"—Oh, High Priest! Please, answer our prayers!—We have traveled from afar, wondering where we might find you…"
In a small room, a frail elderly woman struggled to lean forward. Her wrinkled, grimy, and worn skin bore the marks of years in misery. She was covered by a pink blanket, though time and neglect had faded its color to a grayish hue. Beside her, a young man—probably her son—held her gently. His condition was scarcely less deplorable: hungry, exhausted, though not quite as ill as his mother.
Both were kneeling before a young man no more than twenty-two years old, whose attire starkly contrasted with the squalor surrounding him. He wore an imposing ecclesiastical black hat; large purple orbs hung from a thick cord around his neck, and his white robe—adorned with finely cut reed borders—reached down to his heels. His sleeves were accented in black, and underneath the robe he wore a simple white kimono, tied with a cord from which dangled a small gourd with tiny purple spheres. His bell-bottomed black pants completed his unique appearance, and his pale face, accentuated by his purple eyes, gave him an almost ethereal beauty.
This was the imposing figure of the priest.
The Saint Without Spells
Despite the simplicity of his attire, his presence was radiant and captivating. Those who traveled across the seas and encountered him for the first time were astonished—not only by his long white hair, styled in a braid at the back, or his snow-white complexion—but by the powerful aura he emanated.
Being near this priest was like being pierced to the soul by an indescribable energy. An almost divine euphoria enveloped anyone in his presence. That very sensation attracted both the desperate and the curious.
It was said that he could cure any illness or misfortune without uttering a single spell. His fame spread rapidly after, in just one night, he exorcised an entire family tormented by demons.
Many sorcerers were capable of such feats, but what made this priest unique was that he did not use any overt magic.
Not on the surface.
This fact divided people into two camps: on one hand, the citizens saw him as a divine emissary—a chosen one destined to change the world. On the other, sorcerers and magic apprentices did not consider him a charlatan, yet they watched him with suspicion.
Not because they doubted his power, but because they simply could not understand how he accomplished his miracles.
Had he merely recited spells, his fame might have been moderate. But the fact that he did not utter a single magical word attracted too much attention… and too much greed.
Rulers and scholars coveted his secret at all costs, which forced him to live without a fixed home. Every time he settled in a city or kingdom, the harassment of those eager to uncover his methods compelled him to flee.
Even in the mountains, where he led a nomadic life, sorcerers pursued him, attempting extortion or bargaining deals with him.
Despite everything, the priest never responded with violence. His calm voice and serene gaze were enough to dissuade most.
Over time, even some of the sorcerers who eagerly sought him ended up following him—helping in basic tasks and using his magic to improve the lives of ordinary people: speeding up crop growth, constructing shelters for his nomadic community.
The priest narrowed his eyes as he observed the elderly woman and her son. His smile was warm and his voice calm:
"None of my followers or anyone who knows me has not traveled from afar in search of relief for their pain and sins. I need nothing more than your time in my community. Please, once your suffering has ended, stay with us for a while… if you so wish."
The young man, exhausted, nodded with difficulty and helped the priest lift his mother. Gently, the priest placed his hand on the elderly woman's forehead.
In an instant, her eyes widened and began to shine with a renewed light. Her hunched back straightened, and the deep wrinkles on her face softened. The frailty that had dominated her seemed to vanish as if it had never been.
The young man looked at his mother in amazement. It was a miracle—her pain had disappeared.
The priest approached him and touched his shoulder. In a heartbeat, he felt his body become light, as if weariness and misery had been washed away.
Both were renewed.
"That should be enough," said the priest serenely. "Before you leave this room, go to the community. There you can change those dirty clothes. If you wish, we will provide you with temporary garments while we wash yours."
The two newly healed bowed in gratitude and left the room, complying with the priest's request.
In the modest chamber, silence fell heavy. The priest sighed, removing his hat and gazing at the ceiling with weariness.
Being a saintly figure was not easy.
As his thoughts swirled, the door opened. A tall woman with curly white hair, olive skin, and an imposing figure entered with confident steps. Her attire was adorned with silver necklaces and earrings. Over her pale white robe with faint golden patterns, she wore a thick fur coat. Her gaze was piercing yet elegant, accompanied by eyes as dark as the abyss.
"Master Fungi, the Supreme Master wants to see you."
Fungi regarded her indifferently. He shed his priestly robes, leaving behind only his simple kimono and trousers.
His appearance, now ordinary, stood in stark contrast to the image of a saint as people imagined him.
He stretched calmly and, without a word, followed her.
They walked along a narrow, wooden-covered path that connected to the temple. The followers, busy in the courtyard, paused momentarily to watch him and offer small bows of respect.
