The green gemstone that landed in Iralniel’s hand was tiny—smaller than a human thumbnail. At a glance, one might believe it was a cheap, imitation jewel. And once its glow faded, it looked even less remarkable. You could mistake it for a plain pebble. The Julien Mercenary Corps blinked in disbelief. That was the Sacred Stone? They couldn’t believe it. Seeing their faces, Iralniel smiled. “Why the reaction? Are you disappointed?” “......” “You must never judge something by its appearance alone. You must learn to see what lies within.” “Yes, ma’am...” Like students responding to a teacher, the mercenaries nodded obediently. Still, their faces betrayed disappointment. The Sacred Stone they’d imagined held no overwhelming majesty, no mystical aura. They thought perhaps if it continued to glow, it might be different—but it didn’t. They couldn’t sense any special energy either. These were seasoned fighters, and they began to suspect the stories they’d heard about the Sacred Stones had been exaggerated. ‘No wonder gathering them repeatedly never worked.’ ‘That light was probably just the World Tree reacting.’ ‘Feels like an ordinary rock when you hold it.’ At their unspoken doubts, Iralniel merely smiled quietly. She understood. It was a realization difficult for mortals who lived turbulent, short lives to attain. Iralniel looked at Deneb. “It’ll be difficult to carry in this form. Let me give you something to hold it more easily.” She removed the necklace from around her neck. It was simple and modest in design, but at its center was a finely crafted structure, made to hold a small gem. Carefully, she brought the Sacred Stone to the setting. Click. It snapped perfectly into place with a small sound. Then, she placed the necklace around Deneb’s neck. “This is a necklace made specifically to hold the Blessing Stone. It’s a treasured heirloom, passed down only to the High Chief. For now, I’ll entrust it to you.” “Th-Thank you...” Deneb bowed deeply, flustered. She couldn’t understand why something so valuable had been given to her. Immediately, she moved to hand it over to Lionel. After all, it was meant for the Pope. Lionel, clearly expecting the same, stepped forward and gave his thanks. “Your decision honors us, High Chief. The Empire shall not forget your generosity. His Holiness the Pope will surely—” “I gave it to Deneb,” Iralniel interrupted coldly. “Pardon...?” “The Blessing Stone is not for the Pope. I, as the elves’ representative and guardian of the World Tree, give it to the girl named Deneb.” “H-High Chief! But—” “I will not permit the Pope to take it. Until this war is over, Deneb shall remain its rightful bearer. Is that clear?” “......” “If anyone tries to take it by force, they will find themselves at war with the elves. The Blessing Stone holds the authority to rally us.” “......” Lionel couldn’t reply to Iralniel’s sharp warning. Nor could the other mercenaries. Deneb, flustered and overwhelmed, froze in place. She’d only come as part of a request—but now it felt like she’d stolen a sacred treasure. Lionel clenched his jaw and bowed his head. After a pause, he asked again: “Then what if this novice priest willingly offers it to His Holiness?” “That would be her choice. I won’t stop her. But if that happens, I’ll go to the Pope myself... and take it back.” “...Understood.” Lionel bowed once more. In the end, it was just wordplay. Who could disobey the Pope? Deneb would surely surrender it without protest. Iralniel looked down at the bowed Lionel and smiled. As if she didn’t already know. Of course the Pope would try to claim it. And Deneb had the kind of personality that would offer it up without resistance. Everyone probably thought the same—perhaps even the elven elders. But Iralniel thought otherwise. ‘The Pope won’t take it so easily.’ Her gaze shifted to Ghislain. ‘There’s no way that dark mage would allow it.’ She had only been around him briefly, but she understood what kind of man Ghislain was. He wasn’t the kind to swear loyalty to the Pope. He radiated a troublesome, defiant energy. If it came to it, he’d probably fight the Pope to keep the Blessing Stone with Deneb. That was her conclusion as she looked toward Ghislain again. ‘...Hm?’ He was staring at the necklace on Deneb’s neck, dazed. Iralniel tilted her head and asked, “What is it? Did you sense something from the Blessing Stone?” “Ah... no. It just... feels familiar.” Ghislain gave a vague reply. He was caught between surprise and wonder. ‘That necklace... it’s mine.’ It was the Saintess’s necklace he’d taken from Berhem. Everything had started when he obtained that necklace. The divine power infused within it had let him glimpse the past through dreams—and eventually transported him here directly. Back then, {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} the Sacred Stone hadn’t been set in it. It must’ve been lost, and only the necklace passed down through time. ‘So that’s how it was... Deneb’s divine power must’ve sanctified it later.’ It was possible the other sacred artifacts had been passed down in similar fashion. He didn’t know what else remained—but he had a feeling he’d find them in the same way. As Iralniel silently observed him, she asked again: “Your name is Astion, yes?” “That’s right.” “Though you’ve learned dark magic, you carry no trace of malice. In fact, you exude the purest energy I’ve felt from anyone. Your mental fortitude must be extraordinary. Truly... curious and remarkable.” “I do have pretty strong willpower,” Ghislain quipped, grinning at his own praise. Just then, an elven elder hesitantly chimed in. “Forgive me for saying this... but a person who uses dark magic shouldn’t be capable of radiating such pure energy. Most do it out of greed—to grow stronger quickly. Or because of deep resentment, or selfish disregard for life.” The elder paused, then cautiously added: “Don’t take this the wrong way, but... do you have a mental disorder? Or perhaps a... twisted sort of fixation...?” “......” “I mean... come on. A righteous dark mage full of pure energy? That just doesn’t happen. People like that usually have something a little... off.” “......” A silence hung in the air—until the Julien Mercenary Corps erupted in laughter. “Pwahahaha! That’s exactly the kind of insight we expect from an elder!” “He’s definitely not right in the head!” “His nickname is Madman!” Everyone piled on, shouting over each other. It wasn’t often they got to tease Ghislain so publicly. “......” Ghislain silently raised his staff—and the laughter died instantly. The elves, meanwhile, continued looking at him with curious fascination. Clicking his tongue, Ghislain offered a somewhat more serious reply: “I gathered energy using magical artifacts. I also received some help from Serahna’s temple. The origin of dark magic, after all, was sacred power meant for the dead.” The elves all nodded. That much, at least, was common knowledge. Still, Iralniel remained curious. “With your talent, you didn’t need to rely on dark magic. Why did you choose to study it?” “To grow stronger, I learn whatever I can. After all, a tool’s nature is shaped by the user’s intent. There’s no good or evil in the tool itself.” “That is true. But you must also know—binding the souls of the dead goes against the order of life. Surely you understand that.” Iralniel was deeply concerned about that part. A person who had learned dark magic could be tempted by it at any moment. And even more so if that person was a companion of Deneb—the one now bearing the Blessing Stone. Just then, Ghislain raised a hand with a sly grin. “It's faster if I just show you.” Fwoooosh! A plume of black smoke rose up, and from it emerged a death knight. The elves tensed immediately, their expressions hardening. The death knight that appeared was Gascot. After surveying the surroundings for a moment, he grumbled in his usual brusque voice. “...What do you want.” “Oh, I figured I should clear up their concerns,” Ghislain said, gesturing toward him. “No need to worry too much. We’re companions.” “Companions?” “Yes. We’ve agreed to fight together until the Salvation Order is wiped out. They’re not bound by my will—they chose this path themselves.” Iralniel looked slightly surprised at the sight of the death knight. “You gave them free will.” “They fight better that way.” Ghislain replied casually, and Iralniel nodded slowly. No necromancer gave free will to death knights. They couldn’t be controlled unless bound by force. “I never doubted your sincerity. But I did worry. Now I see there’s no need.” Just the fact that the death knights followed him voluntarily was enough to ease her concerns and grant him her trust. The other elves, however, still wore uneasy expressions, their eyes filled with doubt. Ghislain shrugged toward Gascot and said, “You heard that? I think we finally got through to them.” “...Don’t summon me for crap like this. I’m busy recovering.” Gascot replied bluntly and vanished. With the troubling matter resolved, Iralniel asked another question. “You mentioned you had a few requests. Aside from the Blessing Stone—what else do you seek?” Ghislain, ever the man who made sure to get what he came for, smiled brightly and nodded. “Yes. There’s something I really wanted to ask you, Chief.” “Go on. In return for saving us, I’ll help however I can—within reason.” “I want to learn elementalism.” “...What?” “I want a spirit friend too.” “......” The elves stared at Ghislain with blank expressions again. It was like