Mark: "Near the end, did anyone see that figure crawl out?" He voiced the question that many others were wondering.
Mira: "That ugly appearance was actually just an outer shell."
Coris: "Mira?"
Surprised by the reply from her teammate, she asked again.
Mira: "I once knew a Mage who used a giant stuffed beast as a weapon. Whenever she fought, she would crawl inside it. This case seems similar."
Erik: "A magic puppet. It's a technique not many Mages use. Simply put, the puppet is like a staff or wand combined with a golem."
Ray: "This is the first time I've heard of such a technique. Makes sense—otherwise how could a normal person look like such a monster?"
Sean: "So does anyone know who that Mage is?"
Coris: "…"
After some hesitation, Coris spoke:
"I think I know who it is. But I'm not sure I should say, since that person doesn't seem to want attention. Perhaps I'll talk to him later first."
Erik: "Alright. If you learn anything, report back to me. We owe that person a great debt, so I hope we can repay him properly. Now then, we still have much to do here."
Erik turned to the ruins around them.
They would need to investigate the cult's activities thoroughly and eliminate all remaining dangers.
But before that, they had to honor their fallen comrades. Though the statue's collapse killed no one, it buried many bodies from the earlier battle, leaving some without intact remains to return home.
Handling all these aftermaths would take time and effort—especially since their commander, Will, had died.
Looking at Will's body, surrounded by surviving soldiers, Erik silently let out a sorrowful sigh.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Damn it, damn it!"
The dark priest cursed as he fled through the cave's shadows.
All his subordinates were dead. His lair had been seized. Now he was like a rat in the sewers, running to save his life.
Who could have imagined that even with his master's consciousness descending, the final outcome would be defeat?
Even if it was only a fragment of divine will, a god was still a god—an existence beyond mortal limits. Yet they had lost, and so had his god.
He quickly silenced such blasphemous thoughts, turning instead to curse the one who had ruined everything.
"That bastard. Whoever he is, I will repay this humiliation."
Through his tracking methods, the dark priest knew that the figure was pursuing him.
But with traps along the passage and the need to keep moving, he was confident his pursuer could not catch up.
Once he escaped, he swore to take revenge—not only on that man, but on everyone connected to him. Even the town of Dorn would suffer.
Yes, first he had to survive.
Opening a hidden stone door, he stepped outside.
Light greeted his eyes. The exit led deep into the forest. The wind rustled the trees, and the sunlight of late morning pierced the leaves, painting radiant patterns on the ground.
It should have been a peaceful, idyllic scene—a symbol of freedom and safety, proof of his escape.
But then he saw someone silently leaning against a tree, waiting.
The stranger's appearance was suspicious, no less than the dark priest himself in his black robe with the eye emblem.
This figure was cloaked in deep crimson, almost black, as if dyed with dried blood.
His face was hidden beneath a hood's shadow.
If one could peer through the darkness, one would see a gray-white mask covering the upper half of his face.
"Greetings. A fine morning, isn't it? Makes the wait here not too bad."
The red-cloaked man spoke first.
"Who are you?"
The priest's voice was wary, tinged with panic. He hadn't expected someone to be waiting at the secret exit.
Activating his magic, his hands transformed, ready for battle.
The red-cloaked man showed no surprise, replying calmly in the same friendly tone:
"If you like, call me Red. And how should I address you?"
Dark Priest: "Serving my master, I long ago abandoned my name."
Red: "Oh, I wasn't asking you, fool. I was asking your master."
Dark Priest: "Insolent wretch! You are not worthy to speak of the great White God."
Red: "This idiot doesn't even know his master's true name. Dare you speak it, little insect?"
???: "Who are you really?"
Suddenly, the priest's tone and expression shifted, as if another presence had taken over. Gone was the rage—now he stood solemn, like a king speaking.
Red: "I knew your consciousness slipped into this fool after the statue was cut down."
???: "You know who I am, yet still speak so. Which god stands behind you?"
Red: "I know well who you are, so I don't bother asking."
???: "Are you sent by the White God? So, today's events were all orchestrated by you, weren't they?"
Piecing events together, he voiced his suspicion.
Red: "So? Still afraid to speak your true name, little insect?"
???: "Does it matter? From what I know, isn't the White God's true form also an insect?" Unshaken by provocation, he answered calmly.
Red: "Whether the White God is an insect or not doesn't change the fact that you fear to name yourself. So terrified?"
???: "You didn't come here just to ask my name, did you? What is your purpose?"
Red: "Do you truly want the answer?"
The strange dialogue continued—neither side giving straight answers, only questions.
If Tris were here, he would have likened it to two politicians debating live on television.
Though no answers were given, the exchange carried on as if perfectly normal.