Chapter 15 — Awaiting Judgment
The heavy wooden doors creaked open.
Charles stepped out into the corridor, his face clouded with confusion. The priests' murmured voices carried faintly from behind him, but the words were too soft to make out.
He strained to listen — he needed to know what they were deciding — but the sound dissolved into silence.
My fate is being decided in whispers, he thought bitterly.
"Judging from that look on your face," came a calm voice nearby, "I'd say the results weren't too bad."
Charles turned and saw Elliot, standing by a marble pillar, still dressed impeccably in that pristine white suit.
"You know," Charles muttered, forcing a crooked smile, "that uniform looks annoyingly good on you."
Elliot gave a small shrug. "Standard issue from the Church's tailors. We all wear the same." Then, motioning toward the exit, he added, "Come with me. I'll see you out."
"I'm still under watch, then?"
"Not exactly," Elliot replied. "But certain areas of the cathedral are restricted. They don't like strangers wandering about."
"Fair enough," Charles sighed, following after him.
The sound of their footsteps echoed through the long, vaulted corridor. After a stretch of silence, Charles finally asked, "They told me to wait for further notice. What does that mean?"
Elliot stopped mid-stride and turned to look at him — a long, thoughtful look.
"It could mean many things," he said slowly. "Perhaps the priests are still debating your judgment. Or perhaps your case has drawn the attention of higher authorities — people they can't defy. Or…" He smiled faintly. "Maybe even they don't know yet."
His tone was light, but something in his eyes hinted that he knew more than he was letting on.
Charles could tell — but he didn't press.
Instead, he changed the subject. "That pile of bones you found in my house this morning — the dragon bones. What can they actually do?"
"Dragon bones?" Elliot repeated, genuinely surprised. "I assumed those belonged to some malformed creature's remains." He paused, then added thoughtfully, "They're rare alchemical materials — used to forge Sacred Marks. Very valuable."
"Sacred Marks?" Charles echoed. "What are those?"
"Weapons," Elliot explained simply. "But not for common hands. Only those who have entered the Circle can wield them."
"The Circle?"
"The state beyond mortality," he said, glancing at Charles.
"You mean learning to use magic?"
Elliot chuckled — the first real laugh Charles had heard from him. "Learning magic is merely the threshold. The Circle lies far beyond that."
He stopped before the main doors, sunlight spilling across the marble floor, and turned to face Charles.
"The Church didn't deliver your sentence immediately," he said. "That means there's still a chance you'll be cleared. Until then…" His eyes hardened slightly. "Don't make mistakes."
Charles raised a brow. "You mean, don't practice dark magic?"
"That, and other things," Elliot replied. "Don't attempt forbidden spells. Don't commit crimes. Don't insult the Church. Don't run."
"Got it," Charles said dryly. "So basically, stop breathing and hope for the best."
Elliot's lips twitched, almost forming a smile — almost.
For someone so aloof, he was surprisingly direct, even candid. Charles thought idly that if this guy ever learned to smile properly, his charm would probably triple.
High and mighty types never get it, he mused inwardly. A smile's worth more than any sermon.
By the time their conversation dwindled, the two had already stepped out into the sunlight.
As expected, Elliot didn't follow him back to his house on Privet Street. Once Charles was safely beyond the cathedral gates, the inquisitor simply turned away without another word.
He didn't need to say anything — his warning still echoed clearly in Charles's head:
Don't destroy yourself.
Charles mulled over those words as the carriage rattled down the cobblestone streets.
He wasn't foolish enough to think he was free. Just because no one was tailing him didn't mean the Church had stopped watching.
"So… all I can do now is wait?" he muttered.
The steady rocking of the carriage couldn't shake off his thoughts. He replayed every detail of that interrogation, every answer he'd given.
All perfect — except for the last one.
Will it be enough?
He wanted to believe so. But certainty was a luxury he didn't have.
Still, it was better than despair.
When he finally arrived home, though, whatever fragile relief he'd managed to build evaporated instantly.
