Cycle of Destiny

Chapter 45 The Holy Mage's Disciple

Harry followed the Duke of Langton through a narrow corridor to a relatively quiet area on the ship.

A heavy wooden door was pushed open, revealing a makeshift medical pod filled with a faint scent of herbs and an lingering sense of weakness.

In the center of the room was a bed, on which the elven prince Arthas lay, covered with a thin blanket.

Harry remembered the last time he saw him; his face, which had been pale, was now almost ashen, and his long, silvery hair had lost its luster and was scattered messily on the pillow.

His eyes were closed, his breathing was so shallow that it was almost imperceptible, and even in his sleep, his brows were furrowed and his lips were dry and white.

The tall skeleton looked unusually out of place under the blanket, as if some invisible force had quietly drawn away its flesh and blood.

There was a person standing by the bed.

He wore his signature deep red robe, which was made of heavy material and had intricate gold thread embroidery along the edges.

On the left side of the robe, a striking symbol was embroidered in dark gold thread: two perfectly intertwined rings forming a horizontal "∞" shape.

The man was tall and thin, and looked to be around fifty years old. His hair was a dark brown with silver streaks, and he was meticulously combed.

His face was sharply defined, with a high nose and thin lips that were now tightly pursed, exuding his usual authority and an unconcealable worry.

His hands hung naturally at his sides, his fingers long and slender with distinct knuckles.

This is Cardinal Lawrence.

When he turned his head, his deep blue eyes looked toward the doorway, revealing not only exhaustion but also obvious confusion.

His gaze first fell on the Duke of Langton, who nodded slightly in greeting, before settling on Harry.

The gaze naturally swept over Harry's short, stout figure, passing over his unremarkable black mage robe, but paused briefly on the robe's unusually supple texture, which subtly shimmered.

Although the archbishop was a member of the church, he still had a basic understanding of the colors of magicians' robes; he knew that black represented low-level magicians.

However, at the same time, when he looked at the mage's robe, a faint glint flashed in the archbishop's eyes. It was the subconscious recognition of someone who had seen good things before, but this recognition did not bring him any respect, but rather a deeper confusion.

He could tell that the robe was made of extraordinary material, far exceeding the equipment of ordinary magic robes, but this was really incompatible with the fat man in front of him who clearly only had a low level of magic, and his current critical condition.

Duke Langdon spoke first, breaking the silence: "Lord Lawrence."

"Your Excellency the Duke." Lawrence's voice was steady, but carried a sense of aloofness that kept people at a distance. Although the ship belonged to the Duke of Langton, you could sense that he had little interest in conversation at the moment.

His gaze returned to Harry, and he didn't ask a question, but the meaning was clear.

The Duke turned around and introduced him, "This is Mr. Harry, a noble mage. He heard that Arthas was seriously injured and wanted to come and see if his healing magic could offer some small help."

Harry stood there motionless, looking at the cardinal.

Lawrence's gaze lingered on Harry's face for two seconds before turning to the Duke, whose forehead wrinkles appeared even deeper.

"I don't think it's necessary to do so, Your Grace."

His tone was harsh, showing almost no respect for Duke Langdon. "The injuries Arthas suffered are extraordinary, as I believe you are aware of. This is not something an ordinary mage can handle."

The Duke of Langton seemed to have anticipated this; she took a half-step forward, her voice softening slightly, "Your Excellency, I understand your concerns. But Mr. Harry means well; he wants to give it a try. Perhaps... it will have unexpected results?"

"An unexpected result?"

Lawrence's voice carried an almost sarcastic tone as he looked at Harry again, his gaze sharp as if trying to peel away the black robe. "Even I can't help him. I don't think a... young mage can be of any real help to Arthas."

When he looked at Harry, he made no attempt to hide his contempt for this lowly wizard; it was an instinctive rejection rooted in doctrine and historical grievances.

In his eyes, these magicians were nothing more than a group of "thieves" who stole the power bestowed by the goddess and went into darkness.

Moreover, the one in front of us isn't even considered particularly skilled among thieves.

Even after using advanced divine magic, Arthas's curse showed no signs of abating. Perhaps only His Holiness the Pope and the Goddess had the ability to heal him.

This duke actually brought a low-level mage to try it out.

Lawrence's gaze towards the Duke of Langton changed; was she insulting him?

The archbishop's words were practically a direct rejection.

