Chapter 86 ： Merging the Magic
In the headmaster's office, Ortlando was speaking with Mason. Prince Elloran sat nearby, his attendant standing behind him. To Ortlando, Elloran was simply a young nobleman — nothing especially notable. Ortlando kept a pleasant expression and let Mason lead the conversation.
"The prince's condition is rare," Ortlando said, setting down his coffee and letting his gaze rest briefly on Elloran before looking back to Mason. "Oomani corruption that left the mind intact — and the ability to actively channel the Oomani's gifts rather than simply being overwhelmed by them. Remarkable, and extremely damaging to the body over time."
Elloran's expression remained even throughout. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it well below the surface.
"He was suppressing a heretical cult when it happened," Mason said. "The cult leader self-destructed. The Oomani transferred from the leader's body directly to the prince. By the time I arrived, the Oomani's spiritual presence and the prince's own spirit had already merged. Forcible exorcism would have killed him. And the situation couldn't be made public — if word got out, what waited for him was the stake." He paused. "Fortunately, when he regained consciousness, he had the will to maintain control."
"As his bishop, you understand what you're risking," Ortlando said. His eyes moved briefly. "If your opponents learn of this, the damage won't stop at the prince."
"There was no other choice." Mason's smile was calm. "You understand the nature of secular power struggles as well as I do. We're clergy, but the Maker has compassion for all living things. I wasn't willing to let a future ruler be lost." A beat. "Can a Legend-rank mage find no solution at all?"
Ortlando smiled back. The unspoken understanding between them was clear: Mason had said something technically beautiful that both of them recognized as politically constructed. A mage who claimed to believe in the Maker's authority, and a priest who could tolerate a devil acting under the Maker's banner, provided the Maker's light was still spreading.
"The difficulty isn't removing the Oomani's presence," Ortlando said. "That's achievable — it would cost him some life force, but life force can be replenished. The real problem is severing the connection between the prince's spiritual signature and the Oomani itself. I'm not deeply versed in infernal studies. I'd rather wait for Roland to see it himself." He glanced toward Elloran with a mild smile.
"Then please send for Master Roland." Mason leaned forward slightly.
"He's on his way. Don't be in a hurry." Ortlando lifted his coffee. "You haven't touched yours. These beans were brought specifically from Bawang Island — specially prepared with magic. Try it."
Mason registered what had just happened, took a quiet breath, and picked up the cup. "Excellent," he said after a sip. "Truly worth its reputation." He set the cup down and shifted smoothly. "We have clergy in Norma's Holy Eton who possess significant light-element aptitude. There might be value in a formal arrangement — sending students here for training."
"Though some of our students are not deeply observant," Ortlando said, leaving the sentence unfinished.
"Who says so? We're all under the Maker's glory. Certain cardinals make such statements to manage their congregations — it shouldn't be taken literally." Mason's tone was easy. "If you'd like, we can put it in writing."
"How could I possibly ask that?" Ortlando replied — and a formal contract document, inscribed on celestial horse parchment, was already in his hand.
Mason absorbed this without expression, took the document, read it through carefully, and signed. The moment the signature was complete, a soft seven-colored light filled the room and a rush of text settled into everyone's mind. The contract separated into two identical copies and drifted to their respective holders, who pocketed them.
"Now may we proceed?" Mason asked.
This text was taken from NovelFire. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"Roland will be here shortly." Ortlando's mood had visibly improved.
A knock at the door. Charlemagne Roland entered.
He was shorter than average, wearing a white robe with what appeared to be fresh violet-black blood on it — a sulfurous smell beneath, clearly from a recent dissection of something infernal. The robe had self-cleaning properties, but the blood had defeated them. He walked in, looked directly at Elloran, and frowned.
"Young man. Why do you smell of Oomani?"
Mason stiffened. This was the first person to identify it at a glance. His confidence in Roland rose considerably.
Roland hadn't finished. His attention had already moved to the attendant. "And you're not ordinary either. You have roughly a third fallen angel lineage in your blood."