Fungi responded with slight nods, while his companion observed them impassively.
Once they were out of sight, Fungi broke the silence.
"How is the condition of the Great Supreme Master?" he asked in a serene voice. "Is he gravely ill, Master Secil?"
Secil nodded slightly and continued in silence until reaching a hidden spot in the mountain. She stopped between two stone pillars covered in scratches and, with a subtle movement of her fingers, opened a secret door in the rocky wall.
Fungi followed without hesitation, and the entrance closed behind them.
Inside the mountain, a narrow, labyrinthine passage stretched before them. The walls were adorned with bones of all kinds—animals, humans… even unknown beasts. The darkness was almost absolute, barely interrupted by the ghostly light of torches.
After a long trek, they reached the end of the tunnel.
Hanging from the ceiling was the skull of a colossal beast. Its skeleton, embedded in the ground, formed a bridge leading to the other side of a vast underground crater.
The two figures crossed silently, advancing to a small opening in the wall. Once inside, they found themselves in an expansive circular space. At its center, illuminated by the faint glow of a dilapidated candelabrum, lay a humanoid figure resting on a stone bed. The room was utterly silent, broken only by its deep, rhythmic breathing.
Secil and Fungi bowed reverently before the sleeping presence. But as it sensed their arrival, the figure began to rise slowly. The robes that had covered it fell to the ground with a dry, heavy sound, revealing a long, scaly tail in an opaque orange hue that coiled and lifted its body. What had seemed like a man turned out to be a long, dying creature with a nearly lifeless serpentine face. Without touching the ground, it glided toward the two sorcerers with an ethereal, solemn motion.
The beast's neck extended between them, and its empty eyes began to fill with a faint glow, as if awakening from a millennial slumber. The creature, now fully conscious, fixed its gaze on the visitors.
The Supreme Master had awakened.
Then, with a deep, hoarse, and authoritative voice that seemed to shake even the boldest of demons, it spoke. Though tired, its tone carried an overwhelming weight.
"Rise."
Without hesitation, Secil and Fungi obeyed. Not a single word was spoken; they simply fixed their gaze on the serpent, awaiting its next command.
A moment of silence lingered until the creature moved closer to Fungi's face, examining him with a hint of curiosity. Then, its voice resonated again throughout the cavern.
Fungi silently observed the imposing figure of the Master, his long, scaly body rising in the dim light of the cave. The hollow gaze of the ancient being seemed to pierce his very soul. Despite his apparent deterioration, the Master's presence remained unyielding in authority.
"Master Fungi, you look... different. I hardly recognized you. Your soul seems to have grown somewhat stronger."
The serpent's tone was rough and heavy, yet it carried a malicious quality hidden beneath the fatigue.
Fungi, with an embarrassed smile, ran his fingers along the cord of his trousers and rubbed the soul orbs hanging from his waist. Taking a handful in his hand, he raised them with a forced gesture of humility.
In a gentle tone, he replied, "Lord Kai… I must admit that this little master could not resist secretly consuming some sweets from his master."
The Supreme Master lowered his serpentine face until it was mere centimeters from his apprentice. His forked tongue flickered out, and with agile motion, he gathered all the orbs in Fungi's palm, swallowing them with a dry, repulsive sound.
His breathing grew only slightly firmer, yet the deterioration in his body remained evident.
Fungi looked down, maintaining the expression of a penitent disciple, while bitter thoughts churned in his mind.
"Disgusting monster"That was all he could think—a sentiment he had never felt for his master until now.
Master Kai fixed his gaze upon him, and his voice thundered through the cave with harsh severity:
"I have already warned you about your consumption limits! Your soul was perfect just as it was."
"You won't feel that mistake now. But the greed to consume souls recklessly is what leads all the ambitious to destroy their very essence—your soul has reached its limit!"
The weight of his words hit Fungi like a crushing wave. His body trembled slightly—not from the rebuke, but because he knew all too well the theatrics of his master. The old fox was putting on a show just for the thrill of intimidating him.
The elder's voice turned more mocking, as if enjoying his little sermon—a scene reminiscent of a father scolding his son for a minor misdeed. Yet the final words completely dismissed the notion of mere reprimand.
"I invested too much in you for you to ruin it all with childish gluttony, my dear disciple."
A chill ran down Fungi's spine as he listened. He had always been able to read between the lines—the disguised mockery in his master's words made him uneasy.
Master Kai knew exactly who his disciple was. By the end of the day, Fungi had become the very little demon he had nurtured, yet he still toyed with him like a cat with a mouse.
After all, the master occupied a position of power and could act as he pleased.
The Master's face hardened, but his tone softened with calculated disappointment.
