Inside a vast, concealed stone hall, moss of a spectral green covered the cracks in the enormous vaulted ceiling. Water dripped steadily from above, splashing into uneven puddles below.
The torches hanging around the hall looked as though they might go out at any moment. Their flickering light stretched and distorted the figures of Herpo and the others, making them look like swaying ghosts.
Gregory stood beside Herpo, nervously turning his head from time to time, his entire posture stiff with unease.
Circe stood on Herpo's other side, gazing absently at the enormous Ritual Magic Array before her. Occasionally, she let out a long sigh, as though expressing regret-or perhaps merely yawning from exhaustion.
Herpo asked, "Calchas, how do things stand now?"
Calchas dragged out his reply. "Let me take a look..."
In fact, ever since Morgana le Fay had begun her operation, he had surveyed Paris several times at Herpo's command.
But once Wizet activated the Ritual Magic Array and Necromancy enveloped Paris, every subsequent attempt had become agonizingly difficult.
Besides, only a few minutes had passed, and Herpo was already ordering him to look again. He was deeply reluctant.
Yet this was the Shepherd's command. Calchas did not dare disobey.
All he could do was draw several resigned breaths, as though fighting a fierce battle to steel himself. Finally, he clenched his teeth and shut his eyes.
Veins spread rapidly up his neck like slithering venomous snakes. They twisted together over his eyes, forming what looked like a hideous black blindfold.
His face gradually contorted, veins bulging on his forehead, his expression filled with pain. The black veins swelled until they gleamed, as though they might burst at any moment and spray foul blood.
Meanwhile, Gregory grew increasingly uneasy. Terror filled his eyes, and fine beads of sweat