The Duke of Langton paused for a moment. She understood the cardinal's stubbornness and his attitude towards wizards. She sighed softly, turned to Harry, and said gently, "Harry, let's..."

"Your Excellency the Archbishop," Harry spoke just as the Duke was about to lead him away. His voice was not loud, but clear, and he did not appear timid because of the other party's status and attitude.

Lawrence's gaze fell on him again, clearly showing his impatience.

Harry looked up, meeting those deep blue eyes in the eye, and said calmly, "I admit, I am now just a low-level mage with meager magical power."

He paused, and in the oppressive silence, clearly said the next sentence: "But I have a very good teacher."

These words caused a crack to appear on Lawrence's cold, serious face, and an almost mocking expression surfaced.

"Oh?" He drawled, clearly not taking it seriously. "I wonder which great mage could have taught such a... courageous student like you?"

"Holy Magician Odel," Harry replied, his tone still flat, as if he were talking about something very ordinary.

The name is like a pebble thrown into a deep pool.

Lawrence's playful expression froze instantly.

His deep blue pupils contracted almost simultaneously, his gaze fixed on Harry's face as if trying to discern any trace of a lie.

The name of the Holy Mage Odel... is known to everyone on the entire continent.

He is the only mage on the continent, the one who personally ended the legend of the demon in the dark cave, and the powerful figure who, through his own efforts, negotiated with the royal family and fought hard to win legal status and an autonomous territory for mages.

In the magical world, he is the absolute pinnacle, a spiritual beacon for almost all academic wizards.

Within the church, the holy magician Odel also had another title—"the church's greatest enemy."

Following the "Crimson Invasion" twenty years ago, the Church defeated the demons and accepted the faith of His Majesty Archanos XV, who succeeded to the throne.

Everyone in the church cheered with joy. Justice had finally triumphed over evil, and the goddess's radiance had finally shone upon the highest peak of the Arcanos Empire. The future belonged to the church!

After that, the nobles who had opposed the church gradually realized how naive they had been to think that the status of nobles was higher than that of church members.

They no longer cared about the condescending attitude of the church staff—the church was, of course, the noblest. The nobles began to accept the church's commands and understood that they should respect and obey the goddess. They also realized how much beauty they had missed before.

Subsequent developments unfolded exactly as they had anticipated—the Church added a clause to the nobility granting system, and those who won the Church's approval could directly participate in the duel for succession without any other conditions.

Furthermore, with the Church taking on the responsibility of training standard warriors, the nobility became utterly subservient hounds. Once it became the wise thing to do in aristocratic society to venerate the Goddess of Light, the foolish instantly lost their appeal, and they all respectfully prostrated themselves at the feet of the goddess, which was what they should be doing.

At that time, Lawrence was just a white-robed archbishop who had just followed the goddess to quell the disaster in the southeast of the empire. He caught up with the important turning point for the Church of Light to move towards glory.

At that time, in addition to having great hopes for the reform of aristocratic society, he also longed to completely eliminate the "magicians," a group of thieves who steal the power of goddesses, from the empire and even from the continent.

The Church of Light has reached the pinnacle of imperial authority, and there is no reason why his wish should not be fulfilled.

However, the holy magician Odel appeared.

His appearance was like providing a safe haven for these rats, allowing them to thrive and multiply in the shadows instead of being eradicated.

The thought that these rats could still survive in the darkness filled him with uncontrollable rage. The church at that time had quelled the disaster and defeated the demons; Lawrence didn't believe they couldn't eradicate this darkness.

He rallied more than a dozen white archbishops, and even three out of four cardinal archbishops supported their actions. Together they pressured the Pope to eliminate these thieves, but His Holiness the Pope remained inactive.

But they didn't give up. With their persistence, they believed the church would eventually declare war on the darkness. But what they received was a disheartening response.

His Holiness the Pope, the strongest figure in the Church and the representative of the Goddess of Light on Earth, actually admitted to them that the Holy Magician was so powerful that he could only fight him to a draw.

Humiliation spread among the church's upper echelons, and they never mentioned the plan to eliminate the magicians again.

The Pope also warned them not to do anything underhanded, and that they should remain silent for the sake of the goddess's glory.

All of this earned this holy magician a resounding title within the church: "The Church's Greatest Enemy".

However, according to information from the church, that holy magician never accepted apprentices and had never had a direct disciple.

The unassuming fat man in front of me...

Could he be the disciple of that being?