On the white marble altar, a priest in a black robe chanted solemnly before a massive wooden wheel mounted on the wall. Carved from polished hardwood, it displayed scenes from ancient scripture, and under the glow of the lamps, it gleamed as though alive.
The low, resonant chanting filled the chamber, blending with the heavy rain drumming outside, evoking an atmosphere that was both sacred and unsettling. From a shadowed corner, Charles observed the scene: four more figures in black robes stood around the altar, heads bowed, hands clasped in front of them.
His gaze swept the room, taking note of all entrances, exits, and the people within. Besides the priest and the four robed assistants, there were two guards stationed by the main doors and two more at the far corner of the chamber.
Charles slipped back into the storage room, pressing himself flat against a wall. His mind churned with possibilities.
'I can't just wait for them to open a hidden room on their own,' he reasoned, frowning. 'They might not open it at all tonight, or they could take hours. That's too long—someone might discover me first.'
He glanced out the window at the relentless downpour. 'Should I grab someone to interrogate?' he mused, then quickly dismissed the idea. 'No. They're spread out, and if even one of them raises the alarm, reinforcements will flood in immediately.'
Peering again at the sheets of rain, Charles took a slow breath. At least the storm could help mask any sounds of a scuffle—but it was still a risky plan.
'What if I draw them out?' he pondered. 'But I've got no decoy, no backup. I can't lure them all at once.'
Charles absentmindedly rubbed his chin, his gaze catching on the torch mounted on the wall. The flame flickered in the gusts slipping through the partly open window. A thought flashed through his mind.
'The window's still ajar...' He eyed the old wooden frame. 'If I slam it loud enough to seem like the wind knocked it open, the people inside will hear. They'll send someone to check. Maybe one or two, at most—that shouldn't be too hard to handle. Once I subdue them, I can get the info I need.'
A faint smile appeared on his lips. As an Elevation Bearer, dealing with a pair of guards would be easy—especially with the rain to muffle noises.
Scanning the storage room, Charles noted the shelves and drawers.
'They must have rope somewhere in here...'
He began a more thorough search, looking for a suitable hiding place and a way to restrain anyone he captured. At last, he found a coil of rope on one of the shelves.
'Perfect. Once I get what I need, I'll tie them up and stash them away.'
Next, he looked around for a spot that would give him cover while allowing him to watch the door. He chose a space to the left of the entrance, near a tall bookshelf against the wall. When someone opened the door, the door itself would block their line of sight to him. And their attention would likely be on the window anyway, meaning they'd be even less likely to notice him.
Charles placed the rope within easy reach, then stole over to the window. Waiting for a strong burst of the chanting—for added cover—he shoved the window so it struck its frame with a loud bang.
Bang! The wooden shutter slammed hard, loud enough to echo through the temple despite the pounding rain.
He darted back behind the bookshelf, holding his breath. The chanting faltered for a moment.
"Did you hear that?" someone called.
"Sounded like something near the storage room," another voice replied.
"Go check it out. Could be something got in," a deeper voice ordered.
Footsteps approached, stopping at the door. Someone pushed it open cautiously, torchlight spilling in from the corridor and casting the silhouettes of two men across the floor.
"All good in there?" came a voice from outside.
"The window's open," answered one. "Looks like the wind blew it in."
"Let me see." The second man stepped into the room. "Who the hell forgot to lock this thing?"
Charles held his breath, waiting until both men had fully passed his hiding spot. Then he projected his power, causing a brief lapse in their awareness. Softly, he eased the door shut, ensuring that no one outside could see or hear what happened next. With the door sealed, he launched his attack.
He went for the one closest to him first, yanking the man's collar to throw him off-balance and delivering a solid punch under the chin. The guard slumped to the floor, unconscious, and Charles caught him to prevent a noisy fall.
The second man, closing the window, hadn't noticed anything until it was too late. Charles snuck behind him and locked an arm around his throat, pressing until his victim's body went limp. Both takedowns happened in near silence, drowned out by the deluge outside.
He hurriedly grabbed the rope he had set out, binding them one at a time. First, he tied up the unconscious man he had choked out, securing arms and legs and gagging him thoroughly. Then he moved to the second, the one he had knocked out with a punch to the chin.
At that moment, the man who'd been choked began to stir. His eyes snapped open, blinking in shock as he realized some stranger was tying up his partner. Bruises formed around his neck, and he was still gasping for air.
Charles noticed his captive's return to consciousness. He was about to begin the interrogation when a voice called from outside:
"Everything all right in there? You guys taking forever."
Charles pressed his blade—already drawn—against the newly awakened man's groin. He leaned in and whispered, voice icy and low.
"Talk fast, and don't you dare let them come in. One wrong move, and you lose your manhood. Understood?"
The guard gave a terrified nod, cold sweat trickling down his face. Charles removed the gag from his mouth.
