked. “And if they don’t?”

Noel glanced back at the glowing dome behind them, then at the illusion before him.

“They will.”

He passed through the barrier.

Marcus and Clara followed.

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