The Whispering Verses
Chapter 87: The Unfortunate Doctor

The night outside the window revealed the garden of the Dawn Church. Shad could clearly see the massive holy emblem of Mr. Dawn, composed of blooming flowers, illuminated by a circle of candles placed at the flowerbed's edge.

Taking a deep breath of the air outside, he said after a moment:

"I was present when the doctor used the Ascension Words. That power was... terrifying."

"Of course," the priest sighed. "Normally, using Ascension Words requires a combination of large-scale rituals and potions to achieve their full power. Even then, the act guarantees permanent reduction in lifespan, a decline in strength, and a temporary drop in mental resistance. There's even a theory that using the power of the Ascension Words makes engraving runes even harder. Bill forced himself to use it this time with the mindset of certain death. If it weren't for your arcane arts, his situation might have been even worse. I'm sure the woman confronting us didn’t expect him to be so desperate."

"Was this the doctor's first time using the Ascension Words?" Shad inquired. He learned it indeed was.

After inquiring about the doctor, Shad brought up the other two women in their group:

"Is Miss Anat at Miss Luisa's place now? Could you tell me Miss Luisa's address? I think I should check on them."

He was actually concerned about the Whispering Verses and the "Thirteen Chosen Ones" and wished to meet the violet-eyed diviner immediately.

"Won’t we see them tomorrow when we visit Bill?" Father August remarked, but he still provided the address before continuing the conversation:

"Last night went well. Anat stopped the ritual in time, and you didn’t crumble before the shadow of the Evil God. Even that ‘Madame Lassoia,’ who saw our faces, was killed by you."

The conversation arrived at the moment under the silver moon. Shad carefully chose his words to speak, but the old priest shook his head, wearing a knowing expression:

"Everyone has their secrets, just as I have mine that I can’t share with you. So, if you don’t want to explain, you don’t have to. We’ll keep your secret; no one will know that the one under the silver moon was you.

"But let me give you some advice, young man: power always comes at a price. I don’t know what price you paid to do what you did last night, but don’t let power seduce you."

"Yes, sir," Shad replied seriously but couldn’t help asking:

"Since you mentioned Madame Lassoia is dead, what about the Silver-Eyed? Has the Blood of Mercury been wiped out?"

He still remembered the Silver-Eyed protecting "Madame Lassoia."

"The Silver-Eyed was gravely injured but escaped the Church’s encirclement before the Ten-Ring Warlocks of our diocese arrived. I heard before you woke up that the Church suspects the Blood Spirit Sect—who fled to the New Continent decades ago—sent people to assist them. Ha! Another bunch of lunatics."

Shad recalled hearing about the Blood Spirit Sect from St. Byrons’ professors and the man under the grape trellis the previous day.

"But no one knows what we did, so there’s no need to worry about revenge from the Blood of Mercury or the cultists worshipping the Master of the Blood Banquet. Let the Church’s warlocks handle that mess. As for summoning that Evil God, the conditions are complex—‘Gluttonous Person,’ ‘Nighttime Banquet,’ and so on. It won’t happen again soon, which is a relief."

The priest nodded but still looked slightly worried:

"Only, you weren’t the only one to witness your kick last night. The Church believes you’re a Twelve-Ring or even Thirteen-Ring Warlock. That’s a headache. In the coming months, you’ll need to be cautious not to be linked to this. It’s not something that can be easily explained.

"But you did well—your face was masked, your clothes weren’t your own, and you remembered to use an illusion to pull the silver moon behind you, obscuring your form. The Church now calls you the ‘Masked Man Beneath the Silver Moon,’ even attributing the headless warlock’s corpse in the garden maze to you. They think you’re a warlock proficient in the Silver Moon miracle element... Detective, you didn’t plan all this, did you? Is that why you were so prepared, even carrying the Dice of Twenty Fates, preventing the Church from divining your identity?"

The priest’s tone turned lighthearted with the final question.

"No, it was just a coincidence," Shad replied, shaking his head. Everything last night had been the result of luck from the dice. Unless fate's attack was reflected again, such an event wouldn’t happen again.

He stopped petting Mimia, the orange tabby, and looked at his hand under the cat's dissatisfied gaze:

"The power from last night... I can’t use it again, nor do I wish to."

The old priest gave a knowing smile.

Shad felt guilty for deceiving his friends, but the matter of divine ascension was something he absolutely couldn’t share. Becoming a god was tempting for everyone, and if this path was his alone, he wouldn’t let anyone know this secret.

"It’s good you understand the cost of power," Father August said. "But having power isn’t a fault. That kick last night was extraordinary. I suspect after this, your understanding of your core rune has deepened. You might even have the chance to create your own miracle."

His tone lightened as he moved toward the coat rack to fetch Shad’s jacket:

"So, the outcome last night was quite good. We stopped the Evil God and didn’t reveal our identities. You killed Madame Lassoia, experienced power, and only paid the price of sleeping for a day. I must truly thank my lord, Mr. Dawn, for such luck."

Of course, not everything was perfect. Dr. Schneider didn’t get the False Philosopher’s Stone, and Shad didn’t receive the high bounty or the relic ring from Madame Lassoia.

Still, perfection was rare, and everyone’s safety was more than enough. Besides, Shad now had a greater goal, something far more important than wealth in this steam era:

"Divinity... twelve ascensions... becoming a god..."

Unaware of Shad’s thoughts, the priest kept speaking:

"Last night was quite the coincidence. All five of us appeared there without prior discussion."

"Yes, quite the coincidence."

It likely wasn’t due to Shad’s "luck," as he’d have preferred the others stayed away.

"But as usual, Bill’s luck was the worst," the priest lamented, shaking his head.

"What do you mean, Father?" Shad asked, curious.

"As always, when we act together, if someone gets hurt, it’s usually Bill. And if many are injured, Bill’s injuries are the worst. Meeting you and bringing you into our group might be the luckiest thing he’s experienced this year. Oh, may God bless him."

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