"Nothing to worry about!" he shouted, voice trembling. "Rain blew in, made a mess. We're just, uh… cleaning up the floor."
"All right. Hurry up, then."
Charles waited until the footsteps receded, then turned back to the two guards who were now both awake, eyes wide with fear. He kept his voice low and menacing.
"Tell me. Where's the entrance to the basement?"
The guard beneath the blade shot a worried glance at his bound partner. Though terror filled his eyes, something still held him back from speaking.
"Don't bother looking at him," Charles hissed, pressing his knife a hair closer. "You've only got two choices: one, tell me and keep your precious bits intact. Or two, keep your mouth shut and I'll make you a eunuch. Think carefully."
Sweat dripped down the guard's temple. His breath came short and fast. With a shaky gulp and a flick of his gaze toward the blade so close to his groin, he spoke at last, voice quivering:
"U-under the altar. There's a hidden lever underneath. Pull it down, and the floor opens."
"How many people are down there?"
"T-ten…maybe a bit more. If anything happens up here, they'll know. There's an alarm bell—"
"And if you're lying?" Charles pressed the knife closer.
"I-I swear I'm not!" he blurted, eyes frantic. "If you don't believe me, check the priest's desk drawer—there's a plan of the underground on parchment."
Charles stared him down, searching for any sign of deception. The naked fear in the man's gaze convinced him it was the truth.
"Good." Charles nodded curtly. "But if you were lying…" He let the sentence hang, letting the guard's imagination complete it, then quickly gagged and secured him again. No chance of him making a fuss later.
He glanced at the second man, who was staring back in wide-eyed horror. Charles double-checked his knots on both. Then he switched his own soaked shoes for the guard's drier footwear. At last, he dragged both men behind a large bookcase, out of immediate sight.
'Better move fast,' he thought. 'They'll notice if these two don't come back soon.' With two enemies subdued, the only ones left upstairs were the people in the ritual chamber—and the unknown group in the basement.
Charles slipped out of the storage room again, silently. The temple now held seven more individuals: the priest, four black-robed assistants engaged in their chanting, and two guards at the main doors.
Careful to maintain stealth, Charles sent out his power in waves, heightening the robed group's immersion in the ritual. Let them remain utterly absorbed, too focused to sense anything amiss. He then shifted his psychic influence to the two guards, dulling their perception and leaving them momentarily unfocused.
Pressing himself against the stone columns, he crept through the shadows, waiting for the rising swell of the chant to mask his movement. When he was close enough, he rushed both guards in a quick, decisive strike. A burst of his power made them lose awareness for the critical second, and Charles silenced them with swift blows that left them unconscious before either could cry out.
He dragged their limp bodies back to the storage room. Retrieving more rope from the shelf, he tied them securely and stashed them behind the same bookcase.
Now the only ones left were the five robed figures standing at the altar, still chanting away without a clue of the danger creeping closer.
Charles returned to the main hall, eyeing the group of five continuing their litany before the altar. They stood in a row, wearing long black robes, heads bowed, hands clasped. Their low voices merged with the pounding storm outside.
'If I attack directly, at least one of them might slip downstairs and warn the people below,' he thought. 'I need to freeze them first.'
He pushed out his power again, stronger this time, forcing the entire group's focus deeper into the ritual. It was as though they had been hypnotized—no one noticed anything around them.
Charles crept up behind the last robed figure in line. Timing his move with the chanting, he looped an arm around the man's neck, the other hand clamping his mouth shut. He held on until the man's body slackened. Carefully, Charles lowered him to the floor.
Moving in utter silence, he dispatched them one by one, making use of their entranced state. The others remained completely engrossed in their prayers, oblivious to the disappearance of their companions.
Until, at last, only the priest at the very front remained. Hands raised, voice echoing in a deep, solemn cadence, he seemed unaware that he was now the lone participant.
Charles prepared to subdue him, but in that exact moment, the priest abruptly stopped chanting and spun around.
Charles lurched forward, instinct driving him to swing a hard punch to the priest's face. The robed figure stumbled backward, and Charles followed up with a swift kick under the chin, knocking him out cold before he could utter a single word.
Panting, Charles jumped back two steps, crouching low with the handkerchief-turned-blade in his grip. He stared at the fallen body, anticipating a sudden surge of supernatural power—or some hidden spell the priest might still unleash.
A few tense seconds passed, but the figure lay motionless on the floor.
'Is that it?' Charles muttered inwardly, his heart still pounding. 'I thought he'd put up more of a fight.'
Regaining his composure, he sheathed his improvised blade and busied himself tying up all five clerics with ropes scrounged from the storage room. For safety, he secured the priest more thoroughly than the others and dragged his unconscious form behind the altar, hidden from anyone who might come up from below.
The upper floor was cleared now, leaving only whatever waited in the basement.