"Very well." Crestet Cecile nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Then swear upon the sacred relic."
As he spoke, he bent down and lifted the silver-white case from beside his feet.
A sacred relic? The very relic that earned you the title "Sword of the Goddess"? Klein watched the senior deacon's every movement with considerable curiosity.
Crestet placed the case on his lap, his dark green eyes instantly turning pitch black.
He raised his right hand and pressed it downward. Something on the surface of the silver-white case—shaped like an instrument case—shattered and disintegrated, receding like an ebbing tide.
Almost in the same instant, Klein felt all the surrounding luminescence being drawn inward, pulled into that case.
And so he saw the alchemical chamber plunged into total darkness. Apart from the elegant gas lamp enclosed within its metal grille, and apart from the case now shimmering with silver-white radiance, the scene was utterly bizarre.
Snap!
With a crisp sound, Crestet Cecile—core member of the Nighthawks, one of the nine senior deacons—opened the case, revealing a pure white bone sword resting inside.
Yes, a bone sword. The moment he laid eyes on the short blade, which was less than a meter long, Klein instinctively knew its primary material was bone.
In the alchemical chamber where gas lamps burned silently yet cast no light, the short sword quietly emanated a pure, lustrous white glow—like the moon hanging high in the dead of night to comfort the human heart, like a lighthouse marking direction through a storm.
Its surface appeared immaculate, but upon closer inspection, one would find layers upon layers of symbols and sigils deep within, these mysterious patterns forming an inseparable whole with the blade itself.
Klein studied the sacred sword and suddenly realized he couldn't look away!
His gaze was drawn in, the light slowly fading from his brown eyes.
At that moment, Crestet shifted the case upward, moving the pure white short sword away from its original position.
Klein snapped awake, finally breaking free from the nightmare of watching helplessly with no way to avert his eyes.
He turned his gaze to the side and asked solemnly: "Your Excellency, do you need me to place my hand upon this sacred sword?"
"Yes. Come closer." Crestet's voice was like a bedtime story being recited, a lullaby being sung.
Klein rose to his feet and shuffled over, sidling a small step at a time. It was so dark that he couldn't even make out the senior deacon's legs ahead of him or the man's slightly worn leather boots.
"Stop." Crestet spoke calmly.
Klein halted in his tracks, standing where he was. He quickly darted a glance at the pure white bone sword from the corner of his eye, then fearfully looked away again.
Following the fleeting memory of that brief second, he bent at the waist, extended his right hand, and pressed it firmly upon the sacred sword.
A cold but not bone-piercing sensation passed through his skin into his mind, instantly smoothing away the stray thoughts and anxious feelings in his heart—as though he had suddenly arrived at a quiet village after the clamor, sitting on a rooftop, breathing in the scent of harvest, gazing quietly at the darkness of the night, gazing at the starlit sky.
"Recite after me," Kresti said in a low voice.
"Alright." Klein nodded.
Then he heard the Senior Deacon in front of him switch to the
"I swear to you by my true name and my spirituality."
"I, Klein, shall from this moment forward never reveal the corresponding details to anyone who does not know of the 'Acting method.'"
"Should I violate this oath, let me be punished at your discretion."
"Please bear witness to my oath."
Klein restrained his wandering thoughts and solemnly repeated the oath in the Hermes language, following Senior Deacon Saima.
Faintly, he felt that a subtle, obscure connection had been established between himself and that pure white bone sword—and with some existence in the infinite distance.
He withdrew his right hand and traced the Crimson Moon over his chest, saying: "Praise the Goddess!"
"Praise the Goddess!" Kresti smiled and returned the gesture.
Immediately after, he snapped the lid shut and pressed his right hand heavily and slowly upon it.
The pitch-blackness was instantly illuminated as the gaslight flooded the room once more.
Klein saw that the deep black tint in Senior Deacon Saima's eyes had returned to their original dark green at the same moment.
He settled back into his high-backed chair, slightly furrowing his brow as he asked in confusion: "The Acting method?"
Kresti cleared his throat, and rather than answering the question directly, smiled and said: