Chapter 49: Strange Magic

Chapter 49: Strange Magic
Rendell and I didn't dare move an inch behind the pillar, hoping desperately they wouldn't come in this direction.

Unfortunately, their movements were practiced and efficient. Each person was responsible for a section of the hall, sweeping outward from the very center. The first three moved quickly and had already reached the area around the pillars.

The last person, holding a broom, swept toward us. His footsteps grew closer and closer.

I held my breath and pressed my body as low as possible.

Rendell's right hand slowly reached toward the inside of his coat in a direction I couldn't see.

The man reached the other side of the pillar. His broom swept against the pillar's base, and then he stopped.

Dust tended to accumulate at the base of pillars, requiring a more careful approach to clean that area. He crouched down and pulled a cloth from his waist.

His crouching position left him facing the other side of the pillar. In the next second, he would come around to the back.

Rendell moved in that instant.

His left hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me entirely toward himself.

His right hand lifted one side of his cloak and draped it completely over me. My body was pressed against his chest in that second. The fabric on the inside of the cloak pressed against my face.

Then he began chanting an incantation I couldn't understand.

The syllables of that incantation were unlike anything I'd ever heard.

As each syllable fell, the fabric on the inside of the cloak emitted a subtle tremor. That trembling caused the edges of the cloak to gradually blur from their original shape.

I could feel my own body being enveloped by something.

My body could still breathe, could still feel the warmth of Rendell's chest and the sensation of the cloak's fabric against my skin. But my sense of presence was suppressed. Even the sound of my own heartbeat became distant in my own ears.

The cleaning man came around from behind the pillar. As he passed our position, his feet stopped about two steps away from us.

I could hear his breathing. That distance allowed me to hear clearly the rhythm of each inhale and exhale.

He truly didn't see us.

After finishing his sweep of the floor, he flicked the broom in another direction, sweeping that small pile of dust into the dustpan behind him. Then he walked away.

I kept myself perfectly still.

Rendell's incantation continued.

The four cleaning staff worked in the hall for about another quarter of an hour. The last person extinguished all the lamps, leaving only a small light by the side door. Then they all left through the small door together.

Only then did Rendell stop chanting the incantation. The cloak slowly withdrew from my body. My body reappeared in the shadow behind that pillar.

I first took several deep breaths of fresh air—I had nearly suffocated myself. Then I looked at Rendell with a face full of doubt. Since encountering him here, he had already exhibited far too many actions beyond my expectations.

"When did you learn magic?"

Rendell didn't even blink.

"I'll explain later," he said. "We don't have time now."

"Fine. After this is over, you'd better give me an explanation."

I took a deep breath and slowly emerged from behind the cold pillar, my boot soles making no sound on the carpeted floor.

We followed the route the Grand Prophet had taken through that side door, which led to a narrow corridor.

At the end of the corridor were several heavy wooden doors. Each door was carved with intricate golden patterns, and I was certain the inlays were pure gold. The scent drifting from deep within the corridor was extremely rich—a mixture of expensive spices and aged red wine. That particular spice—agave incense—was only used in certain specific chambers within the palace.

The Grand Prophet made no attempt to hide; his resting room bore his grand name.

"Raphael"

I approached that door, my fingertips touching the cold door handle, and before entering, I pressed my ear to the door gap to listen for any movement inside.

Someone inside was pacing back and forth—the Grand Prophet's own footsteps. There was also a faint sound I couldn't identify, possibly a servant, possibly his bodyguard.

I made myself wait for a moment.

The servant's footsteps were coming toward the door. Rendell and I exchanged a glance and quickly retreated to the corridor's corner, suppressing our breathing to the minimum.

The door opened. A middle-aged man in a dark uniform emerged from inside, carrying an empty tray in his hands, his face bearing the fatigue that follows obsequiousness. He passed the corner where we hid and walked along the corridor in the opposite direction. His footsteps grew more distant until they finally disappeared at the other end of the corridor.

I held my breath and waited approximately another half minute until I was certain the surroundings were completely quiet.

I returned to the door.

I turned the door handle and pushed the door open directly.

Rendell followed close behind me, and after entering, immediately closed the door and leaned his back against it like a silent guardian statue.

The Grand Prophet was sitting in a high-backed chair inside the resting room. He had already removed that gold-embroidered long robe, wearing underneath a loose, more comfortable-looking silk inner robe. On the table before him sat a freshly poured glass of deep red wine.

Hearing the disturbance, he jerked his head up, and the instant he saw us burst in, his entire body tensed like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Who are you?" he demanded sharply, his voice carrying a trace of panic. "Get out."

I walked step by step toward him, my leather boots striking the floor with sounds like a death knell.

"Twenty years ago, the prophecy about the princess closing the rifts," I stared into his eyes and said slowly, word by word, without any unnecessary talk. "You were the first to spread it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he immediately retorted, his response as quick as lines rehearsed countless times. "Get out, or I'll call someone in."

"Twenty years ago, you accepted a sum of money," I pressed closer one step, staring him down. "That money made you spread that prophecy throughout the entire human continent."

The muscles in his face twitched after I finished that sentence.

That change was brief, lasting only an instant before he suppressed it. But I saw it, like a stone dropping into a calm lake.

"I've made many prophecies," he tried to use an elder's posture to conceal his guilty conscience, though the hand lifting his wine glass trembled slightly. "I wouldn't remember the specific content of each one."