NOVEL NEXT Chapter 164: [164] Three Keys and a Sacrifice
Naomi's fingers traced the rough stone walls of the temple's lower corridors, her bare feet silent against the cold volcanic rock. The servant's robes hung loose on her frame, gray fabric that made her invisible among the temple's countless attendants. She'd learned to move like Nessa—shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast, the posture of someone accustomed to being overlooked.
The records chamber lay ahead, guarded by a single acolyte seated at a wooden desk. Brother Kael, barely eighteen, his brown hair cropped short in the temple style. Naomi had watched him for three days, noting the way his eyes lingered on the gold trim of passing nobles' robes, how he counted coins when he thought no one was looking.
Everyone had a price. The trick was finding the right currency.
Naomi shifted the small leather pouch in her palm, feeling the weight of twenty gold pieces—her entire savings from Nessa's time at the Golden Fox. She approached the desk, then stumbled deliberately, catching herself against the stone wall.
The pouch hit the floor with a distinctive clink.
"Oh no," Naomi whispered, dropping to her knees. Gold coins scattered across the stone, their surfaces catching the crystal lighting. "Please, please don't tell anyone."
Brother Kael's eyes widened. He slipped from his chair, helping gather the scattered coins. His fingers trembled as he touched the gold.
"I wasn't supposed to drop it," Naomi continued, her voice carrying just the right note of panic. "Lady Morwyn gave me extra because I've been so reliable. She said if I could deliver this to her contact in the main hall without drawing attention, there might be more work."
Kael's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Lady Morwyn? The wool merchant's daughter?"
"She's been so generous." Naomi clutched the refilled pouch to her chest. "But if I'm seen with this much gold, the other servants will ask questions. They'll want to know where it came from." She bit her lower lip, a picture of distressed innocence. "I need to watch for her contact—a man in blue robes with silver threading. But I can't leave my post in the kitchens."
The young acolyte glanced toward the main corridor, then back at the gold. "What if... what if I watched for him? I could signal you when he arrives."
"You would do that?" Naomi's eyes brightened with manufactured hope. "But your duties here..."
"The records chamber is quiet tonight. Most of the scholars are at evening prayers." Kael straightened his shoulders."I could step into the corridor, keep watch. For a few minutes."
Naomi handed him five gold coins. "Just until you see the man in blue. I'll be forever grateful."
Brother Kael moved toward the corridor entrance, positioning himself where he could see down the main hall. His attention focused entirely on watching for a contact who would never come.
Naomi slipped past him into the records chamber, her heart hammering against her ribs. The first phase was complete.
===
Margaret's hands shook as she approached the senior healer's station, though whether from nerves or the residual effects of maintaining her cover for so long, she couldn't tell. Sister Cordelia sat hunched over a mortar and pestle, grinding dried moonbell petals into powder. The older woman's silver hair was pulled back in the traditional healer's knot, her weathered hands moving in practiced circles.
"Sister Cordelia?" Margaret pitched her voice higher, adding the breathless quality that Margot used when flustered. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but Scholar Miren sent me with an urgent request."
The senior healer looked up, her brown eyes sharp despite her age. "Margot, child. What has the scholar requested now?"
"It's about the specimen—the girl with the broken Covenant." Margaret twisted her hands together, a gesture she'd observed in nervous apprentices. "Scholar Miren believes her condition might respond to winterheart root, but we've exhausted our supplies in the upper stores."
Sister Cordelia's expression shifted to professional interest. "Winterheart root? That's a curious choice for Essentia stabilization. The properties are more suited to nerve damage."
"That's exactly what Scholar Miren said." Margaret leaned forward conspiratorially. "She thinks the girl's neural pathways might be physically damaged, not just spiritually fractured. The root could help rebuild the connections."
The older woman set down her pestle. "Fascinating. I've theorized about physical manifestations of Essentia trauma, but never had a clear case to study." She stood, wiping her hands on her apron. "The deep storage has winterheart root, but it's restricted. I'll need to accompany you."
Margaret's stomach clenched. She needed Cordelia distracted, not actively involved. "Scholar Miren was very specific about the preparation. She wants the root harvested fresh, not dried. She said the cellular structure breaks down within minutes of exposure to air."
"Fresh winterheart root?" Cordelia's eyebrows rose. "That requires careful handling. The sap can cause hallucinations if it contacts bare skin."