he thought wanting something was all it took to get it. A dark mage with spirits? That had to be the most mismatched combination imaginable. But Ghislain didn’t waver. He declared confidently, “There’s no harm in learning more.” That was always his way. He had no reservations about learning anything that could be useful. Iralniel couldn't hide her intrigue. “Elementalism isn't something you learn. It’s about forming bonds with spirits—becoming friends with them.” “I know.” “If you’ve never felt a spirit’s presence, it’s impossible.” In truth, only an extremely small number of people could communicate with spirits. Unless one lived in harmony with nature like the elves, it was nearly impossible to learn elementalism. Very few were born with affinity for spirits—and most humans lost whatever sensitivity they had due to growing up in polluted environments. Of course, Ghislain knew all this. Which is why he had another approach in mind. “With your and the elders’ power, couldn’t you... introduce me to some spirits?” “......” “Please, just a little introduction.” There were rare cases of people who had the potential but, for one reason or another, couldn’t form connections with spirits. For them, the elves performed a special rite that summoned and guided spirits—a ritual known as the Spirit Calling. That was exactly what Ghislain was now asking for. “...That much, I can do. But even then, if the spirits reject you, you’ll never succeed.” “I understand. Making friends with them—that part’s on me. Just help me make the connection.” “......” After a moment of thought, Iralniel nodded. “Very well. It’s not a difficult request. The choice lies with the spirits anyway.” She turned and addressed the other mercenaries as well. “If any of you wish to try, I’ll do the same for everyone. Perhaps some of you might catch the spirits’ interest.” The mercenaries' faces lit up. If luck was on their side, they might gain elemental powers. They spread out, keeping appropriate distance, faces filled with anticipation. Iralniel slowly closed her eyes and raised her hand. Soon, a voice like a beautiful song flowed from her lips. — You who have form, you who hold will... follow the memories carved in nature and come to this place. I wish to connect with you. I mean you no harm, and I open my heart to your stillness. Fwaaaaash! Strange patterns began to glow beneath everyone’s feet. Curving lines like tree roots appeared, and a soft light as gentle as moonlight flowed from them. A resonant vibration, like distant bells, filled the space— as if the spirit world had overlapped with reality. Shhhhhhh... Countless lights began to bloom in the air. Each one shone with a different hue and fluttered like tiny butterflies. The lights grew in number—soon they were in the hundreds, swirling around each person. Iralniel’s immense power had opened a part of the spirit realm and summoned them here. They began fluttering curiously around the mercenaries like children, inspecting them one by one. Some drew more spirits, others less, but all the mercenaries had spirits approach them. Even Ghislain had several lights gather around him. He smiled and closed his eyes. Elementalism is an unfair power on the battlefield. It could empower the caster or allow summoned spirits to fight independently. In the future, Ereneth had used spirits to perform multiple roles simultaneously. Iralniel spoke softly. “You must show them your true heart. You must sincerely want to become their friend. If even a hint of falsehood taints your intent, the spirits won’t respond. This bond is full synchronization.” “Understood.” Ghislain took a deep breath and sent his will to the spirits floating around him. — I want to be your friend. Let’s run across the battlefield together. He imagined it. The ideal battle he dreamed of. A perfect battlefield, like a painting. Hundreds of death knights rampaging across the land. Mighty spells tearing through sky and earth. Then, elemental spirits summoned from all sides, unleashing natural disasters upon the world. In the center of it all stood Ghislain, charging alone into an enemy horde, destroying everything in his path. He relayed that vision to the spirits—without a trace of deceit. A flawless connection. Pure sincerity. And the spirits, having seen and felt Ghislain’s sincere heart... FWOOSH! All scattered and fled in every direction. “...???” Ghislain stood there blankly, blinking in confusion. Mumbling to himself, stunned, “...But I was sincere...” Iralniel covered her face with one hand and sighed. She’d heard the spirits whispering as they fled. And quietly, she spoke: “Spirits... do not become friends with someone who wants to be a god of destruction.” “......” Ghislain felt a little... wronged.