novelraw Chapter 124 : Chapter 124
Chapter 124 : Chapter 124
Chapter 124. Muel (2)
A white haze began to rise throughout the entire royal capital.
The creeping mist slowly spread across the city.
The capital looked as though it were wrapped in fog.
The surroundings were dim and clouded.
Sensing something was off, residents began stepping outside one by one.
“H-Honey, get up and look at this! Hurry!”
“Is this all fog or what?”
“I can’t see anything in front of me!”
“What’s going on all of a sudden—?”
Chaos erupted in the middle of the night.
The entire population of the capital was in a panic.
The phenomenon had occurred far too suddenly.
Mapheltan watched from above.
He clicked his tongue and muttered,
“…Muel, why in the world are you doing this?”
After all, Muel couldn’t actually descend.
A summoning ritual performed by a lone archmage wasn’t nearly enough to bring down an archdemon.
Even if the capital were offered up as a sacrifice, no one would gain anything from it.
From Muel’s perspective, it would be a loss.
It would damage his relationship with the Apostle.
Mapheltan had clearly told him he needed the capital.
And yet Muel had gone ahead with this mess, fully aware.
This act was practically a declaration of war against a Scion.
Why would an archdemon show hostility to an Apostle?
Mapheltan couldn’t yet grasp the reason.
While he stood in silent thought, Ilea opened her mouth.
“I don’t know everything, but one thing’s certain—Muel wouldn’t commit such an atrocity just out of spite.”
In both sacred texts and cursed grimoires, Muel was always depicted as a highly rational demon.
He wouldn’t have jeopardized his relationship with the Apostle just because Mapheltan refused to assist with the ritual.
If he’d gone this far, there had to be a reason.
Mapheltan paused, then said,
“I agree with you. Muel’s not the type to dig his own grave. It’s just a guess, but… I think Muel foresaw something. Something about this ritual leads to a future that benefits him.”
Muel possessed a formidable gift for prophecy.
He wouldn’t take a loss for no reason.
If he acted unexpectedly, it was likely the result of precise calculation and intent.
Ilea nodded.
“Then we need to figure out what exactly Muel is aiming for.”
Mapheltan, however, was skeptical.
“More than that—we need to stop this ritual first.”
If they let it continue, countless lives would be lost.
The capital would fall.
Mapheltan had no intention of allowing that.
Ilea gazed directly at him.
“Is this for practicality, or morality?”
Mapheltan answered without hesitation.
“Both. I need the capital, and I don’t want to see those people turned into offerings. Is that enough of an answer for you?”
Ilea gave a calm smile.
“More than enough. Then let’s try stopping the ritual first.”
“Do you have a way?”
She fell silent for a moment, thinking.
Before long, she replied,
“It’s possible. But you’ll have to accept a fair bit of risk—and loss.”
Risk and loss. It irritated Mapheltan.
Thanks to Muel, he now had to bear unnecessary risk.
I don’t know what future you saw, but you’ll pay for this. I promise you that.
He swallowed a breath and said,
“No choice, then. Let’s move.”
Ilea nodded.
“Let’s start by changing locations. Too many eyes here.”
She soared higher into the sky.
Mapheltan followed right behind her.
The entire capital stretched out beneath them.
A massive city wrapped in a thick, gray fog.
“What are you planning to do?”
Ilea didn’t answer.
Instead, she began to weave magic.
Intricate formulas danced behind her eyes.
“I’m going to analyze the structure of the summoning ritual. If we can find its weakness and the catalyst, we might be able to minimize the damage.”
Ilea began scanning the city with intense concentration.
Her face grew increasingly grim.
From time to time, her brow furrowed.
Even for a witch, analyzing an archmage’s spellwork in a matter of seconds was no easy feat.
Time passed.
Mapheltan grew impatient, but waited silently.
***
The Royal Capital’s Grand Cathedral – Council Hall
Clergy flooded the chamber in a frenzy.
Because of the sudden anomaly, nearly all bishops and higher-ranking figures had been summoned.
As each one arrived, they took a seat in the tiered stands without ceremony.
Ranks didn’t matter.
No one cared about seating hierarchy in a state of emergency.
Once the briefing ended, they’d all have to rush out immediately.
“I think we’re all here—let’s begin at once!”
“Archbishop Seirun hasn’t arrived yet!”
“He’s late even in a crisis like this?!”
“How dare you speak that way of him!”
The chamber resembled a bustling marketplace.
No one could keep their composure.
The tension was too high for calm to be maintained.
“How far will the church’s prestige fall?!”
“Demonic energy in the heart of the capital—this is beyond ridiculous!”
Then, a voice cut through the chaos.
“Silence.”
It was a deep, resonant voice.
A middle-aged man in a white ceremonial robe stood atop the dais.
At his appearance, the noise began to subside.
Someone in the crowd called out,
“Director! Everyone’s here—please begin the briefing!”
The man was Archbishop Rohagen, Director of the Holy Inquisition.
His office oversaw and investigated all forms of evil—demons, heretics, apostates.
Archbishop Rohagen began speaking.
