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People gathered around the chapel, and since we were mere bystanders without any role to play in maintaining the safety measures, we kept our distance, observing the scene from the far end of the chapel.
The priests began chanting protective spells, and a sacred atmosphere enveloped the interior of the chapel. It was a warm, soothing energy, and it felt as though everything would conclude without incident.
Dettomorian, who was sitting cross-legged in front of the cursed sword, started to murmur something. I couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but some kind of ritual was definitely beginning. I wondered what kind of object the cursed sword was, and if the curse could be lifted that night.
Everyone was tense, and Dettomorian’s mutterings didn’t reach us because we were far from the center of the chapel. While I could enhance my hearing to listen, I didn’t really want to.
For a very long time, nothing significant happened.
“…”
“…”
Ellen and I made eye contact, but we couldn’t break the solemn atmosphere by chatting. Yet, we were likely thinking the same thing: ‘When is this going to end?’
An hour had passed since the ritual began, but Dettomorian continued his mumblings, and the priests and mages maintained their protective barriers without anything noteworthy occurring.
It reminded me of the time I’d stepped into Dettomorian’s Occult Research Club with Charlotte. At that time, Charlotte had complained about the darkness and asked if we could turn on a light. Dettomorian had told us that doing so would end the...
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