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At the center of the underground chapel, the pentagonal stone altar emitted a crimson glow, illuminating the surrounding darkness. Hugot and the eight necromancers remained engrossed in preparing the ritual, their efforts relentless.
They continuously poured necromantic energy into the altar through the mysterious symbols inscribed on its corners. Demphis observed their work from his skeletal throne.
Everything is proceeding smoothly.
All was going according to plan. The Eustil King's Order had made no further movements, and the wraiths that had appeared sporadically had now vanished completely.
Did they give up after realizing it was futile? After attempting one last trick?
Just because they belonged to the King’s Order didn't mean they were all paragons of righteousness or loyalty. It was perfectly reasonable to assume they had abandoned the mission by now. More than anything, Demphis subconsciously wanted to believe this to be true.
Every time his thoughts strayed to that black-haired young man, an unshakable certainty surfaced.
There's no way that guy cares about his comrades. Absolutely not.
With that conclusion...
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