Gid’s basement smelled of burnt parchment and expired alchemical reagents.
Dozens of ancient tomes were stacked up to the ceiling, supported by rotting wooden shelves that threatened to collapse at any moment.
The old man closed the oak door behind them and threw three iron bolts.
Then, with exasperating leisure, he settled into his worn leather armchair.
“I didn’t expect to see two Divine Chalices alive after the purge at the central temple,” Gid said, adjusting his monocle as he examined them with a surgeon’s curiosity.
“The Archbishop declared that both of you had perished in a ‘lamentable accident involving the summoning core.'” “We realized the core wasn’t built to give us blessings, but to drain our souls,” Haruto answered, taking a step forward while keeping his right hand near the hilt of his short sword.
“We want to know what the Church is doing with the energy it steals from the reencarnated.
And how to break the System’s seal.” Gid let out a dry laugh, a sound like rustling dry leaves.
“Straight to the point.
I like that.
But information from the forbidden archives isn’t paid for with a few silver coins, kids.
The Inquisition would cut out my tongue if they found out I was talking about this.” Aoi took a step forward.
The heavy thud of her boots on the stone floor echoed through the room.
She unwrapped a portion of the burlap around her sword, revealing the emblem of pure gold she had ripped from Captain Vane back in the aqueduct.
She slammed it onto the table with a sharp clatter.
“That covers the risk,” Aoi said in a firm, icy voice.
“Now talk.” The old man stared at the golden emblem, his eyes wide.
A Captain Inquisitor’s crest wasn’t just worth a fortune on the black market; it was living proof that these two teenagers had slaughtered an elite guard.
“Alright, alright…” Gid muttered, snatching the emblem with trembling hands.
“The Church doesn’t worship a god, children.
They worship the Anchor of the End, an entity trapped beneath the catacombs of the Vatican.
To keep it dormant—and for the Seven Cardinals to retain their eternal youth—they need souls from other worlds.
Souls with a dense spiritual structure.
Like yours.” Haruto narrowed his eyes.
His analytical mind began piecing the puzzle together at a breakneck speed.
“The skill system of this world…” Haruto deduced aloud.
“It isn’t a gift to help us fight.
It’s a processor that refines our energy so it’s easier for that entity to digest once we hit max level.” “Precisely,” Gid nodded.
“Every time you level up within the framework of the Sacred System, you become more delicious to the Anchor.
If you want to defeat the Church and avoid dying in the process, you must stop using the System.
You need to learn how to manipulate mana and the soul through the Ancient Way—the magic that existed before the Cardinals imposed their rules.” “Where do we find this Ancient Way?” Aoi asked, crossing her arms.
Gid rummaged through his desk drawers and pulled out a tattered leather map.
He spread it across the table, pointing to a southeastern mountain range steeped in shadow.
“In the Ruins of Aethelgard.
The Tombs of the First Kings.
That’s where the manuscript of primordial energy lies.
If you manage to master it, the Church won’t be able to drain a single drop of vitality from you.
But I warn you: the path is infested with the Heretical Beasts that the System itself rejected.” Haruto looked at the map, then exchanged a glance with Aoi.
No words were needed.
In her eyes, he saw the exact same fire burning in his own chest.
“Aethelgard will be our next destination,” Haruto declared.