"You can’t leave?" "That’s right... I can’t. Not that I want to leave... And this boy doesn’t want me gone either... grr-rk..." Count Mowbray’s expression turned heavy. He couldn’t trust everything the spirit said, but the claim that Edwin didn’t want to expel it weighed on him. Did his son truly wish to remain in this state because of him? Was there truly no way to remove the spirit from his son’s body? “Neither divine power nor magic has made even the slightest dent in this entity. What on earth is it?” He had summoned mages and tried every conceivable method to no avail. At one point, he even brought in a captured black magician from another territory to examine Edwin. But even the black magician couldn’t identify the nature of Edwin’s condition or determine what kind of entity had possessed him. Summoning priests was out of the question—they would only suggest burning the boy. And they would be useless besides. If divine power could solve the issue, it would have worked when the symptoms first appeared. Even offering to transfer the spirit to another body—a desperate last resort—was rejected. Edwin, or rather the entity, flicked its tongue and spoke, unconcerned. "Set me free... and I’ll behave. This place... is suffocating. Your son... is uncomfortable too..." "No. That is out of the question." "Gr-r-rk... How dare you imprison a being as great as me..." "You hardly seem ‘great.’ A truly great being wouldn’t remain trapped like this." If it truly were powerful, it would have escaped long ago, tearing the tower apart. But neither magic nor divine power had any effect on it, leaving its true nature a mystery. The captured black magician had offered a theory: "Perhaps the spirit’s essence is of a high rank, but its power has been diminished in this world. Its elevated status might render it immune to conventional methods."Count Mowbray had mulled over these words but ultimately dismissed them. What use is such a theory now? I don’t know how this happened, nor can I expel the entity. Spirits didn’t possess people indiscriminately. If it were that easy, the world would be filled with cases like Edwin’s. The conditions for possession were complex and rare. It was sheer misfortune that his gentle, fragile son had met those criteria. "Keep a close watch on him. Make sure he’s fed on time," the Count instructed the guard at the door before turning to leave. "Already leaving? Why not stay... and look at your son’s face a bit longer?" The Count said nothing, his face twisted in anguish, as he walked away. He had no way to cure his son. All he could do was keep the matter hidden and hope to delay the inevitable. When Count Mowbray returned to his quarters, his expression still heavy, a knight approached with a report. "My lord, a noble has come seeking an audience." "Who? I thought I made it clear I wasn’t meeting anyone." "He introduces himself as Baron Dugley, from the east." The unfamiliar name made the Count tilt his head in confusion. "Dugley? From the east? I don’t know of any such person." "He claims to be an exorcist." "An exorcist?" The Count frowned. While priests were a different matter, exorcists were usually frauds. After all, black magic could only be countered by divine power. In rare cases, legitimate shamans existed in some regions, but exorcists were generally a concept embraced by the ignorant masses. "Yes, my lord. He says he’s here to resolve your difficulties." "Difficulties?" "Yes, he claims he can cure Lord Edwin’s... mental illness." The Count’s expression hardened at those words. Had rumors of Edwin’s condition reached as far as the eastern nobles? In these times, mental illness was often blamed on possession by spirits. While nobles with access to priests knew better, the common perception was that they were one and the same. “An exorcist who claims to treat mental illness? Does he actually know something?” The Count rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought. Edwin’s initial symptoms had been witnessed by several people. Though he had suppressed the matter as much as possible, perhaps those early signs had spread as rumors. Rumors of mental illness could be tolerated. But if word of possession got out, he would have no choice but to kill everyone who knew. "Bring him in." Shortly after, Ghislain and Arel entered the room. The steward beside Count Mowbray spoke politely, "Please introduce yourselves formally." Eager to redeem himself for his earlier blunder, Arel hastily pulled out a note. It was another of Claude’s instructions, titled, "How to Introduce Your Lord to Count Mowbray." Claude had crafted this persona based on the premise that Ghislain was posing as an exorcist seeking to treat Edwin’s condition. Arel glanced at the note and announced, "This is the renowned Baron Dugley, a master of curing mental illnesses for the past 16 years... known as the ‘Madness Doctor.’" "..." An awkward silence filled the room. Ghislain gave Arel a sidelong glance and muttered under his breath, "Who wrote that? Claude or Belinda?" "The steward, sir..." Ghislain closed his eyes briefly, suppressing his frustration. Claude, you insufferable fool... A good beating clearly hasn’t been enough for you. A faint smirk of competitive determination crept across Ghislain’s face. I’ll deal with you later. "Enough," Ghislain interjected, stepping forward to formally introduce himself before moving directly to the matter at hand. "I’ve heard rumors regarding Lord Edwin, your heir. I’d like to offer my services to treat him." Count Mowbray’s gaze grew cold as he scrutinized Ghislain. "Rumors, you say... I don’t know where you might have heard such things, but why would an exorcist involve himself with mental illness? Are you suggesting possession?" "Exactly." "What nonsense!" At the Count’s scowl, the knights and soldiers around him subtly reached for their weapons. Edwin’s condition was a tightly guarded secret, one that could never be allowed to spread. Ghislain remained unperturbed, his demeanor calm and assured. The Count raised a hand, signaling his men to stop. His voice dropped, icy and measured. "Where did you hear this?" "That’s irrelevant," Ghislain replied. "Then what is relevant?" "The fact that I can treat it." "You can treat it? Do you possess divine power or magic?" "No. But I know the condition well." "Explain." "His eyes have turned black, his