"Is that how you intend to honor your master's memory? Don't delude yourself, boy. No matter how many souls you bring me, my body continues to deteriorate. I am over 500 years old. My days grow numbered. My only hope is my legacy… and you."
Fungi stifled a bitter laugh, silently thinking only:
"Hypocrite."
It was the only thought that crossed his mind—after all, Fungi could see the reflection of his soul in his master. More than anything, he could feel emotions; all this verbose sermon served to expose his vulnerable position before his lord's will. And, in a way, it was almost amusing because he could never openly scold him.
In a sense, the master was not lying: his only hope was… though with a macabre idea, one that was dismissed as an act of altruism.
Many years ago, Master Kai had entered Fungi's life when he was a young priest of a barely emerging cult—as a child, he had encountered a cult that seemed as splendid as a soul restaurant, and without hesitation, the serpent offered the child a power that could challenge even the heavens. In his early years, the little boy had refused to accept that power, deeply distrusting the stranger; however, one significant event marked his life—a pact with the demon.
In his early years, Fungi did not grasp his master's true intentions; but one who exposes himself to the abyss becomes part of it, catching the hidden intents behind his master's facade.
And he certainly wouldn't just stand by. Yet he wouldn't dare defy a demon too early—doing so would only provoke his master—but now, he found himself in an ironic situation, to say the least.
Only when Fungi could no longer feign attention did Master Kai reduce his size, letting his enormous tail rest on the floor.
"Anyway, I did not call you here to reprimand you. These things are inevitable. You are just a boy, after all. But we have more important matters."
Fungi offered a slight bow of gratitude, as if he truly cared.
Secil, who had been silent until then, pulled a grimoire from her robe and sought a page from the notebook.
The air in the cave grew dense and, gradually, an image began to project at the center of the room.
A three-dimensional map of the mountain unfolded with a ghostly glow.
Master Kai spoke in a dark seriousness:
"As you know, the assimilation of souls is a slow process. Not only does it take time for souls to mature, but the planning of the spell requires extreme precision. However, we have a problem."
At the center of the map, two human figures emerged.
One was a middle-aged man with a black beard reaching his chest. His hair fell to his shoulders and his physique was imposing. He wore a red cloak over black leather garments.
The other figure was a young, short woman with blonde hair tied in a ponytail and adorned with golden leaves. Her gray dress was simple, but her gaze was sharp and serene.
Fungi observed them in silence before murmuring in a neutral tone:
"Diviners."
Kai nodded.
"Sooner or later, they'll call out for us. They have no way of verifying the assimilation process of souls, but their sense of suspicion is unparalleled. You've done a good job hiding the truth all these years, yet the curiosity about what our sect conceals has caught the attention of the supreme sorcerers."
Fungi feigned surprise and nodded, allowing his master to continue speaking.
"If I were in better condition, this wouldn't be a problem. But I cannot face forces from other supremos in my current state. Nor can we simply dispose of the diviners without drawing attention from those who sent them."
Fungi listened to all his master's words, yet his thoughts wandered elsewhere.
He had already planned his escape long ago. He knew his time in the sect was numbered.
He had known of the diviners' existence for a long time, and aware that his work was particularly conspicuous, he had always kept an eye on such situations.
Yet, he had a particular problem: he was too weak to deal with the threat posed by the supremos. One of his first options had been to escape and hide until the end of the world.
Of course, he was no stranger to hiding, but his master would definitely not let him go easily the moment he found out—and Fungi believed he wouldn't be able to defend himself.
With that possibility in mind, he took a second option to find peace:
He would steal the assimilation.
Among all the options, it was the deadliest—but not the riskiest—from his perspective. Assimilation allowed the evolution of the soul beyond its limits; if he managed to seize it, he might have a chance to survive in the world.
Taking the work of a supreme master away from him was unthinkable… yet his master was more than weakened by time. That was his only reason for taking such extreme measures, with some chance of success.
He didn't think there were other alternatives.
After hours of lengthy discussion about the plan to maintain appearances and the necessary preparations, the meeting ended.
Fungi left silently, walking back through the dark labyrinth of bones.
Secil followed him with an impassive look.
Secil was supremely loyal to her master—attempting to conspire with her was useless. If he wished to assassinate him, he'd have to remove her from the equation, but facing the right hand of a Supreme Master was utterly out of the question.
After all, she was known as his "murderous hand"...
After a while, the light from the entrance filtered in from afar. With every step, his mind sank deeper into contemplation.
Upon exiting the cave, the bright moonlight illuminated his pale skin. As he walked around the mountain, he observed the lights of the sect's torches, just for a moment, before continuing on his path.
He entered his cabin in silence, mulling over ideas—his plans to seize the assimilation were only just beginning.