In the kitchen, Annie was standing on a stool, awkwardly washing dishes that were far too heavy for her small hands.
Charles froze, guilt twisting in his chest.
He'd completely forgotten about her.
And apparently, without the old butler, she'd made breakfast on her own.
"Some guardian I am," he muttered, sighing.
Retreating to his bedroom, he began pacing, thinking aloud.
"I'll need to hire a cook… and a maid. Maybe a runner for errands. And definitely a new butler — someone who can manage the house, since I clearly can't."
He stopped, exhaling through his nose. "But first… money."
His gaze drifted toward the pile of pale bones stacked neatly in the corner — faintly red at the edges, faintly humming with power.
Maybe it's time to see what you're really worth.
If Elliot was right about the dragon bones being valuable, then they could very well be Charles's ticket out of this financial mess.
But who could he even sell them to?
That was the real problem. Ordinary merchants had no dealings with the supernatural — and anyone who did… usually worked for the Church.
"Maybe next time I see Elliot, I'll ask him directly," Charles muttered, jotting the thought down before setting it aside.
Now that he had narrowly escaped his first trial, he needed to start thinking long-term.
He sat down at his desk, grabbed a pen and paper, and began to sketch out his situation in blunt, practical lines:
"Current state:
I am trapped in an unfamiliar world, somewhere on a continent of strange magic — in a coastal city ruled by kings and clerics.
My identity: heir to a barony under the name Cranston.
My assets: nearly none. My title, instead of protecting me, has only made me a target."
He paused, tapping the pen against his lips, then continued.
"Primary crisis — the Church's verdict.
If I survive it, I can rebuild.
If I don't… I'll have to resist, or run.
Until the judgment is announced, I must stay quiet.
No provocations, no recklessness — I can't afford to make an enemy of the Church."
He underlined that last line twice.
Going against the Church in this world, he thought grimly, isn't courage — it's suicide.
Next, he turned to the issue gnawing at the back of his mind.
"My father."
Why had the Earl of Cranston — his own father — wanted him dead?
He frowned, then crossed the line out.
"Doesn't matter why. What matters is surviving his next move — and making sure he never gets another chance."
Then came the matter of inheritance.
"The barony must be secured as soon as possible.
Without it, I'm nothing but a disgraced noble. Anyone — police, clergy, or rival houses — can trample me at will."
He thought of the arrogant police officers from last night and scribbled another note.
"Some of them — or someone behind them — may already be part of this conspiracy.
When I have the means, I'll start from there."
He leaned back, rubbing his temples.
One more problem remained — perhaps the biggest of them all.
The Portal.
The mysterious "Gate" that had dragged him between worlds.
Even though he couldn't sense its presence now, Charles was certain it hadn't disappeared.
It would reappear — and probably sooner than he expected.
If it can send me across worlds, he thought, maybe it's also the key to going back.
The idea thrilled him for a heartbeat — before reason doused it.
He shook his head. Not yet. One step at a time.
"Time flows differently between worlds," he wrote next.
"If I can control that… I could do much more than just return.
The other world gives me a way to grow stronger — to fight, learn, evolve.
I can use that to gain power here."
This was the first real moment of clarity since he'd arrived in this cursed world.
For the first time, he could see a path forward.
He summarized everything into a neat list:
Plan of Action:
1. Survive the Church's investigation.
2. Resolve my financial crisis and stabilize daily life.
3. Secure the Cranston barony.
4. Investigate the notebook and uncover the conspiracy behind it.
5. Study the portal — master its use to grow stronger.
6. One day… find a way home.
He hesitated, then added one last line at the bottom:
"Take care of Annie… and find a cure for her illness."
Charles stared at the paper for a long while.
Then, with a sigh, he folded it neatly and tossed it into the fireplace.
The parchment curled, blackened, and turned to drifting ash.
He watched the embers glow and fade, feeling an odd sense of calm.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, his fear had quieted.
He finally had direction — a reason to move forward.
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