behavior is that of a rabid beast, and he emits a sinister aura. This is possession by a malevolent spirit." The Count’s eyes widened in shock, as did those of the surrounding knights. Ghislain’s precise description left them stunned. But what he said next shook them even more. "I’ve expelled such a spirit before." "You... you’ve done this before?" "Yes. That is why I understand the symptoms so well." The Count narrowed his eyes, skeptical but intrigued. "Do you know what it is?" Ghislain’s gaze turned sharp, his voice chilling. "It’s an entity with which I share a personal grudge. That’s why I’ve tracked it all the way here. I can say no more. Decide now. If you don’t want my help, I’ll leave." Count Mowbray fell silent, his face grave as he weighed his options. It was possible Ghislain was a fraud. But his knowledge of Edwin’s condition was too precise, and his claim of tracking the spirit seemed plausible. With no other solutions at hand, the Count made his decision. A desperate father clutches even at straws. "If you fail to cure him, I’ll have no choice but to ensure the rumors don’t spread—by killing you." Count Mowbray’s icy glare conveyed his deadly intent as he spoke. "How long will it take?" "It will take several days," Ghislain replied with an air of professionalism. "Exorcism rituals are grueling, dangerous, and require immense effort." "And what do you need?" "Only the tools I brought with me." The simplicity of his request deepened the Count’s suspicions. But lacking any means to verify the truth, he reluctantly nodded. "If you fail, I won’t let you leave here alive." "I expected no less." "Very well. I’ll let you proceed." The Count immediately led Ghislain and Arel toward the tower, a retinue of guards trailing closely behind to ensure they couldn’t flee. Arel, feeling the tension of the situation, repeatedly adjusted his grip on his sword, his palms slick with sweat. Stay calm. Lord Ghislain will succeed, he thought, though the atmosphere felt more like they were heading to face a demon than perform a ritual. If he wanted to be of any help, he needed to stay focused. As they climbed higher into the tower, the oppressive aura thickened. By the time they reached the top floor, the atmosphere was suffocating. Ghislain turned to the Count, his expression grave. "This ritual cannot have any witnesses. If anyone else is present, Edwin’s life will be at risk." "What do you mean?" "This is no ordinary spirit. Even priests and mages have failed to exorcise it. My ritual is unique. If something goes wrong, the spirit could transfer to another host—and that host might not survive." Ghislain’s words carried a veiled threat, darkening the expressions of everyone present. Undeterred, he pressed on. "No one can stay in the tower but my apprentice and me. That’s the only way to ensure success." "Then what about meals?" "My apprentice will retrieve them. Leave them at the base of the tower." After a moment of hesitation, the Count nodded. He had no choice but to place his trust in Ghislain for now. Ghislain turned to the steward accompanying them. "Bring me my bag." The steward hesitated, his unease evident. "Do you truly need these... items?" "Yes. They’re essential for the ritual." When Ghislain had arrived, his large bag had been thoroughly inspected. The steward, aware of its contents, couldn’t hide his confusion. What could these tools possibly have to do with exorcism? "Hurry up. You wouldn’t understand their purpose—these are my personal tools." Pressed by Ghislain’s insistence, the steward reluctantly handed over the bag. Before leaving, the steward bowed slightly. "We’ll be waiting below. If you need anything, summon us." "Understood," Ghislain replied, then issued a final warning. "Make sure no one enters the tower. If anyone does, the ritual will fail." "Y-yes, understood." Once the guards and servants withdrew, only Ghislain and Arel remained in the tower. Ghislain turned to Arel and said firmly, "Now, let’s go in. No matter what you see, don’t lose your composure. Got it?" "Yes, sir," Arel responded, his face set with determination. For Arel, fighting supernatural beings was the stuff of legends, the realm of heroes and saints. To face such a challenge alongside his lord was an honor beyond measure. With a loud creak, the heavy iron door opened, and they entered Edwin’s chamber. "Grrrrr..." Edwin growled menacingly as they entered, his body emanating an oppressive, almost unbearable malevolence. Shing! Startled, Arel instinctively drew his sword. "Hold," Ghislain commanded, raising a hand to calm him. "Edwin," Ghislain said, his voice steady. The figure chained in the room fixed its dark, malevolent eyes on him and rasped, "Who... are you?" "I’ve come to heal you." "A priest? I am... immune... to divine power. I am... a being... far beyond... such things." "No, I’m no priest," Ghislain replied evenly. "Then... you think you... can cast me out? Foolish... mortal." "I know exactly how to deal with you." "Grrr-r-rk..." Edwin let out a guttural laugh, mocking Ghislain’s confidence. Undeterred, Ghislain set his bag down and began cracking his neck side to side. "Well then, let’s begin the ritual." "No matter what... you try... you’ll never... cast me out. Killing this body... would be faster." Edwin sneered, clearly confident that no ordinary ritual could dislodge him. And he was right—no one in the Count’s household had dared to harm the Count’s only heir. While Edwin glared, Ghislain knelt by the bag and began pulling out his tools. Arel stood nearby, sword at the ready, his eyes darting nervously between Edwin and Ghislain. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down for even a second. But then his gaze fell on the items Ghislain was pulling from the bag. His mind went blank in shock. "What... is that?" From the bag emerged a collection of items that could only be described as crude weapons: a hammer, a wooden club, and other blunt instruments that looked designed for beating someone senseless. Arel couldn’t contain his surprise and blurted out, "M-my lord? What are those?" Ghislain responded without missing a beat, "These? These are my exorcism tools." "Those are... exorcism tools?" "Of course," Ghislain replied calmly. "Nothing works better for exorcisms than these." The sight of these decidedly unconventional "tools" left Arel utterly speechless.