“I’ll skip the formalities. Here’s the situation. The fog enveloping the capital is the miasma of the archdemon ‘Muel.’”
The moment the name Muel was uttered, the room exploded.
“M-Muel?!”
“No wonder the miasma was white…!”
“What is that traitor doing back here now?!”
Rohagen raised his hand, silencing the murmurs.
“A depraved faction is attempting to offer the entire capital as a sacrifice to summon Muel. The ritual circle has already been drawn across the city.”
It was utterly absurd.
“What has the Inquisition been doing this whole time?!”
“Did we learn nothing from the Apostle’s last attack on the capital?!”
“How could you be so negligent?!”
The flood of criticism was intense.
Rohagen had failed in his duties.
As the Inquisition’s head, he should have detected the signs and prepared countermeasures before this disaster began.
But the Inquisition had only started moving after the incident.
Even if this crisis was resolved, the institution would likely face consequences.
Rohagen spoke again.
“I accept responsibility for my failure. But now is not the time for blame. In less than an hour, the Reapers of Hell will arrive. The ritual must be stopped before then.”
The Reapers were entities that dragged sacrifices to the lower realms.
Ordinary humans stood no chance against them.
Most of the capital would perish helplessly.
Someone asked from the stands:
“How far along is the investigation into the ritual?”
Rohagen looked at them.
“We’ve found the core of the ritual, but we haven’t yet reached the catalyst. Many of our comrades are dying because of the protective spells around the center.”
To halt the ritual, the catalyst had to be destroyed.
But they hadn’t even reached it yet.
It was protected by powerful, high-tier magic.
“…If it’s killing Inquisition agents, does that mean a grandmaster-level mage is involved?”
Rohagen nodded.
“Archmage Lumina. The White Witch has been identified as the primary suspect.”
Cries of despair rang out.
An archmage was a truly transcendent being.
To face one in battle, you needed someone like Wolfgang or one of the Sacred Emblems.
Fortunately, the capital housed Azval, the 4th Seat of the 12 Sacred Emblems—known as The Flesh Engine.
But even Azval had been unable to break through the archmage’s spellwork easily.
Dismantling a high-level ritual created with such thorough preparation was nearly impossible in a short amount of time.
Even experienced exorcists were struggling.
A sense of unease rippled through the room.
“…If an archmage is involved, this won’t be resolved anytime soon.”
“We may be better off evacuating the capital.”
One hour remained until the Reapers arrived.
Before that, the church needed to issue evacuation orders.
The capital might fall, but at least lives could be saved.
Rohagen spoke again.
“Evacuation orders have already been given. Frankly… the Inquisition has judged that the capital cannot be saved.”
Time was too short.
Fleeing was the only realistic option.
Most of the clergy agreed.
“…Is that really the best we can do?”
“It’s better to live to fight another day.”
“The 500-year legacy of this capital—gone, just like that…”
Sighs and murmurs spread through the hall.
Some buried their faces in their hands, weeping.
The royal capital held deep historical meaning.
Even during the Holy War 500 years ago, it had never fallen.
Back then, everyone had stayed and defended it to the end.
Today, their ancestors’ efforts would be reduced to dust.
The room was filled with grief.
And then—The lights illuminating the council chamber suddenly went out.
Darkness consumed everything.
No one could see anything.
“What’s going on?!”
“Turn the lights back on!”
But they didn’t return.
Instead, a faint light began to seep in from outside.
The chamber’s rear doors burst open, and light flooded in from the outside.
Everyone turned around.
A darkness blacker than night rippled beyond the doorway.
Within that darkness—red eyes gleamed.
A chilling voice echoed through the chamber.
“What a pitiful, sorry excuse for a congregation.”
Some of the clergy leapt to their feet.
“W-Who goes there?!”
“No, it can’t be—”
Holy spells were conjured in an instant.
Light returned to the chamber.
Cries of shock erupted all around.
A monstrous figure stood before them.
A demon, with massive wings unfurled and a black spear in hand—the Thirteenth Apostle of the End.
White Horn opened his mouth slowly.
“Take her. I’ve done your job for you.”
He tossed something forward.
A pale woman thudded onto the dais.
Whether dead or unconscious, she didn’t move an inch.
Everyone froze in place, stunned by the sudden turn.
Then someone shouted:
“It's—It’s the Apostle! Form ranks!”
Though aged now, many of them had once walked the path of demon-hunting.
They immediately fell into formation.
Holy magic lit up the chamber’s ceiling.
Mapheltan chuckled.
“Ungrateful bastards. This is how you repay a favor? You'll never cease to irritate me.”
And in an instant—he vanished.
Brilliant white flames and shining blades struck only empty air.
A deafening explosion followed.
Shards of shattered marble scattered in every direction.
Amidst the rising smoke, someone yelled,
“White Horn! Where did White Horn go?!”
A man in a white hood stepped forward.
The 4th Seat of the 12 Sacred Emblems—Azval.
Rohagen turned to him.
“Azval! What the hell is going on?!”
Azval scratched his head.
“I don’t really know either. Just that… White Horn helped us. He’s the one who captured that archmage.”