"Yes, that's why she asked for you specifically. She said Sister Cordelia is the only one with experience handling dangerous specimens." Margaret let admiration color her voice. "She told me about the time you treated that merchant who'd been poisoned with blackthorn extract."
The older woman's cheeks flushed with pride. "That was a challenging case. The man was nearly catatonic when they brought him in." She moved toward a cabinet, retrieving specialized tools. "Tell me, has the girl shown any signs of neural degradation? Tremors, memory loss, difficulty with fine motor control?"
Margaret followed her toward the deep storage entrance, maintaining the eager apprentice act. "She experiences pain when anyone examines her Essentia pathways. Scholar Miren thinks the fractures might be creating feedback loops."
"Remarkable." Cordelia fumbled with her keys, her attention fully captured by the medical mystery. "I've read theoretical papers about Covenant feedback, but the symptoms you describe suggest something far more complex."
The storage room door swung open, revealing shelves lined with preserved specimens and rare herbs. Cordelia moved deeper into the room, talking animatedly about neural pathway reconstruction while Margaret remained near the entrance.
"The key is understanding that Essentia doesn't just flow through the body—it reshapes the nervous system itself," Cordelia continued, her voice echoing from the room's depths. "If the Covenant collapse created scarring..."
Margaret backed away from the storage room, leaving the senior healer absorbed in her explanations. The second phase was complete.
===
Ashley pressed her spine against the cold stone wall of the alcove, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. The narrow space reeked of old incense and something metallic that might have been blood. She'd chosen this position carefully—hidden from the main corridor but close enough to the archive entrance that her interference field could reach the ward network.
The golden fractures along her arms pulsed like a second heartbeat, visible through the thin fabric of her temple robes. Each pulse sent lightning through her nervous system, as if someone was driving heated needles into her bones.
Just like the old days, she thought, remembering the training sessions with her father. Pain is just information. You can choose what to do with information.
Ashley closed her eyes and reached for the broken pieces of her Guardian Covenant. The ability that had once absorbed others' pain now fed on her own, transforming suffering into something useful. She let the fractures spread, golden lines creeping down her forearms like molten veins.
The pain doubled.
Ashley bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming. The taste of copper filled her mouth, but she pushed deeper into the agony. The fractures responded, blazing brighter as they consumed her torment.
More, the broken Covenant whispered in her mind. Give me more.
She obliged, letting the golden fire spread across her shoulders, down her spine. Each new fracture was a fresh knife wound, but the interference field grew stronger. She could feel it expanding outward, a bubble of dead space where magic went to die.
The ward network around the archives flickered.
Ashley opened her eyes, vision blurring from the pain. A single drop of blood fell from her nose, hitting the stone floor with a soft plat. The droplet glowed gold for a moment before fading.
The fractures stabilized, her entire upper body wrapped in lines of burning light. The interference field held steady—a twenty-meter sphere of magical disruption centered on her position.
She'd done it. The wards were blind.
===
Xavier flattened himself against the corridor wall, feeling the volcanic stone's warmth through his borrowed noble's clothing. The archive entrance lay thirty meters ahead, protected by layers of detection magic that should have made approach impossible.
Should have.
The ward network shimmered in the air like heat distortion, visible threads of energy that monitored every inch of the passage. He'd been watching for ten minutes, memorizing the patterns, waiting for Ashley's signal.
The shimmer vanished.
One moment the corridor blazed with protective magic, the next it was just empty stone and shadows. Xavier's enhanced vision, courtesy of the King's Gaze, tracked the disruption spreading outward from Ashley's position. A perfect sphere of dead magic, exactly as planned.
Impressive, the alien presence observed. The girl has weaponized her trauma quite effectively.
Xavier ignored the commentary, focusing on the narrow window of opportunity. Ashley could maintain the field for maybe ten minutes before the pain overwhelmed her. Margaret would keep Sister Cordelia distracted for as long as possible. Naomi had Brother Kael watching an empty corridor.
Everything depended on what he found in those archives.
Xavier pushed off from the wall, moving toward the entrance. Each step carried him deeper into the temple's forbidden heart, where Lord Torval's research waited. Research that might explain why seven students from another world now wore borrowed faces in a realm of eternal winter.
The archive door stood open, unguarded and unwarded.
Go.