Mason exhaled slowly. "That's correct. Anni carries one-third fallen angel ancestry. Cultivated by the Church — trained specifically as a close-protection attendant for the prince. Her abilities are suited to the role."
"This is a Church secret that very few know," Ortlando added. "I've heard fragments. The holy maiden system serves a purpose beyond what's publicly understood. Fallen angels, in certain ritual conditions, can merge their essence with a willing host. The offspring carry unusual gifts. They're the Church's instrument in the dark."
"Precisely. The thirty-fourth Pope, Gregory, publicly confessed to demonic temptation over the holy maiden affair. The confession was a cover story — it was designed to protect the program's true purpose." Mason, seeing that Ortlando had already surfaced the information, confirmed it. It was also a message: don't mistake the Church for a simple institution.
"Extraordinary," Roland said, with a flash of excitement that Ortlando clearly recognized and found concerning. "I never thought to—"
"Don't," Ortlando said flatly.
"We summoned fallen angels," Mason said, "not demons. They are still of divine lineage — simply fallen."
Ortlando redirected. "Roland. The prince. Is there a workable solution?"
Roland turned back to Elloran, took his wrist, closed his eyes. A faint shimmer moved across him. No one spoke.
After a long pause, he shook his head. "Clearing the Oomani's presence from his body entirely isn't difficult — Life-Burning Elixir to sustain him through the cost, the life force can be recovered afterward. The real problem is the connection. The Oomani's spiritual signature has woven itself through the prince's own. You can't fully separate them without entering the infernal realm and killing the Oomani directly."
"That isn't possible," Mason said. "The Oomani is one of the Seventy-Two. It's effectively unkillable."
"Then there's a second approach. Rather than separating the two signatures, you merge them completely — create a new, unified signature with no residual link to the Oomani's original body. The undying nature would be preserved, though it would weaken with each use." Roland looked at Elloran. "How many times do you think the undying ability has been used?"
"Twelve or thirteen times remaining."
"Then proceed with the merger." Elloran's voice was quiet and decided. If the link to the Oomani's true body remained, it would eventually assert control. He needed the benefit without becoming a puppet for it.
"The difficulty," Roland said, "is time. Severing the link completely requires roughly six hours of uninterrupted isolation. The moment the link breaks, the Oomani will know. Its projected self here isn't its true body — but even a projection, once it approaches closely enough, will detect the disruption and the process will fail."
Silence.
Mason's holy light was formidable, but not sufficient to block a spiritual connection across dimensions. Ortlando thought for a moment, then smiled.
"What about inside a magic tower?"
Roland shook his head. "Spiritual links of this kind don't respect physical barriers. You'd need something that can interfere with the link itself — something that operates on that level natively. A unicorn, perhaps. Or a flower fairy."
Ortlando's expression brightened. "We happen to have someone at the school who might help with exactly that."
"Who?"
"A new instructor. Evan Wang."
"Him?" Elloran and Mason said it at the same time.
Ortlando looked between them. "You know him?"
"We traveled on the same ship," Elloran said. "We became acquainted on the crossing. If he's the one you mean, yes — that's him."
"I'll contact him now." Ortlando pressed a finger to the message board on his desk. The magical indicator lit.
In the Magical Items Office, Evan watched his own message board illuminate, read the brief summons from Headmaster Ortlando, and got up from his chair.
He arrived at the office and knocked. "Come in," came Ortlando's voice.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Dean Ortlando — you wanted to see me?"
He was already moving forward when he registered the faces in the room. Mason. Elloran. The attendant. He gave a slight, composed nod to each of them.
"You're here. Sit down. I have something to ask you." Ortlando glanced upward. "And how is your flower fairy?"
"Old man, I'm perfectly fine." Shuang detached from Evan's shoulder and drifted upward, looking pleased with herself. "This place is wonderful. I've been very happy. Yesterday I went to that forest — I didn't find any of my own kind, but I found quite a few friendly magical creatures."